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AUTHOR: 
 
 WHITTAKER, THOMAS 
 
 TITLE: 
 
 ESSAYS AND 
 NOTICES . . . 
 
 PLACE: 
 
 LONDON 
 
 DATE: 
 
 1895 
 
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 Essays and notices, philosophical and ps^cholog 
 
 London, 1895. O. 11+370 p. 
 
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ESSAYS AND NOTICES 
 
• 
 
 Essays and Notices 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL 
 AND PSYCHOLOGICAL 
 
 
 t t « 1 1 
 
 I I J _ t •• ■ 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER ba. (oxon) 
 
 I 
 
 LONDON 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 1895 
 
CO 
 
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 • • • • • , • • • 
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 • • • 
 
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 AM rights reserved. 
 
 to 
 
 PEEFACE 
 
 mnE contents of this volume, with the exception of the first 
 J- essay, which was published separately in 1893, are aU re- 
 printed from the pages of periodicals. In three or four of the 
 essays there has been a little re-writing, but on the whole the 
 amoiint of alteration is not great. For permission to repubhsh 
 the articles and reviews, I have to thank Messrs. Macmillan 
 and Co., and the editors and proprietors of Mind and of The 
 Monist. I must also specially thank M. Renouvier for the 
 permission, at once accorded, to reproduce his own as well as 
 my share of a correspondence which appeared in the Critique 
 Philosophiqice in 1887. 
 
 The common motive of both essays and reviews, as it seems 
 to me, is an effort to arrive at something positive through 
 criticism. Of the success with which this has been attempted, 
 I leave the reader to judge. There is only one part of the 
 book on which I propose to say anything more by way of 
 preface, namely, the part which is distinctively metaphysical. 
 So far as this is concerned, I freely admit that I have not 
 attained any result capable of being summed up in a completed 
 formula. Even here, however, it seems to me that something 
 can be said with certainty, and something with a high degree 
 of intellectual assurance. 
 
 First, as to the certainty attainable in metaphysics. The 
 only absolute certainty seems to me to be, not in anything that 
 can be called Ontology, but only in what is caUed Theory of 
 Knowledge. All that is demonstrable in metaphysics is Idealism , 
 m the strict philosophical sense. That is to say, the external ' 
 world, not only as it offers itself to ordinary apprehension, but 
 
 216461 
 
/ 
 
 Tl 
 
 PBEFACE, 
 
 also as understood by science, consists of nothing but phe- 
 nomena. And phenomenon is to be understood literally, in 
 the sense of that which appears. Some science has even less 
 truth than is implied in this ; for it has only the truth of a 
 convenient formula, useful to work out results, but in the 
 stages of its working out corresponding only to fictions. 
 Scientific men undoubtedly claim for some of their theories 
 a fuller truth than that of a delicate intellectual instrument for 
 getting at total results ; but, even when scientific truth is at 
 its greatest, it amounts only to a law of phenomena, that is, of 
 actual or possible perceptions. When a physicist or a chemist, 
 for example, asserts the existence of atoms, the meaning is 
 that our perceptions, if immensely magnified, would appear as 
 actually discontinuous in certain definable ways. But percep- 
 tion and its elements are wholly of mental nature. It is as 
 elements, actual or possible, of a consciousness, that they have 
 reality. 
 
 Can any theory be attained of this mental reality as a whole, 
 or must we be satisfied with the assertion that the universe as 
 understood by science is not metaphysically real, and that a 
 true metaphysical theory, if such there were, would be in 
 terms of mind? Another step, as it seems to me, can be 
 taken by the aid of a postulate, though no one can be compelled 
 to take it. In pure formal logic, it is thinkable that portions 
 of mental reality simply come into and go out of existence. 
 But to suppose this of the reality, though it is formally 
 thinkable, does not promise congruity with the most precise 
 knowledge attained of phenomena. To try to think thus in 
 metaphysics would be entirely to desert the path that has been 
 found to lead to truth in science. For the best established 
 truths of science are propositions that assert constancy beneath 
 change. The quantities that remain scientifically constant are 
 indeed quantities that have a purely phenomenal value. Atoms 
 and energy, considered philosophically, are names for actual or 
 possible perceptions and relations among perceptions. But, 
 by postulating the absolute permanence of these phenomenal 
 values — whatever they may mean for metaphysics — coherent 
 Bcientific doctrines have been reached of which the calculated 
 
 *r 
 
 i 
 
 PBEFACE, 
 
 vu 
 
 results are exactly verified, and by which the inner processes 
 of nature are rendered physically intelligible. Since this is 
 the path that has led to the deepest truth in the explanation 
 of phenomena, does not a similar path seem most hopeful in 
 the explanation of reality? In ontology, indeed, we cannot 
 look for such precision as has been attained by chemists and 
 physicists in their assertions of the indestructibiUty of matter 
 and the conservation of energy. We must be content to 
 postulate about the reaHty as idealism conceives it, what was 
 postulated long before the days of modern science about all 
 reality, whether conceived as physical or as metaphysical. 
 Nothing which really is, we must say, either begins to exist 
 absolutely or ceases to exist. Keality neither comes from^ 
 nothing nor returns to nothing. And we know part of the 
 reality in consciousness. 
 
 Thus one step is taken towards an Ontology, as distinguished 
 from a mere Theory of Knowledge. And the possibiHty can 
 be shown of taking further steps. We may go on to proposi- 
 tions about universal being or about individual beings, affirming 
 one or other as the primary reality. That is, we may take the 
 direction either of Spinoza or of Leibniz. For either direction 
 still remains possible after all that scepticism and criticism 
 have done. What has been proved against either type of 
 thinking is merely this : that it cannot be deduced as a system 
 from self-evident axioms. With revision in view of modern 
 criticism, it still seems possible to make theoretically con- 
 sistent either a doctrine proceeding from the assertion of 
 permanent individual beings, of mental nature, which we may 
 call monads, or a doctrine proceeding from the assertion of a 
 permanent universal being, which we may call intellectus 
 infinitus. The difficulty is that there does not seem to be any 
 means of reducing the many theoretical possibilities to one. 
 More than one type of metaphysical thinking, so far as can 
 yet be seen, might be made consistent v^ith itself and with 
 facts. We may place our hope either in conciliating apparent 
 opposites or in eliminating alternatives till the true one is 
 approached. In either case our immediate aim must be 
 greater precision both of philosophic and of scientific thought. 
 
 14 
 
vm 
 
 preface: 
 
 A doctrine that seems at first consistent, and does not 
 obviously contradict experience, may yet, when brought to 
 more precise expression and confronted with more exact 
 knowledge, disappear of itself. Because this is necessarily a 
 padual process, and may not in the end give us more than an 
 imperfectly determined beUef, it does not therefore follow that 
 we ought to abandon the pursuit of philosophic truth and 
 content ourselves with science and its applications to practice 
 even when science is conceived in its widest sense 
 
 If science is the theoretic explanation of phenomena as 
 such, It seems to require as its complement a theory of reality 
 that IS, a metaphysic. On behalf of Metaphysic as thus 
 miderstood I have desired to put in a plea against the 
 puritans of Agnosticism. There may be no means of de- 
 monstrating that a particular metaphysical theory is true, and 
 yet we may have a perfect right to speculate. Till we ai-e 
 quite sure that we have no such right, we ought to resist all 
 attempts, whether in the interests of a positive or of a negative 
 creed, to fetter the speculative impulse which is inherent in 
 the higher races of mankind. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 A Ckitical Essay in the Philosophy op History ... 
 
 PAOX 
 
 *' Mind-Stuff '* from the Historical Point of View 43 
 
 Mind, October, 1881.) 
 
 Giordano Bruno... 
 
 ... 61 
 
 {Mindy April, 1884.) 
 
 ^ The Musical and the Picturesque Elements in 
 
 Poetry 95 
 
 [Maanillan's Magazine, April, 1886.) 
 
 Individualism and State- Action ... 
 
 ( if i«(f, January, 1888.) 
 
 Volkm.\nn's Psychology ... 
 
 {Mind, July, October, 1890.) 
 
 Politics and Industry ... 
 
 (Macmillan^fi Magazine, January, 1892.) 
 
 Ill 
 
 124 
 
 173 
 
 On the Nature of Thought 
 
 (The Monist, October, 1894.) 
 
 179 
 
 The Theory of Justice ... 
 
 (Mind, January, 1895.) 
 
 186 
 
 iz 
 
* CONTENTS, 
 
 NOTICES, 
 Animal Intelligence 
 
 {Nature^ September 7, 1882.) 
 
 Esthetics 
 
 • • • • •• 
 
 (Mind, January, 1886.) 
 
 On the Ethics of Naturalism 
 
 {Mind J April, 188G.) 
 
 The Philosophy of Redemption ... 
 
 {Mind, July, 1886.) 
 
 Philosophical Antinomies 
 
 {Mind, January, 1887.) 
 
 Giordano Bruno and his Time 
 
 {Mind, July, 1887.) 
 
 Dead Matter and Living Matter 
 
 {Mind, October, 1887.) 
 
 On Free-Will ... 
 
 {Mindf January, 1888.) 
 
 PAOB 
 
 ... 191 
 
 ... 199 
 
 ... 211 
 
 ... 218 
 
 ... ^^o 
 
 ... 249 
 
 ... 267 
 
 ... 274 
 
 Idealism in England in the Eighteenth Century... 287 
 
 {Mind, October, 1888.) 
 
 Physical Realism 
 
 {Mind, April, 1889.) 
 
 Reality as Phenomenon ... 
 
 {Mind, July, 1889.) 
 
 Thought and Life 
 
 {Mind, April, 1890.) 
 
 The Laws of Imitation ... 
 
 {Mind, July, 1890.) 
 
 ... 291 
 
 ... ^«70 
 
 ... 303 
 
 ... 309 
 
 CONTENTS 
 The Problem of Causality 
 
 {Mind, January, 1891.) 
 
 The Philosophical Basis of Evolution 
 
 (Mind, April, 1891.) 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. Correspondence 
 
 {La Critique Fhilosophvpw, 1887.) 
 
 II. The Psychology of Stimulants 
 
 {The University Mnffozine, April, 1880.) 
 
 XI 
 
 PACK 
 
 320 
 
 336 
 
 ... 343 
 
 ... 361 
 
A CKITICAL ESSAY 
 
 IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 O genus infelix humanum, talia divis 
 Cum tiibuit facta atque iras adiunxit acerbas ! 
 Quantos turn gemitus ipsi sibi, quantaque nobis 
 Volnera, quas lacrimas peperere minoiibu* nostris ! 
 
 -• Lucretius, v. 1194-7. 
 
 And of these twain, the black seed and the white, 
 All things come forth, endured of men and done; 
 
 And still the day is gieat with child of night. 
 And still the black night labours with the sun. 
 
 Swinburne, Genesis. 
 
 2 
 
» i> * 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Progress or Cycle? 
 
 II. Anticipatory Solution 
 
 III. Causes of the Two Great Transitions... 
 
 J. V • XvESULT ... ... ••• *... ••• ... 
 
 I'AGK 
 
 3 
 
 B 
 19 
 38 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 progress or cycle ? 
 
 To ask whether European history is a progress or a cycle will 
 seem to many the re-opening of a question long since settled. 
 By those who hold that there is, at least in possibility, a philo- 
 sophy of history, it is generally supposed that the aim of this 
 philosophy is to discover a law of progress. In spite of the 
 supposition, no law of progress that has yet been formulated is 
 generally received. And there is, on the surface of history, an 
 enormous obstacle to the view that the historical series of 
 events is a continuously progressive series. Whatever formula 
 we adopt, how^ are we to bring within it at once pre-Christian 
 antiquity, the Middle Ages, and modern times ? While to one 
 type of mind the system that governed medioBval life may seem 
 a "Kingdom of Darkness," to another no doubt it presents 
 itself as a ** Clvitas Dei ; " but from the second point of view, 
 as much as from the first, it w^ould appear natural to suppose 
 a kind of circular movement in human affairs. At the opening 
 of the modern period, and for some time afterwards, this was 
 the supposition generally made by those who were most 
 disposed to regard history as an object of philosophy or science. 
 Europe, they held, had been civilised in classical antiquity. 
 By a catastrophe, civilisation was destroyed. Then, after a 
 long interval, and in consequence of the re-discovery of ancient 
 literature and institutions, it had been restored. Since about 
 the beginning of the present century, this view has been more 
 
 8 
 
 1 
 
« t t 
 
 » tit 
 
 4 A CRITICAL ;E;S5^^J: 7^: '^E 
 
 and more displaced by the notion of a continuously progressive 
 historical development. The Middle Age, we are often told, is 
 intermediate in character as in chronological position. It is 
 the inheritor of Graeco-Roman civilisation, and is an advance 
 on it ; just as, in turn, modern civilisation is the inheritor of 
 mediaeval civilisation, and is an advance on that. This 
 doctrine, as compared with the earlier one, bases itself on 
 a more systematic and extensive knowledge of the facts, 
 especially of mediaeval history ; and if, by means of the new 
 facts, a law of progress had been established, embracing all 
 the three periods, the older view might be regarded as finally 
 overthrown. But, as has been said, no law of progress has 
 met with general assent. Those who speculate about the 
 movement of history still take quite different views as to its 
 predominant factor ; and, when they agree about this, do not 
 agree about the order of stages in the particular kind of pro- 
 gression — intellectual or other — to which they assign the pre- 
 dominance. This seems sufficient to justify a re-examination 
 of the doctrine of historical progress. No doubt the older view 
 by itself was too simple, and cannot be adopted in the form 
 that was first given to it ; but it is so obvious a view that we 
 may expect it to contain some part of the truth. For, after all, 
 the most important facts were known to the older as well as to 
 the newer theorists. Those philosophers who have done most 
 to bring the theory of continuous progress into favour have 
 themselves said that it is the broad facts of history, and not 
 minute details brought to light by curious research, that must 
 serve as the basis for the supreme generalisations. 
 
 As a preliminary to the inquuy itself, it may be interesting 
 to compare two views of human character that go naturally 
 with the two theories of the historical movement. According 
 to the notion that is now common, there is, for European 
 society, a single progi'essive movement, which has been going 
 on from the beginning of history. The most important thing 
 about any man, whether of thought or action, is his attitude 
 towards this movement. If he goes with the movement, he is 
 progressive ; if he goes against it, he is conservative or reac- 
 tionary : and this is the essential difference between types of 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HIS TOBY. 
 
 character for all time. It may be that the greatest minds after 
 those that lead the progressive movement are the great re- 
 actionists. The opposition does not mean a difference of 
 degree in intellectual or moral force. What it means is that, 
 of the leading minds, those that understand the movement of 
 their time and go with it, to whatever age they belong, are to 
 be classed together as progressive minds ; those that oppose 
 the movement of their time, as reactionary minds. Trans- 
 ferred to any other age, a mind of progressive type would 
 always be progressive, and a mind of reactionary type always 
 reactionary. Thus, for example, the Christian Fathers were 
 the "radical reformers " of their own age. So also were the 
 French Encyclopaedists. The Encyclopaedists and the Fathers, 
 therefore, if they could have changed ages, might easily have 
 taken one another's places. The last defenders of the Roman 
 Republic were the political conservatives of their time ; the 
 last Neo-Platonist opponents of Christianity were the religious 
 reactionists of theirs. As conservatives and reactionists, they 
 are to be placed in the same class with the modern champions 
 of Catholicism and Absolutism. At the same time, the move- 
 ment, being continuously progressive, carries us all along with 
 it. Hence the most extreme opponents in the same period 
 have more actual resemblance to one another than those who 
 are really contending for the same cause in distant periods. 
 The most devout of modern religious thinkers, being placed in 
 an atmosphere of questioning, cannot realise the ** implicit " 
 mediaeval submission to authority. Essentially, all contempo- 
 raries who have acquired the ordinary knowledge of their time 
 are at about the same stage of thought, some a little before and 
 some a little behind. It is only accidentally that they either 
 differ from one another, or resemble the men of distant periods. 
 The initiators of the modern doctrine of continuous progress 
 do not, of course, put their theory quite in this way ; but it will 
 be acknowledged that such a view is ** in the air ; " -and it is 
 sufficiently logical. Let us contrast with it a theory that has 
 the same kind of logical connexion with the doctrine of histo- 
 rical cycles. We meet with a theory of the kind in Machiavelli, 
 who put forth a doctrine of cycles in political history, and, as 
 
6 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSA Y IN THE 
 
 may easily be inferred from what he directly says, regarded the 
 Middle Ages as the result of an overthrow of civilisation by the 
 Christians and the Barbarians. According to Machiavelh's 
 theory of human character, there are certain fixed types, alike 
 in all ages, determined by nature, and made unmodifiable by 
 habit. Men of a particular type of character, once formed, 
 never cease to act in accordance with that character. If 
 circumstances are favourable, they succeed ; if circumstances 
 are unfavourable, they fail. Half depends on us, and half on 
 fortune. To take his favourite examples : The Consul Fabius 
 did not adopt a policy of caution because he saw that such 
 a poHcy was best for the time, but because he was naturally 
 a cautious man. He was successful because caution then met 
 the occasion ; but, under any circumstances, he would have 
 acted in the same manner. Pope Julius II. was a man of 
 impetuous character, and succeeded because in his time the 
 occasion was favourable to audacity; but, if the times had 
 changed, he would not have been able to proceed with circum- 
 spection, and would have failed. "Hence it arises," says 
 Machiavelli, " that a repubhc has longer hfe, and has good 
 fortune for a longer time, than a principality ; for it can better 
 accommodate itself to the diversity of the times, through the 
 diversity of the citizens that are in it, than a prince." ' 
 
 If we detach this theory from its special political application, 
 and apply it to the fortune of ideas as well as of modes of 
 action, we seem to obtain a rather deeper view than is given 
 by the doctrine of absolutely continuous progress. In intel- 
 lectual things, we may say, half depends on the ideas of the 
 individual man of genius, and half on the particular currents of 
 the age. The mind of the community is in a manner passive, 
 and yet is not indifferently receptive of all great ideas alike. 
 It has movements that make it now receptive of one set of 
 intellectual influences, and now of another and opposite one. 
 The leading minds, again, are not primarily distinguished as 
 preferring conservation or innovation, but as preferring one 
 state of things or another. According as the movement seems 
 to be towards the state of things they desire or away from it, 
 » Discorsi sopra la prima deca di Tito L/r/o, bk. iii. chap. *J. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 they are classed as innovators or conservatives ; but this dis- 
 tinction is secondary. The movement of human affairs being 
 subject to reversals, the conservatives and innovators of one 
 age, if transferred to another, would not seldom change places. 
 Those who, during the dissolution of the ancient world, sought 
 to preserve what remained of its characteristic civilisation, if 
 they could have changed ages, might have taken part in the 
 characteristic modern movement; while the greater modern 
 reactionists, if transferred to antiquity, would probably have 
 l)een a revolutionary and dissolvent influence. 
 
 Reasonable as this general conception must seem, so far as it 
 applies to individual character, intellectual or practical, it must 
 be rejected if we accept the ordinary theory of progress. That 
 theory, it is clear, needs revision. 
 
AN ESSAY IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 I' 
 
 / 
 
 I 
 
 
 ft 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ANTICIPATORY SOLUTION. 
 
 IF justice is to be done to the modem doctrine that historical 
 progi-ess is strictly continuous, it must be considered as it 
 presents itself in the work of those who have given to their 
 historical generalisations most of a scientific or philosophical 
 character. These are undoubtedly Comte and Hegel. In 
 their theory of the relations of man to society, the two thinkers 
 have much in common. Both have definitely advanced beyond 
 the conception of the individual man as existing first in isola- 
 tion, and then entering into the social union in consequence of 
 an agreement arrived at for mutual advantage. The mind of 
 the individual man, as both hold, could not exist at all as 
 a human mind unless formed under social conditions. Both, 
 again, regard continuity in human history as essentially a 
 mental continuity. For a continuously progressive civilisation, 
 it is not necessary that there should be identity of race, or 
 even continuity of political structure. When a new race or 
 a new state takes up the ideas of another, and carries them 
 higher by its own efforts, it is spiritually the successor of the 
 former, and represents the next term in historical progress. 
 The special problem of " Philosophy of History " also is con- 
 ceived by both in the same way. Its object is the history of 
 European civilisation ; the Asiatic civilisations being regarded,, 
 so far as they have properly historical interest, as preliminary- 
 to this. Regarded apart from European history, as Comte 
 especially sees, they have simply the interest of social types ; 
 and their (more or less remote) future depends on their re- 
 ceiving an impress from the single progressive movement. 
 
 8 
 
 r 
 
 \ 
 
 r 
 
 Both philosophers also have the idea of a consensus of social 
 factors as existing at each stage of political society ; so that 
 to a certain extent one part of its structure could be inferred 
 from another. As the counterpart of this idea, both insist on 
 the conception of the social movement as a whole, and thus 
 avoid the error of making any subsidiary order of facts, 
 however fundamental, stand for all the rest. 
 
 Neither to Comte nor to Hegel did it seem, as it does to 
 some recent writers, that progress could be taken as something 
 known in itself ; that ethical and political ends could be defined 
 in terms of "progi'ess," itself undefined. Unless they could 
 have pointed to a law of historical evolution towards an end 
 conceived with sufficient definiteness, they would have held 
 the existence of progress unproved. For Hegel, the end to ' 
 which history necessarily moves is the consciousness the 
 human spirit has of its freedom, and, with this consciousness, 
 the reality of freedom itself.* This end can only be realised 
 by men living in organised States. The conception that the 
 State exists for the sake of the spiritual freedom of its members, ' 
 in the sense that this is what ought to be consciously aimed at 
 by men living in political society, is found already in Spinoza : 
 what Hegel really added to Spinoza's conception is the idea 
 of history as necessarily bringing with it the greater and ' 
 greater realisation of that which ought to exist. Comte, on 
 his side, defines progress, not in terms of freedom, but in 
 terms of the intellectual doctrine held socially. The human 
 mind passes successively through three stages of philosophical 
 thought. First it explains occurrences theologically, that is, 
 by quasi-human volitions projected into things ; then meta- 
 physically, that is, by " entities," or realised abstractions ; 
 finally, it refuses all explanations except such as enter into 
 positive science. These reduce themselves to simple state- 
 ments of what invariably occurs. Each of these successive 
 ** philosophies," the theological, the metaphysical, and the 
 positive, in turn is socially supreme ; the triumph of the last 
 being reserved for the future. Since the positive philosophy 
 is alone true, intellectual progress is the gradual passage to 
 ^ rhilosopJiie der Geschichte (Einleituug). 
 
10 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTOIiY. 
 
 11 
 
 fO 
 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
 the social acceptance of a true philosophy. With intellectual 
 progress, all other kinds of progress, and especially moral 
 progress, are correlated. 
 
 In Comte's law there are two points to be considered : one 
 is, whether it accurately sums up the historical stages of 
 human thought ; the other, whether it is, rationally, a ** law 
 of progress," and to what extent. That it is not the supreme 
 law of intellectual progress becomes obvious when we find 
 that there are unquestionable cases of advance in the highest 
 philosophical ideas which cannot be brought under it. When- 
 ever in any subject a point of view has been attained that 
 enables us to incorporate or to reject earher theories with full 
 insight, we have direct evidence of intellectual progress. It 
 is, at last, only by proceeding from this kind of evidence that 
 we can learn whether there has really been progress of thought 
 or not. Now the two great examples, thus verified, of progress 
 in philosophic as distinguished from merely scientific thought, 
 are the idealistic theory of the external world, associated with 
 the name of Berkeley, and the theory of inductive logic, 
 associated with the name of Mill. These are cases of definite 
 philosophical advance beyond anything actually attained by 
 the ancients. Of the two, the first could only be brought 
 under Comte's law with difficulty, and with modification of 
 what he himself meant by it ; and the second could not be 
 brought under it at all ; for material logic, to which the 
 advance made by Mill belongs, does not supersede the Aristo- 
 telian formal logic, but is simply an addition to it. 
 
 But further, if we understand by intellectual progi'ess 
 advance in the highest ideas attained at any time, this may 
 be shown to depend on intellectual freedom. That the greatest 
 possible advance may be made, the individual thinker must be 
 "always free to go to the grounds of belief, and to accept or 
 reject all or any part of the system that prevails socially. And 
 on this kind of progress, made by individual minds, progi'ess 
 in the ideas that are socially eff'ective depends ; for •• the 
 general mind" invents nothing, but only takes up by degi'ees 
 as much of the insight of individual minds as it can turn to 
 account. Thus, if we still suppose that a supreme law of 
 
 intellectual progress is discoverable, it appears that advance 
 in freedom must be placed socially before advance in thought 
 considered apart from freedom. Only in so far as there is . 
 freedom can an intrinsic law of intellectual development | 
 manifest itself. Hegel's formula, therefore, seems preferable * 
 to Comte's as an indication of what we are to look for when 
 we are trying to ascertain the meaning of history. Instead 
 of taking the formula as a law of history to be assumed from 
 the beginning, we must, however, take it at first only as a test 
 by which to learn whether in the whole or in any section of 
 history there has actually been progress. 
 
 Tried by this test, the passage from antiquity to the 
 Middle Ages can scarcely be regarded as a progressive stage 
 of history. 
 
 During the whole period from the origin of Greek philosophy 
 to the victory of the Christian Church, there was practically 
 complete freedom for the expression of individual thought. 
 This w^as secured by the acknowledged supremacy of the State 
 in all relations of life where there is any question of applying 
 force; and by the absence of any corporation having for its 
 office the authoritative preservation in its purity of a doctrine 
 which all are to accept. The ancient European civilisation 
 had religions indeed, but it had no churches. Nor was the 
 State itself at the same time a Church. Essentially the State 
 aimed at its own preservation or extension first, and then, in 
 its best manifestations, at certain aesthetic and ethical ends to \ 
 be realised in the lives of its citizens. Religion was so little 
 a social creed that it could even be supposed to have been 
 ■created by the poets, who, though they had not really created 
 it, had given it aesthetic form under the law of their own 
 imagination, and under no external discipline imposed socially. 
 Politically, indeed, the State assumed the right to repress 
 teachings or modes of worship that were contrary to the public 
 good ; but, whether the political authorities made mistakes or 
 not, it was always the public good that they professed to have 
 in view, and not the purity of a speculative creed. There was 
 no thought of repressing speculation, or even of prohibiting 
 worships, except so far as these might be thought to have for 
 
12 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 18 
 
 » 
 
 2j' 
 
 I 
 
 ! 
 
 their natural and direct consequences the dissolution or 
 weakening of the State. Thus there was no religious persecu- 
 tion in the proper sense of the term. 
 
 This social condition is precisely the opposite of that which 
 was estabhshed during the Middle Ages. Here the freedom of 
 the individual mind, when the most is conceded to it that the 
 mediaeval system ever did concede, is reduced to an activity 
 within the limits of a received doctrine, more and more 
 definitely formulated. The whole speculative class is brought 
 within a separate corporation, and placed under a centralised 
 intellectual discipline, having for its supreme end the preserva- 
 tion of a common doctrine. While in antiquity any checks 
 that were deliberately imposed on the expression of opinion, 
 or on modes of worshipping the gods, were understood to be 
 for the sake of the State, here the State itself was regarded 
 as an instrument for applying coercion to individual deviations 
 from the corporate creed and ritual. So far from such devia- 
 tions being regarded as subjects for repression only when they 
 tended to the injury of the State, the utter dissolution of the 
 State itself was regarded as preferable to the existence of a 
 mode of worship or of opinion not approved by the separated 
 and disciplined representatives of the triumphant doctrine. 
 
 Now this second system is evidently as unfavourable as the 
 first is favourable to free individual thought. Whether we 
 prefer the first system or the second, there is in any case a 
 reversal. The transition from antiquity to the Middle Age is. 
 the end of one state of things and the beginning of another. 
 If, then, we accept Hegel's formula as a test by which to 
 recognise progress, we do not actually find continuous progress 
 all through European history. 
 
 Applying the same criterion, we perceive another reversal in 
 the transition from the mediaeval to the modern period. The 
 State now begins to re-assume supremacy in practical life, and, 
 correspondingly, the working out of theories is left more and 
 more to the free movement of the individual intellect, no 
 longer enclosed in a separate corporation. Scientific and 
 philosophical freedom is thus regained by degrees ; and after 
 a time deviations in worship are again permitted. In this- 
 
 social expression, or in religion, modern freedom is greater 
 than ancient ; though in philosophy, its essentially individual 
 expression, it is not greater, if even yet it is as great. Ancient 
 philosophy at least claimed to decide, for those who devote 
 themselves to it, and as far as decision is possible, upon all 
 that can be believed as well as known ; while modern philo- 
 sophy, even w^ith the aid of science, often hesitates to make 
 this claim, yielding at some point to the still surviving claims 
 of larger or smaller corporations. 
 
 If, as has been said, intellectual freedom is the condition of 
 the discovery of truth, then we should expect to find also that 
 any rational formula of intellectual development would be 
 inapplicable to the whole history of Europe ; that the mediaeval 
 system of thought as well as of life would appear as a break or 
 as a prolonged reaction. Comte's formula, though not an 
 adequate expression of philosophical progress, may be taken 
 as true at any rate to this extent, that the progress of philo- 
 sophy depends on contact with advancing science. This, then, 
 in the absence of any other, may serve as the intellectual 
 criterion. Comte himself may be considered to have been 
 biassed in his application of it by antipathy to ancient and 
 modern " unlimited freedom of thought ; " holding as he did 
 that intellectual freedom ought in the end to be reduced 
 precisely to the dimensions it had in what has been called 
 ** the classic Middle Age." When definitive principles shall 
 have been established, he says, " their irresistible pre- 
 ponderance will tend to make the right of examination return 
 finally within its truly normal and permanent limits, which 
 consist, in general, in the discussion, under fitting intellectual 
 conditions, of the real connexion of the different consequences 
 with fundamental rules uniformly respected." ^ This is also, 
 in principle, the doctrine of the modern Scholastics. For the 
 Positivist, as for the Catholic, there would be no doubts going 
 to the root of belief, but only a kind of fictitious or " probative " 
 doubt assumed provisionally for the sake of better establishing 
 a foregone conclusion. To preserve the social doctrine finally 
 accepted, there would necessarily be a Church — a separate 
 
 ' Philoaophie Positive, t. iv. pp. 45-6. 
 
14 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 15 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 corporat on with a centralised moral and intellectual discipline. 
 The State would again be '' subalternised." as the ChuLes 
 have been partially subalternised during the last three or more 
 c^ntur s. This being Comte's social ideal, there is peculi 
 nterest m seeing how far the historical Church realised his 
 aw of intellectual progress. Is it not perfectly clear that when 
 the social supremacy had passed from statesmen to church- 
 men, the directing ideas, after having been mainly what Comte 
 calls metaphysical and positive, became again theological? 
 He himsel tries to prove an advance by laying stress on the 
 transition from popular polytheism to monotheism ; mono- 
 heism, as compared with polytheism, being, in his view, an 
 attenuated form of theology. But then the minds that 
 practically chrected things, in antiquity, were guided by the 
 Idea of the State as an organism having an end of its own 
 For them the popular religions were now an instrument and 
 now an obstacle. So far as they were influenced by ideas not 
 simply taken in from the general social atmosphere, it was by 
 the Ideas of philosophers; and these, if not "positive," were 
 at least '' metaphysical." On the contrary, under what Comte 
 himself in one place calls " the sombre monotheistic domina- 
 tion It was precisely the most theologically minded that ^ave 
 the direction. Political and intellectual development, as such 
 were things to be suppressed or controlled, or at most com-' 
 promised with in the interests of a theological ideal. Accord- 
 ing to Comte's own formula, therefore, the directing ideas were 
 reversed. Catholic monotheism, according to his own view is 
 not really more true than pagan polytheism, but, as we might 
 express it, is an advance in that it gives the Olympians a 
 single neck, which the Positive Philosophy can proceed to cut 
 with more facility. But the final concentration of a power 
 that it is held ought to be destroyed is not, for the people who 
 live under the concentration, an advance. It may be a con- 
 dition of there being a greater advance afterwards than could 
 otherwise have been made, but temporarily it is best described 
 as a reaction. 
 
 On the principles of those who have put forward the doctrine 
 of continuous progress, we find, therefore, that in European 
 
 history there are really two reversals of the directing ideas. A 
 social system involving the practical supremacy of the State, 
 and intellectual liberty for the theorising class, is succeeded 
 by a system in which a Church is supreme and all speculative 
 minds are subject, in their thinking, to a coercive discipline ; 
 and this second system, again, has to give place to a system 
 which in essentials is a return to the first. Or, looking at the 
 process from the point of view of theoretical doctrine, an age 
 in which metaphysical if not positive ideas rule, gives place to 
 an age dominated by theology, and this again to an age marked 
 by a constantly increasing intellectual influence from meta- 
 physics and science. 
 
 Wherever, therefore, continuous progress may be, it is not 
 hitherto, at least for the whole history of Europe, in the 
 directing ideas, whether we seek for these in the theoretical 
 [beliefs of the ruling minds, or in the principle of the social 
 fsystem. Yet, though in this respect there may not be con- 
 Itinuous progress, there is at least continuity. This idea of 
 jphilosophers like Comte and Hegel has now passed into the/ 
 Iconsciousness of historians who are not philosophers. And, 
 [where there is continuity, the analogy of development in the 
 'individual mind leads us to expect continuous progress in 
 some things by mere accumulation and elaboration of ex- 
 perience. 
 
 In the search for real laws of social continuity, Comte is a 
 much better guide than Hegel. Whereas Hegel, when he 
 comes to details, simply puts down the facts and tries to con- 
 nect them by a perfectly illusory "dialectic," Comte not only 
 has the general conception of a social science, but has dis- 
 covered the scientific method of determining its laws. For 
 Comte, Philosophy of Histoiy is a special problem of the 
 science of Sociology; and this is based on a series of lower 
 sciences arranged above one another in order. What is pro- 
 bably a more definitive achievement than either his " hierarchy 
 of the sciences" or his " law of the three states," Cointe has 
 discovered the method called by himself "historical," and 
 placed by Mill, under the name of the "inverse deductive 
 method," in relation to the supreme scientific principle of the 
 
16 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 17 
 
 * 
 
 uniformity of nature. Laws are first to be obtained by pro- 
 visional generalisation from historical facts, and are then to be 
 verified by deduction from laws of mind, that is, from psy- 
 chological — or, as Comte says, biological — laws. Now, 
 although no supreme law of social development may yet have 
 been arrived at by this method, changes of an important 
 though subsidiary kind are already seen to follow one another 
 according to laws that are in process of formulation. Domestic 
 and industrial changes are becoming scientifically intelligible.* 
 And the laws that it is possible to formulate seem here to be 
 laws of progress. The merit of Comte's own historical con- 
 struction is to a great extent in his grasp of the subordinate 
 and sub-conscious processes that make up so large a part of 
 human history. The slow changes of the military and indus- 
 trial systems in Europe, and the gradual modifications of 
 feeling that correspond to these changes, are especially the 
 object of his interest. These he has dealt with in such a wa> 
 as to show frequently how progress was constantly going on 
 underneath the surface. Progress of this kind, as contrasted 
 with progress in directing ideas, may be called " instrumental.' 
 Comte himself, in considering the directing ideas, almost 
 admits sometimes that there are breaks or reactions. The 
 ordinary believers in continuous progress could, of course, find 
 in him support for their notion of an ever-enduring funda- 
 mental struggle between " the spmt of conservation " and 
 "the spirit of amelioration," which, indeed, follows from his 
 general doctrine ; but, for all that, his insight makes him see 
 that ancient civilisation was really more "organic" than 
 mediaeval civilisation. He finds that the whole period from 
 the beginning of the Middle Age till now has been only ♦' an 
 immense transition." ^ The really "organic" states are the' 
 typical civilisation of classical antiquity and the definitive 
 social state of the future. Thus Comte, whether in spite of 
 
 * It may be noted that additional precision has been given to Comte's 
 and Mill's historical or inverse deductive method by Dr. Tylor, who, by an 
 application of the mathematical theory of probabilities, has shown how to 
 obtain proof that there is some causal connexion between social phenomena, 
 before proceeding to the verification by deduction. 
 
 = Philosophic Positive, t. v. p. 115. 
 
 t 
 
 himself or not, supplies us with a basis for allowing progress in 
 one respect while denying it in another. The continuous 
 progress, as it now appears, we are likely to find in the sub- 
 conscious and instrumental part of social life ; the discontinuity, 
 so far as it exists, in the directing ideas. ' ' 
 
 Comte has remarked that progress in the Middle Ages was 
 chiefly political ; and this remai'k might be justified by pointing 
 to the two modifications which are the principal grounds of the 
 superiority— at least potential— of modern political life to the 
 best that could be attained in antiquity. These two modifica- 
 tions are the disappearance of slavery in Europe as a legal 
 status, and the introduction of the system of representation as 
 a means of government. The first makes "the freedom of 
 all," as Hegel expresses it, and not merely of '' some," hence- 
 forth the ideal ; the second has made compatible with political 
 freedom the organisation of nations, and not merely of cities 
 mto single States. Both modifications appeared as the result 
 of slowly acting social causes in the interval between the two 
 transitions, from the ancient to the medieval, and from the 
 mediaeval to the modern world. At the beginning of the 
 Middle Ages neither of the two could have been consciously 
 effected ; at the end both were ready to be seized upon by 
 those who were sufficiently inspired with the ideal of liberty 
 
 Both these modifications, in a manner, are instrumental 
 They are not the end, but are subordinate to it. Little would 
 have been gained by the disappearance of slavery if it had 
 merely given place, for example, to the definitive organisation 
 of a system of caste, as it might easily have done under the 
 guidance of the Church.^ And in fact, as has often been 
 remarked, slavery could appear again in modern times under 
 new conditions. The action of social forces unguided by ideas 
 was not sufficient to dispose of it finally; it had to be 
 abohshed consciously in the end, not without a long-continued 
 
 / Neo-Scholastic morahsts still regret that some more stringent social 
 cWon than that of the modern classes cannot be restored. iTZat 
 P^^^^oph^e, by Father Cathrein, S.J. Of course, the passage from one caste 
 to another, admitted by Plato in his outline of the system {nejJicl 
 m.), would have been indispensable in the case of the priesthood 
 
 3 
 
• * 
 
 yh 
 
 18 AN ESSAY IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 influence from the " revolutionary metaphysics " of the eigh- 
 teenth century. The case of representative assemblies is 
 similar. Without the consciously formed determination to 
 make these an instrument for preserving or acquiring freedom, 
 the mere emergence of the device of delegation would have 
 been of little worth. When this is admitted, however, it is 
 hardly possible to exaggerate the importance of the two 
 changes. Directing ideas, on their side, must inevitably fail 
 to effect anything for the whole of society unless social modifi- 
 cations of the right kind occur ; and these are not to be pro- 
 duced merely by *' taking thought." 
 
 This, then, suggests itself as a provisional solution of the 
 question that was put. European history is continuous, and 
 beneath the surface there have always been going on changes 
 that may be called progressive ; but European civilisation, if 
 we take its highest points in successive ages, has not been con- 
 tinuously progi'essive. The mediaeval period, in its distinctive 
 character, is an enormous reaction, and the modern period is 
 in essence a return to an older state of things. It is not a 
 simple return, because there have been continuously progres- 
 sive changes underneath ; it is a return to the directing ideas 
 of antiquity enlarged and modified by these progressive 
 changes. If in some respects it still seems inferior to the 
 great age of ancient civilisation, we must always remember 
 that, as Comte says, the modern transition is not yet ter- 
 minated. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CAUSES OF THE TWO GREAT TEANSITIONS. 
 
 mHE causes of the apparent discontinuity in European history 
 -L have been set forth from many different points of view • and 
 the elements of a sufficient explanation have to be sou4t in i 
 many different quarters. The two recent writers, however 
 who have conceived the problem in its gi^eatest generality seem^ 
 to me to be M. Eenouvier, in his remarkable book Uchronie ^ 
 and Dr. H. von Eicken, in his thorough and elaborate Geschichte 
 nnd System der Mittelalterliclicn Weltanschauung » Still pro 
 ceeding by the critical method so far adopted, we may take 
 these two books as the starting-point of an attempt to make 
 the two transitions intelligible. 
 
 M. Renouvier's book is not directly a theory of the actual 
 course of European history, but a series of pictures of the 
 way m which things might have gone if, at certain crucial 
 points, the men who had the practical direction of affairs had 
 taken resolutions different from those which they really did 
 take His explanation of the transition from antiquity to the 
 Middle Ages, mdicated by this means and partly set forth in an 
 introduction, is that the whole series of events, culminating in 
 the victory of the Christian Church over the Roman Empire 
 was the result of a prolonged reaction of the East upon the 
 West. Durmg the period of the gi-eat conquests, from 
 
 d^ll''"'"'*' ^I'J^T^ ^^"« I'Histoire). Esquisse historique apocryphe du 
 ataZT p '' T""'"" europeenne, tel qu'il n'a pas 'te, tel qu'il 
 aurait pu etre. Pans : Bureau de la Critique PJnlosophique, 187G 
 
 Geschichte mid System der Mittelalterlichen Weltanschauung. Von Dr 
 Heinnch von Eicken, Staatsarchivar in Aurich. Stuttgart : J. G. Cotta', 
 
 19 
 
(I 
 
 1/ 
 
 ft 
 
 20 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 21 
 
 V 
 
 I 
 
 
 Alexander to Caesar, the Western world was gradually Orien- 
 talised. The first stage in the process was marked by the 
 passage from political freedom to despotism. The ethical 
 effect of this political change was that for the ideal of equal 
 justice there was substituted, on one side, the self-will of the 
 despot and the submission of his slaves, on the other side the 
 absolute renunciation of ascetics and mystics fleeing from the 
 world. With this contrast between '* anti-morality " and 
 *' Bupra-morality "—a contrast characteristic of Eastern despo- 
 tisms — go certain metaphysical characters of Eastern creeds. 
 The ground having been prepared in Europe, Oriental religions 
 began to fascinate the Western mind. Among these was the 
 doctrine of the Christian Church— a doctrine which was essen- 
 tially Orientalism adapted to Europe. It soon became clear 
 that the spread of the Orientalising sects, if unopposed, would 
 destroy Western civilisation ; but it was also clear that, with- 
 out a return of Western civilisation to its original principles, 
 all opposition would be unsuccessful. This return (in Uchronia) 
 was made at a date corresponding to the end of our second 
 century. A succession of emperors, acting under the inspira- 
 tion of the Stoic philosophy, aims at gradual limitation of the 
 autocracy and final restoration of the republic. The new 
 sectaries are banished to the East, which at last has to be 
 wholly abandoned to them. In this way Greece, Italy, Spain, 
 and Southern Gaul are rescued for civilisation. After a time, 
 when it has undergone certain internal changes, and has 
 become capable of taking its place within a system of mutual 
 toleration, Christianity is re-admitted on equal terms with the 
 teachings of the ancient philosophic schools. Under the 
 direction of those schools, and in particular of Stoicism, 
 political and ethical progress has, in the meantime, been con- 
 tinuous. The development of European civilisation has thus 
 been greatly accelerated. 
 
 To the underlying conception of the book the objection may 
 be taken that it attributes to the actual course of events too 
 much of a casual character. M. Renouvier is an indeterminist, 
 and holds that events might really have been different ; not 
 merely that if, at some point, they had been slightly different, 
 
 which was really impossible, the course of things from that 
 point would have been gi'eatly modified. Still his conception 
 may, for the use of determinists, be corrected in this sense. It 
 might be said that the second century was a period when, if 
 slightly different resolutions (really impossible) could have been 
 taken, the world's history would have been fundamentally 
 changed. Even in this form, however, the hypothesis will 
 probably still fail to commend itself. The causes that were at 
 work, it may be maintained, were too widespread and too 
 deep to be much affected by any conceivable decision on the 
 part of individuals. We may sympathise with those who, even 
 in the fourth century— when, as M. Kenouvier admits, the 
 contest was really hopeless — still struggled with the conquering 
 darkness, and yet hold that the dark ages were inevitable, that 
 they were a fatality and in no sense an accident. 
 
 What remains of permanent value in M. Renouvier's imagina- 
 tive construction is the conception of the new religion and of 
 the Church in which it was embodied as the final expression, 
 not wholly of an intrinsic European development, but in part 
 at least of a development set going in Europe by external 
 causes. Thus a real correction is made in the idea of those 
 who think that Europe, of itself, and without contact with 
 Asia, would in some way have given birth to Catholic mono- 
 theism. On the other hand, the too exclusive view of the 
 causes as consisting in an external contagion, partly explains 
 why an almost accidental character is attributed to the 
 Catholic transformation. It has to be modified in its turn 
 by the conception of a more intrinsic " Orientalising " process 
 in Europe itself. 
 
 A conception of this kind is common in German historical 
 speculation. In Dr. von Eicken's book it is conceived with 
 great definiteness, and applied with special power to the whole 
 system of mediaeval thought and life, which the author has 
 widely and carefully studied in original sources. The whole 
 process of European history is conceived as the intrinsic 
 development of one state of things into its opposite, and the 
 return of this to the former state modified by consciousness 
 of the opposition. At first human life, without any self-con- 
 
^ 
 
 )\ 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 scions affirmation, was held to be desirable, and spontaneously 
 unfolded itself in accordance with the genius of each race. In 
 Greece intellectual development predominated, taking the forms 
 of art and philosophy ; in Kome, political development, taking 
 the form of conquest. Both evolutions ended in the contradic- 
 tion of their original impulse. Conquest, with organisation 
 of the conquered into a single political system, destroyed the 
 nationality and expansive impulse in which it had its origin. 
 Philosophy, from its first conception of the immanence of deity 
 in the world, passed over to the conception of a dualism of 
 matter and spirit. Profound dissatisfaction with the present 
 world, and desire to escape into a transcendent world, was the 
 feeling that inevitably accompanied such a close of both 
 developments. The Jewish race, in a somewhat different way, 
 had gone through the same process. Although their Deity 
 was from the first " transcendent," yet the Jews originally 
 had the feeHng of the ''joy of life" like the Greeks; but, in 
 the subjugation of their nationality, which they had affirmed 
 more strongly than any other people, this was lost, and the 
 idea of a transcendent world and of redemption came in at the 
 close. Thus the representative races of the East and of the 
 West were alike prepared to find satisfaction in ascetic morality 
 practised for the sake of happiness in another life. The Chris- 
 tian creed, at length formulated by the series of Councils, 
 emerged as the consistent and definite doctrine that could give 
 a basis for the new ethical feeHng. The dualistic opposition of 
 deity and nature, spirit and matter, the transcendent life and 
 the human life which for its sake was to be self- suppressed, 
 found its analogue in the opposition between the Church 
 and the World. The Church, concentrated in its hierarchy, 
 began by preaching renunciation of the world, and ended by 
 subjugating the world which it had renounced. Asceticism 
 had become a world-conquering idea. And this was the natural 
 and logical consequence of the morality of renunciation. 
 Hostility to the world inevitably passed into the effort to 
 subdue the world. Thus was founded the system of the 
 Christian theocracy. The first conquest of the hierarchy 
 was gained over the ancient civilisation ; but the imperfect 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 
 
 23 
 
 theocratic system then established went to pieces in the 
 Germanic invasions, and had to be rebuilt. The task of 
 the Church was now to subdue new and more vigorous races. 
 This was a harder task than the subjugation of the decadent 
 Greeks and Eomans, but it was at length achieved, and a 
 more complete European theocracy established than the first. 
 But this system also was of brief duration. It does not in its 
 perfection extend beyond the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
 —"the classic Middle Age." In conquering the world the 
 Church had itself become a portion of the world. It gave 
 ground to opponents by falling off from its own ideal ; and, 
 by the nature of its own ideal, it had stirred up hostility from 
 every element of human life that it sought to repress. The 
 State, the Family, Industry, Jurisprudence, Science, Poetry, 
 Art, all strove to break through the limits assigned by the 
 theocratic system ; and, in spite of temporary victories of the 
 Church, and compromises that lasted for a time, the system 
 of European civilisation had again, by its own development, 
 passed into its opposite. The affirmations on which modern , 
 civilisation rests are the spontaneous affirmations of the 
 ancient world made self-conscious, and the result to which 
 we are at last tending is a synthesis of the two opposite views 
 of life. 
 
 When the result is said to be a synthesis of ancient and 
 mediaeval ideas, we must remember that the word " synthesis " 
 is used in a peculiar sense. The function of the theocratic 
 system in the whole of European history, according to Dr. von 
 Eicken's conception, is to make explicit principles that were 
 only implicit at the origin of civilisation ; and it does this by 
 opposition. This being here the meaning of " synthesis," the 
 attempt to represent the whole process as in its directing ideas 
 continually progressive, is in substance given up. 
 
 When the whole system of life is said to pass into its 
 opposite, what we must understand is, of course, this : that 
 elements which are at first repressed, gradually gain the 
 mastery. Thus what is dominant in the Middle Age is con- 
 tinuous with what was kept under in antiquity ; and, again, 
 what is tending to become dominant in the modern world 
 
\n 
 
 M 
 
 * 
 
 If 
 
 24 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 is continuous with what was kept under in the Middle Age. 
 The growing political life of the new nations and of the towns, 
 the development of new languages and literatures, and of 
 renewed philosophy, science, and art, and generally all the 
 forms of growth to which modern students have had their 
 attention drawn, are not organic parts of the theocratic system, 
 but are the forces which were to break through it. They may 
 for a time be brought under control and into an appearance of 
 unity, but essentially they are hostile to the theocracy ; and, 
 when growing civilisation has gained force enough, the theocracy 
 is shattered. This is what Dr. von Eicken has made evident, 
 even though he sometimes speaks of the system as if it had 
 really been an organic whole. 
 
 But what was it in ancient civilisation that made possible 
 the victory of the Catholic creed and hierarchy, and of nothing 
 else? The causes set forth by von Eicken and Renouvier 
 explain the result in part ; but, it may still be asked, why did 
 not a system like Neo-Platonism, which, as well as Catholicism, 
 had a duaUstic metaphysic and an ascetic morality, serve as 
 the centre for some new organisation ? Neo-Platonism, though 
 not truly "reactionary" in its opposition to the Christian 
 Church, but rather in what it had in common with it, was a 
 reaction within ancient thought. How was it that this re- 
 action was not sufficient, and that a creed and organisation, 
 not simply modified by Asiatic influences, but proceeding 
 from Asia itself, gained the victory? The answer to this 
 question is to be found in ancient religion ; as has been seen 
 more or less clearly by writers whose theological or anti-theo- 
 logical belief was sufficiently intense to direct their vision 
 to the phenomenon. The theological spirit in the ancient 
 European world was unextinct. Though Greek religion in its 
 practical manifestations was controlled by State-policy, and 
 though myths, intrinsically beautiful, were freely brought 
 under the aesthetic and ethical form they chose by the poets, 
 it had also a darker side. This was still more the case with 
 the reUgion of other races. Ancient philosophy was indeed 
 free ; but in its physics it was only able to throw out conjec- 
 tures, and these were not sufficient, outside the philosophic 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 
 
 25 
 
 schools, to subdue the " terror of mind " that was produced 
 by the ascription of arbitrary volitions and human passions to 
 the gods. There was always the thought of expiation in its 
 primitive modes, and the search for objects of sacrifice. Hence 
 the following that the orgiastic Eastern worships, with their 
 more powerful stimulus to devotion, constantly gained in spite 
 of discouragements from the political rulers. Now, Chris- 
 tianity, as soon as it begins to appear historically, is provided 
 with supernatural terrors far beyond those of the other ancient 
 religions. Opposition to it on the ground of verified science 
 is impossible. Its chief philosophic opponents themselves take 
 to thaumaturgy. The political opposition is the opposition of 
 mere material force. Religious opposition founded on custom 
 is easily overcome, for many reasons, and especially for this, 
 that Christianity was represented by a hierarchy formed on 
 the Asiatic model. Such a hierarchy, more potent than those 
 of the East, because detached from the State, is now brought 
 into action for the first time in Europe — unless the Druids, 
 whom Joseph de Maistre perhaps rightly regarded as the Euro- 
 pean precursors of Catholicism, are an exception. The Druidic 
 organisation was of course only rudimentary, and it had been 
 in part at least crushed by the Roman government ; so that, 
 while it might aid the new religion, it could not oppose it. 
 
 Thus the classical world has nothing that can in the long 
 run offer an effective opposition to the organisation of super- 
 natural terror by the Church. Where, as in Persia, the new 
 religion was met on its own ground by a pre-existing theocratic 
 State, it did not make way. Christianity had not yet developed 
 the military fanaticism by which Islam afterwards conquered 
 Western Asia. What it needed was the spiritual preparation 
 of the Orientalising process — called by Christian Fathers 2^^'(^- 
 paratio evangelical together with the absence of effective 
 barriers ; and both these conditions were found. To con- 
 solidate its creed and organisation, as modern investigators 
 have so convincingly shown, the hierarchy at the same time 
 made use of European instruments — Greek philosophy and 
 Roman policy. But for its principle of life it had first to attach 
 itself to the darker side of " natural religion." 
 
 !' 
 
26 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 ■ / 
 
 This religious point of attachmeut it of course found also 
 among the unsubdued barbarians ; and if these had not been 
 politically prepared by long subjection to an autocracy, they 
 were on the other hand much more subject to the intellectual 
 prestige that Catholicism exercised from the time when it 
 became the religion of the Empire. They had to receive their 
 education at the hands of the hierarchy, which had now 
 brought all the elements of culture under the form imposed 
 by itself. ^ 
 
 A hierarchy inheriting the Jewish exclusiveness, and at the 
 same time aiming at universality, was necessarily intolerant in a 
 way that merely national theocracies of the olden type could not 
 be. The similar intolerance of the Mohammedan Church may 
 no doubt be traced to the same origin. Fixation from the very 
 first of "intolerant uniformity" as the ideal of Catholicism is 
 well brought out in Dr. von Eicken's work. He ascribes it to 
 the resistance the Church met with from ancient philosophy. 
 As the Eoinan State sought to suppress the Church politically, 
 so Greek philosophy threatened to destroy its unity by intro- 
 ducing heresies. Hence its double effort, from that time 
 traditional, to subdue all States, and to repress all independent 
 activity of mind. The force of the State, when this could be 
 commanded, was directed unremittingly against heretics. 
 When it could not, the State itself was broken up by the 
 caUing in of other tribes to subdue those that had revolted 
 from the Catholic faith. The interests of doctrine and disci- 
 pline were, to those who really represented the spirit of the 
 ecclesiastical organisation, before all others. This is seen in 
 the struggle with the civil power that went on in various forms 
 all through the Middle Ages. The plea was always "the 
 liberty of the Church." This watchword, as Dr. von Eicken 
 shows, did duty through every phase of the Church's history, 
 alike when it was struggling for independent existence, when 
 it was aiming at mastery, and when its proclaimed purpose 
 was nothing less than to substitute a universal theocratic State, 
 with the supreme power in ecclesiastical hands, for all the 
 "temporal" governments of the world. 
 It was only for a moment that this last aim was possible. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 27 
 
 In the political as in other spheres of mundane life, the 
 Church had to content itself, even in the time of its greatest 
 power, with a compromise. To the State were assigned the 
 lower, to the Church the higher interests. One point brought 
 out by Dr. von Eicken is specially noteworthy ; and that is 
 the resemblance between the authorised mediaeval view of the 
 State and the modern doctrines that w^ould limit State- 
 functions as much as possible. The mediaeval view found the 
 origin of political society in a contract,^ and assigned to it 
 merely such ends as "the protection of life and property." 
 All the higher interests of civilisation were exclusively in the\ 
 province of the " spiritual power." Towards the Church the \ 
 function of the State was simply to act as the " secular arm." 
 In the end, then, the Middle Ages had as their ruling 
 power a well-compacted logical system, assigning its place 
 somehow to every relation of life, and compromising with 
 human nature when it could not suppress it. Beneath there 
 were all kinds of forces tending to get loose ; but in the mean- 
 time the system was so logical that it could only be broken 
 through intellectually by an inconsequence. At the centre of 
 the system was the doctrine of a supernatural revelation. 
 When the philosophic doctrine of the Church was formu- 
 lated by Aquinas, this was drawn out as a necessary conse- 
 quence of the dualistic separation of God and the universe. 
 And the supernatural Christian revelation — the deduction pro- 
 ceeded — being above rational knowledge, required the Church \ 
 as mediating between the Deity and human reason. ^ From 
 these positions everything else could be obtained. The system 
 being thus logically constructed, and once made dominant in 
 theory and practice, how was it ever broken through ? The 
 answer is ah-eady clear. It was essentially by the irrepressible 
 reaction of the European mind, to which this system was after 
 all external. Leaving the complex growth, in practical life, 
 of the forces which on that side were to contribute to its over- 
 throw, I may here select for special examination the gradual 
 restoration in Europe of the ideal of intellectual liberty. The 
 
 ' Geschiehte und Sygtcm, dc. , p. 3G7. 
 
 - Von Eicken, Geschiehte und System, dc., pp. G09-10. 
 
 
/'■ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 28 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 
 
 29 
 
 
 disparate phases of this process, though they have all been set 
 forth, have not, so far as I know, been brought together by 
 any one in connected order. 
 
 The development of Scholastic philosophy, or philosophy 
 under the dominion of the Church, has been divided by the 
 historians into two main periods : the first, from the beginning 
 of the ninth to the end of the twelfth century ; the second, 
 from the beginning of the thirteenth to the late fourteenth or 
 early fifteenth century. Now, although the Church ruled over 
 this development, the speculations that appeared within it 
 were far from being always orthodox. The impulse that set 
 the Scholastic philosophy going proceeded really from the 
 inquiring spirit of the re-awakening European intellect, not 
 from the dominant power of those ages. The first attitude of 
 the heads of the Church towards learning has been aptly 
 compared to that of Shakespeare's Jack Cade.» During the 
 first period, however, there was no conscious heterodoxy. 
 Those who were most heterodox, and were afterwards con- 
 demned by the Church, thought they were attaining under- 
 standing of the faith. To attain this understanding was the 
 aim of the first period. When an individual thinker arrived 
 at a result that was authoritatively condemned, he could be 
 brought at that time to make real submission, internal as well 
 as external. The Church's ideal of the uniform, single, 
 authoritative, and only true doctrine had been too deeply 
 fixed, during the period of transition from antiquity, to be even 
 questioned as yet. The efibrt to understand the faith, however, 
 ended in failure. It was not really to be made intelligible 
 without running into heresies. The result was, at the end 
 of the twelfth century, philosophical (not religious) scepticism, 
 and mysticism. 
 
 The number of philosophical works preserved from antiquity 
 had hitherto been extremely limited, and they had been almost 
 exclusively logical. It was on this scanty material that 
 thought had so far proceeded. Exactly at the time when the 
 first movement was beginning to be exhausted, there came the 
 influx into Western Europe of new Aristotelian and other 
 • Haureau, Histoire de la Philosophie Scolastique. 
 
 ancient philosophical works, with commentaries and more' 
 original writings of the Arabian philosophers. 
 
 The new writings set going a new philosophical movement >j 
 more powerful than the first. With this movement the 
 Church, after trying to resist it, entered into a compromise. 
 Philosophy was to become the handmaid of theology. The 
 doctrines of the faith were mysteries, and could not be 
 philosophically understood ; but philosophy might work in 
 their service, and organise natural knowledge in subordination 
 to them. Aristotle could become the instrument of the 
 theocratic system. Under the influence of Neo-Platonist 
 writings, at first supposed to be Aristotelian, doctrines now 
 consciously heretical had in the meantime broken out ; but the 
 philosophical, as well as the contemporary religious heresies, 
 were extirpated by the traditional methods of the Church, 
 made more systematic, and the movement of thought, so far 
 as it appeared reconcilable with orthodoxy, could go on. 
 This movement too, so far as it was subordinate to the faith, 
 ended in failure. The most submissive philosophy could not 
 become entirely subservient to theology. When it was 
 Platonist, it tended to Pantheism ; when it was Aristotelian, 
 it led to purely destructive conclusions where mysteries 
 were concerned, and left no way of reconciliation open, 
 except absolute separation between the domains of knowledge 
 and of faith. 
 
 The second Scholastic movement ended, like the first, in 
 scepticism and mysticism ; but now came for Western Europe 
 the re-discovery of Greek philosophy in its original sources, 
 and this led to another and yet more vigorous movement of 
 thought, no longer confined to ecclesiastics, but going on in 
 the world at large. Living thought had now passed definitely 
 beyond the Scholastic stage. After the transitional period, 
 lasting from about the middle of the fifteenth to about the 
 middle of the seventeenth century, we come to modern 
 philosophy proper; which is characterised by the definite 
 recognition, already formulated by some of the later mediaeval 
 Nominalists, of independent spheres for philosophy and 
 theology. 
 
 (1 
 
i 
 
 80 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN TEE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 81 
 
 r 
 
 ?:' 
 
 Within this general scheme, which is that of M. Haureau, 
 can be brought all the philosophy that does not, by claiming 
 the whole of human thought and conduct for its domain, come 
 forward as a rival to theology on its own gi-ound. But the 
 most remarkable philosophising of the Renaissance aimed at 
 such completeness ; and there have been systems since that 
 have set before themselves the same ideal. For its basis, a 
 system thus complete henceforth requires definite assertion of 
 the "liberty of philosophising" as a principle. So far we 
 have only seen philosophical liberty put in practice, within 
 widening limits indeed, but constantly checked, and not pro- 
 testing against all limitations alike. The division of spheres 
 regarded as " modern," if it were finally accepted, is com- 
 patible with a certain kind of spiritual supremacy for societies 
 claiming to teach revealed truth. But the proclamation of 
 liberty of philosophising as a theoretical principle requires 
 assertion of the right, not only to think in independence of 
 religious faith, but to contest the doctrines of the faith as 
 philosophically false. 
 
 The first assertion of this right appears in the doctrine of the 
 '•double truth," borrowed by some of the Scholastics of the 
 second period from Averroes and other Arabian philosophers. 
 According to this doctrine, the same opinion may be true in 
 theology and false in philosophy, or true in philosophy and 
 false in theology. The Averroistic doctrine of the "active 
 intellect," one and identical in all men, and enduring im- 
 mortally while individual personalities appear and disappear, 
 was said to be true philosophically, though false theologically ; 
 as, on the other hand, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo was 
 true theologically, though false philosophically. The distinc- 
 tion was, of course, condemned both by the Mohammedan 
 and by the Catholic theologians. To the modern mind, it is 
 not at first very comprehensible ; but it had for its inventors 
 a perfectly intelligible meaning. They desired to be philo- 
 sophers to the full extent, and not to be theologians at all. 
 At the same time, they saw that permission to philosophise 
 quite freely could only be obtained— if it could be obtained 
 even then— by some recognition of the claims of theology. 
 
 The recognition could be given on this ground. Philosophising 
 must always be confined to a few. Only the few can, for 
 example, attain to understanding of ethical precepts, and 
 practise them out of insight. The majority must accept them 
 as commands. For the many, the commands of morality need 
 not only the sanctions of human law, but something beyond. 
 They have this in the " supernatural sanction " provided by 
 the theologians. Theology may therefore be admitted to be 
 useful ; and its utility may be described as a sort of " truth " 
 relative to practice. 
 
 The distinction between two contradictory kinds of truth, 
 thus developed, was the only possible formulation against 
 dominant theology of the claim to absolute philosophical 
 freedom. But how did the Arabian philosophers, and after- 
 wards the Western Scholastics, come to make a claim of the 
 kind at all? It was really incompatible with the logic of 
 either theocracy, and it was not thought of in the first period of 
 Christian Scholasticism, though minds were already very active 
 in that period. How was it that it came to be, as Renan 
 expresses it, " from the thirteenth to the seventeenth century, 
 the breastplate of incredulity?" » The solution seems to be 
 this. The Arabian commentators had in their hands works 
 of Greek philosophy in sufficient abundance to find there the 
 record of a state of things in which philosophical thought could 
 go on undisturbed by the authorised expositors of a religious 
 creed. Desiring to follow the ancient philosophers, they saw 
 in their way the claims of theology. Mohammedanism, Hke 
 Catholicism, claimed for itself the possession of absolute truth, 
 and was prepared to enforce its claim. The ideal of "in- 
 tolerant uniformity " could not be directly brought in question. 
 It was therefore put aside by the assertion that there are 
 mutually incompatible " truths," and the position assigned to 
 it justified by a first sketch of a philosophy of religion. The 
 doctrine of the two truths, finding exactly the same conditions 
 on Christian ground, was afterwards easily accepted among 
 the freer thinking Scholastics. That this is the right solution 
 is confirmed by the way in which the distinction was pro- 
 
 • Averroes ct VAverroisme, p. 258. 
 
 \\ 
 
 I 
 
-1^ 
 
 32 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 
 
 33 
 
 longed during the period between mediaeval and modern 
 philosophy. As put forward again at the Renaissance, it was 
 not simply a continuation of the Averroistic tradition ; being 
 met with also among opponents of Averroism. It had an 
 independent source in the increased knowledge of the con- 
 ditions under which thought had gone on in antiquity. The 
 liberty of philosophising is now explicitly traced back to the 
 Hellenic tradition. 
 
 The first conscious assertion of philosophical freedom by 
 mediaeval philosophers was, according to this view, a Hellenic 
 revival. Not only was it in spirit a return to antiquity, but it 
 was directly suggested by study of the translations of Greek 
 philosophers. The peculiar form it took at first, exhibits more 
 clearly than anything else the profoundly inorganic character 
 of the Middle Age. This mode of distinguishing between 
 philosophical and theological truth, as has been remarked, has 
 become almost unintelligible to moderns ; and there was no 
 distinction of the kind in antiquity. " Exoteric " and 
 ** esoteric " were merely terms applied to less and more 
 abstruse philosophical teaching. The many and the few were 
 substantially on the same ground of a human life approximately 
 at one w^ith itself. Europe could not recover this kind of unity 
 till, by the spontaneous development of the northern races, and 
 by the return of all to ancient sources of life, it could throw off 
 the yoke of a spiritual domination foreign to its genius. And 
 just as the theocracy could not permanently retain its power in 
 Europe, so, under Islam, the philosophers who followed in the 
 footsteps of the Greeks left no trace of themselves. Their 
 memory as philosophers has been presei*ved in the West, 
 but not in the East. There the Hellenising movement in 
 thought could find no support in the surrounding life. The 
 natural impulse of the Mohammedan Church to get rid of all 
 philosophy that had its source anywhere but in the Koran 
 met with no obstinate resistance either in the ranks of theo- 
 logians or outside. After the twelfth century the Aristotelian 
 philosophy disappeared.* 
 
 In the European Renaissance, the distinction of the two 
 
 ' Renan, Averrols et V AverroUme. 
 
 truths is not only continued, in spite of ecclesiastical condem- 
 nation, but takes on modifications more hostile to theology. 
 It is said now rather that theology oicght to be than that it is 
 ethically useful. It ought to apply its sanctions to promote 
 niorahty, but it really applies them to promote belief in its own 
 dogmas, condemning to Tartarus aU who will not believe them. 
 But belief in dogmas is not in itself a part of morals ; it is 
 merely useful for those who cannot otherwise be brought to act 
 virtuously. What, then, is the remedy that begins to suggest 
 itself? The remedy is that the theologians shall be brought 
 to order by the civil power. They shall be prevented from 
 disturbing the world by their quarrels; deprived of independent 
 coercive authority ; obliged to teach simply with a view to 
 practice; and not allowed to interfere directly or indirectly 
 with the freedom of philosophers. These modifications, with 
 others, begin to appear in Giordano Bruno. There is as yet 
 no thought that diversities of worship can be permitted at 
 least m the same State. It is enough that individual thought 
 should be free, and that religion should be brought under some 
 kind of moral rule. 
 
 This idea of the supremacy of the civil power in matters of 
 religion has a permanent truth and value. Spinoza's classical 
 defence of philosophical liberty incorporates it as an essential 
 part of the theory.' The position is that acts of worship and 
 public teaching of opinions, when there is any question of 
 deciding whether they are permissible, ought to be placed, like 
 all other kinds of action, under the decision of the one power 
 entitled to exercise coercive authority in a commonwealth; and 
 that this power is not the representative of a system of doc- 
 trine, religious or philosophical, but the representative of the 
 general sense of the community. The supremacy of the State 
 IS the practical security for freedom of philosophising ; as free- 
 dom of philosophising is not contrary to, but rather promotes 
 the efficient action of civil government. Accepting this posi- 
 tion, we may say that all who, from medieval times onward 
 had supported the claims of the civil power to control the 
 ecclesiastical, whatever might be their immediate political aim, 
 
 * Tractaius Theologico-Polititm, c. xix. 
 
■^m 
 
 84 
 
 A CBITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 ; 1 
 
 |- 
 
 had really been working towards intellectual freedom. The 
 last and greatest of these was, of course, Hobbes.' 
 
 Intellectual freedom is now conceived quite generally (though 
 still with some preservation of old distinctions) as the freedom 
 to pursue all scientific and philosophical studies, and to put 
 forth all speculative conclusions, without regard to the beliefs 
 of Churches. These beliefs the philosopher is not to be 
 required to acknowledge as true in any sense. For those who 
 can receive moral precepts only as commands, and cannot 
 attain to them philosophically, theology has its value. Estab- 
 lished Churches are of right dependent on the civil govern- 
 ment ; there being no special power in ecclesiastics to formulate 
 authoritative doctrines, much less to impose them. The State, 
 in its regulation of the creeds of Churches, ought to simplify 
 them as nmch as possible with a view to their practical 
 efficiency, and to clear them of all mixture with speculative 
 propositions that have no bearing on morals. It is in this 
 sense that the realms of faith and science are to be kept apart ; 
 not in the sense that there is a possible higher sphere of specu- 
 lation open only to religious faith. The men of science and 
 the philosophers go in knowledge and speculation beyond the 
 men of religion. 
 
 The idea of religious toleration, though not made so explicit 
 as that of philosophical freedom, is implicitly contained in 
 these positions. According to Spinoza's principle, what has 
 to be decided is whether a particular worship is compatible 
 with the peace and preservation of the commonwealth. Now, 
 when religious toleration became an immediately practical 
 question, it was expressly argued on the ground that, for the 
 proper ends of the commonwealth, there is no need of inter- 
 ference with the lil>erty of any body of persons to set up the 
 kind of rehgious worship and profess collectively the doctrines 
 they choose.^ The question became practical through the 
 
 • See Croom Robertson's Ilobben, p. 225, for a statement of the historical 
 rL4ation between the doctrine of Spinoza, with its vindication of '♦ the 
 indefeasible right of the subject to individual liberty of thought," and 
 Hobbes's political doctrine. 
 
 - 8e« Locke's Lett^'ts for Toleration. The classical English contributions 
 to the defence of free individual expression of thought are, of course, the 
 Art'opntjitica of Milton, and Mill's Libert if. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. ^ 
 
 division of sects, and the impossibility of maintaining peace 
 except either by the method of Toleration or by the methods 
 of Catholicism. This has perhaps led to the notion we meet 
 with here and there that modern liberty in matters of opinion 
 IS merely an empirical result of religious divisions ; that it is 
 a kind of afterthought which men would never have had at 
 all if a number of parties had not first aimed at exclusive 
 supremacy. In reality, the idea of intellectual freedom as 
 lias been seen, appeared long before the break-up of external 
 rehgious unity ; and, after this had taken place, was advocated 
 without special reference to it. The Inquisition, where it 
 existed was successful in crushing all kinds of freedom for a 
 time. In countries that were not subjected to the Inquisition 
 the Idea of the philosophers had its opportunity. As soon as 
 practical struggles had become too inconvenient, it could 
 easily adapt itself to the special circumstances, and aid in 
 the establishment of a new system, capable of becoming as 
 logical as the Catholic system, though absolutely opposed 
 
 The supreme idea of the modern system in its logical form 
 B intellectual freedom. Thought and its expression are to be 
 un.estra.ned by any coercive authority, either governmental 
 0.-, If possible, social. In fact, intellectual freedom depends as 
 much on the general spirit of a society as on the laws of the 
 bta e The thing that has been secured by law is toleration 
 for free churches-; and this is merely a special application 
 of the principle of freedom to peculiar circumstances. And 
 there must always be this reservation where religions are con- 
 cerned that if their corporate action becomes pernicious to the 
 htate. the civil government has the right to restrain it The 
 precise advance made by the modern over the ancient way of 
 dealing with religions seems to be this. The ancient tolerance 
 -a tolerance found equally, as Sir Alfred Lyall has pointed 
 out. in European antiquity and in those parts of Asia that 
 h«e not come under the yoke of the Mohammedan or Chris- 
 
 tZlyT7'7'^'"''^' '°"«''' '** *'"">'''"« ^''^ P°««°al unity 
 some kind of rehgious syncretism. The worshippers of different 
 
 Jcties were not allowed to contradict one another explicitly 
 
tmmt 
 
 1 1 i 
 
 36 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 This restriction of ancient tolerance was the source of diffi- 
 culties with the Jews and the Christians. It was, of course, 
 maintained for the sake of internal peace. Among polytheists 
 the peace was not very difficult to preserve in this way, since 
 they had no disposition to contest the existence of each other's 
 divinitie- ; aid those who ascribed conflicting attributes to 
 the same divinity did not live side by side. When sects arose 
 that claimed to have exclusive possession of the truth and con- 
 tradicted all others, the conditions were altered. These were 
 the conditions that appeared again at the Reformation after 
 the lon^' episode of intolerant unity. The sects now had 
 sharply detined doctrines, like philosophic schools, and at the 
 same lime held to them with a religious passion beyond that 
 of ancient devotees. Yet, if they could be brought to live in 
 peace side by side, governments had no longer a pretext for 
 enforcing external uniformity ; at least when the Catholic ideal 
 had been given up. And the definite legal basis at length 
 ^iven to diversity of worship was of some advantage to free- 
 dom of individual thought, opposed as this was equally to the 
 Catholic tradition in which uniformity of worship now had its 
 roots. The really important thing since has been to get rid of 
 the idea that mere toleration of creeds held in common by 
 numbers is an equivalent for intellectual liberty in the higher 
 
 sense. 
 
 It would be interesting to determine how far the struggles 
 of religious sects have promoted modern freedom generally. 
 That they have done so to a considerable extent seems unde- 
 niable. The new theocracies which Calvin and the Puritans 
 tried to set up were doubtless serpents from the blood of the 
 ** stranger and more horrible Medusa " of Bruno's allegory.' 
 Yet, without the severing of Catholic unity, independent 
 national States would have been much more difficult to main- 
 tain ; and without the aid of the personal religious feeling 
 that could not, after all, be kept within the limits of the new 
 ecclesiastical bodies, political freedom would not so soon have 
 l>een won. All that we have to bear in mind is that freedom. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 37 
 
 in the full sense, is the true end of the whole movement, the 
 "form" of the spiritual unity at which we ought to aim. 
 Religious Protestantism, therefore, must be looked upon as a 
 means rather than as any part of the end. As a means it was 
 probably indispensable. 
 
 * Opere di Giordano Bruno, Ed. Wagner, ii. 191. 
 
""•wiMei 
 
 36 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN TEE 
 
 This restriction of ancient tolerance was the source of diflB- 
 culties with the Jews and the Christians. It was, of course, 
 maintained for the sake of internal peace. Among polytheists 
 the peace was not very difficult to preserve in this way, since 
 they had no disposition to contest the existence of each other's 
 divinities; and those who ascribed conflicting attributes to 
 the same divinity did not live side by side. When sects arose 
 that claimed to have exclusive possession of the truth and con- 
 tradicted all others, the conditions were altered. These were 
 the conditions that appeared again at the Reformation after 
 the long episode of intolerant unity. The sects now had 
 sharply defined doctrines, like philosophic schools, and at the 
 same time held to them with a religious passion beyond that 
 of ancient devotees. Yet, if they could be brought to live in 
 peace side by side, governments had no longer a pretext for 
 enforcing external uniformity ; at least when the Catholic ideal 
 had been given up. And the definite legal basis at length 
 given to diversity of worship was of some advantage to free- 
 dom of individual thought, opposed as this was equally to the 
 Catholic tradition in which uniformity of worship now had its 
 roots. The really important thing since has been to get rid of 
 the idea that mere toleration of creeds held in common by 
 numbers is an equivalent for intellectual liberty in the higher 
 sense. 
 
 It would be interesting to determine how far the struggles 
 of religious sects have promoted modern freedom generally. 
 That they have done so to a considerable extent seems unde- 
 niable. The new theocracies which Calvin and the Puritans 
 tried to set up were doubtless serpents from the blood of the 
 " stranger and more horrible Medusa " of Bruno's allegory.' 
 Yet, without the severing of Catholic unity, independent 
 national States would have been much more difficult to main- 
 tain ; and without the aid of the personal religious feeling 
 that could not, after all, be kept within the limits of the new 
 ecclesiastical bodies, political freedom would not so soon have 
 been won. All that we have to bear in mind is that freedom, 
 
 » Opere di Giordano Bruno, Ed. Wagner, ii. 191. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 87 
 
 in the full sense, is the true end of the whole movement, the 
 •form" of the spiritual unity at which we ought to aim. 
 Eeligious Protestantism, therefore, must be looked upon as a 
 means rather than as any part of the end. As a means it was 
 probably indispensable. 
 
 I 
 
 .* 
 
■a 
 
 r^ 
 
 
 
 k 
 
 ^il 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RESULT. 
 
 THE general result of the foregoing outline seems to me to be 
 that the return of Europe to light has much more the 
 character of an intrinsic process than the descent into the dark 
 ages. Thecauses of both transitions are discoverable. Inthefirst, 
 an extrinsic cause gives its character to the movement, whereas 
 in the second the movement is correctly described as a return. 
 There is no sufficient reason for thinking that Greek civilisation 
 had arisen otherwise than as an ascent, unchecked by any 
 great obstacle, from a barbaric state, such as persisted in the 
 northern parts of Europe. The elements of culture derived 
 from Egypt and the East were borrowed, not inherited. Greek 
 civilisation in essentials was indigenous. In quality it reached 
 its highest point during the great age of Athenian history. 
 Thenceforward, along with the enormous expansion that issued 
 at last in what we call the Graeco-Roman civilisation, there 
 was a decline in quality. This was clearly perceived by the 
 ancients themselves. The first stage of the decline ended in 
 loss of all the poHtical freedom there was in the civilised 
 world by transformation of the Roman Republic into the 
 Empire ; the second, in loss of intellectual freedom by the 
 adoption of Christianity as the religion of the State. The 
 influx of the barbarians brought the destructive process to a 
 conclusion ; but it was at the same time one chief source of 
 the later regeneration. The other chief source was the con- 
 stantly renewed effort to return to older thoughts. It was in 
 vain that the Church tried to reduce the study of ancient 
 literature and philosophy to a merely formal and grammatical 
 
 88 
 
 AN ESSAY IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 39 
 
 training. In Italy, above all, the new domination did not 
 efface the sense that there had been a freer and greater political 
 past. And, as the political tradition could be traced back to 
 ancient Rome, so the intellectual tradition could be traced back 
 to Athens.* While the movement of descent had been essen- 
 tially Orientalising, the movement of re-ascent was a renewal 
 of forms of life and thought native to the West. The science 
 and philosophy that came from the Arabians was mainly 
 Hellenic science and philosophy transmitted through a series 
 of translations. The humanistic movement was a further 
 stage of the same process. After this, modern science takes 
 a development beyond anything known in antiquity ; but it 
 still has its roots there. And if this is true even of the 
 physical sciences, it is still more true of the sciences of human 
 nature. 
 
 The decline in later antiquity was, of course, not purely a 
 decline. Advances of detail were made both in science and 
 philosophy. Through the mixture of nationalities, ethics took 
 a cosmopolitan tone, which in part compensated for exclusion 
 of the more aesthetically disinterested elements that had found 
 a place in the systems of those who theorised before the life of 
 the city had lost its independence. And the decline itself and ' 
 the destruction of ancient hfe in its typical form were no doubt 
 indispensable stages in a process that was to give greater 
 extension to its ideal. For it was precisely the highest 
 expression of the life of earlier antiquity that could not be 
 extended by the cosmopolitan mixture that was going on. 
 Ancient freedom was essentially limited to the city. Thus 
 it came about that the defenders of freedom were, after a 
 rather early stage, for the most part conservatives. The 
 prevailing movement did not consist in the extension of 
 freedom, because no way of extending it was then visible. 
 Other kinds of diffusion of the Hellenic spirit were possible, 
 but not this. In what has been called the Orientalising pro- 
 
 ' *' La villa, 
 Del cui nome fra i Dei fu tanta lite, 
 Ed onde ogni scieuza disfavilla." 
 
 Dante, Purgatorio, xv. 07-99. 
 
 U 
 
m^ 
 
 itmmm 
 
 I > 
 
 r/ 
 
 n 
 
 40 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY IN THE 
 
 cess, some of the men of greatest genius took part. According 
 to an opinion that has often found utterance, Plato's practical 
 ideal, for example, was essentially of the Orientalising type. 
 Particular features in his ideal State were derived from Greek 
 cities ; but it is Oriental in spirit, and is in some respects an 
 anticipation of the hierarchy of the Middle Age. At the same 
 time, Plato has a critical side ; and in Greek life his criticism 
 was of the nature of a dissolvent. Thus may be explained, 
 apart from metaphysical preferences, the attraction he has 
 exercised on minds of opposite types. Minds of one class 
 have seen in him the revolutionary critic, who in later life 
 fell off from his own spirit of free inquiry ; minds of another 
 class, the precursor of a more authoritative system of religion 
 and society, who was by accident a dialectician. A similar 
 explanation would render intelligible many other sympathies 
 and antipathies displayed by students of the practical as well 
 as intellectual struggles of antiquity. The comment that 
 suggests itself is, that we ought at least to do full justice to 
 those who, at any time, defended the political or intellectual 
 freedom that remained in the world. An Athenian or Eoman 
 patriot, or even a philosophic emperor, could not be expected 
 to foresee and prepare for a period thousands of years distant, 
 when, after enormous changes, the destruction of what was 
 best in the world he knew, would have led to the possibility of 
 something better. 
 
 The Hellenising movement in the Middle Age, which is the 
 counterpart of the Orientalising movement in antiquity, was, as 
 is known, partly brought into the service of the power that was 
 then dominant. If it had been able to get free at the start, we 
 should probably date the beginning of modern civilisation from 
 the twelfth or thirteenth instead of from the fifteenth or six- 
 teenth century. That which gives its character to the typical 
 civilisation of the Middle Age is the reduction of the arts, of 
 science and of philosophy under the form of the dominant 
 religious ideal. In themselves, however, the elements of 
 civilisation on its intellectual as well as on its political side, 
 were not only something apart from the religious tradition, but 
 were understood to be so. The religious tradition was quite 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 
 
 41 
 
 clearly conceived as having its origin in the Jewish Church. 
 The idea of "progress" that some students find in this 
 conception is one thing; ideas of progress in the arts and 
 
 sciences are quite another. These, when they appear or, 
 
 rather, reappear, for they were not unfamiliar to the ancients, 
 are accompanied by the idea of a break in history — a destruc- 
 tion and a new growth. 
 
 The decisive contest between the two ideals— the ideal of 
 ancient or modern Europe and the ideal of the Middle Ages 
 or the East— concerns less the " matter " than the *' form " of 
 the final view of life and structure of society. To desire a 
 return to classical antiquity that should exclude all new 
 material elements, ethical and other, would be in more than 
 name reactionary. The essential question, in ethics for 
 example, is whether the supreme rule of life shall be a 
 supernatural code from which deductions are to be made, or 
 regard to the good of the whole, guided by reflection upon 
 human experience. The question whether, in the working out 
 of a system, Hellenic or Hebraic elements of thought or feeling 
 shall preponderate, is subsidiary, and can only be determined 
 when the principle is fixed. Perhaps this is in part a question 
 of personal preference. A strictly philosophical system of 
 ethics, worked out in complete independence of any supposed 
 revelation, might, according to the individual temperament of 
 the philosopher, take one or the other complexion with respect 
 to its material elements. When a Father of the Church calls 
 the virtues of the heathen ''splendid vices," this indicates 
 temperament, and is not a simple consequence even of the 
 theological system. The retort might be made by men of 
 another type, that the hohness of the Christian saint is *' an 
 exquisite malady ; " but the better way seems to be to admit, 
 as some have done, that there may be disparate types of moral 
 excellence, each equally admirable in its kind. In both cases 
 they are, in their perfection, results of nature, and not of 
 system. Eeconciliation need not be despaired of where details 
 are concerned. The only point where there can be no recon- 
 ciliation is whether " the light of nature," in its form of human 
 reason or experience, or both, shall be a mere introduction to a 
 
 ■ ■ 
 
 ..I 
 
■^pw* 
 
 II 
 
 
 42 AN ESSAY IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 
 
 higher point of view given by *' supernatural " light, or shall be 
 the supreme judge of all ethical commands from whatever 
 source they are said to proceed — whether, in short, ethics, as a 
 system and on principle, shall be theological or philosophical. 
 
 It may be allowed that as yet there is no philosophical 
 system of ethics that can be as much to the modern world as 
 Stoicism, for example, was to later antiquity. For one thing, 
 the ground will have to be cleared more completely of pre- 
 existing systems before this can be hoped for. A social 
 atmosphere of free reflection on ethical questions, and a general 
 sense that the rule of life is to be seriously determined by 
 philosophy, appear to be necessary conditions. Yet there is a 
 promise of compensation if the modern intellectual movement, 
 in spite of all temporary depressions, is steadily ascending. 
 The ethical spirit of the great age of Greek life did not find its 
 expression in a philosophical doctrine that was active during 
 the period. The philosophical systems that had most practical 
 influence were thought out when civilisation had begun to 
 decHne. Aristotle's system, which pre-supposed the free life 
 of the city, came in at the end of the period of freedom. For 
 this reason its influence has always been rather scientific than 
 practical. Now, an ethical system fully elaborated during our 
 present phase of still unorganised material progress, if it really 
 answered the needs of the time, could scarcely be acceptable 
 permanently. It would be too strongly coloured by its relation 
 to existing industrialism, whether that relation was sympathetic 
 or hostile, and would not at a later date have the advantage of 
 presenting scientifically an ideal social type. Thus any sur- 
 viving influence from a powerful system of to-day would only 
 prolong a phase that has already lasted long enough. Perhaps 
 the working out of an ethical system identical in spirit with 
 the Hfe of the best age of civilisation, and active in that age, is 
 reserved for the future of the modern world. 
 
 ^' MIND-STUFF" FROM THE HISTORICAL 
 
 POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 *• 4 LL things the world which fill of but one stuff are spun." 
 xX Out of that stuff, minds also are formed ; and, in its inner 
 reality, it is itself of the nature of mind. This is essentially 
 the metaphysical doctrine set forth by Clifford in his essay 
 " On the Nature of Things-in-themselves." ^ '* Mind-stuff" is 
 not, as some critics have supposed, " a substance combining 
 physical and psychical properties." Matter, according to 
 Clifford, is purely a phenomenon. The external world is a kind 
 of *' dream " of each of us. Our dreams of this kind resemble 
 one another in certain respects ; hence we are able to use a 
 common language about them. Corresponding to the " dream," 
 or phenomenon, is an inner reality. In our own minds we 
 know a portion of this reahty. The reality of the individual 
 raind corresponds to the phenomenon we call the body. To 
 animal bodies correspond minds more or less resembling ours. 
 To inorganic things correspond elements of "mind-stuff" not 
 ordered in such a way as to enter into a consciousness. Con- 
 sciousness depends on the assumption of form by elements of 
 mind-stuff; and, though all elements of mind-stuff have the 
 possibility of assuming the form of consciousness, not all have 
 actually attained that form. The entirely unformed elements, 
 though in themselves of mental nature, must be called un- 
 conscious. 
 
 This doctrine of Mind-stuff, as Clifford himself held, is one 
 to which speculation has been tending for some time. Ke- 
 jrarded from the historical point of view, it appears as the final 
 expression of a metaphysical doctrine which has been developed 
 
 * iDcluded in Lectures and Essays. 
 
44 
 
 ''MIND-STUFF'' FBOM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 45 
 
 under the influence of science. Yet, unlike some theories that 
 are scientific in their origin, it can maintain itself against 
 philosophical scepticism. For, in seeking to give a meta- 
 physical meaning to the newer results of physical and psycho- 
 logical science, it takes idealism as its presupposition. It has, 
 accordingly, strong claims on the attention of those who desire 
 to arrive at a consistent view of things, and w^ho regard a 
 metaphysical doctrine as the end to which scientific research 
 is only a means. 
 
 I. 
 
 The disciples of Kant and Hegel are fond of remarking that 
 since the time of Hume those who belong to the same school 
 of thought as Hume and his predecessors have given up all 
 attempt at pure philosophy, and have confined themselves to 
 psychology- and the classification of the sciences. But, they 
 say, the result of Hume's philosophy was not a result that 
 ought to have been taken as final. It was only by concessions 
 to '* common-sense " that the philosophy of Hume could be 
 made to seem as if it left room for science. Philosophers ought 
 to have attempted a new construction which should be proof 
 against scepticism, and not to have given up metaphysics as 
 impossible ; for a metaphysical doctrine is necessary as a basis 
 even for physical science, and empirical psychology is not 
 sufficient as a substitute for metaphysics. The reply that is 
 usually made by the modern empirical school is, that the philo- 
 sophy of those who declared experience to be the only source 
 of knowledge was incomplete till the true way of meeting the 
 difficulties pointed out by Kant had been suggested by the 
 theory of Evolution. This answer is to a certain extent satis- 
 factory, but that it is not entirely so is shown by the fact that 
 those who have seen the importance of the theory of Evolution 
 in psychology have not found idealism or scepticism sufticient 
 as a metaphysical doctrine. The "transfigured realism" of 
 Spencer and the "reasoned realism" of Lewes, for example, 
 have been put forth in opposition to idealism and scepticism. 
 But neither of these views has been generally accepted by 
 
 I 
 
 those who are disposed to accept as a whole the system of 
 philosophy founded on Evolution. " Transfigured realism " and 
 - reasoned realism " are not able to maintain themselves against 
 idealistic and sceptical criticism, and therefore many admirers 
 of the philosophers who advocate these theories are 'content to 
 go without a metaphysical doctrine altogether. On the other 
 hand, the Hegelians say they have a system which contains in 
 itself an answer to all scepticism as to the possibility of meta- 
 physics. But their system has not had its form determined by 
 scientific method, and consequently does not serve to explain 
 the generalisations of science, but seems something quite apart 
 from them. For this reason Hegelianism does not commend 
 itself to those who wish to see unity introduced among the 
 conceptions of modern science. Now if it can be shown that 
 the theory of " mind-stuff," while it is founded on a scientific 
 view of things like the theories of " transfigured realism " and 
 " reasoned realism," at the same time does not make any 
 attempt to escape from the necessity that is imposed on modern 
 metaphysics of giving up all pretence of restoring the forms of 
 ontology that were destroyed by Hume and Berkeley, then 
 something wiU have been done towards proving that the system 
 of Hegel was a premature attempt at reconstruction in meta- 
 physics, and that the only way to arrive at a new point of view 
 capable of superseding duaUsm was to study psychology and 
 physical science for the sake of their suggestions, until a sufii- 
 cient number of suggestions for a general theory of knowledge 
 had been accumulated to make it possible to select from them 
 those that are appropriate. 
 
 Up to the present time it has not been noticed that Clififord's 
 theory reduced to its simplest form is identical with Schopen- 
 hauer's metaphysics of the Will. When the two theories are 
 compared, it is obvious that Clifford's mind-stuff made up of 
 " elementary feelings " corresponds to Schopenhauer's " will as 
 thing-in-itself." Schopenhauer explains that by "will" he 
 does not mean anything like an actual volition, but a kind 
 of fundamental feeling for which " will " is a better term than 
 any other, since it suggests to the mind the element in actual 
 consciousness that is most opposed to distinct cognition, and 
 
46 
 
 ''MIND^STUFF'* FROM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW, 
 
 47 
 
 since this is the element that must be regarded as primitive. 
 More recently the distinction here pointed out by Schopenhauer 
 has been expressed in Mr. Spencer's classification of states of 
 consciousness into "feelings" and ''relations between feelings." 
 Mr. Spencer himself has suggested the theory of mind-stuff 
 as a possible view in the chapter in his Principles of Psycho- 
 logy on the " Substance of Mind," but has not developed it. 
 Still it is clear that his classification of states of conscious- 
 ness has led to an improved statement of the theory, for the 
 term " feeling " is less open to objection than the term ** will " 
 as the name of that which is primitive in mind. 
 
 The importance of Schopenhauer's anticipation of the theory 
 of mind-stuff will be seen when it is considered that Schopen- 
 hauer professed to found his metaphysics on science, and that 
 at the same time he was, like Clifford, an idealist ; his idealism 
 having however been arrived at by the study of Kant rather 
 than of Berkeley and Hume. As to his metaphysical theory of 
 the Will, he asserted that it was a translation into philosophical 
 terms of the physiological doctrines of Cabanis and Bichat. 
 According to a French critic who wrote on the subject not 
 very long since, ^ all the characteristic doctrines of English and 
 German physiological psychology are implicit in the works of 
 these physiologists. Even if we admit that some of the con- 
 clusions of modern schools may have been read into the state- 
 ments of the earlier writers, yet in order that such a position as 
 that of M. Paul Janet can be taken up, there must be many 
 things in Cabanis and Bichat capable of having suggested to 
 Schopenhauer the ideas possessed by the modern schools of 
 psychology. Since Clifford undoubtedly found suggestions in 
 these ideas, the historical parallelism between his theory and 
 Schopenhauer's is very close. Not only have both theories 
 their origin in science, but also in the same group of scientific 
 ideas. 
 
 The ideas that have done most to make contemporary psy- 
 chology different from the psychology of the older empirical 
 school are : (1) the distinction that has been drawn between 
 consciousness, sub-consciousn6ss, and unconsciousness as 
 ' M. Paul Janet in the Revue des deux Mondes. 
 
 modes of sensibility differing only in degree, the older psycho- 
 logists having taken into account only those elements of mind 
 that emerge into full consciousness ; (2) the application of the 
 biological theory of Evolution to psychology ; (3) the discovery 
 by some German psychologists that the methods of experi- 
 mental physiology may be applied to the psychology of the 
 senses. 
 
 Schopenhauer's system was suggested by the first of these 
 ideas. He set out with a theory of the external world held in 
 common by himself and all idealists since Berkeley. In ex- 
 plaining this view he uses the terminology of Kant and distin- 
 guishes between the "representation" and the "thing-in-itself." 
 The external world belongs to the representation and is often 
 spoken of by Schopenhauer as " Maya " or illusion. Clifford 
 makes use of the same term — representation — in setting forth 
 the idealistic part of his theory. Sometimes the objection is 
 made to this term that " it implies something representing and 
 something represented." But the same answer may be given 
 to this as to similar criticisms on Berkeley's " ideas " and 
 Hume's " ideas and impressions." These philosophers had to 
 explain that they used such terms merely as descriptive terms ; 
 they requested their readers to get rid as far as possible of all 
 associations of the words " idea " and " impression " with the 
 metaphors from which they are derived, and with physical 
 hypotheses. The word " representation " has similar associa- 
 tions, and this must be borne in mind when it is employed as 
 a philosophical term. After selecting from previous systems 
 his metaphysics of the external world, Schopenhauer, Hke 
 Clifford, put the further question. What is the nature of the 
 thing-in-itself ? and he answered it in the same way. The 
 criticism of Hume had made it impossible to accept Berkeley's 
 view that "the substance of mind" is the thing-in-itself; and 
 the empirical psychology by which all consciousness is resolved 
 into impressions and ideas derived from impressions, was not 
 found adequate as an explanation of things, for the "impres- 
 sions " of Hume are merely portions of the " representation." 
 The problem that demanded solution was to find something 
 having the nature of mind but deeper than definite conscious- 
 
 y\ 
 
48 
 
 ** MIND-STUFF'' FROM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW, 
 
 49 
 
 \ 
 
 \i f 
 
 ness. If this could be found, and could be shown to be 
 capable of explaining actual consciousness so far as ex- 
 planation is possible, then the problem might be considered as 
 solved. 
 
 The facts of physiolog\' have at length led psychologists to 
 see that the series of states of consciousness which it is possible 
 to observe and classify by means of the introspective method 
 alone forms only a portion of the mental life, that definite 
 consciousness has a background of sub-consciousness and un- 
 consciousness. At first it seems like a contradiction to speak 
 of facts of unconsciousness as belonging to psychology ; but 
 when it is considered that the same changes in the nervous 
 system may be accompanied according to circumstances by 
 vivid changes in consciousness or by some sub-conscious 
 change or may have no mental concomitant that can be 
 detected by introspection, then it becomes evident that mind 
 must be regarded as consisting of other elements besides those 
 that appear in distinct consciousness; for it is absurd to 
 suppose that the same nervous change taken by itself has 
 different mental concomitants at different times. This con- 
 ception, suggested by physiology, that mind is made up of 
 elements which may be combined into what is called conscious- 
 ness, but which, taken alone, are " unconscious," is really im- 
 plied in the ordinary introspective psychology. The elements 
 into which complex states of consciousness are resolved by 
 analysis are not immediately perceptible in those states ; the 
 laws of association must be understood before the elements of 
 actual consciousness can be detached ; hence these elements 
 may be called "unconscious." But the study of physiology 
 was necessary to bring out clearly the conception of " uncon- 
 scious feelings " as factors in mental phenomena. These 
 elements of mind disclosed by physiology were regarded by 
 Schopenhauer as the reality underlying all phenomenal exis- 
 tence, and the fundamental element in mind was called by him 
 the Will. This term was selected because of the antithesis 
 that there is between " will " and " intelligence " ; intelligence 
 — definite cognition — constitutes mind as we know it in its 
 highest form ; the term " will" is applied to what is regarded 
 
 as the irrational element in mind-that which is irrational 
 because it is more fundamental than reason. Now if the 
 term " unconsciousness " as applied to mind is once admitted 
 It IS impossible to stop short of admitting that every chan-e iri 
 the brain has a subjective aspect ; from this admission it 
 foUows that every portion of the "representation" has a 
 portion of "will" corresponding to it. Thus, according to 
 Schopenhauer, the reality outside us is " will." The brain is 
 " the will objectified." When we have that consciousness of 
 resistance to effort which is the basis of our conception of 
 external things, we are conscious of the presence of will as the 
 external reality. The Representation is an illusion we con- 
 struct for ourselves. It is derivative while the Will is funda- 
 mental. 
 
 Many of the ideas connected with the general conception of 
 •• unconsciousness " have acquired new importance lately, and 
 It may be worth while to mention one or two of them for the 
 sake of their bearing on Schopenhauer's theoi-y The " mus 
 cular sense" and the "organic sense" have been known for 
 some tune, and it is partly through becoming aware of the 
 existence of these senses that psychologists no longer Ijelieve 
 that all the factors of mental phenomena can be discovered bv 
 mtrospection. Recent theories of the origin of the perception 
 of space, that of Lotze, for example, depend on the admission 
 that there are unconscious elements in perception derived from 
 the muscular and organic senses. But the most interestin<. 
 problem that has recently been discussed in its relation to the 
 Idea of unconsciousness is that of memory. It has now be- 
 come a commonplace to say that hereditv is .mconseious 
 memory. This way of describing the facts of heredity might 
 have been suggested by the study of Mr. Herbert Spencer's 
 exposition of the manner in which instincts developed by 
 mechanical processes under the action of natural selection at 
 length by gradual complication pass into rational processes 
 and rational processes, after they have been repeated often 
 enough, into secondary instincts. Now this transition from 
 mstinct to reason and from reason to secondary instinctive 
 processes cannot be imagined on the subjective side unless it 
 
 t 
 
60 
 
 ^'MIND-STUFF" FROM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 51 
 
 is supposed that "consciousness" and -unconsciousness" are 
 different merely in degree and not in kind. Thus we are 
 brought back to Schopenhauer's theory of Will. At the same 
 time we are led to consider this theory in its relation to the 
 doctrine of Evolution, for the exposition in Mr. Spencer's 
 Psychology that has just been refen^ed to is closely connected 
 with the doctrine of Evolution. 
 
 Though Schopenhauer put forth a biological theory which 
 has some resemblance to the theory of natural selection, his 
 philosophy was not determined in its general character by the 
 doctrine of Evolution. This accounts for the difference between 
 his theory of Will and Clifford's theory of Mind-stuff. Clifford 
 had the advantage of writing when the idea of Evolution had 
 taken distinct form, and this gives a certain superiority to the 
 theory of Mind-stuff, a superiority which consists chiefly in the 
 substitution of the term '* feeling " for ♦' will." 
 
 The antithesis of "will" and " inteUigence " is obviously 
 identical with that of "feehngs" and "relations between 
 feehngs." The latter mode of expressing the antithesis has 
 the advantage that it is less vague, and that its terms are not so 
 much associated with complex phenomena of consciousness as 
 those used by Schopenhauer. But the fundamental distinction 
 of feehngs and relations could not be expressed with perfect 
 clearness till the idea of Evolution— of ancestral experience — 
 had enabled Mr. Spencer to extend the method of the older 
 empirical school of psychology. This extension of the method 
 of the empirical school consists in a hypothetical analysis of 
 the ultimate feelings arrived at by introspection into still 
 simpler feelings. Such a reduction of consciousness to simpler 
 elements than those that introspection arrives at becomes con- 
 ceivable when complex organisms are thought of as evolved 
 from simple organisms ; for rudimentary sense-organs imply 
 rudimentary sensations. The result of Mr. Spencer's analysis 
 is that, given " elementary feelings " and relations of unlikeness 
 or of sequence, the most complex phenomena of consciousness 
 may be explained by assuming that gradual development has 
 taken place. This analysis is implicit in Clifford's statement 
 of the theory of mind-stuff, but not in Schopenhauer's. 
 
 The results of the application of the experimental method 
 to Psychology are also impHcit in Clifford's statement of his 
 theory. Fechner and others have shown by their " psycho- 
 physical" investigations that sensations which cannot be 
 resolved into groups of simpler feelings by any process of 
 introspection or analysis are made up of elements of sensation, 
 and that it is by summation of these elements that actual 
 sensations are produced. Results of this kind tend to confirm 
 the hypothesis that qualitative differences of sensation depend 
 on differences of combination of some unit of feeling which may 
 he defined as a " shock " or a " tremor." The view that mind- 
 stuff consists of such units was regarded by Clifford as the 
 final form that would be taken by his theory. If the theory 
 should take this form, it would be, as Clifford says somewhere, 
 an " atomic theory" of mind. Since we have already an atomic 
 theory of matter, there would thus be exact correspondence 
 between the thing-in-itself and the representation, and a 
 meaning could be assigned to the " proportion " formulated 
 by Chfford at the end of his paper.* 
 
 The theory of mind-stuff, as has already been said, is not 
 open to the ordinary sceptical criticism of ontological theories, 
 for it rejects as fictions both the " substance of matter " and 
 the "substance of mind." The ambiguities of the word 
 ^' cause" also disappear in the final statement of the theory 
 of mind-stuff, just as they do in the latest form that has l)een 
 taken by the logic of the sciences. The fundamental axiom of 
 inductive logic, " the uniformity of nature," as Clifford remarks, 
 has become "an atomic uniformity"; audit has been stated 
 by Lewes as " the law of identity" without any introduction 
 of the word cause.- Corresponding to this improved statement 
 
 * " .U the physical configuration of my cerebral image of the object 
 is to the physical configuration of the object, 
 «o /x my perception of the object (the object regarded as complex of 
 
 my feelings) 
 to the thing-in-itself." 
 ' Cliflford would have introduced some qualifications, in interpreting the 
 awof Identity, which Lewes did not think necessary; but he agreed with 
 iiim that the Uniformity of Nature ought to be expressed as a law of 
 
52 
 
 ''MIND-STUFF'' FBOM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 53 
 
 of the law of phenomenal uniformity, a *' law of identity " may 
 be stated for things-in-themselves. All that it is necessary to 
 assert is that units of mind-stutf exist and that they never cease 
 to exist, though they are always forming new combinations. 
 
 II. 
 
 The arguments that are most frequently brought against the 
 doctrine of the empirical school in general amount in eftect to 
 this— that it is an attempt to explain thought by sense, to show 
 that the consciousness of personal identity and the conscious- 
 ness of the distinction between subject and object are illusions 
 depending on certain collocations of feelings in experience, and 
 hence that feeling is the only reality ; and that in trying to 
 prove this position it takes for granted what ought to be ex- 
 plained. For, it is said, unless there is already in the simplest 
 feehng some power of combining with other feelings, how are 
 we to explain the first appearance of consciousness ? And 
 unless even the highest kind of self-consciousness is impHcit in 
 feeling, liow is its appearance to be accounted for at all ? It 
 is the perception of the difticulties pointed out by such criticism 
 that has made the system of Hegel seem more plausible to« 
 some than that of the English school of philosophy. Hegel 
 and those who agree with him, finding in the psychology of 
 the empirical school the antithesis between "thought" and 
 " sense," observing further that the philosophers of that school' 
 give their readers the impression that it is demonstrated that 
 all but "sense" is an illusion, and having decided that this 
 view is inadequate, try what can be made of the opposite view 
 that thought is identical with being, that the " thing-in-itself " 
 — that on which all phenomenal existence depends — is ** self- 
 consciousness," that the illusion is sense and not thought, the 
 liux of feeling and not the consciousness they say we have of 
 unity beneath the perpetual change in things and in ourselves. 
 
 • 
 
 changes of collocation, and not as a law of succession of events. The un- 
 tenable part of Lewes's view seems to be the tleduction of his material ** law 
 of identity " from the formal law of the same name. See the review of Dr- 
 E. Koenig's Entwicki'lung des Cnimilprohlem*, below. 
 
 The fact that this view of things has been elaborated into a 
 system shows that there is some defect in the ordinary state- 
 ment of the empirical doctrine, and it seems at first as if this 
 difficulty were inherent in the theory of mind-stuff also. For 
 this theory has for its psychological basis the Spencerian clas- 
 sification of states of consciousness into feehngs and relations 
 I)etween feelings, which is an accurate expression of the 
 antithesis between "sense" and "thought," just as it is of 
 the antithesis betw^een "will" and "intelligence." The 
 criticism from the Hegelian point of view of all empirical 
 psychology may therefore be applied to the theory of mind- 
 stutf under the form of such a question as this— If in the 
 ])eginning only feelings exist, if the "elementary feeling" is 
 the thing-in-itself, how do relations between feehngs come into 
 existence ? 
 
 The answer is that in the final statement of empiricism 
 "relations " are just as fundamental as " feelings." All that 
 afterwards becomes thought is implicit not in mere feeUng, but 
 in the primitive relations between feelings ; out of the combi- 
 nation of elementary feelings having at first simple relations to 
 one another, all the complexity of actual consciousness arises. 
 Thus the self-consciousness which the Hegehans say must 
 always be present is implicit at first as some simple relation 
 between feehngs, while the " unity " they say exists beneath 
 superficial multipHcity is found in the stuff out of which actual 
 consciousness is made ; for this remains always identical with 
 itself, though the forms of feeling constantly fluctuate and 
 though no particular phase of existence is permanent. 
 
 But it may be said, if relations are as fundamental as 
 feelings, why should the elementary feeling be called the 
 thing-in-itself? For does not the term " thing-in-itself " mean 
 something that exists out of relation ? The reason for saying 
 that "the elementary feeling is the thing-in-itself" may be 
 made clear by the analogy of a mathematical limit. In passing 
 from the higher to the lower forms of consciousness, feelings 
 constantly become more prominent and relations less promi- 
 nent, and this is true whether we arrive at the lower forms of 
 consciousness by passing down the scale of mental evolution 
 
 .« 
 
 i 
 
 \i 
 
54 
 
 *' MIND-STUFF" FBOM THE 
 
 or by analysis of consciousness in its hi^'her forms ; hence it is 
 possible to approach as near as we like to the conception of 
 pure feeling existing by itself though never actually to reach 
 it. But, as in mathematics, we may give a name to this ideal 
 limit and say that pure feeling is the thing-in-itself. 
 
 It is true that, proceeding in the other direction, that is, 
 passing from the lower to the higher forms of consciousness, 
 we may approach as near as we like to the conception of pure 
 thought entirely independent of concrete feeling. And this ia 
 howlihe HegeUan doctrine of the identity of thought and being 
 has been arrived at. Fixing their attention on those forms of 
 consciousness that are the last result of evolution, the Hege- 
 lians observe that the element of •♦ relation," of "thought," 
 becomes indefinitely more prominent than that of feeling. 
 Thus they seem to arrive at pure thought just as the empirical 
 school seems to arrive at pure feeling as the ultimate reality. 
 It may, accordingly, be argued that " pure thought " should be 
 called a thing-in-itself just as much as pure feeling, for it is 
 also an ideal limit; the difference consisting in this— that while 
 the Hegelian conception expresses the tendency of evolution 
 by which "form" gi-adually becomes more important than 
 " matter," the conception of the elementary feeling as thing- 
 in-itself describes the origin of consciousness in raw material 
 in which form is implicit as some simple relation. And there 
 would be no objection to saying that thought is identical with 
 being as an alternative formula with the other, that the ele- 
 mentary feeling is the thing-in-itself, if this were not regarded 
 as an assertion that the highest forms of consciousness have 
 been present from the first otherwise than implicitly, that is, 
 that there has been no real process of evolution. Unfortunately 
 the Hegehan principle is sometimes taken in this sense, while, 
 on the other hand, no statement of the empirical doctrine has 
 ever been supposed to involve a denial of the existence of 
 thought and self-consciousness. 
 
 The admission that " feelings " and " relations " are equally 
 real thus explains the way in which philosophers of opposite 
 schools have come to conclusions that are apparently contra- 
 dictory. When we think analytically, the act of attending to 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW, 
 
 65 
 
 the feelings by the combination of which thought is evolved 
 obscures the idea of the relations without which these simple 
 feelings could not exist ; and on the other hand when we try 
 to see unity in a multitude of impressions, when we think 
 synthetically, the act of attending to complex relations obscures 
 the idea of the concrete feelings without which thought could 
 not exist. In Clifford's statement of the theory of mind-stuff, 
 this admission that relations are equally real with feelings is 
 implied, but it is said that "the elementary feeling is the 
 thing-in-itself," because this formula embodies the results of 
 the analysis of the complex into the simple, while the formula 
 " thought is identical with being " seems to imply that analysis 
 is superfluous. But without analysis there can be no explana- 
 tion of things, for in seeking an explanation of things the 
 question what is the origin of them is the most important ; its 
 solution is a preliminary to the solution of all other questions. 
 Clifford's formula is an expression of the ideal limit beyond 
 which no investigation into the origin of things can pass. 
 
 III. 
 
 The theory of mind-stuff is of course metaphysics and not 
 science, though it has been suggested by the results of the 
 special sciences. It is impossible to verify it as a scientific 
 hypothesis can be verified. The test of the truth of a meta- 
 physical theory is, as Schopenhauer says, consistency, and not 
 application to some new class of facts which it was not invented 
 to explain — that is, not verification as it is understood in 
 science. A metaphysical theory is an attempt to express the 
 fundamental facts of consciousness in their most general form. 
 When an assumption is seen to be ultimate, the question 
 whether it is a necessary truth or a necessary illusion becomes 
 meaningless. The only question is whether it is really funda- 
 mental. That this is so is admitted explicitly or implicitly by 
 all schools, both those that start with the facts of feeling and 
 those that start with the fact of self-consciousness or with some 
 principle of reason. The acceptance or rejection of the theory 
 
 m 
 
56 
 
 '' MIND-STUFF" FROM THE 
 
 HISTORICAL POINT OF VIEW, 
 
 57 
 
 ) 
 
 of mind-stutf then ought to depend on whether it really ex- 
 presses in their simplest form the fundamental facts — or the 
 fundamental illusions — of consciousness. Now its only assump- 
 tions are these — that there is real existence external to ourselves, 
 and that "nature is uniform." In CUfford's statement of the 
 theory, the first of these is reduced to its simplest form as the 
 assumption of " ejects," that is, mind and portions of mind-stuf! 
 external to the individual mind ; the complications of material 
 and mental substance are got rid of. The assumption of 
 uniformity is also made as simple as possible ; it becomes the 
 law of "the identity of cause and effect," the assertion that 
 what exists will continue to exist, a law which is equivalent on 
 the subjective side to Schopenhauer's proposition that "will" 
 is essentially " the will to live." 
 
 When the theory of mind-stutf is stated in this way it looki 
 something like a return to the belief held by those who first 
 began to speculate on the causes of things, that external objects 
 have a kind of life. This has been urged as an argument 
 against Schopenhauer's system. It is said that his *' meta- 
 physics of the will " is merely an attempt to make the illusion 
 that resistance is a form of volition the foundation of a philo- 
 sophical system. The reply to this objection is now obvious. 
 The feeling of resistance is the feehng which is fundamental 
 in all our perceptions, and when an illusion is universal it is 
 impossible to distinguish it from an ultimate truth. What is 
 called the "illusion" of the identity of resistance with feehng 
 is fundamental, and is merely the most general form of the 
 assumption of "ejects"; it is therefore impossible to escape 
 from it. But, after all, it may be said, this theory of Schopen- 
 hauer and Clifford is the consequence of a return to the specu- 
 lative attitude appropriate to the primitive ages of philosophy, 
 and such a return seems an anachronism. Some considerations 
 to which this objection leads will show that, on the contrary, 
 the theory in question belongs really to the last stage of philo- 
 sophical evolution that can at present be imagined. 
 
 According to Schopenhauer's celebrated theory of aesthetics, 
 the earliest attitude of the human mind towards all that sur- 
 rounds it is the " subjective " attitude. At a later period 
 
 there is disinterested contemplation of external things without 
 reference to their power of causing pleasure or pain in the 
 spectator. The attitude of disinterested contemplation is the 
 " objective " attitude, and it is not till this has become possible 
 that there can be appreciation of works of art. It is evident 
 that a similar account might be given of the growth of science. 
 It might be said that setting out from the " subjective " sta^^e 
 of thought and feeling in which things are regarded merely as 
 useful or hurtful, pleasant or painful, we may reach the 
 " objective " stage in two w^ays : that on the scientific side 
 we at length attain to the conception of observation and 
 experiment as a means of learning the causes of things, just 
 as on the aesthetic side we attain by disinterested contempla- 
 tion to the conception of the beautiful. Now the argument 
 against Schopenhauer's metaphysics quoted above might have 
 been founded on his own theory of art. It might be said that 
 his metaphysical theory of the will is "subjective" and not 
 "objective," and therefore belongs to the primitive stage of 
 speculation. This shows that there is some defect either in 
 his metaphysics of the Will or in his view of assthetic develop- 
 ment. It will be found that the defect is in his view of 
 testhetic development, which is true as far as it goes but 
 incomplete. For there is a third stage of art (and also of 
 scientific thought) which may be called " subjective," though 
 it is in reality most remote from the subjectivity that Schopen- 
 hauer seems to have regarded as tj^ical. 
 
 The " subjectivity " described by Schopenhauer is found in 
 those speculations that had their origin in the period before 
 science and poetry were completely differentiated. In mytho- 
 logies, for example, an attempt is made to explain the causes 
 of things, and at the same time things are regarded chiefly 
 in their relation to the welfare of men. This period may 
 therefore be called in a sense the period of the subjective 
 stage of speculation. But the speculations of this early 
 period seem to be subjective in character because the objec- 
 tive and subjective points of view have not yet been dis- 
 tinguished. The stage of speculation that is distinctively 
 subjective comes last. Before it is arrived at an attempt 
 
 
 V 
 
68 
 
 '* MIND-STUFF'' FEOM THE 
 
 HISTOFICAL POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 59 
 
 is made in the various sciences to look at thinj<s entirely 
 as portions of the object-world. Afterwards the introspective 
 point of view is reached ; it is seen that to think we can have 
 a purely objective conception of things is to be under the 
 influence of an illusion ; we learn that all phenomena are 
 phenomena of some consciousness. The introspective point 
 of view is that which is distinctively subjective, and it is un- 
 doubtedly the last to be attained, as is shown, when we refer 
 to the history of modern speculation, by the fact that Hume 
 and Berkeley came after Bacon and Descartes. But though 
 this subjective stage of speculation is the most remote from 
 that of the primitive thinkers who made mythologies, it has a 
 superficial resemblance to it, for in metaphysics and psychology 
 as distinguished from physical science and cosniical specula- 
 tion there is the element of self-consciousness, and the intro- 
 spective method looks at first very much like the habit of 
 seeing things merely as they atfect the emotions. 
 
 Returning to Schopenhauer's theory of aesthetics, by which 
 this view of the evolution of scientific thought was suggested, 
 it remains to show that there is, as has been said, a final 
 stage of the evolution of the aesthetic sense con-esponding 
 to the introspective stage of the evolution of the speculative 
 faculty. 
 
 This final stage of aesthetic evolution is seen best in the 
 case of poetry. One feature of the most characteristic modern 
 poetry — that is, lyric poetry — is its subjectivity ; and there is 
 a certain resemblance between this subjectivity and that of the 
 early ages, though they are really extremes having between 
 them the "objectivity" described by Schopenhauer. Some- 
 times iu reading lyric verse the impression is produced that 
 the poet is expressing directly and simply and spontaneously 
 the emotion that is present to him ; but it is known that this 
 is an illusion. Elaboration of rhythm, careful selection of 
 epithets, the intention to produce a definite efifect that has 
 been distinctly conceived beforehand, are recognised by criti- 
 cism as essential to a lyric poem of the highest kind. Yet the 
 result of all this is to give lyric poetry a superficial resemblance 
 to those kinds of primitive poetry in which there is really direct 
 
 and simple and spontaneous expression of the emotions. The 
 difference is that early poetry is a product of emotion which 
 has not been analysed, that is, of crude subjectivity, while 
 modern poetry of the most typical kind is a product of self- 
 consciousness, that is, of developed subjectivity. A process of 
 analysis is necessary to bring into distinct consciousness the 
 real effect of things on the mind, and it is the characteristic 
 of the highest kinds of art to describe the effects of things 
 rather than the things themselves. Thus it happens that 
 expressions which seem the most direct are often the most 
 artificial, and that poetry which seems the most passionate is 
 often the most intellectualised. 
 
 This passage from the crude subjectivity of the early ages to 
 the self-consciousness of the later ages is seen on the imagina- 
 tive side of poetry as well as on its emotional side. One of 
 the critics of Shelley has remarked that the images called up by 
 some of his lyrics remind us of the sun-myths and dawn-myths 
 of the primitive Aryans. To put it generally, there is a return 
 in modern poetry from complex descriptions to simplicity of 
 imagery. And this is one aspect of the change from the ** ob- 
 jective " attitude which has substituted itself for the primitive 
 mode of regarding nature to that of self-consciousness ; for the 
 simplicity of the early myths is the simplicity of vagueness, 
 while that of the modern poetry that seems to resemble these 
 myths in the character of its imagery is the simplicity of 
 abstraction. 
 
 The apparent return to simplicity that is noticed in modern 
 poetry may be observed in its form as well as in its imagery 
 and its emotional basis. But the laws of lyric verse are, in 
 reality, more complex than those of the "objective" poetry 
 that attempts to describe nature and human life from the out- 
 side. The simplicity of the lyric is therefore artificial, and is 
 distinguished by this character from the simplicity of the 
 ballad for example. The same character of artificial simplicity 
 is seen in the products of other arts when they reach their 
 final stage as well as in the art of expression in verse ; but it is 
 sufficient to have illustrated from literature in its highest form 
 as poetry the view that has been taken of the development of 
 
 s\ 
 
 
60 
 
 *'MIND'STUFF" HISTORICALLY VIEWED. 
 
 the aesthetic sense, literature heing the art in which the gi'eatest 
 number of conditions are fulfilled. 
 
 A transition similar to that which we observe in passing from 
 the earhest to the latest results of speculation and of art, may 
 be seen in the growth of society also. More than one political 
 theorist has found it necessary to suppose a transition from 
 the anarchy of early ages through a period of authority, of law, 
 of complex regulation, to a state of freedom. Perfect freedom, 
 of course, only exists as an ideal limit, but a state of perfect 
 freedom is conceivable in which law has disappeared except 
 so far as it has become organic in the individual, and the 
 description of such a state has a superficial resemblance to 
 a description of " the state of nature." 
 
 All this goes to show that the apparent resemblance of the 
 theory of ^lind-stutf to the half-poetical, half-philosophical 
 views of early speculators must be regarded as an argument 
 in its favour, since this resemblance is a proof that the theory 
 belongs to the last stage of thought that can at present be 
 imagined. The early speculators had really the advantage of 
 not being too much oppressed with the material of thought, 
 and were therefore able to give a sort of answ^er to the most 
 general questions that can present themselves. But the answers 
 they gave did not satisfy those who afterwards studied nature 
 in its complexity as a group of objective phenomena. It w^as 
 necessary that the results of scientific investigation should 
 become organic in thought before such problems as that of 
 the thing-in-itself could present themselves clearly. In the 
 meantime there was a movement away from metaphysics. 
 Then at length it became possible to think out from the point 
 of view of self-consciousness a theory that should be really 
 metaphysical and not an attempt to substitute science for 
 metaphysics, but in which at the same time the results of 
 scientific study should be implicit. Clift'ord's theory has the 
 characters just described ; and it has also the character that 
 belongs to every final intellectual product, of appearing 
 perfectly simple when it has once taken distinct form. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 THE interest excited by the personality of Giordano Bruno 
 must always have prevented his name from being quite for- 
 gotten. For above two centuries after his death, how^ever, his 
 writings were scarcely at all known. It was not until 1830 that 
 the Italian works were collected, and no complete edition of the 
 Latin works exists even now.* Within the present century not 
 only have the events of Bruno's life formed the subject of more 
 than one investigation, but his philosophy also has attracted 
 new attention. This renewed interest in Bruno may be ascribed 
 in part, but not w^holly, to the historical spirit of the age. 
 The study of his works, besides confirming the impression 
 which his intellectual power and philosophical genius produced 
 at first throughout Europe, and which has perpetuated itself in 
 the history of philosophy, will in the end make it clear that 
 his ideas have still a direct bearing on thought. 
 
 Recent biographical investigations have added much to our 
 knowledge of the life of Bruno. The materials for his 
 biography w^ere till lately, besides the letter of Scioppius 
 written from Rome on the 17th of February, 1600 (the day 
 when Bruno was burned in the Campo di Flora), chiefly the 
 occasional references to events of his life that are to be found 
 iu his works. All that could be known at the time w^as 
 embodied by Bartholmess in the first volume of his monograph 
 on Bruno, published in 184G. Since then, documents have 
 been discovered at Venice, containing the records of his 
 examination by the Inquisition there, and have been published 
 
 ' This was written in 1884. The Latin works have since been collected, 
 but I have not had an opportunity of seeing the complete edition. 
 
 61 
 
62 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 along with a new biography by Prof. Berti (1868). The same 
 writer has pubUshed more recently (1880) copies with which 
 he had been furnished of the Protocols of the Inquisition at 
 Rome relating to the last year of Bruno's imprisonment. 
 These were obtained by a research in the archives of the 
 Vatican which the Roman revolution of 1848 made it possible 
 to begin but not to finish. The principal facts that have been 
 estabUshed by these and other documents are given by Prof. 
 Sigwart in an essay included in his Klcinc Schnftcn (1881). 
 
 The exact year of Bruno's birth was fixed for the first time 
 by the Venetian documents. He was born in 1548 at Nola in 
 the kingdom of Naples, then under Spanish rule. His 
 baptismal name was FiHppo. The name of Giordano was 
 assumed by him when he became a monk of the Dominican 
 order at Naples. His noviciate began in 1562 or 1563. He 
 received full orders in 1572. In 1576 he ceased to wear the 
 Dominican habit. He had already been accused of heresy 
 during his noviciate. He was now charged with holding 
 heretical views on the Trinity. To avoid this charge he fled 
 to Rome. At Rome the charge against him was to have been 
 proceeded with ; but he was informed of this, and escaped to 
 Genoa. After residing for a short time in various cities of the 
 north, he at length decided to leave Italy. He went first to 
 Geneva, where there were many Italian exiles ; but finding 
 that to live there it would be necessary for him to profess 
 Calvinism, he left Geneva after a residence of about five 
 months. In 1579 began his two years' residence at Toulouse. 
 At the University of Toulouse he obtained the degree of doctor, 
 and was appointed to an ordinary professorship of philosophy. 
 In 1581 he left Toulouse for Paris. There he published 
 several Latin works, including the De Umbris Idcarum, besides 
 an Italian comedy, // Candelaio. He refused an ordinary 
 professorship which was offered him at the University of 
 Paris, because in order to hold it he would have had to attend 
 mass. An extraordinary professorship not having this obliga- 
 tion attached to it was conferred on him by Henry III., to 
 whom he had dedicated the De Umbris Idcarum. Towards 
 the end of 1583 he set out from France with letters from 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 63 
 
 Henry to his ambassador at the court of Queen Elizabeth, 
 Michel de Castelnau, who received him into his house. In 
 London he frequented the society of Sir Philip Sidney, Fulke 
 Greville and other distinguished men. He lectured and held 
 disputations at Oxford. During his residence in England he 
 published the most important of his works, the Italian 
 dialogues ; of these the Cciia dellc Cciieri, Delia Causa and 
 Deir Infinito are dedicated to Castelnau, the Spaccio della 
 Bestia trionfantc and the Eroici Furori to Sidney. In 1585 
 he returned to Paris, where he drew up theses against the 
 Aristotelian physics, which were afterwards published at 
 Wittenberg. These theses were defended by a disciple of his 
 named Hennequin in a public disputation held on the 25th of 
 May, 1586. Soon after this he left France for Germany. 
 From August, 1586, to May, 1588, he resided at Wittenberg, 
 lecturing at the University and teaching privately. In his 
 valedictory address to the University he praised the tolerance 
 that was practised there and the courteous manner in which 
 he had been treated. The next place he visited was Prague. 
 In return for the dedication of one of his l)ooks he received a 
 subsidy from the Emperor Rudolf II., afterwards the patron of 
 Kepler. From Prague he w^ent to Helmstildt. He composed 
 there the three philosophical poems, De tripUci Minivw ct 
 Memura, De Monade^ Nwmro et Figura, and De Immcnso et 
 InnumerabilibuSy and dedicated them to Henry Julius, Duke of 
 Brunswick. In order to get these books printed he went to 
 Frankfort, where he remained from June, 1590, to February, 
 1591. At Frankfort he received letters from a young Venetian 
 noble named Giovanni Mocenigo, asking him to visit him at 
 his house in Venice and instruct him in the art of memory set 
 forth in the De Umbris Idcarum and other books devoted to 
 the Ars magna of Raymond Lully. This was the cause of 
 Bruno's return to Italy. Before his return he spent an interval 
 at Ziirich, during which he dictated his Summa Terminorum 
 omtaphysicorum, first printed, with a preface by Raphael 
 Kglinus, in 1595. After his arrival in Italy in September or 
 October, 1591, he lived alternately at Venice and at Padua. In 
 March, 1592, he began to reside permanently in the house of 
 
04 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 )i 
 
 ii! 
 
 Mocenigo. Two months later Mocenigo, constrained "by 
 obligation of conscience and by order of his confessor," de- 
 nounced him to the Inquisition as a teacher of impious 
 doctrines. He was arrested and brought before the tribunal 
 of the Inquisition at Venice. After his examination it was 
 decided by the Grand Inquisitor San Severina, on the report 
 of the tribunal, that he must be sent to Rome to be judged. 
 The Venetian government was at first unwilling to grant his 
 extradition, but at length yielded ; and at the beginning of 
 1593 he was taken to Rome, where he remained in the prisons 
 of the Inquisition till 1600. Of the first six years of this 
 imprisoninent nothing is even yet known ; but we now know 
 from the documents found in the Vatican that early in 1599, at 
 a session of the Congi*egation held under the presidency of 
 the Pope (Clement VIII.), it was decided that Bruno should be 
 required to abjure eight heretical propositions selected from 
 his writings and from the statements that had been submitted 
 to the Inquisitors. Only one answer of Bruno's is recorded, 
 and this is a declaration that he has seen no reason to change 
 his opinions. On the 9th of February, 1600, he was con- 
 demned and delivered over to the secular power, with the 
 usual request, ** nt qiiam clementissime et citra mmjuinis cffu- 
 sioncm 'piiniretiir.'' When the sentence was read to him he 
 answered, as Scioppius says, ** threateningly " — " Major iforsan 
 ciiin timore scntcntiam in me for t is qitain ego accipimn,'* Eight 
 days later he was burned in the presence of a multitude of 
 people who were assembled in Rome for the Jubilee.* 
 
 More than one passage might be quoted from Bruno's works 
 showing that he had anticipated for himself some such fate as 
 this. When he was interrogated by the Venetian tribunal he 
 admitted that his doctrines were indirectly opposed to the 
 faith. His defence was that he was not an innovator in 
 religion, Imt in philosophy. He declared that he had never 
 attached himself to any heretical sect ; that, on the contrary, 
 he preferred the religion of the Catholics to that of the 
 Lutherans and Calvinists, because it laid more stress on good 
 
 * On the l>th of .June, 1HS9, a statue to Biuno was unveile«l in the Campo 
 di Fiora. 
 
 ■ H-W-j i J . ^mm 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 G5 
 
 works ; and that he was willing to submit to the Church in 
 matters of theology. This last position was, as Berti says, a 
 traditional position adopted by Bruno from the philosophers of 
 the Middle Ages, who had tried to obtain toleration by means 
 of it. In several passages of his works, and not merely in his 
 answers to the Inquisitors, he says that in matters of faith he 
 submits to the theologians. Sometimes this submission is 
 merely ironical ; it is in part, as has been said, the traditional 
 means of defence of philosophers against persecution ; but it is 
 also expressive of Bruno's philosophy of religion, as will be 
 seen. If it had been possible for Catholicism to grant philo- 
 sophical freedom, he would have regarded it almost as the 
 philosophers of antiquity regarded the religion of the State. 
 It was philosophical freedom that he claimed, not freedom to 
 found a new religious sect. But philosophical freedom was 
 the kind of freedom that was least of all likely to be conceded 
 by the Catholic reaction. Only an unqualified submission 
 would have satisfied the Church, and this Bruno was incapable 
 of making. 
 
 A few months before Bruno's extradition by the Venetian 
 government, Galileo had begun to lecture at Padua. As is 
 well known, Bruno accepted the Copernican astronomy before 
 Galileo had made his discoveries with the telescope. Kepler, 
 who lived in Prague fifteen years later than Bruno and w^as 
 acquainted with some of his works, expressed admiration for 
 him and regret that Galileo had not made some reference to 
 his predecessor in the advocacy of the new astronomical 
 doctrines. The fact that Bruno has a place in the history of 
 astronomy as well as in the history of philosophy is expressive 
 of the change that was taking place in the direction of the 
 enthusiasm of discovery that characterised the Renaissance. 
 This enthusiasm had been in part transferred from the remains 
 of classical antiquity to physical science. In Italy at least 
 representatives of classical learning were now frequently 
 pedants of the type satirised by Bruno in his comedy // 
 Candelaio. After he had seen the chief countries of Europe 
 and their universities, Bruno expressed most admiration for 
 the spirit of free intellectual activity that was already making 
 
06 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 itself felt in the universities of Germany. He praised Luther 
 as the liberator of the human intellect, as a new Alcides 
 greater than the first in that with the pen instead of the club 
 he had subdued a more dangerous and more powerful Cerberus. 
 All that the German mind still needed, Bruno thought, was a 
 certain emancipation from theological interests. This once 
 attained, there was no limit to what it might accomplish. 
 
 Notwithstanding the admiration which he so often expresses 
 for Copernicus, Bruno was of opinion that he had had too 
 much regard for " mathematical " and too little for " physical" 
 considerations, that he had had in view facility of calculation 
 rather than the nature of things. In his reformed astronomy, 
 Copernicus had retained the eighth sphere of the Ptolemaic 
 system, the sphere which was supposed to carry round the 
 fixed stars by its revolution. Bruno abolished the whole 
 system of spheres and substituted for it the idea of an infinite 
 space in which there are innumerable systems like the solar 
 system, having the so-called fixed stars for their centres. But, 
 however Copernicus might himself have hesitated to break the 
 last barriers of the received cosmology, Bruno still saw in 
 him the thinker who had set himself free from the opinions of 
 the multitude, and had first made possible the more complete 
 emancipation of the intellect that is the consequence of the 
 substitution of the conception of an infinite for that of a finite 
 universe. This new philosophical conception seemed to him 
 to bring with it far greater good than the discovery of new 
 continents. To Copernicus he applies in a larger sense the 
 verses of the tragedian Seneca — often in that age quoted 
 as a prophecy — about a Tiphys who is to remove all 
 terrestrial bounds to knowledge. Those who have dis- 
 covered new continents, he says, have found out the way to 
 disturb the peace of nations, to multiply vices, to propagate 
 tyrannies, while the new philosophy, on the other hand, 
 liberates the mind from chimeras and shows it how to ascend 
 to the stars. 
 
 Though Bruno satirised the humanists as " pedagogues " 
 and " pedants," he had himself much classical learning. He 
 had studied with special interest the records of the teachings 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 67 
 
 of the pre-Socratic philosophers. He was of opinion that 
 Pythagoras and other early speculators had had a truer view 
 of the universe than that which had triumphed through the 
 authority of Aristotle. This earUer and truer philosophy he 
 claimed to have revived. 
 
 Another branch of learning to which Bruno had given 
 special attention was the study of mythology ; not only the 
 mythology of the Greeks but also that of the Egyptians and of 
 the ancient nations of the East so far as knowledge of it was 
 accessible to him. He had, as Bartholmess points out, the 
 idea of a science of comparative mythology. 
 
 The polemic of Bruno against Aristotle is chiefly directed 
 against his cosmology. His pre-eminence in rhetoric, in 
 politics, in logic, he acknowledges; and he often quotes his 
 opinions with approval even in physics and in metaphysics ; 
 though here he accuses him of misrepresenting the opinions of 
 the earlier philosophers who were superior to him. In opposing 
 the estabhshed cosmological system, he brings against those 
 who appeal to authority the argument that the modern is 
 really older than the ancient world. Much as he had been 
 influenced by the Platonists of his own and the preceding age, 
 as well as by the Alexandrian Neo-Platonists, he was not him- 
 self properly a Platonist any more than he was an Aristotelian. 
 Tliat Plato was more acceptable than Aristotle to Bruno and 
 other philosophic thinkers of the time is in great part due to 
 his never having been constituted the ofificial philosopher of 
 Church and School. 
 
 Bruno's principal aversions were the official representa- 
 tives of Scholasticism and the humanistic " pedants," with 
 the theological zealots of all kinds ; but, above all, the Ke- 
 formers of Calvin's following. His antipathy to the humanists 
 is explicable by a certain contempt he often expresses for 
 knowledge that is merely *• instrumental." So far as philo- 
 sophy was concerned, Humanism had for the time done its 
 work. To bestow the very wide familiarity with the matter 
 of the classics which we see in Bruno himself, for example, 
 nimute philological studies were no longer necessary. In 
 Bruno's hostility to Scholasticism there was nothing accidental. 
 
■^(■»" 
 
 68 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 i 
 
 To the whole method and doctrine of the School his way of 
 thinking was fundamentally opposed. Along with Jewish and 
 Christian theologians, it is worthy of note, Bruno attacks the 
 philosophical Pyrrhonists. The alliance between philosophical 
 Pyrrhonism and theological faith, was not even then altogether 
 
 unheard of. 
 
 A more directly metaphysical impulse was received by 
 Bruno from Nicholas of Cusa than from any other modern 
 thinker. Cusa has been described as the first German who, 
 in the fifteenth century, attached himself to the study of 
 Grecian antiquity. He was known as a reformer within the 
 limits of CathoHcism, took part in the Council of Basel, and 
 was made a Cardinal. In cast of philosophical thought he 
 belongs wholly to the transition-period, and not to the later 
 Scholasticism. The most important idea that Bruno derived 
 from him was that of " the coincidence of contraries." He 
 thought that " the divine Cusanus," as he sometimes calls him, 
 would have been still greater as a philosopher if he had not 
 been restricted through his position in the Church ; for the 
 Cardinal had tried to reconcile his philosophical system with 
 the dogmas of Catholicism. 
 
 Bruno ascribed some of the ideas of the Cardinal of Cusa 
 to the influence of Eaymond Lully (1235-1315), famous in 
 tradition as an alchemist. Lully was the author of a system 
 of logic by which the Mohammedans were to be converted to 
 Christianity. His disciples maintained that his logical system 
 was a means of discovering all truth. It is worthy of remark 
 that he had not subordinated philosophy to theology ; the 
 doctrines of Catholic theology were to emerge as the result of 
 a logical process. Bruno made additions to Lully 's system, 
 and during the whole period of his philosophical activity spent 
 much time in writing expositions of it and in teaching it both 
 publicly and privately. That which attracted him in it was 
 probably the conception of the unity of knowledge, expressed 
 in the doctrine that the mind may pass from any one idea to 
 any other idea. No relation except this very general one can 
 be traced between the logical and mnemonic art of Lully and 
 Bruno's own philosophical doctrines. 
 
 69 
 
 If the exposition of the mnemonic art in the De Umhris 
 Idcaricm may be taken as an example, Bruno's treatment of 
 the details of the system founded by him on that of Lully is 
 extremely obscure.^ Passages in his Latin poems are affected 
 with an obscurity similar to that of the ** LuUian jargon," but 
 this occasional obscurity does not affect the general character 
 of Bruno's waitings. As in the De Umhris Idearum, the 
 passages that are of philosophical interest are always essen- 
 tially clear. And in the obscure passages themselves there 
 is nothing of the nature of imperfect articulation. It is diffi- 
 cult to believe that they w^ere intended to be understood. They 
 are, as Berti calls them, "sibylline and unintelligible"; and 
 as he goes on to say, they do not seem to be of any importance 
 so far as their meaning can be conjectured. 
 
 The Italian works are free from passages of this kind, and 
 on the whole they are of more interest and importance than the 
 Latin works. There are, however, many passages in the Latin 
 works that are scarcely inferior to anything in the Italian 
 works, and an account of Bruno's philosophy w^ould be incom- 
 plete without reference to them. 
 
 Bruno's mode of exposition, both in the Latin and in the 
 Italian works, is literary rather than scientific. He did not, 
 indeed, make any attempt at that elegance of Latin style which 
 was the chief object of the " Ciceronians." And in writing 
 Italian, he thought it absurd to reject a word merely because 
 it had not been used by any classical Italian author. On the 
 other hand, he did not make for himself a rigid terminology. 
 He says expressly, in the introduction to the earliest of his 
 works, that he does not refuse to make use of the terminology 
 of any school, if only it is that by which he can best convey 
 his idea ; ^ and in his latest work he protests against the rigid 
 method of interpreting philosophical terms practised by the 
 " Grammarians." 3 In order to convey his metaphysical ideas 
 in an imaginative form, he uses quite freely both the poetical 
 and the philosophical conceptions he has met with in his 
 
 ' For a full account of the Lullian works the reader must be referred to 
 Bartholmess. * De Umbria Idearum, ed. Tugini, pp. 20-3. 
 
 3 Siimma Terminorum inetajylu/ifiiontm, ed. Gfriirer, p. 455. 
 
70 
 
 OIOBDANO BBVNO, 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 71 
 
 ). 
 
 reading. He takes pleasure in paradoxes, in ingenious combi- 
 nations of ideas, so far as they help to bring out more clearly 
 his own thought. He does not attempt to construct a system 
 of which every detail shall be logically connected with all the 
 rest; but his thought is none the less genuinely organic. And 
 the vivid colouring that is given to his expositions by the use 
 of illustrations from all sources only makes more evident the 
 originaHty of his philosophy as a whole. 
 
 Bruno's essential originality is in philosophy in the strict 
 sense of the term. He had, however, as has been seen, given 
 special attention to physical science. Some of the scientific 
 speculations that are met with incidentally in his works are 
 interesting as anticipations of modern ideas. He would 
 probably not have laid much stress on them as parts of his 
 contribution to thought ; for just as learning was to him 
 material for the expression of his metaphysical ideas, so 
 science was a means of arriving at a true philosophical con- 
 ception of nature. In order to illustrate his mode of thought 
 in dealing with properly scientific questions, his theory of the 
 causes of the present distribution of life on the earth may be 
 referred to. 
 
 He holds that the earth, under the influence of the light 
 and heat of the sun, has the power of producing all forms of 
 life from any part of itself, provided that the proper kinds of 
 matter are present there. It is not necessary, he says, to 
 suppose that all men are descended from the same ancestor ; 
 nor is each of the other races of animals descended from a 
 connnon ancestor ; all kinds of animals were produced in all 
 parts of the earth. But in different places different kinds of 
 animals have been destroyed and different kinds have re- 
 mained ; as in England, for example, certain kinds of wild 
 animals have been destroyed through the cultivation of the 
 country by men, and in other islands all men have perished 
 through the predominance of the more powerful animals or 
 through lack of food.^ 
 
 The mode of thinking that has since given origin to the 
 theory of natural selection is obviously expressing itself here 
 
 ' De ImmensOf vii., c. 18. 
 
 under the limitations imposed by the state of the sciences of 
 life in the sixteenth century. Bruno has speculated in the 
 same spirit on the reason of the distances maintained by the 
 different planetary systems from one another.^ He has him- 
 self indicated the relation of this speculation to the ancient 
 speculations as to the survival of certain combinations of 
 atoms. For Lucretius he had a great admiration ; which he 
 displays by using Lucretian forms in his Latin poems. He 
 himself sometimes applies to atoms the name of " tirst bodies," 
 the only solid parts of the world. 
 
 Atomic speculations, however, are subordinate in Bruno's 
 philosophy. In the passage just referred to and in other 
 places he distinguishes his doctrine from that of Democritus. 
 He points out that while Democritus regarded life and mind 
 as accidental products of certain combinations of atoms, he on 
 the contrary regards them as equally eternal with atoms. As 
 an expression of the doctrine he opposes to that of the 
 Epicurean school he often quotes the lines of Virgil : — 
 
 *• Principio coelum ac terras composque liquentes, 
 Lucentenique globum lunae, Titaniaque astra, 
 Spiritus intus alit, totamque infuea per artus 
 Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscct." 
 
 The doctrine of universal animation expressed in these lines is 
 made the philosophical basis of the theory of the origin o:' life 
 described above. The power of the earth to produce all fcrms 
 of life from all parts of itself is inferred from the presence of 
 the soul of the world in the whole and in every part. 
 
 In Bruno's system God — the absolute intellect — is at onct 
 the beginning of things and the end to which they aspire 
 according to the degree of their perfection. The divine in- 
 
 ' De Immenw, v., c. 3. Anticipations somewhat similar to the foregoing 
 (as others have pointed out) occur in Empedocles and Lucretius, but with a 
 shade of difference in each case. Empedocles supposes the parts of 
 organisms to arise separately, and fit combinations of parts to survive. 
 According to Lucretius, organisms arise as wholes directly from earth, and 
 the fittest wholes survive. Bruno, starting from a general conception like 
 that of Lucretius, applies it to solve the problem of •' geographical distri- 
 bution." 
 
 • 
 
72 
 
 GIOBDANO BBUNO. 
 
 \l 
 
 \i 
 
 hii 
 
 tellect manifested in nature is '* the soul of the world " ; in 
 the human mind it expresses itself as the desire to compre- 
 hend all things in relation to the unity from which they 
 proceed. All particular things, so far as they are outside 
 the divine intellect, are in truth vanity, nothingness ; they 
 have being only so far as they participate in the being of God. 
 It has been disputed whether this doctrine is theistic or 
 pantheistic. Prof. Carriere, in his book on the philosophers of 
 the Eenaissance, takes the view that there is a transition in 
 Bruno's writings from pantheism to theism ; that the Italian 
 dialogues are more pantheistic, the later Latin works more 
 theistic. Dr. E. B. Hartung, in an exposition of Bruno's 
 ethical ideas and of their relation to his metaphysics, admits 
 to a certain extent the truth of this view ; but, he points out, 
 Bruno's definitions exclude the ideas of the personality of God 
 and of His separateness from the world ; since these ideas 
 must be regarded as essential to theism, Bruno's doctrine is, 
 strictly speaking, pantheistic. Now both these ideas are just 
 as much excluded from Bruno's later as from his earlier works. 
 It might even be maintained that some definitions in the later 
 works are more distinctly pantheistic than those of the earlier 
 works. 
 
 The ground of Carriere's view seems to be this. In the 
 dialogues Delia Causa and Dell' Infinito the unity in which all 
 things have their origin is described as manifesting itself in 
 nature. The other aspect of this unity, its aspect as an end 
 which the human intellect seeks to attain, is indicated and is 
 placed in relation with the first. In Delia Causa, for example, 
 it is said that the process by which nature descends to the 
 production of things and the process by which the intellect 
 ascends to the knowledge of them are one and the same, that 
 both the intellect and nature proceed from unity to unity 
 through multipHcity. But this other side of Bruno's doctrine 
 is more obvious in the later Latin works than in these par- 
 ticular dialogues. These dialogues, therefore, appear more 
 "pantheistic," in one sense of the term, and the Latin poems 
 more ** theistic." But the view that has been supposed to be 
 characteristic of the earlier works is found in the later works 
 
 GIORDANO BEUNO. 
 
 73 
 
 also. Here, for example, is an expression of it from the 
 Siimma Terminorum iuetai)hysiconLm — " Natura aut est Deus 
 ipse, aut divina virtus in rebus ipsis manifestata." It is 
 alluded to in the poem De Immcnso as a doctrine that has 
 constantly been held by the author. And the dialogues Degli 
 eroici Furorl, which belong to the London and not to the 
 Frankfort period, are devoted chiefly to the expression of the 
 other side of Bruno's doctrine. In these dialogues the aspira- 
 tion of the mind towards absolute unity is described. The 
 contemplation of this unity, Bruno remarks, is what the Peri- 
 patetics have in view when they say that the highest happiness 
 of man consists in perfection by the speculative sciences. The 
 opinion of Plotinus is quoted with approval to the effect that 
 •'the mind" (as distinguished from "the soul") "either is 
 God or is in God." Thus the contrast between the earlier and 
 the later works again disappears. The explanation of its 
 having been supposed to exist is probably that the poems of the 
 Frankfort period, because of the resemblance of their subject- 
 matter to that of the two best-known Italian works, have been 
 compared with these to the exclusion of the others. When 
 they are compared with the Italian works generally, it is seen 
 that the less orderly mode of exposition adopted in them has 
 made it possible to include elements that do not receive full 
 expression in Delia Causa and DeW Infinito, but which are 
 more completely expressed in the Eroici Furori than anywhere 
 else in Bruno's writings. 
 
 The two sides of Bruno's doctrine are brought into relation 
 by means of the idea of perpetual transformation, of a descent 
 of beings from unity on the one hand and an ascent towards it 
 on the other. This idea is already present in the first of his 
 philosophical works, Dc Umbris Idearuin (1582). In this book, 
 indeed, most of his characteristic ideas are put forward quite 
 distinctly though without the development which they after- 
 wards received. 
 
 The influence of Platonism is evident in the title — "Of the 
 Shadows of Ideas." But Bruno distinguishes his own doc- 
 trine of transformation from the doctrine of emanation taught 
 by the Neo-Platonists. As there is a continual passage from 
 
74 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 ill! 
 
 \y 
 
 i 
 
 light to darkness by which the higher beings become lower, so 
 also, he says, there is a continual passage in the opposite 
 direction by which the lowest beings may gradually return to 
 the highest state. Light is here the symbol of the region of 
 ideas, of the absolute unity which alone truly exists. Dark- 
 ness is merely the negation of light ; the symbol of not-being. 
 The ** Shadows of Ideas " are things in nature and thoughts in 
 the mind. They partake of the nature of light and of darkness. 
 Any natural thing can change its form and (within certain 
 limits) assume any other form. Similarly the intellect can 
 pass from any particular thought to any other thought, if it 
 has thoughts that can serve as means between the extremes. 
 The end that the intellect ought to propose to itself is ascent 
 to the region of Ideas, to the knowledge of the One as distin- 
 guished from the Many, of the permanent as distinguished 
 from forms that change. The vision of the absolute unity 
 must be described as a state, not as a process. Since the 
 human mind is continually distui'bed by sense and imagination, 
 this state cannot last long, and is therefore, by those who 
 describe it, spoken of in the past rather than in the present tense. 
 
 There is a very interesting passage in the Dc Uvihris 
 Idearum on the relation of Art to Nature.* It is declared 
 that " difidal Nature is the fountain of all arts." For arts 
 proceed from the mind of man ; and Nature first gave birth 
 to man with all his faculties. Unless we turn away from her. 
 Nature herself will be present to us in all things. Nature (or 
 the soul of the w^orld, or fate, or necessitv, or bv whatever 
 other name we may speak of the same power) proceeds from 
 the imperfect to the perfect, and so also does Art, which 
 Nature leads by the hand. Thus — the art of writing being 
 taken as an illustration — men at first wrote on the bark of 
 trees ; then succeeded the age that wrote on stone ; afterwards 
 the papyrus was used, then parchment, then paper. As there 
 was progress in the materials so also in the instruments of 
 writing; first the knife was used, then the stylus, and so on 
 continually. 
 
 This idea again appears in the last book of De Immcnso et 
 ' De Vmhris Idearum, ed. Tugini, pp. 59-64. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 76 
 
 Inmumrabilibus. Here a certain reaction from Platonism is 
 perceptible. " Forms without matter," ** light without body," 
 are declared to be as absurd as other *' separate substances," 
 " abstract species," and " essences without being." The light 
 that the Platonists feign outside things they are told to seek 
 nowhere but in nature and the human mind. The reaction, 
 however, is not from any position taken up by Bruno himself 
 in his first work. It is merely from the use of the language of 
 the Platonists, which expresses his doctrine inadequately so far 
 as it gives the impression that he regards the absolute light, 
 the region of Ideas, as entirely distinct from things. And 
 when we come to the passages containing his doctrine of the 
 divinity of Nature, even the expressions are seen to be almost 
 identical in the two books, though there is an interval of nine 
 years between them. 
 
 But the central ideas of Bruno's metaphysics are best seen 
 in the dialogues Delia Causa, Princijno et Uno ('* Of the Cause, 
 the Principle, and the One"). "The universal intellect" is 
 here declared to be the universal efficient cause. Many names 
 have been given to this cause by philosophers in order to 
 describe its mode of operation. The name that is to be pre- 
 ferred is that of an " internal artist " ; for the universal 
 efficient cause gives form to all things from within. The final 
 cause which the universal intellect proposes to itself is the 
 perfection of the world ; that is, that in all parts of matter all 
 forms shall have actual existence. 
 
 There are two principles of things, "form" and " matter." 
 *' Form " as one of the principles of things is to be dis- 
 tinguished from the accidental forms of things. The formal 
 ])rinciple is in a manner identical with the efficient cause. 
 For the soul of the world may be regarded now as cause and 
 now as principle. In virtue of the formal principle not only 
 the universe but all its parts are animated. Every portion of 
 matter has its soul or '* form." Not all concrete things are 
 alive as such, but all things are alive as regards their substance. 
 The portion of spirit that belongs to any corpuscle is capable of 
 becoming the soul of any kind of animal by receiving the mem- 
 bers appropriate to that kind of animal. All motion, all action, 
 
 (■ 
 
76 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 i. 
 
 If 
 
 1 
 
 ■i;: 
 
 
 
 is due to the soul or form that is in the universe and in par- 
 ticular things. But there could be no action if there were not 
 something capable of being acted upon, if corresponding to the 
 active power of shaping there were not a passive power or 
 possibility of being shaped in all ways. Hence a second prin- 
 ciple or substance of things, " matter," must be assumed in 
 addition to the principle or substance of " form." These two 
 substances are equally eternal. No portion either of material 
 or of spiritual substance can perish. Nothing is ever anni- 
 hilated except the external and accidental forms of things. 
 
 In particular things, "act" and "possibility" do not coin- 
 cide. No particular thing in the universe is all that it can be. 
 But in the absolute first Principle of things, which is all that 
 it can be, "act" and " possibility" are the same. Spiritual 
 and material substance, " form " and " matter," the active and 
 the passive principle, are therefore, with respect to the whole, 
 identical. 
 
 Matter may be considered not only as "possibility" or 
 " potency " but also as " subject." In itself it has no extended 
 form ; it is not restricted to any one mode of being. Just as 
 Art deals with various kinds of matter, each capable of receiv- 
 ing many shapes without change as to its composition, so 
 Nature deals with a matter common to all things, both cor- 
 poreal and incorporeal, both sensible and intelligible, and 
 remaining under all changes the same in substance. This 
 matter wliich is limited to no specific mode of being is identical 
 with "pure act" and with the efficient cause. It has no 
 particular figure or dimensions because it has them all im- 
 plicitly. It is said to include all forms rather than to exclude 
 them all, because it does not receive them as from without, 
 but produces them from within. This truth was in part 
 perceived by Aristotle, who makes Nature an internal and not 
 an external principle. But instead of declaring that matter, 
 being permanent, coincides with "act," he places actuality in 
 his "forms" and " entelechies," which are accidental and 
 changing, not truly substantial. 
 
 The Infinite, in which matter and form, act and possibility, 
 coincide, contains in itself all being and all modes of being. 
 
 /\ 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 77 
 
 Each particular thing contains the whole as regards its sub- 
 stance, but has not all modes of being. All evil and imperfec- 
 tion consists in this, that particular things, striving to attain 
 the modes of being which they do not possess, lose one mode 
 of being in order to assume another. In the Infinite all things 
 are one ; no quality is different from its opposite ; a moment 
 is not different from a century, unity from multitude, a solid 
 from a mathematical point. 
 
 The doctrine of the coincidence of contraries, by the help of 
 which the unity of all things is demonstrated, has an important 
 position in Bruno's philosophy. It is suggested to him in the 
 first place by the logical law that " the knowledge of opposites 
 is the same." He quotes the opinion of Heraclitus to the 
 effect that since the One, through the mutabiUty of things, 
 contains in itself all forms, contradictory propositions must be 
 true of it. But it is to Nicholas of Cusa that he ascribes the 
 special mathematical development w^hich he gives to this idea. 
 The treatment of the circle may be taken as an example of his 
 development of Cusa's doctrine. It is shown that in the circle 
 a very small arc coincides with its chord and again that the 
 circumference of an infinite circle coincides with a straight 
 line. Hence, it is argued, contraries — in this case the straight 
 line and the curve — are coincident in the maximum and the 
 minimum. The maximum and the minimum themselves coin- 
 cide in the infinite, because where act and possibility are the 
 same everything is that which it is capable of becoming. The 
 point, for example, by motion can become a Une, the line a 
 superficies, and the superficies a solid, and all numbers can be 
 produced out of unity; hence unity coincides with infinite 
 number and the point with infinite magnitude. The point and 
 unity were regarded by Pythagoras and Plato as symbols of 
 the one Principle of things. Pythagoras explained the produc- 
 tion of things from the one Principle by the analogy of the 
 production of numbers from unity, Plato by the analogy of the 
 production of all figures by the motion of a point. Both these 
 methods may enable the mind to rise to the contemplation of 
 the One ; but that of Pythagoras is the best, because numbers 
 have a higher degree of abstraction than figures. 
 
78 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO. 
 
 
 II 
 
 11 
 
 
 ' / 
 
 Bruno develops this Pythagorean idea in the book De 
 Monade, Niunero et Figura. The Monad here symbolises the 
 absolute unity which contains in itself all being, the identity 
 of the maximum and the minimum. The Dyad is the symbol 
 of difference and division, of the contradictions that are found 
 in things. The final reconciUation of all contradictions, the 
 return to unity, is symbolised by the Triad. Other meanings 
 are assigned to the remaining numbers up to the Decad, and 
 to corresponding geometrical figures; but the philosophical 
 bearing of the chapters of this book that follow the fourth (on 
 the Triad) is not very obvious. 
 
 In Delia Causa the one principle manifested in the universe 
 is distinguished from the universe regarded as a manifestation 
 of that principle. The universe or nature * is called the shadow 
 or simulacrum of the principle in which act and possibility 
 coincide. There is not absolute coincidence of act and possi- 
 bility in the universe ; it is indeed all that it can be " expU- 
 citly " ; but its principle is all that it can be " indifferently " ; 
 in the one principle there is no distinction of parts. This view 
 of the universe in relation to its principle is explained in more 
 detail in the dialogues DelV Infinito, Universo e Mondi. Here 
 the universe is called an attribute of God. The infinitv of God 
 is distinguished from the infinity of the universe. God is 
 declared to be infinitely and totally in the whole world and in 
 each part of it, while the infinity of the universe is totally in 
 the whole but not in each part. The eternal existence of an 
 infinite universe and innumerable worlds is inferred from the 
 infinite power of God by means of the position already estab- 
 hshed that in God act and possibility coincide. If one attribute 
 of God were finite, then, it is said, all would be finite. Those 
 who maintain that the universe of matter and space is abso- 
 lutely limited must be asked by what they suppose it to be 
 limited. If they say by an immaterial world or principle, then 
 it must be replied that a material and an immaterial world 
 cannot form one continuum. Beyond the world in which we 
 
 * The word '• Nature " as used by Bruno sometimes means the universe 
 as a manifestation of the divinity, sometimes the divinity manifesting itself 
 in the universe. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 79 
 
 live nothing can exist but ethereal space and other worlds of 
 similar composition. From the infinity of the universe of 
 matter and space it follows that it can be acted upon by no 
 cause external to itself. 
 
 In this way Bruno connects his metaphysics with the cos- 
 molog>' which he substitutes for that of the Peripatetics. At 
 the same time he attacks the Aristotelian physics and the 
 Ptolemaic astronomy on scientific grounds. The hypotheses 
 of mathematicians have, he says, been put in place of reality. 
 But nature ought to be a law to reason, not reason to nature. 
 To those who appeal to the evidence of the senses in favour of 
 the received opinions, he says that it is really from '' an imbe- 
 cility of the reason " that these opinions proceed, and not from 
 the senses. The senses do not deceive ; truth and falsehood 
 are in propositions, not in the elements that sense supplies to 
 reason. Sense itself, rightly considered, corrects the errors of 
 sense and suggests the notion of an infinite universe ; for we 
 have experience of the illusory character of limits such as the 
 visible horizon, and of the appearances of things at a distance. 
 The hypothesis of an eighth sphere containing all the fixed 
 stars is compared to the opinion of one who, being surrounded 
 by trees, should think the seven nearest to be unequally and 
 all the rest equally distant from him because they appear so. 
 The repugnancy of the Peripatetic doctrine of the motion of 
 the heavenly bodies in perfect circles to all that is observed 
 of nature is frequently dwelt on. According to Bruno, though 
 all natural processes are in a sense circular, nothing ever 
 returns precisely to its former state. He ridicules the fancy 
 of " the Platonic year," regarding it as a kind of symbol of the 
 opinion that mathematical exactness is observed by nature. 
 No mathematical circle exists in nature, any more than a 
 mathematical point or straight line. Each of the planets has 
 one motion which may be resolved into a number of approxi- 
 mately circular motions, but which is itself neither motion in 
 a circle nor in any combination of circles. The heavenly 
 bodies move freely in infinite space ; they are not carried 
 round by spheres. And with the system of the planetary and 
 other spheres the concentric arrangement of the four elements 
 
V 
 
 rii 
 
 80 
 
 GIOBDANO BBUNO. 
 
 mi 
 
 IlitM 
 
 { 
 
 il 
 
 P>> 
 
 'ii 
 
 disappears also. In opposition to the Aristotelian doctrine, 
 Bruno argues that the elements have no fixed order of position 
 with respect to one another. They are, besides, never found 
 in nature pure or unmixed. All substances in nature are 
 mixed, and their composition is perpetually changing. 
 
 There is no fifth element or *' quintessence." The stars and 
 planets are not simple bodies, but are of mixed composition 
 like the earth. All the bodies in the universe are made of the 
 same elements or proximate principles as well as of the same 
 primordial matter. In the sun and the stars fire predominates : 
 in the earth and the planets (in which class the comets are 
 included) water predominates. Bodies of the first class shine 
 with their own light, bodies of the second class with a reflected 
 light. But the element of fire is not absent from the earth. 
 And water, being, as Thales taught,* the basis of all substances, 
 the common element that binds together the parts of the 
 elements of earth and air, cannot be absent from the sun. 
 Heat and light, besides, are not sensible in themselves. Light, 
 for example, is itself invisible ; it is visible only by means of 
 the body in which it inheres. What we call fiame or fire is 
 light or heat inherent in a moist body. Hence the sun is not 
 without opacity and coldness as the earth is not without heat 
 and light. The name of " ether " is given by Bruno not to the 
 ** quintessence " of which the stars were supposed to be made, 
 but to space as distinguished from matter. The " immense 
 ethereal space " of his cosmology he identifies with the " va- 
 cuum " of the Epicureans. Of this vacuum he says, " God is 
 the fulness." The ** ether," or ''heaven," or "space," as 
 distinguished from the bodies it contains, is ingenerable, incor- 
 ruptible and immovable. Being infinite it has properly no 
 figure ; but we may describe it, following Xenophanes, by the 
 simihtude of a sphere, the centre of which is everywhere and 
 the circumference nowhere. 
 
 » Bruno ascribes this doctrine not only to Thales, but also to "Moses 
 and the Babylonians." Water, being an element in which coldness and 
 darkness predominate, is, he argues, the representative of matter in the 
 Mosaic and Babylonian cosmogonies; hght or fire, of spirit. He himself 
 often makes the sun the symbol of spirit or form or the active principle in 
 natare ; the earth, of matter or the passive principle. 
 
 fl 
 
 II 
 
 GIOBDANO BBUNO. 
 
 81 
 
 Since every point of space may in turn be regarded as the 
 centre, all motions may be said to be up or down, towards 
 the centre or towards the circumference, according to the 
 point with respect to which they are considered. There is no 
 difference of up and down, central and circumferential, with 
 respect to the infinite universe. Moving bodies may be called 
 lif'ht or heavy according as they are in motion to or from any 
 particular point. There is no absolute difference of " gravity" 
 and " levity," as there is no absolute difference of central and 
 circumferential positions. Bodies on the earth are said to have 
 trravity with respect to the earth, because it is th-e system of 
 which they are parts. The parts of the earth are related to the 
 centre of the earth as the parts of an animal are related to the 
 organic centre of that animal. If any part of the earth be 
 removed to a great distance from the centre, it will not tend 
 to return to its own place with a force proportional to its 
 distance from that place (as the Peripatetics are obliged to 
 maintain), any more than a part of an animal, being removed, 
 will tend to return to its place. When it is at an indefinite 
 distance from the system of which it has formed part, a body 
 has no tendency to return to that system ; for it is now neither 
 light nor heavy with respect to it. Its motion will be deter- 
 mined by the general law that all bodies seek "the place of 
 their preservation." When a body is in " its own place," that 
 is, the place of its preservation, it is again neither light nor 
 heavy. 
 
 Neither the material nor the spiritual substance of things 
 seeks to preserv^e itself or fears to be destroyed, for substance 
 is eternal. But all particular things, being subject to vicissi- 
 tude, are moved by the desire to preserve themselves in their 
 present state of being (il dcsidcrio di conservarsi nelV esser 
 P'csentc), Contraries are found together in nature, and the 
 desire of self-preservation expresses itself in general as love 
 of that which is similar and hate of that which is dissimilar. 
 But things may seek that which is unlike them in kind, 
 instead of fleeing from it, if it tends to their preservation. 
 The motion of the earth, which is called circular to distinguish 
 it from the rectilinear motion of the parts of the earth (though 
 
II * 
 
 1 I t' 
 
 I 
 
 I! 
 
 4 
 
 i 
 
 'II 
 
 82 
 
 GIOBDANO BRUNO. 
 
 not one of the four motions of which the earth's total motion 
 is composed is in a perfect circle), is determined by the need 
 which the earth has of the light and heat of the sun. Not only 
 is the earth the source of life to the animals on its surface ; it 
 is itself an animal. The sun and all planets and stars in the 
 universe are also animals, which, like the earth, though divine 
 and perhaps not destined to perish, are yet generable and cor- 
 ruptible. They differ from the animals on their surface in that 
 they have all the substance that is necessary for their preser- 
 vation in themselves, and have not to seek it outside ; but they 
 resemble them in this, that they too preserve their life by 
 retaining a certain constancy of form during all changes of the 
 position of their parts. In order that they may remain alive it 
 is necessary that their internal parts should by degi'ees become 
 external and their external parts internal, that the sea should 
 become land and the land sea ; that in short, all parts of them 
 should experience all changes of position. » Hence the hot and 
 cold bodies of the universe have need of one another. The 
 earth needs the alternations of light and darkness and of heat 
 and cold that are caused by its diurnal and its annual revolu- 
 tions, as well as those that take place during longer cycles, in 
 order that all its parts may have all temperatures in turn and 
 that the circulation of matter may be maintained. Thus self- 
 preservation is the final cause of the motion, both rectilinear 
 and circular, of all particular bodies in the universe. 
 
 All things are perfect with respect to the order of the 
 universe, but not with respect to the desire of self-preservation 
 that is inherent in each particular thing. Nothing in the 
 universe is in itself either absolutely perfect or absolutely 
 imperfect. God and the universe alone are perfect simply and 
 absolutely. For finite things can only have different modes of 
 being successively ; God and the universe have all modes of 
 being at the same time, or rather, without reference to time. 
 As the infinity of God differs from that of the universe, so also 
 the perfection. The perfection of God is in the whole and in 
 every part ; the perfection of the universe is in the whole but 
 
 * Bruno finds suggestions of this theory of the "local motion" of the 
 «arth in Aristotle. See Italian Works, ed. Wagner, i. pp. 11)2-4. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 88 
 
 not in the parts of it taken separately. Things are said to be 
 perfect, not simply and absolutely and in themselves, but in 
 their kind, so far as they attain particular ends. For example, 
 they may be said to be more or less perfect according to the 
 de<n'ee of their success in attaining the end of self-preservation. 
 Animals on the earth attain this end imperfectly ; for the influx 
 of matter fit to promote their preservation, which is at first 
 greater than the efflux and afterwards becomes equal to it, is 
 at lenf^th surpassed by it, and then death of the individual 
 takes place. The heavenly bodies (among which the earth 
 must be numbered) attain the end of self-preservation more 
 perfectly than any other finite things. 
 
 The divine will is one with fate. But God acts by the 
 necessity of his own nature, not by a necessity external to 
 himself in the manner of things that are said to be subject to 
 necessity. In God, therefore, necessity is one with freedom. 
 God always acts in the best possible manner because he has 
 perfect know^ledge. If men knew all things perfectly they also 
 would always act in the best way, and therefore all would act 
 in the same way. But the wills of men are everywhere per- 
 turbed by passion and by the hidden causes of things {affectu 
 atque rcrum latcntia). Hence they must often hesitate before 
 choosing one of two opposite courses. For this reason the 
 liberty of man must be classed among those things that are 
 subject to uncertainty. It is not fitting that this kind of liberty 
 should be ascribed to God. 
 
 In one place Bruno distinguishes between divine necessity 
 or fate and the necessity of nature. Knowledge and will are 
 declared to be identical both in God and in nature. The order 
 that is in natural things is a kind of knowledge — the knowledge 
 that each thing has of that which is similar and of that which 
 is dissimilar. This knowledge is identical with the will to seek 
 the one and to escape from the other. Now in nature different 
 effects are never the effects of the same will or knowledge. But 
 particular effects are not always produced when the will to 
 produce them is present, because they may be prevented by 
 the action of other things. Thus " the necessity of nature " is 
 the necessity which we ascribe to particular laws of nature ; 
 
84 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO. 
 
 / 
 
 l^ 
 
 mil 
 
 I 
 
 :il 
 
 ''divine necessity'* is the necessity by which the whole could 
 not be other than it is." 
 
 This doctrine of necessity, and that of the coincidence of 
 will, power and act in God, by which it is connected with the 
 doctrine of the infinity of the universe, are not to be taught to 
 the multitude ; for although they are not really dangero'lis to 
 morals, yet they are sure to be misunderstood by the unlearned. 
 This has been considered by tliose theologians who ascribe to 
 God a free-wiU resembling that of man. They have seen that 
 the multitude will never be able to reconcile merit and demerit 
 m the choice of justice or injustice by men with necessity in 
 God. But philosophers in teaching the doctrine of divine 
 necessity do not wish to deny the merit of right actions or the 
 moral freedom of man; and therefore -the not less learned 
 than religious theologians " have always been willing to grant 
 freedom of philosophising, and true philosophers for their part 
 have always been favourable to religions.* 
 
 In defending himself against those who bring arguments 
 from the Bible against the Copernican astronomy, Bruno takes 
 up the position that the Bible is a moral revelation, not a 
 revelation of speculative truth. The object which a wise 
 legislator has in view is, he says, to teach the multitude to 
 choose the good and to avoid the evil. In aiming at this object 
 he speaks in the manner of the vulgar about things that have 
 nothing to do with practice, leaving the further consideration 
 of them to "contemplative men." If he were to use terms 
 understood only by himself and a few others, and to make 
 great case of things that are indifferent to the ends for which 
 laws are ordained, he would be thought to address himself not 
 to the multitude but to - wise and generous spirits," to those 
 who - without law do what they ought." But for these demon- 
 stration is required ; faith suffices only for the many, for those 
 who cannot act rightly without external law. 
 
 The sacred writers, then, must not serve for authorities 
 when they speak as "presupposing in natural things the sense 
 commonly received," "but rather when they speak indiffe^ 
 
 • Summa Terminorum metaphtjsicorim, Gfrorer, p 512 
 ^ Deir Infinito, Wagner, ii. pp. 2r>-7. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO, 
 
 85 
 
 rently," that is, without reference to practice. Kegard must 
 be had not only to the words of " divine men " speaking thus, 
 but also " to the enthusiasms of the poets, who with superior 
 liaht have spoken to us." In accordance with this principle 
 Bruno finds in the Book of Job suggestions of some of his 
 physical theories ; he often quotes passages from Ecdesiastes 
 in support of his doctrine of the permanence of substance ; and 
 in the Mosaic cosmogony (as in other cosmogonies) he finds 
 the distinction of matter and form. The speculative parts of 
 all religious systems are for him an exoteric philosophy. In 
 one place he says that the veil which covered the face of Moses, 
 and which signified, according to the Cabbalists, a veil that 
 was over the law, was not for deception, but to prepare the eyes 
 of men for the light, which would cause bhndness if they were 
 suddenly to pass into it from darkness.' 
 
 The essential end of all religions being practice, it follows 
 that they are good in proportion as they encourage right action. 
 This view is developed in the Spaccio dclla Besiia trionfantc, a 
 book which, as Bruno explains in the dedication, has for its 
 chief object to lay the foundation of his moral philosophy. It 
 is only in this book and in its sequel, the Cabala del Cavallo 
 pcgasco, that he makes an attack which is direct and at the 
 same time more than incidental on the religion of his age; 
 and this attack is on ethical grounds. The Christianity of the 
 sixteenth century came very far short of his ideal of a religion 
 that should always have ethical ends in view and should not 
 discountenance intellectual liberty. Catholicism seemed to him 
 to exalt creduhty and ignorance to the rank of virtues and to 
 discourage scientific curiosity as being in itself evil rather than 
 good ; and to Protestantism as a religious system he was less 
 favourable than to Catholicism, for the doctrine of justification 
 by faith seemed to him directly opposed to the true object of a 
 rehgion. The gods, it is frequently said in the Spaccio, ought 
 to be thought of as rewarding the good and punishing the bad 
 actions of men, not for their own sakes, as if they could receive 
 any benefit or injury from their worshippers, but for the sake 
 of men. Laws have been ordained for the good of human 
 
 ' he Unthru Idearum, ed. Tugini, pp. 33-4. 
 
 / 
 
86 
 
 G20EDAN0 BBUNO. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 87 
 
 N 
 
 ,1 
 
 
 society ; and because some men do not see the fruit of their 
 merits in this life, there have been placed before their eyes 
 m another Hfe rewards and punishments according to their 
 works. 
 
 The Spaccio della Bcstia trionfanU ('* Expulsion of the 
 triumphant Beast ") is an allegory of which the chief person- 
 ages are the Greek gods and goddesses. The interlocutors in 
 the dialogues are Saulino— the representative of the philosopher 
 —Wisdom (Sofia), and Mercury. At the beginning of the first 
 dialogue Wisdom relates to Saulino that the gods, finding 
 themselves to have grown old, are offering up prayer to the 
 Fates (although they know that Fate is inexorable), that they 
 may either maintain their present state of being, or, if this is 
 not permitted, then that they may enter into a better and not 
 mto a worse state. For Jove and the other gods are subject to 
 change ; it may be that they too have to pass the shores of 
 Acheron. And they are afraid that the next great revolution 
 of the world will be quite different from those that have gone 
 before, and will not end in a mere change of dynasty. In order 
 to preserve their existence, they have resolved to put away 
 their vices, and, as a symbol of this change in themselves, to 
 expel from heaven the records of the evil deeds of their youth, 
 and to substitute the moral virtues for the monsters and deified 
 human beings they had formerly placed in the constellations. 
 
 The -expulsion of the triumphant beast" from heaven and 
 the assigning of a constellation to each virtue is effected by a 
 council of the gods which is called by Jupiter. The mytho- 
 logical monsters and the heroes who had had places in the 
 constellations along with them are disposed of in various ways. 
 Hercules and Perseus are sent down to the earth to slay or 
 expel certain new monsters that trouble it. By these the spirit 
 of superstition and religious persecution is signified ; and this 
 expulsion of monsters from the earth is a second meaning of 
 the title of the allegory. 
 
 The virtues to which the gods assign the chief places in 
 heaven are, in order of dignity. Truth, Providence or Pru- 
 dence, Wisdom, Law, and Judgment. Truth is explained in 
 the dialogues to be, in the highest sense, identical with the 
 
 first Principle of things, with the One and with the Good. 
 This first and highest Truth is superior to Jupiter. Besides 
 the truth that is said to be -before things" as being their 
 cause and principle, there is a truth that is " in things " and a 
 truth that is - after things." The truth that is in things is 
 that by participation in which they have being. The truth 
 that is after things is the knowledge of th^in as it is in the 
 human mind. Providence is " the companion of Truth," and 
 is identical with liberty and with necessity. In its lower form 
 it is called Prudence, and is the discursive knowledge which 
 the mind has of the order of the universe. Wisdom, like Truth 
 and Providence, has a higher and a lower form. Its higher form 
 is identical with Truth and with Providence. Its lower form is 
 not truth itself but participates in truth, as the moon shines by 
 the light of the sun. The first Wisdom is above all things, the 
 second is " communicated by words, elaborated by the arts, 
 poUshed by discussions, delineated by writing." Law is the 
 daughter of Wisdom. It is by Law that states are maintained. 
 No law is to be accepted that has not for its end to direct the 
 actions of men in such a way that they may be useful to human 
 society. Next to Law has been placed Judgment, into whose 
 hands Jove has put the sword and the crown, for the punish- 
 ment of the bad and the reward of the good. By the 
 representative of this virtue services and injuries done to the 
 commonwealth are to be judged greater than all others; internal 
 sins are to be judged sins only so far as they are capable of 
 having an external effect; repentance is to be approved but not 
 to be esteemed equal to innocence. 
 
 That which is brought out most clearly in this distribution 
 of the chief virtues is the importance that Bruno attaches to 
 knowledge as an essential condition of right action. The 
 distribution of the virtues that follow judgment has less purely 
 philosophical interest; but the discussions of particular vir- 
 tues help to show us what was Bruno's moral ideal. They 
 display his admiration for the illustrious characters of Greece 
 and Rome and his preference of the antique type of the hero to 
 the mediaeval type of the saint. 
 
 It has already been seen that Bruno regarded the super- 
 
 \ 
 
88 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO. 
 
 natural sanction of morality as having some value for those 
 whose actions must be regulated by external law. Since the 
 fear of human justice is not sufficient to repress wrong-doers, 
 it has been necessary, he says, that the fear of divine justice 
 should be added. The anthropomorphic gods may preserve 
 their existence by doing reverence to the Truth that is above 
 them and by making themselves the guardians of morality. 
 
 An episode of the Spaccio which has much interest in 
 relation to Bruno's philosophy of religion is the discussion 
 of Greek and Eg>'ptian polytheism in the third dialogue. It 
 is contended that both the Greeks and the Egyptians wor- 
 shipped under many forms the one divinity that is latent in all 
 things; the Eg>^ptians chiefly under the forms of animals, the 
 Greeks chiefly under the forms of men. Jupiter was once a 
 king of Crete and a mortal man ; the name of Jupiter was 
 given to the divinity seen under a certain aspect, not because 
 it was supposed that the mortal Jupiter was a god, but because 
 it was held that the divinity was in Jupiter as in all things, 
 and because in the extraordinary magnanimity or justice of 
 Jupiter was seen the magnanimity or justice of the divinity. 
 As the Greeks gave the names of men who had once lived on 
 earth, and in whom more than in others certain divine qualities 
 had been present, to particular aspects of the divinity, so the 
 Egyptians gave the names of various animals to aspects of the 
 same divinity manifested in its descent to the production of 
 natural things. It is maintained by Isis in the assembly of the 
 gods that the wisdom of the Eg>^ptians consisted in knowledge 
 of the processes by which the life that is manifested in the 
 multiplicity of things returns to its source, and that this know- 
 ledge was embodied in the Egyptian religion. The Greek and 
 Egyptian deities complain that the Jews and the Christians, 
 having really fallen into the errors from which their own wor- 
 shippers have been proved to be exempt, and being besides 
 open to every accusation they can bring against others, yet 
 reproach with idolatry those whose knowledge of the divinity 
 was far greater than theirs. Isis declares that the followers of 
 new religions have triumphed, not by their own merits, but 
 because fate, in the vicissitudes of things, gives its time to 
 
 t 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 89 
 
 W 
 
 darkness. The prophecy is ascribed to Hermes Trismegistus, 
 that after the ancient religious have fallen there shall come a 
 time when darkness shall be preferred to light and death to 
 life, when those who attach themselves to " the religion of the 
 mind " shall not be permitted to live ; but after these things 
 have happened the world shall by some new revolution be 
 restored to its ancient countenance. 
 
 In all this it is clear that Bruno regarded those religions 
 from which the pantheistic view of nature had not disappeared 
 as more favourable to the true philosophy than the mono- 
 theistic religions ; but these passages must not be understood 
 as a direct attack on Judaism or Christianity. To aim directly 
 at the subversion of the popular religion because it was un- 
 favourable to the true philosophy would have been inconsistent 
 with his view that the end of all religions is properly ethical. 
 The difterence between the positions he takes up when he is 
 considering religions from the point of view of ethics and when 
 he is considering them from the point of view of his philosophy 
 of nature is seen in this : that the goddess of Wisdom is repre- 
 sented as expecting the return of light in Europe after a long 
 period of darkness, but as not having control over the 
 vicissitudes by which the alternation of light and darkness is 
 caused, while Judgment on the other hand is directly charged 
 by the gods to destroy those forms of opinion that represent 
 them as indifferent to the actions of men and caring only for 
 their beliefs. 
 
 Some have found in the Eroicl Furori an expression of 
 Bruno's " esoteric religion." This term, however, does not 
 seem to be strictly applicable here ; for Bruno always associates 
 religion with ethics, and he distinguishes the ** infinite aspira- 
 tion " w^hich is the subject of the Eroici Furori from " virtue " 
 as defined by him in the same book.^ His definition of virtue 
 is founded on his theory of pleasure and pain. According to 
 this theory all pleasure consists in a certain transition, and is 
 pleasure only by contrast with a state of pain that has preceded 
 it. Since in this transition, as in all motion, contraries coin- 
 cide, since the end of one of two contraiy states is the begin- 
 
 ' Part i.. Dialogue 2. 
 
90 
 
 GIOBDANO BBUNO. 
 
 ning of the other, there can be no pleasure without mixture of 
 pain. At the highest point of pain or of pleasure the wise man 
 always expects a reversal of his state. By considering the 
 mutabiUty of things he may at length arrive at indifference to 
 all pleasures and pains. It is in this indifference that perfect 
 vu*tue consists.' As the wise man is set free from subjection 
 to pleasures and pains by the knowledge that in the vicissi- 
 tudes of things all states are at length reversed, so he is set 
 free from subjection to the desire of self-preseiTation by the 
 knowledge that nothing which is substantial can truly perish. 
 This liberation from ** the fear of fortune and death " is 
 described by Bruno as one of the chief results of his philo- 
 sophy. It is conceived as an ethical state, since the disposi- 
 tion of the wise man with respect to mutable things is identified 
 with virtue. x\t the same time it is not regarded -as attainable 
 by the mere practice of morality, but only by the contempla- 
 tion of philosophic truth ; and this is accessible only to the 
 few. 2 To this outcome of Bruno's philosophy the name of an 
 esoteric religion may properly be given. He himself contrasts 
 it with the " vain fear and desperation " caused in ** stupid and 
 ignorant souls " by " fooUsh faith and blind credulity." 3 
 
 In the Eroici Furori it is not the ethical effect of the con- 
 templation of truth, but the pursuit of truth in itself that is 
 described. The eroico furore is first of all the desire of 
 absolute truth. It is said to be different from other /wrort not 
 as a virtue from a defect, but as a defect that is in a more divine 
 subject or that is present in a more divine manner. The 
 eroico f arioso resembles the ideally wise or virtuous man in 
 having escaped from subjection to the desire of self-preserva- 
 tion and to common pleasures and pains ; but he differs from 
 him in this, that in the pursuit of his object he never attains 
 the point of indifference. He has no sooner perceived truth 
 
 * Bruno does not deduce the particular virtues from his definition of the 
 ideal virtue which is the result of the contemplation of philosophic truth. 
 It has been shown by Hartung that Aristotle's doctrine of the mean has had 
 more influence ou the definitions of particular virtues in the Spaccio than 
 any other general principle. 
 
 - See for example the opening of the seventh book of I)e Immensu. 
 
 3 Spaccio della Bestia trionfante, Wagner, ii. p. 211. 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO. 
 
 91 
 
 under any one form than he perceives the limits of that form. 
 Thus he is constantly impelled to go beyond that which he 
 possesses ; for the mind cannot rest satisfied with a knowledge 
 that is limited and therefore imperfect. Since knowledge is 
 impossible except under limits, he is always in motion between 
 the extremes of pleasure and pain. . n ^ i 
 
 The eroico furore is sometimes described as an - intellectual 
 love " It includes not only the desire of absolute truth but 
 also the desire of absolute beauty. This desire is excited by 
 the beauty which is perceived in particular forms, and which is 
 one of the manifestations of the soul of the world. But beauty 
 like truth, can only be perceived under hmits beyond which 
 the mind is impelled to pass ; and therefore the pursmt of 
 beauty also is a pursuit of which the end can never be 
 
 attained." , ^^ .. • 
 
 It is to be observed that the use of the word " matter m 
 the dialogues that have just been considered differs from the 
 use of the same word in Della Causa. Matter, in the Eroicv 
 Furori, instead of being described as that which produces 
 from itself forms which it contains implicitly, is described in 
 the manner of the later Platonists. as that which impedes the 
 ascent of the spirit. Bruno was not unconscious of this difle- 
 rence. In the dedication of the Eroici Furor,, and in other 
 places, he suggests an explanation of it. It is a difference of 
 egression that is explained by his doctrine of " the circle of 
 ascent and descent." The forms that are emerging from '' all- 
 productive matter " seem to themselves to be impeded by it 
 because of the necessity they are under of passmg through 
 intermediate forms before reaching those that are highest. 
 And the forms that are descending in the scale of being seem 
 to themselves to be obeying an attraction towards " a less 
 good," when they lose in the multiplicity of " the imagma- 
 . In this theory of the divine or heroic madness, an advance may be noted 
 on the doctrine of Plato from which it is derived. Bruno, finding in his 
 essentially stoical ethics no place marked out for the intellectua »»P'^»"<>" 
 that was so characteristic «n element of his own temperament, is led to 
 draw a clear distinction between the intellectual or esthetic and the 
 properly ethical impulse. With Plato they are always presented m a kind 
 of fusion. 
 
t% > III J H 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO. 
 
 m 
 
 
 92 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 tion" the unity of ** the mind." If, on the other hand, the 
 process of change is looked at as it were from the outside, it is 
 seen that both the ascent and the descent of beings are deter- 
 mined by " the necessity of an internal law." 
 
 Not only does the idea of two kinds of change undergone 
 in perpetual alternation by all forms of things supply the 
 explanation of differences of expression as regards "matter" 
 that are met with in Bruno's works, but, as has been already 
 indicated, the doctrines of the " soul of the world " and of 
 the absolute mind or intellect, which have been supposed by 
 some to belong to different stages of his thought, are united 
 by this idea. The theory of metempsychosis which is de- 
 veloped chiefly in the Eroicl Fiirori, but which appears also 
 in the Spaccio and in the Cabala del Cavallo pcgasco, is in part 
 an expression of this idea in the form of a kind of philosophic 
 myth. At the same time a concrete form is given to other 
 ideas by means of it, and in particular to the doctrine of the 
 permanence of mind. 
 
 Bruno finds the elements of his theory of metempsychosis in 
 the traditions as to the teachings of the Druids, the Chaldeans, 
 and the Magians, in the opinions ascribed to Pythagoras, and 
 in the doctrines of the Cabbalistic Jewish sects and of some of 
 the Platonic schools. He represents the souls of men, of 
 animals, and even of things commonly called hfeless, as alike 
 in substance and differing only as to the kind of body they 
 have last received. According to the nature of their deeds and 
 aspirations when dweUing in one body will be the nature of 
 their next embodiment. Each soul modifies the shape of the 
 material substance of its own body as it becomes itself better 
 or worse. Thus from the outward forms of men it may be 
 known whether their next embodiment will be of a higher or 
 of a lower kind. In the eternal metamorphoses of matter all 
 souls receive all corporeal forms. No soul ever reaches a 
 final state ; all alternately approach and recede from the unity 
 of the absolute intellect, become subject to matter and escape 
 from it. This is figured in mythologies by the legends of gods 
 that have assumed the shapes of beasts and at length by their 
 innate nobility resumed their own forms. Those who aspire 
 
 to the divinity by intellectual love may be described as chang- 
 ing themselves into gods. That metamoi-phosis is of all things 
 and is eternal, and that all souls must return from the highest 
 to the lowest and again from the lowest to the highest state, 
 has been taught by all the gi'eat philosophers except Plotinus. 
 All the great theologians, with the exception of Origen, have 
 taught that metamorphosis is neither of all things nor eternal, 
 but that those changes which are undergone by a certain number 
 of souls have a period. The doctrine of the theologians is fit 
 to be taught to those who, being now with difficulty restrained 
 from evil, would be restrained with still more difficulty if they 
 came to believe themselves subject to some lighter conditions 
 of reward and punishment.^ But that doctrine is to be 
 esteemed true which is taught by " those who speak according 
 to natural reason among the few, the good and the wise." 
 
 It is clear from many incidental expressions that, as Bar- 
 tholmess says, Bruno does not advance the theory of met- 
 empsychosis as a positive doctrine. Yet, as has been seen, 
 he conveys under the imaginative form of this theory some 
 of the principal ideas of his philosophy. From his mode of 
 combining the idea of metempsychosis with that of meta- 
 morphosis it may be inferred that his doctrine of ** the im- 
 mortality of the soul" is not a doctrine of personal immor- 
 tality in the ordinary sense. He holds, perhaps, that a higher 
 immortality than that of metempsychosis is attained by some 
 souls but not by all.^' In accordance with what he supposed 
 to be the Pythagorean doctrine, handed down by Plato and by 
 later poets and philosophers, he speaks of the souls as drink- 
 ing of Lethe before passing into a new state. 
 
 '* Has omnes, ubi mille rotam volvere per annos, 
 Lethaeum ad ttuvium Deus evocat agmine magno ; 
 Scilicet immemores supera ut convexa revisant, 
 Barsus et incipiant in corpora velle reverti." 
 
 ' Wagner, ii. p. 309. Bruno, however, does not always admit even the 
 utility of the theological dogma in question here. See De Immenso, vii. c. 11. 
 
 « De Minimo, i. c. 3. The expressions here as regards immortality are 
 derived, directly or indirectly, from the often-quoted saying of Heraclitus : 
 Hn niv yap vfieAS K<^fiev, rag 4wx«C VfiCJv nOvdvai Kai iv vfilv TE9d(peai, ote 8t 
 
 h 
 
rji 
 
 94 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO. 
 
 Or as Bruno expresses it in the langiia^^e of his own philosophy, 
 the transmigrating souls, by the compassion of Fate, are 
 caused to drink of the waters of Lethe before receiving new 
 forms, in order that they may suffer as little pain as possible 
 from the inevitable contradiction of their desire to maintain 
 their states, and that after every change of embodiment they 
 may remain equally desirous of preserving themselves in their 
 new state of being. 
 
 Note. 
 
 In the foregoing pages, the aim of which was to expound 
 Bruno's ideas in their relation to each other, nothing is said 
 about a question touched upon in an interesting manner in the 
 Life of Giordano Bnuio, by I. Frith (Triibner, 1887), published 
 since the article appeared in Mind. It has been suggested more 
 than once, and is again suggested in the valuable biogi'aphy 
 just referred to, that Bruno may have had an influence on con- 
 temporary English literature. This seems not unlikely; 
 though it is often difficult to decide between a possible in- 
 fluence from Bruno and the influence of Renaissance Platonism 
 on Bruno and his English contemporaries alike. A definite in- 
 fluence from Bruno, I am inclined to think, may be traced 
 at least in Spenser's Cantos on Mutability. Some further 
 discussion of Bruno's philosophy will be found in the review, 
 below, of the second edition of Carriere's Philosophische 
 Weltanschauung dcr Beformationszcit. In that review the 
 position as regards the general character of Bruno's philosophy 
 taken up both by Carriere and by the author of the English 
 Life is critically examined. 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 ELEMENTS IN POETRY. 
 
 'Atto H tratniQ tTiq 7roiJ7(Tfa*s: tv fiopiov cK^opioQiv to TTfpi ryv fiovffiKi^v Kal to. 
 uirpa Ttp Tov o\ov ovoftan irpoaayopevErai. Troitiaig yap tovto fiovov »faXfcTrar, 
 Koi 01 txovreg tovto to ftopiov rijg von'itntog 7rot//rai. — Plato. 
 
 WHEN it is said that the basis of poetry is imagination, 
 much depends on what is meant by the term. Does it 
 mean the creative faculty, that is, above all, the power of 
 representing character in action ; or does it mean simply the 
 power of visualising ? In the first sense, it truly defines the 
 material of the greatest poetry ; in the second sense, it de- 
 scribes one of the formal elements in poetic art generally. The 
 question may be asked about imagination in the first sense, 
 whether it is sufficient, apart from all formal qualities, to con- 
 stitute a poem ; and, about imagination in the second sense, 
 whether it comes first among formal qualities, or whether there 
 is another, namely, metrical quality, that takes a higher place. 
 My present object is to discuss the second of these questions. 
 
 Upon the first question, the opinion may be hazarded that if 
 a work of creative imagination in prose is ever to be regarded 
 as properly a poem, it must be by suffusion with a kind of 
 feeling that would naturally find its expression in metre. The 
 perception of fatality in the development of interacting charac- 
 ters to an inevitable event, for example, brings with it the 
 unity of feeling that is characteristic of tragedy. Accidentally, 
 such a work may be in prose and not in verse ; but it is in 
 verse that the dominant feelings of ** terror and pity " tend to 
 express themselves. Now, at a first glance, that element in 
 poetic form which is the natural and primary expression of 
 poetic matter seems to be the essential element. 
 
 
96 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POETRY. 
 
 97 
 
 \ 
 
 By considering the formal qualities of poetry directly, we 
 shall be led to the same conclusion. Some, indeed, seem to 
 think that imagination in the second sense, or the power of 
 visualising, is the supreme poetic quality. It has a certain 
 objectivity that seems to make it less personal, more dis- 
 interested, than the ** passion" that finds its natural expres- 
 sion in music of verse. Hence the view, once prevalent, that 
 all art, poetic art included, can be defined as " imitation of 
 nature." And this view, it must be allowed, is one that its 
 defenders might maintain while conceding that there is an 
 indefinable personal quality present in all poetical work, and 
 indeed in all art, whether specifically personal or impersonal in 
 its attitude towards nature and man. Taking this quality — 
 which, they might point out, is exactly the element that eludes 
 analysis — as " a constant," as something always present in 
 anything that can be called poetry, they might insist that an 
 impartially objective view of the world is that w^hich charac- 
 terises the highest poetry ; and that poets are to be placed 
 higher or lower according to the degree in w^hich they succeed 
 in being objective and impartial. This objective character, 
 they might say, is best described as a character of *' the poetic 
 imagination." 
 
 To this it may be replied that insight into the reality of 
 things is rather a part of the meaning conveyed by poetry 
 than an element of its form, imaginative or other. But the 
 first question for criticism is, in w^hich of the elements that can 
 be detected by analysis does the indefinable, unanalysable 
 quality of poetry most of all reside. 
 
 In order to get rid of the ambiguity in the word *' imagina- 
 tion," let us substitute for imagination in the second sense, or 
 the power of visualising, the term picturesque quality. This 
 is commonly opposed to musical quality. Both terms refer 
 entirely to form ; and they divide between them all the formal 
 qualities of poetical w^ork. For the term "picturesque," 
 though strictly it ought only to be applied to those characters 
 of the imagery of a poem that recall the effects of a picture, 
 has come to be applied to the whole of the qualities that, depend 
 on visual imagination. The explanation of this extension of 
 
 meaning is that, just as the imagery of ancient poetry has most 
 affinity with sculpture, so the imagery of modern poetry has 
 most affinity with painting. Its meaning being thus extended, 
 the term '* picturesque " describes half the formal qualities of 
 a poem. The term " musical " describes the other half. Thus 
 the antithesis of musical and picturesque is at once clear, 
 having reference exclusively to form, and at the same time per- 
 fectly general. 
 
 Are the two elements distinguished by these terms of equal 
 value ? Or is one of them the essential poetic quality, and the 
 other a subordinate element to be taken into account by 
 criticism in an estimate of the total artistic value of poetical 
 work, but not directly affecting its value merely as poetry ? 
 
 Examination will make it clear that the essential element in 
 poetry is that w^hich is described by the term ** musical " when 
 properly interpreted. The true interpretation of both terms 
 may be arrived at by developing the consequences of Lessing's 
 theory of the limits of poetry and painting. 
 
 Lessing proved in the Laocoon that the method of the poet 
 must be different from that of the painter (or of the sculptor) ; 
 that the poet cannot imitate the painter in his treatment of the 
 subjects they have in common, and that the painter cannot 
 imitate the poet. He shows by examples what difference of 
 treatment actually exists, and deduces it from the necessary 
 conditions of the arts of expression in w^ords and in colours. 
 There is this difference of treatment, because in poetry images 
 are represented in their relations in time, while in painting 
 objects are represented in their relations in space. In detailed 
 descriptions of beautiful objects the poet cannot equal the 
 painter ; but he is not confined, like the painter, to a single 
 moment of time. The poet describes the effects of things, not 
 merely the things themselves ; and thus he can convey ideas 
 of beautiful objects by methods of his own which the painter 
 cannot employ. But to produce a " poetic picture," that is, a 
 picture not of an object but of an action or event, which con- 
 sists of successive phases related in time, not of coexistent 
 parts related in space, is the true aim of the poet. 
 
 Now Lessing's conception of a poetic picture — a picture in 
 
 8 
 
 11 
 
 I- 
 
 \ 
 
98 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POETRY. 
 
 99 
 
 words of a series of images related in time — is not a perfectly 
 
 simple conception. We may discover in it by analysis those 
 
 suggestions of distinct pictures which, as Lessing admits, are 
 
 made incidentally by the poet without attempting anything 
 
 beyond the limits of his own art. The words of the poet call 
 
 up images of what existed at those particular moments which 
 
 the painter might select if he were working on the same 
 
 subject. Is it, then, the mere relation of these images in time, 
 
 or is it some remaining thing, that makes the picture poetic ? 
 
 That it is some remaining thing, and that this is the " musical 
 
 element," will become clear from an example. We will select 
 
 one from Milton — 
 
 ** Down a while 
 
 He sat and round about bim saw unseen. 
 
 At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent head 
 
 And shape star-bright appeared or brighter, clad 
 
 With what permissive glory since his fall 
 
 Was left him or false glitter." 
 
 This passage is a perfect example of a "poetic picture" in 
 Lessing's sense ; and there is no difficulty here in detecting 
 the presence of the two elements. The poetic effect does not 
 proceed merely from the vivid objective representation of the 
 phases of an action or event as they follow one another in time. 
 A particular image ont of the series— that which is contained 
 in the italicised lines — rises before the imagination. The 
 movement in which the mind is really absorbed is not the 
 external movement, but the musical movement of the verse ; 
 and on the stream of this musical movement there is the single 
 image appearing. But since Milton is especially a musical 
 poet, we will also take an example from a picturesque and 
 objective poet ; let us take Homer's description of the march 
 of the Grecian army : — 
 
 *' i)hre irvp dtSr]\ov tirupXiyu aainTov J'lXi/v 
 ou|06og tv Kopvtpyg, (KaOev Sk r€ ^aivcTai aiiyt), 
 wf Tutv ip\oftivuiv airb "jfoKKov Oioireaioto 
 aiyXij TTafKpavuwaa ^i' aiOfpog ovpavbv !«»'." * 
 
 * •* Like as destroying fire kindles some vast forest on a mountain's peak, 
 and the blaze is seen from afar ; so, as they marched, the dazzling gleam 
 of their awful armour reached through the sky even unto the heavens."— 
 11. ii. 455-8. 
 
 Do we not here perceive as separate images, first, the blaze of 
 the forest, and then the gleam that is compared with it, of the 
 armour ? We are at the same time conscious of the march of 
 the army ; but this movement is, as it were, identified with 
 the rhythmical movement of the verse. Here, as before, a 
 particular image rather than the whole objective movement is 
 realised in imagination. To this realisation of definite pictures 
 is added the rhythmical movement, in other words, the musical 
 element, of the verse. This alone is the element in poetry 
 that has time for its condition ; and time, not space, is, as we 
 have seen, the fundamental condition of poetic representations. 
 Of the two formal elements of poetic effects, therefore— musical 
 
 movement and separate suggestions of picturesque imagery it 
 
 is clear that the first, since that alone depends on the funda- 
 mental condition of poetic representations, must be regarded as 
 the essential element. 
 
 Thus, by considering the nature of the formal conditions of 
 poetic expression, we find that the effects which recall those of 
 painting (and sculpture) are subordinate to the musical element. 
 But in order to meet a possible objection, it is necessary to 
 point out that the effects of music itself and of poetry are not, 
 as is implied in some criticisms, identical. Sometimes the 
 remark is made about verse that possesses musical quality in a 
 very high degree that it " almost succeeds in producing the 
 eftect of music." Such criticisms convey the idea that the 
 effort after intensity of musical effect in verse is an attempt to 
 pass beyond the limits of verbal expression, and therefore that 
 it does not properly belong to poetry. But the musical effect 
 of verse is of its own kind, and is produced by methods peculiar 
 to the poet. The resemblance that there is between musical 
 verse and music is due to resemblance in the general conditions 
 of their production ; music, like poetry, has time for its formal 
 condition, and in music as in poetry the effect depends imme- 
 diately on sequences of sound ; but there need not be any 
 imitation either on the part of the poet or of the musician. 
 This becomes evident from the observation that many people 
 who are very susceptible to music care little for metrical 
 etfects in poetry ; while, on the other hand, those who care 
 
 
 l« 
 
 I ., 
 
100 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 
 most for lyric poetry have often no peculiar susceptibility to 
 
 music. 
 
 For those who can accept provisionally the conclusion that 
 the musical element is the essential element in poetry, an 
 examination of the characteristics of the poets in whose work 
 musical quality becomes most manifest, as a quality distinct 
 from all others, will not be without interest. In the first place 
 it may be asked, is there any mode of dealing with life and 
 with external nature that is characteristic of those poets who 
 display this quahty pre-eminently? Admitting that all 
 material is of equal value to the artist, we may still find that 
 some particular mode of treatment of that which is the 
 material of all art is spontaneously adopted by poets who 
 manifest the essential poetic quality both in its highest degi'ee 
 and in such a manner that it is perceived to be distinct from 
 
 all others. 
 
 Artistic qualities generally become most distinct, most 
 separable in thought from other quahties, in lyric poetry. If, 
 then, there should be any discoverable relation between mode 
 of treatment of material and mode of manifestation of poetic 
 quality, this will be found most easily by studying the work 
 of poets whose genius is of the lyric order. It is even possible 
 that such a relation may exist in lyric poetry only. We may 
 see reason for concluding that a certain mode of treatment of 
 life is characteristic of the greatest lyric poets, but this con- 
 clusion may have no further application. 
 
 The general condition of the manifestation of lyrical power 
 may be found without much difficulty. This condition is 
 expressed in the remark so frequently made that lyric poetry 
 is " subjective." As it is used in criticism the term is some- 
 times rather vague ; but it really describes very well the 
 change that all actual experience undergoes in becoming mate- 
 rial for lyric poetry. The lyric poet resolves all human emo- 
 tion and all external nature into their elements, and creates 
 new worlds out of these elements. Now this process has a 
 certain resemblance to the resolution of things into their 
 elements by philosophical analysis. The method of the poet 
 of course does not end in analysis ; but that resolution of 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POET BY. 
 
 101 
 
 emotion into a few typical poetic motives, and of nature into 
 ideas of elementary forces and forms, which is the first con- 
 dition of the creation of the new poetic world of the lyrist, 
 resembles the analytical process of the philosopher taken by 
 itself in that it is subjective. The term has therefore not been 
 misapplied in this case in being transferred from philosophy to 
 literary criticism. 
 
 The subjective character of lyric poetry is so obvious that it 
 has been noticed as a fact even by those who have not seen 
 the reason that determines it. The reason why the lyric poet 
 must be " subjective " is this : in order to produce a distinct 
 impression by the form of his work, he must have the material 
 perfectly under his control. Now the material cannot be under 
 the control of the poet unless he selects from that which he 
 finds in life, accentuating some features of experience, and 
 suppressing others. To make this selection possible analysis 
 is necessary ; and then, the more complete the transformation 
 of human emotion with all its circumstances into a new " sub- 
 jective" world, the more complete is also the detachment of 
 form from matter, the more intense is the impression given by 
 
 the form alone. 
 
 This transformation may be brought about in two different 
 ways. One of these consists in contemplating from the point 
 of view of a peculiar personality the few typical emotions and 
 ideas to which analysis reduces all the rest. A new world is 
 created in which some effect of strangeness is given to every- 
 thing. After the treatment of earher artists has been studied, 
 an effort is made to express what has been left by them incom- 
 pletely expressed — all those remoter effects of things which 
 they have only suggested. Baudelaire, who has carried this 
 method to its limits, has also given the theory of it. He called 
 it the research for "the artificial," and regarded it as the 
 typical method of modern art. The other method is to give 
 to the mood that is selected as the motive of a poem a special 
 imaginative character by associating with it some typical 
 episode of life, colouring this brilliantly, and isolating it from 
 a background that is vaguely thought of as made up of common- 
 place experience. This mode of treatment of life is to a certain 
 
 
 i 
 
102 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POETRY, 
 
 103 
 
 extent that of all poets ; but some lyrists — Burns and Heine, 
 for example — have carried it to gi'eater perfection as a poetic 
 method than the rest. Lyrics such as Heine's have for their 
 distinctive character an intensity of emotional expression which 
 has led some critics to praise them as not being " artificial." 
 But they are really quite as artificial, in a sense, as those with 
 which they are contrasted. For nothing in them is taken 
 directly from life. The episode that is selected has a certain 
 typical character by which it is removed from real experience ; 
 in being emphasised by intensity of expression and by contrast 
 it is of course equally removed from the world of abstractions. 
 Thus it is true here, as everywhere else, that " art is art 
 because it is not nature." 
 
 But among the lyric poets themselves there are some in 
 whose verse the musical quality becomes more distinct than it 
 does in the verse of those who may be characterised by their 
 use of one of the two methods described. The musical quality 
 in the verse of the poets referred to above is of course unmis- 
 takable, but it is not the quality which we select to characterise 
 them. In the one case intensity in the expression of a mood 
 is most characteristic, in the other strangeness in the colour- 
 ing. But there are some poets who are pre-eminently " musi- 
 cal," whom the musical quality of their verse would be selected 
 to characterise. Is there any peculiarity in their mode of 
 treating the material of all poetry, by which this still greater 
 detachment of form from matter can be explained? 
 
 In order to determine this, the best way of proceeding seems 
 to be to compare the poets of lyrical genius of some one lite- 
 rature, and to try to discover what those poets have in conunon 
 who, in musical quality of verse, are distinguished above the 
 rest. For this purpose we may be allowed to choose English 
 literature. 
 
 The first great English poet who is above all things musical 
 is Milton. The distinction of musical from picturesque 
 qualities has indeed been used as a means of defending Milton's 
 claim to be placed in the first order of poets against those 
 critics who have complained that he does not suggest many 
 subjects for pictures. And we must place Milton among poets 
 
 whose genius is of the lyrical kind, though most of his work 
 is not technically lyrical — especially if we accept as universal 
 among the greater poets the distinction of lyric from dramatic 
 genius. Spenser's verse is, of course, extremely musical ; but 
 we do not think of the music of his verse as that w^hich is 
 most characteristic of him. His distinction consists rather in 
 what Coleridge describes as the dream-like character of his 
 imagery. After Milton, the next great poet who is eminently 
 musical is Shelley. It will be said that Coleridge and Keats 
 are, equally with Shelley, poets whose verse has the finest 
 qualities of rhythm. But in Keats, what Mr. Arnold has called 
 his "natural magic," and in Coleridge certain other imagi- 
 native qualities, are what we think of as characteristic ; for 
 these qualities are scarcely distinguishable from the medium 
 of expression ; the music of the verse is not felt as something 
 that produces an effect of its own apart from the effect of other 
 artistic qualities. Now in some of Shelley's lyrics no formal 
 quality seems to exist except the music ; a clear intellectual 
 meaning is always present, but often there is scarcely any 
 suggestion of distinct imagery. The power that he shows in 
 these lyrics of giving music of verse an existence apart from 
 all other formal qualities is what makes Shelley more of a 
 musical poet than Coleridge or Keats ; and no other poet of 
 the same period can be compared with these in this quality of 
 verse. From the period of Shelley to the present time the 
 poet who is distinguished above the rest by the musical quality 
 of his verse is Mr. Swinburne. And he has, in common with 
 Milton and Shelley, the power, which Shelley perhaps mani- 
 fests most of all, of detaching musical quality from all other 
 formal qualities. If the same poets have also something in 
 conunon in their selection of material, then it is probable that 
 this will be found to have some relation to their attaining the 
 last limit of detachment of the essentially poetic quaUty from 
 all others. 
 
 A ground of comparison is found in the power these poets 
 have of expressing what may be called impersonal passion. 
 Like all other poets of lyrical genius, they often express 
 personal emotions ; but they also give pecuUarly distinct 
 
 i l1 
 
 i 
 
104 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTUBESQUE 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POETRY, 
 
 105 
 
 V 
 
 expression to emotions that have an impersonal character — 
 emotions that are associated with a certain class of abstract 
 ideas. What, then, is the nature of these abstract ideas? 
 
 They are ideas that may be found by analysis in all poetry. 
 By some poets they are distinctly realised, but oftener they 
 make their influence felt unconsciously; and when they are 
 distinctly realised they may or may not be the objects of 
 emotion. They represent the different ways in which the 
 contrast is conceived between the movement of external things 
 on the one hand, and the desires and aspirations of man on the 
 other. The opposition of man and things outside is implicit in 
 Greek tragedy, for example, as the idea of fate. And both in 
 ancient and modern lyric poetry the conception of the dark 
 background of necessity gives by contrast an intenser colouring 
 to the expression of particular moods. There can be no finer 
 example of this than the fifth ode of Catullus, where the 
 peculiar intensity of effect is given by the reflection that is 
 interposed : — 
 
 " Soles occidere et redire possunt ; 
 Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, 
 Nox est perpetua una dormienda." ' 
 
 But this contrast may not be employed merely to give empha- 
 sis to personal moods ; it may become independently the object 
 of an emotion. Now the three English poets whom we have 
 seen grounds for comparing, all express an aspiration towards 
 a certain ideal of freedom. This aspiration is, on the emotional 
 side, sympathy with the human race, or with the individual 
 soul, in its struggle against necessity, against external things 
 whose ** strength detains and deforms," and against the oppres- 
 sion of custom and arbitrary force ; on the intellectual side it 
 is belief in the ultimate triumph of the individual soul over the 
 circumstances that oppose its development, or of man over 
 destiny. But with fundamental identity, both of ideas and of 
 sentiments, there is difference in the form they assume. The 
 exact difference can only be made clear by a comparison of 
 particular poems. 
 
 « ♦' Suns may set and rise again ; we, when once our brief light has set, 
 must sleep for ever in perpetual night." 
 
 In his essay on Mr. Matthew Arnold's poems, Mr. Swin- 
 burne has said that the Thyrsis of Mr. Arnold makes a 
 third with Lycidas and Adonais, and that these are the 
 three greatest elegiac poems, not only in the English 
 lan<ma<'e, but in the whole of literature. Some readers 
 may be inclined to add jMr. Swinburne's own Ave atque Vale. 
 If we compare his elegy with the elegies of Milton and 
 Shelley, the difference in the form assumed by the idea the 
 three poets have in common becomes distinct. For Milton the 
 constraint that is exercised by things, their indifference to man, 
 is embodied in ** the blind fury with the abhorred shears ; " 
 with Shelley the mutability of all the forms in which life 
 manifests itself is the intellectual motive of this as of many 
 other poems ; while Mr. Swinburne brings the permanent 
 background of silence and unconsciousness into contrast with 
 the individual spirit, and represents it as absorbing all things 
 into itself. Though in all three poems the idea of future fame 
 as a compensation for the temporary victory of blind forces is 
 suggested, there is nevertheless a difference in the form in 
 which confidence in the final victory of the soul over destiny 
 expresses itself ; but this is seen more clearly in other poems 
 than in these, which are partly personal in motive. The 
 triumph of the human soul is conceived by Milton as a 
 supremacy of the individual will over circumstance. This 
 conception is above all that of Samson Agonistes. Shelley 
 expresses the behef in the permanence of certain ideas, such 
 as that of " intellectual beauty," under all changes of superficial 
 appearance. And with Mr. Swinburne, just as the opposition 
 of man and destiny is represented in its most general form — 
 
 " Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides ; 
 But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the 
 tides : " 
 
 —so the triumph of man over destiny is represented in its most 
 general form as the conquest of external things by " the spirit 
 of man." 
 
 It is through this power they have of representing an ideal 
 as triumphant that poetic form becomes more separate in the 
 
 I 
 
'-. i 
 
 >^ 
 
 106 
 
 THE MUSICAL AND THE PICTURESQUE 
 
 work of these than of other poets. The general relation 
 between manifestation of lyrical power and mode of treatment 
 of the material presented by life was found at first to be that 
 the more completely experience has been resolved into its 
 elements and transformed into a new subjective world, the 
 more distinct must formal poetical qualities become. It was 
 said that this transformation may be brought about either by 
 the interpreting power of a peculiar personality, or by a 
 heightening of the colours of some typical episode of human 
 experience. But, as we have seen, there is a further stage of 
 this transformation. By a kind of insight that belongs to the 
 highest class of poetic minds of the lyrical order, certain ten- 
 dencies for ideals to be realised are selected from among all 
 actual tendencies of things, and then become the objects of 
 emotion which embodies itself in poetic form. Now to associ- 
 ate emotion in this way with abstract ideas is a means of 
 making the " criticism of life " that is contained in poetry still 
 more remote from life itself. The power of expressing imper- 
 sonal passion is, therefore, on its intellectual side merely the 
 most complete development of the way of looking at life that 
 was found to be characteristic of the lyrist. 
 
 The connexion that actually exists between the highest 
 quahties of rhythmical expression and a certain way of view- 
 ing the world, is thus seen to have grounds in the nature of 
 things. But when the detachment of poetic form as a thing 
 existing by itself is said to be the effect that is characteristic 
 of a particular group of poets, it must not be understood that 
 these poets are limited to effects of one kind. They are able 
 to deal with subjects and to produce effects that are outside 
 the sphere of other lyric poets ; but this does not prevent them 
 from having equal powers with the rest within that sphere. 
 Hence there are differences in the effect of their work as a 
 whole, depending on differences in the combination of other 
 artistic qualities with the essentially poetic quality, besides the 
 differences already discussed. This will be seen if we carry 
 the parallel a little further. 
 
 There is, for example, a difference between Milton's treat- 
 ment of external nature under its imaginative aspect and that 
 
 ELEMENTS IN FOETBY, 
 
 107 
 
 of the two later poets. In reading Milton, the peculiar imagi- 
 native effect experienced is that which is produced by the 
 contemplation of enormous spaces. The later poets, on the 
 other hand, give a characteristic quality to their imaginative 
 representations of nature by endowing the elementary forces 
 and forms of the world with a kind of life. Objects are not 
 described as portions of a mechanism, but are identified with 
 a spirit that gives them motion. Two equally perfect examples 
 of this are the description of dawn at the opening of the fourth 
 act of PromctJieus Unbound and the description in one of 
 the choruses of Erechtlieiis (in the passage beginning "But 
 what light is it now leaps forth on the land " . . .) of the 
 sudden reappearance of the sun after having been obscured. 
 There is nothing in Milton corresponding to this mode of 
 conceiving nature. The spheres, with him, are guided by 
 spirits that act on them from outside ; they are themselves 
 lifeless. 
 
 In some respects, however, Mr. Swinburne resembles Milton 
 and is unlike Shelley. This is the case as regards specially 
 picturesque effects. Shelley suggests a greater number of 
 distinct pictures corresponding to particular moments; with 
 Milton and with Mr. Swinburne the picturesque effect is not 
 so easily distinguished at first from the musical effect, but 
 there is a stronger suggestion of a background that remains 
 permanent while individual objects disappear. As has been 
 already said, Shelley does not always attempt picturesque 
 effects ; the imagery in some of his lyrics is of the faintest 
 possible kind ; it is something that is vaguely suggested by 
 the idea that gives shape to the poem and the emotion that 
 animates it, rather than something that exists for its own sake. 
 But when he does attempt picturesque effects he becomes one 
 of the most picturesque of the poets who can be compared 
 with him as regards music of verse. It is the peculiar cha- 
 racter of the effects he produces that prevents this from being 
 always recognised. Many of Shelley's descriptions are exact 
 representations of the more indistinct impressions that are got 
 from natural things ; as it has been put by some critics, he 
 describes temporary forms of things rather than permanent 
 
 ! i 
 
 !^t 
 
 h 
 
108 THE MUSICAL AND TEE PICTUBESQUE 
 
 ELEMENTS IN POETBY. 
 
 109 
 
 ■ 
 
 li I 
 
 objects. His pictures have the effect of a combination of form 
 and colour that has only existed once and will never exist 
 again ; of a phase in a series of transformations in the clouds, 
 for example. That is, in describing those changes that are the 
 material of *' poetic pictures," he does not select for most vivid 
 representation the moments that convey the strongest sugges- 
 tion of permanence, but rather those that convey an idea 
 of fluctuation. When this is considered, the want of sugges- 
 tions of permanent backgrounds, of solid objects, cannot be 
 regarded as a defect ; for the presence of these would be incon- 
 sistent with the production of a picture of the kind described. 
 It is possible, however, that a relation might be discovered 
 between Shelley's power of producing pictures of this kind and 
 a certain want of artistic completeness that is noticed in some 
 of his work. Whatever may be the cause of it, much of 
 Shelley's work appears to have been less elaborated than that 
 of Milton or of Mr. Swinburne. There is less " form " in the 
 more restricted sense — that is, less purely literary quality. In 
 Milton there are always present certain qualities of style that 
 could not be imagined by a critic to be the result of anythino^ 
 but the most complete artistic consciousness. A similar quality 
 of style is perceived in Mr. Swinburne's work. As an example 
 of the extent to which he manifests this quality, it is sufficient 
 to refer again to Ave atque Vale, 
 
 The difference between the picturesque qualities of Shelley's 
 work and of Mr. Swinburne's may be illustrated by comparing 
 their mode of treatment of such a conception as that of a pro- 
 cession of divine forms. There is in one of the best known 
 lyrical passages of Hellas a description of " the Powers of earth 
 and air " disappearing from the eyes of their worshippers — 
 
 " Swift as the radiant shapes of sleep 
 From one whose dreams are Paradise." 
 
 If we compare this with the passage in The Last Oracle 
 beginning — 
 
 •' Old and younger gods are buried or begotten," . . . 
 the difference that has been pointed out becomes quite clear. 
 
 Shelley's imagery is in itself more consistent : although the 
 images that are suggested are vague and fluctuating, yet they 
 call up a picture that can be realised as a whole by the imagina- 
 tion. The passage in Mr. Swinburne's poem does not suggest 
 imagery that can be realised so distinctly merely as imagery ; 
 but the forms that " go out discrowned and disanointed" give 
 the impression of being more concrete than those described by 
 Shelley : a more vivid sense is also conveyed of something that 
 remains while all forms perish one after the other ; the "divers 
 births of godheads " are contrasted with " the soul that gave 
 them shape and speech." An idea similar to this is indeed 
 suggested in the chorus of Hellas^ but it is not brought out 
 so distinctly. Shelley makes the idea of the changing phases 
 of the perpetual flux of forms most vivid ; Mr. Swinburne, on 
 the other hand, makes most vivid the idea of that which is con- 
 trasted with all temporary forms of things. Thus he often 
 employs conceptions like those of the avatars in Hindu 
 mythologies. In the poems of Dolores and Faustine^ for 
 example, there are conceptions of this kind. The ideal figures 
 in these poems are not ghosts like Heine's " gods in exile," 
 but embodiments of a spirit that is conceived as having 
 remained always the same while changing its superficial attri- 
 butes in passing from one age to another. 
 
 Returning from this attempt to characterise some of the 
 resemblances and differences in the work of those poets who 
 have more in common than any other of the greater English 
 poets, we come upon the question whether the general idea 
 that has been partially developed can be applied to dramatic as 
 well as to lyric poetry. In its application to dramatic poetry 
 (supposing this to be possible), it could not, of course, receive 
 the development of which it is capable when applied to the 
 work of poets whose genius is of the lyrical order. The dra- 
 matic is more dependent than the lyric genius on the unana- 
 lysed material that life presents to it directly ; and the condi- 
 tions of the drama prevent that almost complete detachment 
 of the essentially poetic element which we perceive in some 
 lyrics. On the other hand, this element is intrinsically the 
 same in the drama and in the lyric, though it differs in its 
 
110 
 
 THE ELEMENTS IN POETRY 
 
 !| 
 
 fi. 
 
 mode of manifestation. While it seems in the }Tic to assume 
 an existence apart, in the drama it emerges at particular 
 moments in the progress of the action. From the poetic point 
 of view all other parts of the drama exist for the sake of these. 
 And this poetic effect, being produced, like the effect of lyric 
 verse, by the rhythmical expression of emotion, is best de- 
 scribed as " musical." No difficulty is presented by dramatic 
 poetry, therefore, as to the central part of the view that has 
 been taken. And if, as has been said, the particular conclu- 
 sions arrived at in considering lyric poetry are not applicable 
 to the drama, it must at the same time be remembered that 
 the conditions of success in dramatic and in lyric poetry cannot 
 be (as is sometimes thought) altogether unlike. For a lyric 
 element is perceptible in most dramatic poets ; and the greatest 
 among those poets who are usually thought of as lyrists 
 have written dramas that rank next to those of the greatest 
 dramatists. 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION 
 
 ONE of the most prominent facts of contemporary politics, 
 both theoretical and practical, is the movement away 
 from what is called " Individualism." Philosophical writers 
 of the most various schools, tracing their idea back to Comte 
 or Hegel or Aristotle, or developing it independently as a 
 psychological doctrine, insist that society is prior to man ; 
 that the individual man cannot be understood except as a 
 social product, each man having in his mind the organised 
 results of institutions, of law, and of the experience embodied 
 in language.* Society is not to be thought of as something 
 artificially formed by men for the purpose of doing some par- 
 ticular thing, but as the presupposition of all properly human 
 activities. On the practical side, no fact is more familiar than 
 the growing approval of the action of the State in matters 
 that till lately the best reasoned political theory excluded from 
 its competence. Yet there are, at the same time, influential 
 thinkers who regard this whole movement, on its practical 
 side, as reactionary. The principle of individual liberty, they 
 insist, must remain for ever the only sound basis of political 
 action ; and to add to the functions of the governing power is 
 to diminish the freedom of the individual. 
 
 Those who advocate new activities of the State, when they 
 are not content with empirical arguments to prove that good 
 will result in particular cases, usually fall back on one of the 
 philosophic theories opposed to individualism. If it is urged 
 
 ' See, on this idea, Groom Ilobertson's articles, '* How we come by our 
 Knowledge," and " The Physical Basis of Mind," in Philosophical Eemaiiis. 
 Mr. Carveth Read, in Mind, vol. vi., p. 483, proposes to connect with the 
 psychological doctrine of the " social medium" the name of G. H. Lewes. 
 
 HI 
 
 ^/ 
 
112 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION, 
 
 iia 
 
 <1 
 
 .»' 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 that the action of the State interferes with individual liberty, 
 they reply that " the older individualism " is superseded ; 
 that it is once more a part of sound political theory that 
 "the State may do anything." The individualistic ideals of 
 the immediate past are the outcome of philosophical indi- 
 vidualism. The outcome of the newer doctrine is a more 
 authoritative ideal. 
 
 In all arguments of this form there is an evident assump- 
 tion. The word " individualism," as has just been indicated, 
 is used in two distinct senses. It may mean the philosophi- 
 cal or psychological individualism that attempts to explain 
 society and the State from the relations of individual men at 
 first isolated (yet assumed to possess already all human attri- 
 butes), w^ho afterwards find their advantage in the social union 
 and in political organisation ; or it may mean the individualism 
 that places its practical ideal in a life not authoritatively regu- 
 lated from without, but developing itself spontaneously from 
 within. These two "individualistic" doctrines have often 
 been held by the same person : John Stuart Mill, for example, 
 was an individualist in both senses. The view^s opposed to 
 the two kinds of individuahsm have been similarly conjoined : 
 Conite was an opponent of individualism in both senses. It 
 does not follow from this, however, that either individualistic 
 doctrine is a deduction from the other. The two meanings of 
 the word, once distinguished, are at first sight sufiiciently 
 remote, and something more than the common name is 
 required to prove their necessary connexion. 
 
 The doctrine opposed to philosophical individualism may no 
 doubt be expected to have important practical consequences. 
 Legislation may not improbably be suggested by it which had 
 formerly no theoretical basis. So far the advocates of new- 
 kinds of State-action are in the right when they appeal to the 
 modern theory. Where they are wrong is in dismissing as 
 henceforth baseless all objections to State-action that are 
 founded on appeals to individual liberty. Objections of this 
 kind, it is now clear, will have to be met on their merits. 
 Only two ways of meeting them are open. Either the indi- 
 vidualistic ideal must be shown to be really bound up with 
 
 philosophical individualism, and so to disappear when this 
 disappears ; or the new kinds of legislation suggested by the 
 modern doctrine must be proved not to be incompatible with 
 the ideal of freedom. Before anything can be decided it is 
 therefore necessary to determine the exact relations of each 
 philosophical doctrine to this ideal. 
 
 First of all, then, it is clear that in either type of doctrine 
 individual freedom is finally secure. For the individual alone 
 has consciousness of himself. There is no " social conscious- 
 ness " outside the individual mind. From this it follows that 
 there can be no such thing as "collective happiness." The 
 ultimate end of social life can only be attained by the indi- 
 vidual. To the good of the individual, accordingly, social 
 good nmst finally be subordinated. Now the good of each 
 man can only be attained w^hen all are free to seek happiness 
 in their own way. Individual freedom, therefore, must be the 
 ultimate end of the organisation of the State. And if it 
 remains true that the good of society is to be preferred when 
 it comes into conflict with individual happiness, this is because 
 the existence and welfare of society are the condition of there 
 being individuals at all w^ho are able to live in freedom. In 
 ethics this is the justification for ascribing merit to acts of self- 
 sacrifice. In politics it is the ground of the maxim, " Sains 
 rcipublicae supvcma lex.'' 
 
 These are, in substance, the reasons given by Spinoza, and 
 also by Mr. Herbert Spencer, — both in a sense philosophical 
 individualists, — for the place assigned to freedom in their 
 ideal State. The reasoning, however, does not depend on 
 the theoretical individualism of their philosophical point of 
 view. And if, now, we leave this final reply out of account 
 for a moment, we shall find that the doctrine of Spinoza and of 
 Mr. Spencer, in so far as it is philosophically individualistic, 
 is capable of being turned against the ideal of individual 
 freedom. 
 
 To put the argument first in a general form : the philoso- 
 phical doctrine of individualism supposes that men on enter- 
 ing into the social union sacrifice part of the " rights," or 
 powers of acting freely, which they had in the state of 
 
 9 
 
114 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 nature, in return for protection and other advantages. Civi- 
 lisation, then it would seem, must he a movement away 
 from liberty. It will naturally consist in a gradual restric- 
 tion of the freedom at first reserved, which becomes less as 
 societies become more definitely organised. Turning to the 
 particular doctrines in question, we find that according to 
 Spinoza the form of political society in which there is most 
 liberty is nearest to the "state of nature."* But the state 
 of nature is a state in which there is no justice or injustice, 
 but " all things come aUke to all," because nature is yet un- 
 modified by human law.=^ The state of liberty, then, it would 
 seem, must be the lowest state. Mr. Spencer's conception 
 of the social organism as built up out of individuals analo- 
 gous to cells, at first only aggregated, afterwards becoming 
 definitely grouped and coherent, and forming a hierarchy of 
 parts, gives ground for a similar inference. For if, as Mr. 
 Spencer affirms, the governing body represents the central 
 nervous system, and if there is progress in the social organism, 
 then its general movement ought, according to the analogy, 
 to be in the direction of greater subordination of parts ; 
 this being the general direction of movement in the zoological 
 series. 
 
 Of course these objections are not unanswerable, even from 
 the point of view of philosophical individualism. From the 
 point of view of the modern doctrine of the priority of society, 
 however, they do not merely vanish ; they turn entirely to 
 the advantage of the " individualistic " ideal. For the indi- 
 vidual is now conceived, not as matter to be organised, but 
 as gradually emerging, from a primitive state in which he 
 was only identifiable as a member of a class performing 
 assigned functions, into definite recognition as a being with 
 ascertained personal rights. The movement that presents 
 itself as the characteristic movement of civilisation is not the 
 restriction of a reserve of liberty, but the gradual growth of 
 liberty. And by the new^ way of regarding society the good 
 of the individual is more clearly seen to be something added 
 to the good of the State, of which the good of the State is 
 
 » Tractatus Theolo(jico-Puliticus, c. xx., § 38. =» Ibid., c. xix. §§ 8, 20. 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 115 
 
 only the condition. When Mr. Spencer describes societv as 
 " super-organic," that is a typical expression of philosophical 
 individualism. According to the doctrine of the priority of 
 society, the individual man, in so far as the common life of 
 society assumes in him distinct personal form, must rather 
 he regarded as "super-social." 
 
 Carried to its logical conclusion, therefore, the modern 
 doctrine opposed to philosophical individualism, instead of 
 destroying the individualistic ideal, restores it in a more 
 unqualified form. "Individuality" is no longer, as Mill 
 described it, merely " one of the elements of well-being," 
 but is that for the sake of which social well-being is ''in 
 the end to be desired. 
 
 That this is the outcome of the modern theory of the rela- 
 tions of society and man becomes evident in Green's "Lectures 
 on the Principles of Political Obligation." ^ According to 
 Green, the ultimate end of political organisation is " ni^oral 
 freedom," that is, the freedom of the individual to become 
 what he IS capable of becoming as a moral being. To provide 
 the conditions of moral "self-realisation" is therefore the 
 fuiiction of the State. Now Green proceeds consistently from 
 the basis of the anti-individualistic philosophical theory. 
 What has been contended for is therefore strongly confirmed 
 when he is found maintaining that freedom in some form is 
 the final political end. 
 
 Green's definition of this end is doul)tless open to the 
 criticism that it excludes much that has hitherto been under- 
 stood by freedom. Intellectual freedom, for example, was 
 not the least important part of that whicli was contended 
 for by such representatives of the older doctrine as Mill and 
 ^pinoza. How is intellectual freedom to be brought under 
 Green's definition? The disciples of Green would probably 
 make some such answer as this. Certain persons feel it to 
 '>e " a duty," or a part of their " moral self-realisation," to 
 at am clearness of thought on matters of general human 
 interest. The " right " which is the correlative of this duty 
 must therefore be secured to them by the ideal State. Con- 
 • Works of T. U. Green, eJ. l\. L. Xettleship, vol. ii. 
 
IIG 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 117 
 
 siderations of this kind, it may be granted, have some weight 
 in enforcing a conclusion aheady arrived at. But would they 
 be sufficient to establish this conclusion if it were questioned ? 
 It is plain that they would not. The governing powers would 
 see in them little more than an appeal from the law of the 
 State to personal *' conscientious convictions ; " and this is 
 not held to be a sound political argument. If the liberty of 
 thought and speech is to be permanently secure, free intel- 
 lectual activity — apart from considerations as to its useful- 
 ness to the State, which will always count for something — 
 must be seen to be a good in itself, not a mere condition of 
 moral self-culture. 
 
 Although on this particular point Green would not have 
 differed practically from Mill, it would be a mistake to suppose 
 thcit it makes no practical difference whether we speak of 
 " freedom " simply or of '* moral freedom." Thqre are indica- 
 tions in Green's political work of his approval of restrictions 
 on personal liberty that Mill unhesitatingly condemned ; and 
 these can be traced to the limitation of his formula. The 
 limitation, however, is due to the exclusiveness of Green's 
 ethical attitude, not to the theory of society from which he 
 sets out. In order to get rid of it, we have only to interpret 
 " self-realisation " in a wider sense. The self-realisation of 
 the individual being regarded, in accordance with Green's 
 view, as the end for which the State exists, the political 
 conception of freedom will necessarily be enlarged with the 
 enlargement of the conception of individual self-realisation.^ 
 
 But if the individualistic ideal is thus re-established, does 
 it follow that we ought to condenm all those activities of the 
 State that are condemned by Mr. Spencer and would have 
 been condemned by the greatest English political thinkers 
 of the early part of the present century ? What is to be said, 
 for example, of interferences of the State with industrial 
 competition ? Does interference with the working of the 
 industrial system constitute of itself an interference with 
 
 ' Green himself (in the Prolefjomeun to Ethics, p. 312) recognises the 
 difficulty that there is in the way of admitting his ethical formula as a 
 complete expression of all that is implied in human self-realisation. 
 
 individual liberty? In short, is the commercial and indus- 
 trial poHcy of ''laisscz faire'' a corollary of the ethical and 
 political doctrine of ^IWiori % Arcopaijitica and Mill's Liberty": 
 An explicit discussion of this question will make clear what 
 has been gained for political philosophy l)y the advance of 
 philosophic theory beyond individualism. The conclusion 
 that is come to on this special question is, besides, itself one 
 of the chief applications of any philosophical system of 
 political principles. 
 
 Now we know that the word *' freedom," as it is often 
 applied, has in reality nothing to do witli freedom in the 
 sense with which we are here concerned. ** Free-trade," for 
 <'xample, as was pointed out by Mill, is not a part of the 
 doctrine of individual freedom. The ground of the doctrine 
 of free-trade is not that to prevent a man receiving forei^m 
 commodities free of special imposts deprives him of that 
 personal freedom for the sake of which the State exists, but 
 that unrestricted international exchange of commodities is 
 commercially the most profitable mode of exchange. To 
 take an entirely different example: the doctrine of "a free 
 Church in a free State " may be a very good formula for 
 modern times; but what has been called ''the liberty of 
 the Church" is not a part of personal liberty. When the 
 Church is struggling with the State, what is really taking 
 place is a struggle for dominance between rival powers. 
 And the action of a powerful corporation aiming at dominance 
 ought not to be confounded, although it often is, with the 
 struggle of men for individual freedom. Again, the check 
 that has long since been put on "the right of private war" 
 was no doubt to those who were primarily affected by it an 
 interference with their liberty ; but this kind of interference 
 with the liberty of some, it is universally admitted, is required 
 in the interests of the liberty of all. 
 
 This last example suggests that the case is not otherwise 
 with freedom of commercial and industrial competition. 
 And Mill, if we may judge by his deductions from the pro- 
 position that " trade is a social act," ^ was of opinion that 
 
 ^ On Liberty^ c. v. 
 
 v\\ 
 
 % 
 
118 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION, 
 
 I 
 
 no interference with trade as such constitutes in principle a 
 violation of individual freedom. Freedom of commercial com- 
 petition, so far as it can be maintained, is rather to be 
 based, in Mill's view, on grounds similar to the grounds for 
 maintaining "free-trade" in the special sense; namely, that 
 the science of political economy shows this to be on the 
 whole the best general condition for commercial activity. 
 When the case is once definitely put, it seems clear that 
 •* commercial freedom," although it is often thought to be a 
 deduction from the fundamental principle of individual liberty, 
 is really a deduction from the principles of political economy. 
 But political economy is an abstract science — a science that 
 treats of certain classes of social phenomena in isolation. 
 Any change in the theory of society as a whole necessitates 
 therefore a corresponding change in the mode of application of 
 economical principles. 
 
 In order to determine more exactly the theoretical position 
 of the State with regard to commercial and industrial activity, 
 we may l)est proceed from Mr. Spencer's conception of ** the 
 social organism." For this conception, notwithstanding Mr. 
 Spencer's own " individuahsm," must furnish the ground for 
 any attempt to go beyond individualism in practice. The 
 social organism, according to Spencer, like the biological 
 organism may be divided into certain systems of organs. 
 There are the organs whose function is " sustentative," and 
 the organs whose function is "protective." The former 
 constitute the industrial organisation, the latter the military 
 organisation ; the governing body of the State representing 
 the central nervous system. Now the system of organs that 
 is for defence and attack in the animal organism is under much 
 stronger iind more continuous central control than the system 
 that is for sustentation. Hence it is inferred that the same 
 relation should exist in the social organism. Direct social 
 consideration, it is further contended, establishes a conco- 
 mitance of the growth of industrial and of general freedom. 
 Societies normally go through a stage of " militarism " fol- 
 lowed by one of " industriahsm." In a society of the indus- 
 trial type, the sustentative system, interfered with at all points 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION, 
 
 119 
 
 during the militant period, has emancipated itself from central 
 control, and now forms a system working independently. The 
 industrial type of society is in all social and poHtical relations 
 freer than the militant type. 
 
 It may be admitted that the association of a certain measure 
 of growth in general freedom with a certain growth of indus- 
 trialism is a plausible historical generalisation. At the same time, 
 it is clear that the withdrawal of State-control from a group of 
 subordinate organisations is not quite the same thing as the 
 emancipation of the individual. And indeed where the indus- 
 trial organisation is most free from central control it l)ecomes 
 itself a power to control the individual just as effectively as 
 the State has ever done. 
 
 The military and industrial systems are, in truth, both 
 alike comparal)le to those systems of "reflex mechanisms" 
 conceived by modern physiology. All such mechanisms are 
 subordinate to the total life of the organism ; and although 
 central control is of a different kind in the case of the 
 ''sustentative" functions, it is just as much present as in 
 the case of the "protective" functions. The life of individuals 
 in the State, according to Mr. Spencer, is comparable to thehfe 
 of the cells. Now a physiologist, considering the interest of 
 the cells, would probably find that they are free to get the 
 greatest advantage in the common life of the organism when the 
 particular mechanism of which they form part is well con- 
 trolled I)y the central nervous system and balanced with others 
 so as neither to suffer from excess nor defect of function. 
 
 The essential thing, however, is to note that the industrial 
 system is a mechanism subservient to the general life of the 
 State, not a group of individuals striving to develop them- 
 selves freely and only hindered by State-interference. This 
 is recognised by Mr. Spencer himself in the following passage 
 of the Principles of Sociology : — 
 
 '* Were this the tit place, some pages might be added respecting a possible 
 future social type, differing as much from the industrial as this does from 
 the militant— a type which, having a sustaining system more fully developed 
 than any we know at present, will use the products of industry neither for 
 nuuntaining a militant organisation nor exclusively for material aggrandise- 
 
f 
 
 120 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION, 
 
 i| 
 
 ment ; but will devote these to the carrying on of hij^'her activities. As the 
 contrast between the militant and industrial types is indicated by inversion 
 of the belief that individuals exist for the benefit of the State into the 
 belief that the State exists for the benefit of individuals ; so the contrast 
 between the industrial type and the type likely to be evolved from it, is 
 indicated by inversion of the belief that life is for work into the belief that 
 work is for life. But we are here concerned with inductions derived from 
 societies that have been and are, and cannot enter upon speculations 
 respecting societies that may be.".* 
 
 The question here suggests itself, Cannot movement towards 
 this future type be ))etter promoted ])y conscious action 
 through the State than l)y leaving the industrial type to work 
 itself out? Mr. Spencer himself expects the transformation 
 to take place entirely by individual effort and voluntary asso- 
 ciation. The interference of the State, he would sav, can 
 only retard it. This admission, however, seems necessary ; 
 that if the State were to attempt to promote the transforma- 
 tion described, it would ])e acting, whether rightly or wrongly, 
 in the interests of individual freedom, not for its suppression. 
 It would be attempting, in fact, to economise the expenditure 
 of activities which, unless they are regulated by conscious 
 human agency through the State, must inevital^lv l)e mechani- 
 cally determined, either by the operation of natural forces or 
 by the industrial mechanism, impersonal in its action as a 
 natural force. 
 
 Further, it may be contended that if Mr. Spencer, in thi 
 passage, is not to be intei-preted as meaning that in the future 
 the ''higher activities" will be promoted with more direct 
 intention by the State, there is no ground for establishing a 
 difference of possible from actual tj/pes of societies at all. For 
 there have always been a few thinkers who have recognised 
 ** higher activities " than conmierce and war as the true end of 
 social life; and it would be an injustice to the societies, "mili- 
 tant" as well as " industrial," of the present and the past, to 
 say that nothing has yet been done by them to make such 
 activities possible. Among the republics of antiquity, for 
 example, the entire sacrifice of the true end of the State to 
 mere military efficiency, as by the Spartan legislation, was not 
 ' Primiples of Socioloim, vol. i., Hrd ed., p. 503. 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 121 
 
 universal. And, to come to modern times, is it not conceivable 
 that the exaggerated development of an industrial as w^ell as of 
 a military system may tend to suppress the higher activities ; 
 that English Industrialism as well as German Militarism may 
 have its dangers for the real freedom of the individual? If 
 these dangers exist, then, to judge from the physiological 
 analogy, defective central control must exaggerate them in the 
 " industrial " just as excessive central control exaggerates them 
 in the '* militant " type. 
 
 Whate\er application may be made of it, the conclusion is 
 clear. State-interference with industry, whether judicious 
 or injudicious, is in no way inconsistent wdth the principle of 
 individual liberty. Always in sul:)ordination to the supreme 
 end, the State may put checks on commercial competition, 
 or regulate the whole industrial system as it pleases, with a 
 view to any social good that may be regarded as an inter- 
 mediate end, — say the vitahty of the race or the diffusion of 
 leisure. The condition of its effective action is adequate 
 knowledge of industrial causes and effects as attained or 
 attainable by scientific economics. Thus the determination 
 of the means of bringing about a given result becomes a 
 question of applied economical science. To ascertain 
 whether the result itself is desirable is a question of general 
 politics. 
 
 The mode of consideration adopted by Mill in fixing the 
 limits of State-action, as has been already suggested, is, in 
 spite of his theoretical individualism, not inconsistent with this 
 conclusion. He finds, for example, that in certain special 
 cases freedom to buy and sell commodities is a condition of 
 personal liberty, and that it is to be maintained for that reason, 
 not because the mechanism of exchange of commodities ought 
 in general to be unrestricted.' Again, he discusses a particular 
 case of regulation of hours of labour, and finds, on principles 
 generally applicable, that State-regulation is justified.=^ But 
 ought we not to go further than this ? Would not the conclu- 
 sion arrived at justify the State in taking over the whole indus- 
 trial system and working it by its collective authority? A 
 ' On Liberty, c. v. = Jbii!., c. iv. 
 
 \v 
 
122 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 !;; 
 
 proper apportionment by the State of those works that are 
 necessary for the maintenance of the life of the community 
 mifjjht, as some socialistic thinkers have contended, secure 
 the gieatest amount of liberty on the whole ; and thus the 
 only possible objection is obviated. 
 
 The conckision, however, that the State may justifiably 
 interfere with the industrial system does not imply that it 
 oucrlit iilvvays to mterfere. There is, first, the condition that 
 it should have adequate knowledge. The admissibility of 
 State-socialism, then, is reduced (if we assume it to be 
 otherwise consistent with freedom) to a question of appHed 
 economics. Now, one possibility is that economical science 
 may prove the interference of the State to be in all cases 
 injurious. This is the view of Mr. Spencer and of many 
 "orthodox" economists. A second possibility is that in the 
 hands of its later students it may demonstrate the socialistic 
 position. But there is also this third possibility : that while 
 the older economists have shown the interference of the State 
 to be in many cases injurious, there are still cases in which 
 State-action may be proved from the basis of economical 
 science to be effective for other purposes than " negative 
 regulation." 
 
 Political economy, so far as it has been scientifically treated, 
 probably gives sufficient grounds for concluding against the 
 extreme socialistic position that the community ought to 
 assume direct command of the whole industrial system. The 
 scientific character of the older economics is confirmed by 
 the influence of its generalisations on other sciences. The 
 stimulus its doctrine of the division of labour gave to physi- 
 ology and the infiuence of Malthus on Darwin are well known. 
 Mr. Spencer's biological analogy, again, confirms both the 
 procedure and the results of "abstract" political economy: 
 its procedure, because the industrial organisation of society is 
 found to be analogous to a subordinate system of reflex 
 mechanisms capable of being studied, up to a certain point, 
 separately from the rest of the organism ; its results, because 
 the mdustrial organisation is found to be analogous to that 
 system of reflex mechanisms which normally works with least 
 
 INDIVIDUALISM AND STATE-ACTION. 
 
 lis 
 
 central control. These results, if accepted, Hmit very much 
 the prospects of ettective State-action. At the same time, both 
 Mr. Spencer's analogy and economic science still leave open 
 the possibility that* actions from the centre, not minutely 
 regulative as in the case of a military system, but regulative 
 in a general way, may sul)serve the higher interests of the 
 State. What prevents such possibilities from being con- 
 sidered is on one side the temporary eclipse of scientific 
 economics, on the other a traditional opinion that all ijositkc 
 applications of economic science by the State are incon- 
 sistent with individual freedom. The eclipse of economics 
 will probably last no longer than the unjustified identifica- 
 tion of the pure science, by some of its exponents, with a 
 discredited industrial policy. It is against this policy, and 
 not against the science itself, that a prejudice still exists. 
 The objection made to increased State-action by those who 
 are unwilling to sacrifice individual freedom, and the neglect 
 to answer it on the part of those who advocate new activities 
 of the State, are alike due to identification of the two senses 
 of the word "individualism." On each side, therefore, we 
 may find ground of hope. For within the limits of science 
 there are always chances of discovery both of new laws and 
 new applications of old ones; and, as has been seen, the 
 organisation of industry in the higher interests of the State 
 is in no way essentially opposed to individual freedom, but 
 is rather a necessary condition of freedom. 
 
 
 M 
 
 'H 
 
 
/ !' 
 • ( 
 
 VOLKM ANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 rriHE articles on Herbart and his successors, contributed by 
 -L Mr. Stout to Mind during the years 1888-9, have fur- 
 nished English students of psychology with a convenient intro- 
 duction to the work of the school which, in Germany, has the 
 best claim to lepresent the science in its whole range. The 
 generahty of Mr. Stout's plan of treatment, of course, pre- 
 cluded him from going into detailed exposition of the work 
 of particular writers of the Herbartian school. It has, there- 
 fore, seemed desirable that some more special account should 
 be given of Volkmann's Lchrhuch dcr Psycholotjie.^ For this 
 treatise (see M'uul x. 146, 476, and Mr. Stout's article on 
 "The Psychological Work of Herbarfs Disciples" in xiv. 
 353 tf.), while it is a representative work of the school, is 
 also much more. As the most comprehensive psychological 
 treatise yet written, and as at once systematic and histori- 
 cal, it is of especial importance to English students; for 
 systematic comprehensiveness and historical treatment are 
 less frequent in England than in Germany, and are, it will 
 be allowed, seen at their best in the best work of German 
 WTiters. 
 
 There are, indeed, some English psychologists who go nmch 
 beyond this allowance ; who are seeking to reform— if not to 
 revolutionise— English psychology by ideas derived from the 
 German schools. Along with these, Mr. Stout, in his com- 
 
 ' Lchrhuch der Pst/cholonie vom Stamlpuuktc des RcnlUmus und uach nene- 
 tischer Methode. Von Ph. Dr. Wilhelm Volkmann Bitter von Volkmar, 
 well. o. ... Professor der Philosophic an der Universitiit zu Prag, A'c. Des 
 Gnindn,,e8 der Psycholonie dritte sehr vei-mehrte Auflage. 2 liiinde. 
 
 Cothen: O. Schulze, 18S4, 1885. 
 
 124 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 125 
 
 parison of Herbart with the English psychologists and with 
 Beneke {Mind, xiv. 1 fl'.), appears to class himself, when he 
 insists that the Herbartians have made important advances of 
 general theory on English Associationism. Before beginning 
 the exposition of Volkmann's great treatise, it w411, accord- 
 ingly, be well to consider briefly how far we must accept or 
 reject Mr. Stout's contentions. In this way, it will, at least, 
 be made clear from what point of view the present exposition 
 proceeds. 
 
 Of the relation between psychology and metaphysics, Mr. 
 Stout appears to take the English rather than the Herbartian 
 view. He, at least, makes no attempt to uphold Herbarfs 
 position that the fundamental principles of psychology admit 
 of deduction from a theory of the nature of the soul. The 
 nature of the soul, he would rather appear to hold, can only 
 1)6 determined after the psychological formation of the Ego in 
 its distinction from the Non-ego has been investigated gene- 
 tically. And, if he does not definitely proclaim his agreement 
 with the position arrived at by Waitz, for example, within the 
 Herbartian school, that metaphysics ought to be founded on 
 psychology, and not psychology on metaphysics, there is 
 nothing in his articles inconsistent with this view. Now this 
 is understood to be the traditional English position. It is not 
 at this point then, according to Mr. Stout, that any reform of 
 English psychology is needed. 
 
 The most obvious point of contact between English Associa- 
 tionism and the Herbartian psychology is rejection of the 
 "Faculty-doctrine." Here Mr. Stout thinks the Herbartians 
 are a little more consistent than the Associationists. In his 
 article in Mind, No 53, however, he, to a certain extent, mixes 
 up the successors of Locke with the followers of Reid. But to 
 show that there are traces of the Faculty-doctrine in a follower 
 of Reid is not to show that genuine Associationism is affected 
 by it. No doubt, it may be show^n that Associational psycho- 
 logists speak from time to time of mental " powers " and 
 "faculties"; but, as Mr. Stout himself allows, these terms 
 are used in a literary and not in a scientific manner. The 
 English psychologists have seen that it is not necessary to be 
 
 i 
 
 4 
 
If 
 
 II 
 
 126 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 always parading their scientific apparatus. When they are 
 merely describing mental processes, and do not for the moment 
 aim at assigning their laws, they are content to use the 
 ordinary terms of description. From the first, English psy- 
 chology avoided hypostasising the names of groups of mental 
 phenomena into causes of those phenomena. This— which is 
 the •* Faculty-doctrine "—the Germans fell into, because their 
 psychology was for a long time simply a branch of the 
 Scholastic philosophy which continued to reign in Germany 
 ( after the opening of the modern period. For Germany— 
 though not for Europe— Leibniz made the first important 
 advance beyond the Faculty-doctrine. The Herbartians, by 
 much laborious polemic, were at length able to dismiss it coni- 
 pletely ; but they had been preceded by the English psycho- 
 logists, who had avoided it by the instinct of genius ; and, in 
 the end, the Herbartian psychology could not be clearer of the 
 assumption of - faculties " as hypothetical causes than English 
 psychology, which is absolutely clear of it. 
 
 Where Mr. Stout seems chiefly to think the Herbartian psy- 
 chology superior to Association-psychology is, however, in 
 what he regards as its more developed view of the *• psycho- 
 logical mechanism." Herbart, he contends, has given a fuller 
 account of the mind as a "mechanical system" than the 
 Associationists. He does not apparently accept all Herbart's 
 laws of - interaction of presentations," or his mathematical 
 treatment of this interaction ; but he seems to think that the 
 mere attempt at mathematico-mechanical treatment was, 
 scientifically, an advance on Enghsh Associationism. If! 
 however, tlie Herbartian attempt to explain the order and 
 succession of mental occurrences did not really succeed except 
 m so far as it involved laws of association (stated in a peculiar 
 manner), it is difficult to see where there is any advance. And 
 Mr. Stout does not in etfect sliow that the Herbartians by 
 then- " mechanical " conception have been able to do anything 
 beyond what has been done by means of the laws of associa- 
 tion as ordmarily stated. The conception of the laws of mind 
 as constituting a - mechanical system," on which he lays so 
 much stress, is really a defect of Herbartianism, and not a 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 127 
 
 merit. For, in fact, the mind is not a *' mechanical system." 
 This being so, the psychologists who do not call it one have an 
 advantage over those who do, if only they can maintain equally 
 well the scientific character of psychology. That the term 
 "psychological mechanism " is a rather unfortunate one has 
 been seen by members of the Herbartian school itself. 
 Waitz, for example, in his GrumUcgung der Psychologie, has 
 very well put the objections to it. When we speak of " me- 
 chanism," he says (ed. 1846, pp. 140-1), we are accustomed 
 to think of the laws of pressure and impact of masses of 
 matter. Hence the term "psychical mechanism" is to be 
 avoided. We should rather speak of a thoroughgoing deter- 
 mination of the mental life according to law, running%rallel 
 with the "organic and mechanical" determination of the 
 corporeal world. For processes in the corporeal world itself, 
 as Waitz goes on to indicate (p. 141 n.), are not all capable of 
 adequate expression in terms of mechanism. There is a 
 "phenomenal " opposition of the organic and the mechanical.^ 
 Now English psychology, while insisting on the determination 
 of mental phenomena, keeps the distinction perfectly clear 
 between determination according to law and mechanical deter- 
 mination, which is only one particular expression of scientific 
 law. For its " laws of association " are always understood to 
 be laws of mind, and not laws of material change— whatever 
 material changes may be the concomitants of mental associa- 
 tions. Thus, instead of English psychology needing a reform 
 on Herbartian principles, the Herbartian psychology itself, by 
 an internal advance, has tended to the English posidon. 
 
 But, it may be said, the really important point in the 
 doctrine of the " psychological mechanism," and that which 
 constitutes its advance on English Associationism, is its 
 theory of the interaction of contemporaneous presentations, 
 
 • Waitz's distinction mi^Oit be applied within the organism, some parts of 
 which have a kmd of external "mechanical » relation to more "organic »' 
 parts. If we apply material analogies to mind, we may distinguish the 
 more -mechanical" from the more "organic" mental processes These 
 may be supposed to be parallel respectively to corresponding processes in 
 the organism or the central nervous system. In this way we get a concen- 
 tion not altogether unlike the Stoical conception of the iiy^^oviKov 
 
 y 
 
 i 
 
 \,[ 
 
128 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 129 
 
 II 
 
 and of the existence of " unconscious " presentations amonp; 
 these. That this is a very characteristic point of Herbartianism 
 may he admitted. And as the idea of unconscious or subcon- 
 scious presentations was derived by Herbart from Leibniz,^ it 
 may plausibly be represented as a distinctive idea of German 
 psycholog}-. An investigation of the relations of Leibniz to 
 his French or English predecessors might indeed show that 
 absolute priority in the expression of the idea does not belong 
 to him ; but it remains true that it has hitherto been more 
 elaborately worked out in German psychology than elsewhere. 
 At a later period, however, the physiologists generally would 
 seem to have come upon it independently of influences from 
 any psychological school. It has certainly made its way into 
 modern English thought apart from Herbartian influences ; so 
 that, whatever may be its history, we do not now need to go to 
 Germany for the idea. 
 
 The notion of a meutal " continuum " and its " differentia- 
 tion," which to many seems so important an advance of the 
 latest English psychology-, whether it is specially Herbartian 
 (as Mr. Stout contends) or not, has been arrived at, so far as 
 it has any scientific value, on the gi'ound of purely English 
 psychology. Mr. Spencer's "vivid aggregate never known to 
 be broken " and *' faint aggi*egate never know^n to be broken " 
 seem at least to be the clearest possible expression for the 
 •' presentation-continuum " and the " memory-continuum." 
 These are represented as arising psychologically by differentia- 
 tion ; and we are told that " each set of states has among its 
 members both a sinmltaneous cohesion and a serial cohesion " 
 {Psycholotji/, § 453). In this proposition it would be difficult 
 to show what is wanting to the idea of continuity. If it is said 
 that expressions such as "aggregate" and "set of states" 
 show that Mr. Spencer is still at " the abstract point of view 
 of English Associationism," it can only be replied (as it has 
 l)een replied to similar arguments) that this " abstraction" is 
 scientifically indispensable, and that Herbartianism proves its 
 
 * See, for a detailed account of its derivation, a recent memoir by Dr. 
 Johannes Barchudarian, " Inwiefern ist Leibniz in der Tsychologie ein 
 Vorgiinger Heibarts " {Mind, No. 57, p. 146). 
 
 scientific character by making similar abstractions. For the 
 Herbartians, in the main, work with sensational elements, 
 from the relations of which they proceed to derive the actual 
 continuity of the mental life. 
 
 What can really be maintained on behalf of the Herbartian 
 psychology is that it is a genuinely scientific system, over- 
 burdened with mechanism as compared with English psycho- 
 logy, but more systematic and more elaborate. Volkmann's 
 work adds to this the merit of being also comprehensively 
 historical. The historical part of the treatise is a summary, 
 equally valuable for reading and for reference, but hardly 
 admitting of further condensation. A mere indication of its 
 value must suffice. For the exposition of the systematic 
 portions of the work, the best rule to adopt— from the point of 
 view here taken— will be to reduce the Herbartian explanations 
 as far as possible to their effective part by clearing away the 
 superfluous machinery (including the term " psychological 
 mechanism " itself). When thus reduced, they become asso- 
 ciationist explanations. A general idea of Volkmann's actual 
 procedure, however, must at the same time be given ; and, to 
 give this, some account must be included of his metaphysical 
 deductions and of his specially Herbartian statements of psy- 
 chological laws, even at the risk of occasionally repeating what 
 Mr. Stout has already set forth. The order of exposition will 
 differ little from that of Volkmann himself. Since, in accord- 
 ance with the principles of his school, he aims at employing in 
 his first volume chiefly the "synthetic," in his second chiefly'the 
 •' analytic," mode of treatment, it will be convenient to finish 
 the exposition of volume i. in a first, and to deal with volume ii. 
 in a second, section. There is, besides, as Volkmann points 
 out, a natural division of subject-matter between the two 
 volumes, connected, as will be seen, with the difference of 
 treatment. 
 
 Am 
 
 Psycholog)', according to the Herbartian view, is neither a 
 purely " speculative " nor a purely " empirical " science. It 
 has now reached the stage— towards which all sciences tend— 
 
 10 
 
 « 
 
I 
 
 m 
 
 
 li 
 
 130 
 
 VOLKM ANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 in which it can be constructed both from experience and from 
 metaphysical principles. It is empirical in that it finds its 
 materials in experience— its chief experiential source being 
 self-observation ; speculative in that its laws are deduced from 
 a metaphysical doctrine as to the nature of the soul. Its 
 method is " the genetic method." That is to say, it traces the 
 origin of mental phenomena from their elements according 
 to the laws speculatively deduced. It is '* synthetic " or 
 " analytic " according as its explanations start with general 
 laws and proceed to the construction of the concrete pheno- 
 menon, or start with this last as a problem and proceed to its 
 resolution into those constituent elements and relations that 
 have been already recognised as grounds of explanation. Thus 
 the whole of psychology might conceivably be treated either 
 synthetically or analytically ; but actually the synthetic treat- 
 ment is best adapted to the simpler, the analytic to the more 
 complex, phenomena. 
 
 By "the standpoint of Eeahsm," referred to in the title of 
 Volkmann's work, we are to understand, not the realistic 
 doctrine of the external world, but the Herbartian ontologj', 
 derived from the Monadism of Leibniz and expressly connected 
 with it both by Herbart and his disciples. The Herbartian 
 doctrine is called Kealism as affirming a plurality of real 
 beings, which form the ground both of mechanical and mental 
 occurrence. For this doctrine, the soul is the simple and 
 unitary real being that is - the bearer of presentations." The 
 assumption of its unity and simplicity is required to explain 
 the unity of consciousness as revealed in self-observation. To 
 explain the origin of the plurality of presentations given along 
 with the unity of consciousness, we have to think of the soul 
 as connected in a system with other real beings. Such a 
 system is formed by the real beings composing that which, 
 physically viewed, is the organism. The interaction of these 
 with the soul, or central real being of the system, is the gi'ound 
 of " presentation." When we abstract from the connexion of 
 the soul with other simple beings and regard it merely as the 
 simple being that is the bearer of presentations, we get the 
 conception of "mind." The -mind," as such, is outside all 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 131 
 
 relations of space and time. The "soul" is in a certain 
 body, and is in that time in which its presentations are 
 produced. 
 
 The question of " the seat of the soul," in the sense in which 
 it is permissible, is a physiological question. For its solution 
 Volkmann adopts the physiological hypothesis of a '* focus " of 
 the nervous system, in which not the nerve-fibres themselves 
 but all nerve-excitations meet — " a (fixed or changing) point of 
 convergence of all waves of excitation." At this central point 
 of nervous activity we have to place the ** bearer of presenta- 
 tions." Thus the physiological and the metaphysical views are 
 brought together. The point of convergence of excitations in 
 the brain may be spoken of as " the seat of the soul." On the 
 ground of a continuous series of analogies a soul is to be 
 assumed in the lowest animals, but not in plants, these not 
 being sufficiently centralised. 
 
 States of the soul, that is, presentations, necessarily arise in 
 consequence of its interaction with the system of real beings 
 constituting the organism. A " presentation " may be defined 
 as " the simple state of the soul in which this brings to ex- 
 pression its opposition to the reals with which it finds itself in 
 immediate or mediate connexion." The presentation (Vor- 
 stcllumj) is related to presentative activity (Po7'5^c//c;z) as the 
 product to the process. The presentation with its presentative 
 activity is not to be thought of as something separate from 
 the soul. On the contrary, the soul is that which is active in 
 the presentative activity, and of which the presentation is the 
 development. The special quality of a presentation— within 
 its general psychical quahty, which belongs to it as a state of 
 the soul— depends on the quality of that real element whose 
 connexion with the soul occasions the presentation. This 
 dependence, however, is no •' mirroring." The true concep- 
 tion of the presentation lies between two opposite errors that 
 
 which makes it a mirroring of the external thing, and that 
 which makes it a self-evolution of the mind or of a mental 
 *' power." 
 
 A presentation, having once come into existence in con- 
 sequence of an entrance of real beings into a certain combina- 
 
 ( 
 
 I ' 
 
 U 
 
 m 
 
132 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 138 
 
 
 tion, continues to exist after the disappearance of this com- 
 bination. One presentative activity may fall into conflict with 
 another and become " bound," but the presentation is not lost 
 to the soul. It only has its activity suspended so long as it is 
 "bound." The "paralysed" activity has been transformed 
 into presentative "effort," which may at any time overcome 
 the obstacles that temporarily bind it. 
 
 The conception of the Presentation as arrived at metaphysi- 
 cally coincides with that of a perfectly simple Sensation. But 
 while sensation as theoretically deduced is a state developed 
 by the soul on occasion of the stimulus conveyed by a single 
 primitive fibre, sensation as empirically observed is always'' a 
 complex total state proceeding from numerous elements 
 opposing or balancing one another. We must call the rela- 
 tively complex states beyond which experience does not cari-y 
 us - presentations " or sensations; making at the same time 
 the reservation which the metaphysical deduction of the true 
 presentation as simple state requires. 
 
 Sensation as presentation has its ''content" or "quality"; 
 as presentative activity its "intensity" or "quantity"; as 
 union of elementary states its " tone," determined by 'the 
 mteraction of its elements. The content of a sensation corre- 
 sponds to but does not resemble the quality of the stimulus 
 that is its occasion. The quality of the stimulus has for its 
 conditions on one side objects with changing qualities, on the 
 other side an organ of approximately constant character. 
 Among the psychological circumstances influencing intensity 
 of sensation is attention ; among the physiological circum- 
 stances, prolongation of the stimulus and diffusion of it over 
 the organ, freshness of the organ. S:c. By the tone of a sensa- 
 tion IS meant the fact of its appearance with the consciousness 
 of "furtherance" or "hindrance." The consciousness of 
 hindrance is pain in its various degrees ; the consciousness of 
 furtherance pleasure. Hindrance and furtherance are to be 
 understood with reference to the relation between the stimulus 
 and the existing state of " tension." which depends on inter- 
 actions within the organism. What is hindered or furthered 
 IS the resolution of a tension. Since every furtherance sup- 
 
 poses a previous hindrance, every " resolution " a previous 
 tension, pain is the primary, pleasure only the secondary, 
 phenomenon of tone. Thus consciousness of tone is not con- 
 sciousness of a particular felt content, l)ut is a consciousness of 
 the process of feeling as determined by interaction of one 
 element with others. Between determinateness of content 
 and strength of tone there is an inverse relation. There are 
 no absolutely toneless, as there are no absolutely contentless, 
 sensations. 
 
 Under the head of intensity of sensation, Volkmann gives 
 some account of the investigations of psychophysics. Pro- 
 ceeding to discuss in detail the " kinds of sensations " as 
 determined by their reception from different sense-organs, he 
 describes in order the results attained as regards Sight, 
 Hearing, Smell, Taste, Pressure and Contact, Muscular Sense, 
 Sense of Temperature (Heat and Cold), Corporal Sense and 
 CcDnassthesis. The " tactile sense" is found to be properly a 
 combination of two sensations of different classes, viz., pres- 
 sure and muscular sensation. It is, how^ever, entitled to rank 
 separately, both on the psychological ground of the intimate 
 union of the two heterogeneous sensational qualities, and on 
 the physiological ground that the parts most sensitive to touch 
 do not coincide with the parts most sensitive to pressure. 
 Sight and touch are characterised by comparative slightness of 
 tone. The muscular sensation is the " feeling of innervation." 
 Physiologists, not altogether wrongly, oftener speak of " mus- 
 cular feelings " (MuskelgcfMc) than of " muscular sensations " 
 {Muskclcmpfiiuhiiujcn) ; for the sensation, as a complex, has 
 something emotional in it. The tone of the muscular sense, 
 that is to say, goes beyond the limits of the ordinary " tone of 
 a sensation," and approaches "feeling" properly so-called. 
 The " corporal sense " includes a great number of disparate 
 senses, characterised by prominent tone even when their 
 intensity is low. It may, perhaps, be an aggregate of residues, 
 retarded in development, from the primitive total sensibility 
 out of w^hich the special senses have become differentiated. 
 The common organic sense, or coenaesthesis — which ought to 
 be called " organic feeling " rather than " organic sensation " — 
 
134 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 iUUt 
 
 is the total impression of all contemporaneous sensations. It 
 consists of unlocalisecl coi-poral sensations (sometimes identi- 
 fied with it) ; sensations of temperature and pressure so far as 
 they are less toned and appear in greater masses ; muscular 
 sensations so far as they remain isolated ; sensations of tension 
 or " disposition " of the organs of sight and smell ; odours and 
 tastes and (rare) colour- and sound-complexes that are brought 
 into relation with no determinate object of the external world. 
 The common organic feeling is " the psychical expression of 
 the life of the body," " the somatic basis for the unity of self- 
 consciousness." 
 
 Movements, i.e., bodily motions conditioned by stimuli of 
 motor fibres, are divisible into Actions, Instinctive Movements 
 and Reflex Movements. The ground of excitation of an 
 action is a determinate act of will ; of an instinctive move- 
 ment, some other psychical activity ; of a reflex movement, 
 some nervous stimulus outside the soul. An instinctive move- 
 ment, accordingly, may have for its stimulus either (1) a pre- 
 sentation or (2) a feeling. Since presentations can only set 
 movements going by the intermediation of associated muscular 
 sensations, and not, like feelings, directly ; and since the 
 muscular sense has itself the character of a feeling ; the diff-er- 
 ence between the two kinds of instinctive movement is not 
 " specific." The second class of instinctive movements shades 
 ott" into reflex movements. The explanation of the first is 
 essentially similar to that of voluntary movements; the 
 essential thing in each case being the production of appropriate 
 muscular feelings in sufficient strength and precision. Volun- 
 tary, instinctive and reflex movements, as Volkmann shows 
 after earlier psychologists, may be transformed into one another 
 in either direction. 
 
 Fuller treatment of Instinct as well as of Will is postponed 
 to a later division of the work ; but as a supplement to his 
 account of the motor elements of the mental life, Volkmann 
 sets forth the theory of the origin of Language. Words, he 
 tinds, were originally the product of an instinctive movement 
 of the second kind, that is, of the kind that has feeling for its 
 stnnulus. A sound uttered under the influence of an emotion. 
 
 t 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 135 
 
 as soon as it calls up in the mind of the hearer the idea that is 
 in the mind of the speaker, becomes a true " word," that is, a 
 sign, having hitherto been a mere *' natural sound." Emotion, 
 having performed its part in facilitating utterance and under- 
 standing, is eliminated, and the instinctive movement ex- 
 changes the form of the second class for that of the first. 
 Finally, as the various series of ideas and movements fall 
 under the dominion of the will, the utterance of words becomes 
 an "action." Before the first, or "pathognomic," period of 
 word-formation is completed, the second, or " onomatopoetic," 
 in which sounds that are heard influence the formation of 
 words, has begun. After the first two periods — the period of 
 the "natural sound" evoked by something that excites 
 emotion and the period of " imitation of nature " — comes the 
 third, which has been called the " characterising " period. 
 Its activity consists in finding the sides of new impressions by 
 which they may be brought under the categories of old, 
 already fixed presentations. It is further considered by Volk- 
 mann in his view of the Concept.* 
 
 The Herbartian theory of " the interaction of presenta- 
 tions " is in essentials adopted by Volkmann, but not wuthout 
 differences of theory and of terminology. Volkmann, for 
 example, speaks of the "fusion" of heterogeneous presenta- 
 tions, while Herbart calls their union "complication," confin- 
 ing the term "fusion" to the union of homogeneous presenta- 
 tions. The term " threshold " employed by Herbart as a 
 name for the limit below^ which presentations sink when they 
 become " obscured," Volkmann rejects. He maintains the 
 ideas of " mechanical " interaction of presentations and of the 
 application of mathematics to this interaction; but he is 
 willing to allow that the results of mathematical calculation 
 are not always empirically verified. The concluding section 
 
 * With Volkmann'8 acceptance of the position that the uttered sound 
 becomes a "word" from the moment when it is understood may be con- 
 trasted Wundt's position {Plnjs. Psych. 2nd ed., vol. ii. p. 433) that language 
 is constituted by the intention to convey a certain meaning ; that it exists 
 from the moment when the original "impulsive movement" becomes a 
 voluntary movement. 
 
 w 
 
M 
 
 w 
 
 \' 
 
 136 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of the first volume contains, indeed, considerable admissions 
 Lr.K% f " "'athematical psychology,- and may 
 
 almost be taken as a confession that the experiment of apply- 
 ing mathematical calculation to the interaction of mental 
 states, though worth tiying, has not yielded the definite and 
 verifiable results that were looked for. 
 
 The starting-point of the theory of Interaction is the 
 notion of " a plurality of simultaneous presentations." The 
 «mphcity of the soul, it is maintained, is not inconsistent 
 with the separate origin of simultaneous presentations; but it 
 IS quite irreconcilable with their continued separate existence. 
 The fundamental law of the interaction of presentations, there- 
 fore, IS : Simultaneous presentations fuse. Presentations may 
 
 fusion of V r ;'uPP°"'' " °' " ^-t^-geneous." The 
 fu^on of like and of heterogeneous presentations offers no 
 difficulty The difficulty is to explain the fusion of oppLite 
 presentations. Its solution is contained in the proposS 
 Simultaneous opposite presentations arrest one another and 
 hen fuse ; that is to say, they put out of action so much of 
 heir presentative activity as opposes union, and unite the rest 
 in a total act. This leads to the Herbartian theory of the 
 
 residues. The application of mathematics in working out 
 he consequences of arrests and fusions depends on the dis- 
 
 ndrthe '"'^"^l^^^^-- 1"-«*y) ^-m quahty of sensation, 
 and on the numerical expression of '■ degree of contrariety " a 
 
 Us fas 1 T'- ''° «°"«'''°'>-«««' "arrest- announces 
 
 Itself as diminution in clearness of presentation. The degree 
 of arrest is measured bv decree of diniinnfi^., „f i 
 When the whole activity^of a^prentt^rirbr d! thTp- 
 Z^::VIT ': '^ "u"''"''-''-" "^^^ intensities 'and 
 kSvn laT i' °' '^' '"'"■''°''°S presentations being 
 arre t and tn ..' ''''^''T.°^ '^ese quantities to the total 
 ITvitv b! I" T'* ^""'"« °" ''''^ ^^P^''^'^ presentative 
 STalculable' r r"'"^''''*^^ '^"""^'''""^ of obscuration 
 sTls a ' ; ^^"^''''°"^' «'"<=« '^^y are composed of simple 
 states, are determined in their internal as well as (approxi 
 mately) in their external relations, according to Thi laws of 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 137 
 
 fusion and arrest. Simultaneous heterogeneous presentations 
 fuse into a total presentation — the " complex idea " (as Volk- 
 mann remarks) of English psychology. This means that their 
 presentative activity becomes a " total presentative activity" 
 while they themselves persist in their quaHties and degrees of 
 clearness. Of total presentations those are said to be " com- 
 plete" {vollkommcn) whose constituent partial activities enter 
 into union unarrested. When these have been deprived of 
 some of their intensity by arrests, the total presentation is 
 said to be "incomplete" {unvollkommcn). Under favourable 
 external circumstances the incomplete total presentation may 
 become complete. Partial presentations of the same total pre- 
 sentation are to one another " aids " ; that is to say, they sup- 
 port one another in the bearing of the arrest. The gain by 
 fusion is greater for the weaker than for the stronger partial 
 presentations of the same total presentation. Older presenta- 
 tion-complexes, in consequence of their " internal rest and 
 consolidation," have an advantage over presentations that have 
 just entered consciousness. 
 
 Arrest and fusion are, in reality, processes. They do not 
 take place all at once, but gradually. The presentation, there- 
 fore — or rather the presentative activity — is said to have a 
 " motion." This admits of only two directions, viz., " rising " 
 and " sinking." All motions of presentations take place 
 between the highest point of the original activity and zero; 
 the possibility of rising only exists for a presentation that 
 has sunk below its original intensity. Comparison of the 
 motion of points in space with the " motion " of intensities of 
 presentative activity shows that the velocity in the latter case 
 is always to be thought of as diminishing. The motion of a 
 presentation can be completed in no finite time, but a pre- 
 sentation may be obscured in a finite time. For if the lowest 
 point to which the presentation must sink, in order to reach 
 the limit of its motion, is below the hmit of its activity — that 
 is to say, if its share in the arrest is greater than its own 
 original activity — then the presentation needs, indeed, an 
 infinite time to reach the lower limit of its motion, but passes 
 its own hmit of intensity, the horizon of its consciousness, in 
 
 \ ' 
 
 ; I 
 
 
 Jil 
 
188 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 13^ 
 
 r 
 
 a finite time. The laws of motion naturally become more 
 complicated when presentations are supposed to arrive succes- 
 sively, instead of simultaneously. A presentation may be kept 
 mdefinitely near its maximum by the persistence of a physical 
 stimulus or by the activity of psychical "aids." The term 
 ''fixed presentation" is applied to a sensation indefinitely 
 near its maximum and sustained at this height by persistence 
 of the stimulus. 
 
 At the end of his treatment of the interaction of presen- 
 tations, Volkmann has a section on Sleep. The somatic 
 conditions of sleep, he finds, are (1) isolation of the brain 
 from the other parts of the nervous system, both on the 
 side of external stimuli and on the side of innervation, and 
 (2) disengagement of peculiar corporal sensations in the soul. 
 These sensations, marked by low intensity, great number 
 mcreasing -fixation" and a high degree of contrariety to 
 homogeneous presentations, exercise pressure on these directly 
 and indirectly on all others ; thus adding their positive in- 
 fluence to the negative influence of isolation in bringing about 
 the general obscuring of consciousness characteristic oF sleep. 
 In sleep as a process five stages are to be distinguished— 
 '' sleepiness, going to sleep, deep sleep, sleep with dreams, 
 wakmg." In deep sleep "the light of consciousness has 
 scattered itself upon so many atoms that it becomes in each 
 a vanishing quantity." Tlie subject of dreams is resumed 
 after the principles of the theory of reproduced presentations 
 have been set forth. 
 
 The return of the obscured presentation into consciousness 
 IS called its Reproduction. The reproduction of a presenta- 
 tion takes place by suppression of the arrest that obscured it ; 
 and thus either "immediately," by its own force, on the 
 disappearance of an opposite presentation, or " mediately," 
 by the force of an aid, in spite of opposition. As the mediate 
 reproduction of one presentation has the immediate repro- 
 duction of another, namely, the "aid," for its presupposition, 
 immediate reproduction is the simpler case. 
 
 There are two forms of immediate reproduction. The first 
 form occurs when a presentation is reproduced, not because 
 
 of the entrance of a new presentation which removes the 
 arrest, but because of the disappearance of the opposition from 
 other causes. This disappearance may be due either to 
 withdrawal of a stimulus or to cessation of an act of voluntary 
 attention. In either case, the returning presentation is called 
 a " freely ascending presentation." On account of its velocity's- 
 becoming gi-adually less in the measure of its ascent, the 
 freely ascending presentation never quite reaches its maximum 
 height. It usually remains far below the maximum. The 
 second form of immediate reproduction has its ground in 
 removal of the opposition by the entrance of a new presenta- 
 tion qualitatively like the obscured presentation. The arrest, 
 due to opposition being removed, the obscured presentation 
 ascends by its own force. 
 
 The second of the two forms of immediate reproduction 
 may be found by self-observation in the phenomena of 
 recognition. The theory of freely ascending presentations, on 
 the other hand, contributes to the explanation of reverie,, 
 and enables us to take up again the thread of the phenomena 
 of sleep at the point where it was dropped. When the 
 "somatic pressure" — the arrest due to the corporal sensa- 
 tions disengaged during sleep — is taken off a limited region 
 of the psychical life, the obscured presentations belonging to 
 that region are set free to ascend. Their ascent constitutes 
 a Dream. Dreaming is thus a partial waking, which ends 
 with complete waking when the pressure taken off one circle 
 of presentations is taken oft' all. In waking life, on the other 
 hand, to be completely given over to a single circle of presen- 
 tations has something dreamlike in it. Another element of 
 dreaming is introduced by those corporal sensations of which 
 the stimuli break through the isolation of the central organs 
 from the periphery. This breaking-through disturbs the 
 motions of the free presentations, and is most prominent in 
 morning- sleep. Dreaming, according to Volkmann, has a 
 certain advantage over the waking state in its internal unity ; 
 the presentations of a dream appearing in their intrinsic 
 relations, and detached from the accidents of daily life. This, 
 in his view, explains the " prophetic significance " of some 
 
 i| 
 
f 
 
 ! 
 
 140 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCEOLOGY. 
 
 dreams. At the same time, by reason that the pressure of 
 coenaesthesis is only taken off a single circle of presentations 
 dreams have a characteristic one-sidedness, resemblincr the life 
 of animals, with their more limited ran-e of sensibility as 
 compared with man, and the predominance in them of parti- 
 cular senses. Somnambulism is best explained as a morbid 
 exaggeration of this one-sidedness. 
 
 The ascent of one presentation— however determined— has 
 for Its consequence the raising of all presentations fused with 
 It. Thus, when one partial presentation is immediately repro- 
 duced, the mediate reproduction of the total presentation 
 follows. In general, the mediate form of reproduction is 
 behmd the immediate as regards both velocity and hei-ht • the 
 more so as the mediately reproduced presentation ascends not 
 m consequence of the yielding opposition but in spite of the 
 opposition that has not yielded, and as the arrest that is 
 thus unavoidable lowers both the velocity of ascent and the 
 maximum height. When both modes of reproduction work 
 together to raise the same presentation, the presentation 
 ascends not with the accumulated velocities but with that 
 which IS the greater, because in the fulfilment of one motion 
 satisf^iction is implicitly given to the demands of the other. 
 Ihe law of mediate reproduction furnishes the basis for the 
 theory of -signs"; for sign and thing signified are hetero- 
 geneous ; what holds them together is " fusion." 
 
 The correspondence of the theory expounded above to the 
 
 doctnne of Association of Ideas is pointed out by Volkmann, 
 
 and IS indeed sufficiently evident. The second form of 
 
 immediate reproduction " is of course - association by 
 
 resemblance," while ''mediate reproduction" is '' associa- 
 
 tion by contiguity." Volkmann contends that the Herbartian 
 
 inethod of formulation is preferable to the English, because 
 
 It begins with the problem of obscuration, instead of inquiring 
 
 into the conditions of the return of the presentation before 
 
 those of Its disappearance have been understood 
 
 After setting forth the general laws of the reproduction of 
 presentations, Volkmann enters into the doctrine of the 
 " presentation-series "-defined as ''a presentation-complex 
 
 VOLKMANN*S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 141 
 
 which, in consequence of orderly fusions of its constituent 
 parts, possesses the capability of raising these, during their 
 reproduction in determinate order, to their full de^^rees of 
 clearness." The serial form may be described generally as 
 the form in which successive presentations are reproduced 
 when their succession is not too slow, and when there is. 
 not too great want of uniformity in the qualitative relations 
 of the successive terms. Simultaneous presentations, as. 
 well as presentations originally in serial order, may assume, 
 when reproduced, the form of a series. For this to take 
 place, there must be regular gradation of degrees of fusion ; 
 and this appears in similar presentations when, with identical 
 quantity, their qualities are separated by a regular gradation 
 of degrees of contrariety. The form of a series is assumed, 
 for example, by colours, tone-qualities and logical species of 
 the same genus. Series of which the repetition merely by 
 reproduction is possible become shortened with time ; series, 
 that have to be reconstructed on each repetition become 
 lengthened by the taking in of details at first overlooked. 
 
 Each pair of fused presentations may be compared, as a. 
 structural unit, to the organic cell. Similarly, the presenta- 
 tion-series may be compared to the organic fibre. Series, 
 like single presentations, arrest one another so far as they 
 are opposed, and support one another so far as they are like 
 or fused. A series may consist of subordinate series. Series, 
 are " divergent " when they have the first term in common, 
 "convergent" when they have the last term in common; 
 when they have an intermediate term in common they are 
 said to " cross." If a series leads the way to divergent 
 series, it is said to "divide"; if it follows the convergence 
 of series, the converging series are said to have *' united " in 
 it. By the insertion of intermediate series, crossing may 
 be avoided. Series may become interwoven into ** tissues." 
 Examples of such interwoven series are the arrangements of 
 colour-series in a surface, of concept-series in a science, of 
 the series of particular sciences in the scheme of universal 
 knowledge. These '* tissues" made up of presentation-series, 
 are comparable to the tissues of an organism. 
 
 <V 
 
 vi 
 
 V 
 
I- i 
 
 H 
 
 142 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 143 
 
 1' 
 
 A 
 
 i 
 
 In the course of the treatment of Series, an explanation is 
 given of the fact that the longer a presentation has been 
 obscured the more difiicult it is to reproduce. The explana- 
 tion is this : Voluntary reproduction does not as a rule come 
 -directly upon the presentation to be reproduced, but has 
 to call it up by series of *' aids." Now, the longer the time 
 during which the presentation has been obscured, the greater 
 is hkely to be the length and complication of the series of 
 steps by which it must be arrived at ; and so the more difficult 
 it is to reproduce. For immediate reproduction, the len^'th 
 of the period of obscuration is irrelevant. Hence, if voluntary 
 reproduction can take this form, there is no difficulty depending,' 
 on the length of time that has elapsed since the presentation 
 was obscured. 
 
 "Sensation" and "reproduction," as has been seen, are 
 names given to different periods in the history of the same 
 presentation. The presentation is called a sensation from 
 its development to its first obscuration, a reproduction from 
 its return into consciousness to its next obscuration. What, 
 then, are the empirical characters by which these phases of 
 the presentation are distinguished? In other words, what 
 is it, psychologically, that the continued presence of the 
 somatic stimulus confers upon the sensation ? The difference 
 between sensation and reproduction cannot be in the quality 
 or content, which is the same in the two cases. The " weak- 
 ness " of the reproduction in comparison with the sensation, 
 its falling off" in clearness, which was taken by Hume as the 
 criterion, is not sufficient. It is, in Volkmann's view, the 
 greater tone of the sensation as compared with the repro- 
 duction that constitutes its most distinctive character. In the 
 reproduction, the tone, so far as it depends on relations of the 
 elements of the sensation to one another, has almost dis- 
 appeared. The reproduced presentation, as feeling, is no 
 longer pleasant or unpleasant, but indifferent, until it has 
 formed for itself a new pleasurable or non-pleasurable feeling 
 by interaction with other presentations. If we call that 
 property of the sensation that proceeds immediately from its 
 tone, or mediately from accompanying organic sensations, its 
 
 'liveliness," then want or diminution of liveliness is the 
 criterion of reproduction as opposed to sensation. Liveliness 
 is to a certain extent communicated to the presentations 
 reproduced by a sensation. A second character distinguishing 
 sensation from reproduction is that the sensation is "fixed" 
 by the stimulus, that it persists in opposition to the will. 
 Only of secondary importance for the distinction of sensation 
 from reproduction, this character becomes of more importance 
 for the distinction of the reproduction of a sensation from the 
 reproduction of a reproduction. 
 
 The account of reproduction as a psychological process con- 
 cludes with a discussion of Memory and Imagination. These, 
 Volkmann points out, are not to be viewed as " total forces " 
 by which "the mind" calls up particular phenomena. The 
 question for the psychologist is. What are the real processes 
 of interaction of mental elements to which the terms are, 
 respectively, applicable ? On any view, the contrast between 
 (1) the tendency for presentations to be preserved in their 
 original integi'ity and fusions, and (2) the tendency for them to 
 be set free from their old combinations and placed in new 
 ones, has to be recognised. From the point of view of the 
 theory of interaction, therefore, every presentation may be 
 said to have its " memory " or its " imagination," according 
 as it strives after the recovery of old or the formation of new 
 combinations. Traditional terminology being used, memory 
 may be divided into "memory in the narrower sense," or the 
 striving of presentations after immediate reproduction, and 
 " recollection," or the effort of a presentation to bring others 
 to mediate reproduction ; both being included under " memory 
 in the wider sense." The classification (proceeding from 
 Kant) of memory into " judicious," " ingenious " and " me- 
 chanical " also admits of interpretation in the Herbartian 
 sense. It is especially in the fusions of " freely ascending 
 presentations " with one another that the new combinations of 
 imagination are formed. The characteristic of imagination is 
 " newness " ; but a whole becomes new either by leaving aside 
 of old or by addition of new parts or by union of both pro- 
 cesses. This gives the division of imagination into " abstract- 
 
'f( 
 
 "./ 
 
 ' r 
 
 1 
 
 ■■I 
 
 I 
 
 144 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ing," " determiniQg " and "combining." Imagination does 
 not receive its true life and colouring till it comes under the 
 influence of emotions and desires. Under this influence it 
 rises into " Phantasy." 
 
 II. 
 
 Having dealt synthetically with the simpler mental processes 
 as deduced from ** laws of interaction " applied to the elements 
 of mind, Volkmann goes on, in his second volume, to deal 
 analytically with actual mind in its complexity. First he 
 seeks to resolve into their elements the mental " forms " of 
 Time and Space, and the Perceptions that appear under those 
 forms. Next, the psychological diff'erentiation of the Ego 
 from the Non-ego is traced out. Lastly, the phases of dV 
 veloped mind known as Thought. Feeling, Desire and Will, 
 are marked off from one another and successively analysed 
 from the points of view already gained. 
 
 ^ The psychological problem of Time and Space, as stated by 
 Volkmann, is. How are the time- and space-forms developed 
 out of presentations? The succession of presentations, he 
 premises in dealing with time, does not itself constitute the 
 presentation of succession. Primarily, he finds, the activity 
 that brings succession to consciousness is the presenting of a 
 sensation in its contrast to a reproduction. The reproduction 
 "strives against" the present sensation, and this striving is 
 accompanied by desire. Through the feelings of "no more" 
 and " not yet," we become conscious of time. The source of 
 the strength both of these feehngs and of the consciousness of 
 time mvolved in them is the desire for a present satisfaction of 
 sense not given in the mere reproduction. 
 
 As in successive presentation there is originally no pre- 
 sentation of succession, so in the mere consciousness of the 
 present as such there is no presentation of duration. We 
 only come to know that the present persists by its striving 
 agamst an increasing tension of the future. The ieeVmcr of 
 " still there " is the feeling of duration. ° 
 
 Different " time-series " stand at first out of relation to one 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 145 
 
 another; but from the "full" the "empty" time-series is 
 formed by interaction of different series; and this last is 
 produced beyond all limits so as to become what is called 
 *'the idea of eternity," which is in reality the attempt to 
 represent in an intuition the " before-and-after " that con- 
 stitutes time. At length, by hypostasising the form that we 
 find everywhere in the perceptions of the "external" as of 
 the "internal" sense, we get " time-in-itself " or " objective 
 time." The time-series, which was at first a time, then my 
 time, becomes at last Time, The time-series, originally dis- 
 crete, by the assumption of the objective character becomes a 
 continuum. 
 
 Coexistence of presentations does not immediately give the 
 presentation of coexistence, any more than succession of pre- 
 sentations gives the presentation of succession. Presentations, 
 indeed, in order to be presented " beside one another," must 
 be actually not "beside one another" {mhen einander) but 
 "in one another" (in einander) as "simultaneous states of 
 the same simple being." In spatial presentation, different 
 presentations are united in the same act, yet distinguished. 
 To be spatially presented, presentations must be terms of a 
 series; for only by development of the form of a series can 
 they be prevented from falling into the unity of a total im- 
 pression. In the second place, they must mutually reproduce 
 one another to the full degree of clearness. This condition is 
 satisfied when the terms of the series can reverse their order ; 
 when the same series can be brought to flow off in the two 
 opposite directions. Of space as of time we become conscious 
 only through an emotion ; but whereas in the case of time the 
 emotion is fixed in its whole intensity in one presentation and 
 therefore becomes desire, in the case of space it broadens out 
 over both of two serially connected presentations and remains 
 mere feeling. Toned sensations predispose to the assumption 
 of the time-form, untoned sensations to the assumption of the 
 space-form. 
 
 The elements from which our presentation of tactile space 
 originates are sensations of pressure and muscular sensations. 
 The pressure-sense is capable of developing the space-pre- 
 
 11 
 
 
 ! • 
 
 t 
 
*ll 
 
 14C 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 147 
 
 i. 
 
 -^1 9; 
 
 If. 
 
 
 sentation independently by means of its own series ; but the 
 concurrence of the two kinds of series makes tactile space 
 what it actually is. The tactile limbs (as well as the eye) owe 
 the greatest part of their space-developments to their mobility, 
 which makes possible varied combinations of their specific 
 sensations with simultaneous muscular sensations. Where 
 pressure-sensations and muscular sensations concur, the latter, 
 as a rule, take the lead. 
 
 Discussing the conception of the "local sign," Volkmann 
 contends that this ought to be regarded as consisting simply 
 in the "peculiar colouring, conditioned by the particularity 
 of the place of excitation, of the content of sensation itself.'' 
 When it is viewed in this way, the difficulties of the concep- 
 tion vanish. Of course the local sign is not to be thought of 
 as a direct feeling of locality existing beside the special cjiiale 
 of the sensation. 
 
 Various abstract suppositions having been made as to the 
 conditions of vision (a single motionless eye viewing a mono- 
 chromatic motionless surface, for example, being first sup- 
 posed), and the factors present in normal vision restored one 
 by one, it is found that space-series can be formed visually 
 only by the combination of colour-sensations with the muscular 
 sensations derived from the movements of the eye. The 
 space-form of the nmscular sensations is carried over to the 
 colour-sensations, as in the case of tactile space it is carried 
 over to the pressure-sensations. In visual space, however, it 
 more unconditionally takes the lead. For the qualities of the 
 colour-sense, under the actual conditions of their reception, 
 are not uniformly graduated like those of the pressure-sense ; 
 hence, no space-presentation could be formed by series of 
 colour-sensations alone. 
 
 " The space-form is in no way the prerogative of a special 
 class of sensations, but develops itself uniformly wherever 
 the conditions of its development are offered ; " these con- 
 ditions being the existence of " series " and their reversibility. 
 The musical scale, for example, is presented under the form 
 of space — not, indeed, the space of the external world, but a 
 space of its own. Assumption of the space-form is especially 
 
 favoured when muscular sensations co-operate— as, for ex- 
 ample, in the case of one who sings the scale up and down. 
 The reason why series of notes so seldom raise themselves to 
 the space-form is that " the space-schema of the muscular, 
 pressure and visual sensations is somatically pre-formed,' 
 while the tone-scale has to be constructed by an act of 
 comparison." 
 
 The surface is a "tissue of space-series." It involves 
 consciousness of a second dimension, because to the con- 
 sciousness of the two opposite directions of co-existence 
 within the single space-series, that of the co-existence of the 
 series among one another is added. The surface rises to the 
 figure through our becoming conscious of the limit. Presenta- 
 tion of the limit is due to arrest in the passage of the eye 
 from one colour to another. When there is a difference of 
 colours on a surface, the eye learns to move along the 
 boundary so as to avoid the monotony of the "ground " and 
 maintain itself at the maximum of excitation by the contrast. 
 The field of view having been divided up, determination in the 
 direction of limitation suffices to raise the surface into the 
 figure. 
 
 When, along with one of the presentations constituting a 
 surface, another is presented in an order of co-existence that 
 coincides with no order in the surface, the starting-point is 
 given for the presentation of space of three dimensions, and 
 for that "closed-off interw^eaving of surfaces among one 
 another" which constitutes Body. Elements out of which 
 these presentations can arise are the muscular sensations of 
 the hand, and, to a less extent, of the other freely-moving 
 tactile limbs. Let us imagine a person w4th vision, but 
 without sense of touch, and with a muscular sense confined 
 to the eye. Would such a person form any idea of the third 
 dimension? Of the factors that seem at first to offer them- 
 selves for the development of the idea of distance, only two— 
 the movements of accommodation of the single eye, and of 
 convergence in binocular vision— need serious consideration; 
 and these, when examined, are found not to make the pre- 
 sentation of distance possible in the absence of everything but 
 
 if 
 
hi 
 
 *J 
 
 148 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 
 I 
 
 visual experience. In combined sight and touch, accordingly, 
 the muscular sensations of the hand take the lead in developing 
 the presentation of the third dimension. 
 
 •' Empty space-series " are formed by mutual suppression of 
 particular quahties and local tones, with preservation only of 
 consciousness of the number and degi-ees of fusion of the 
 terms of the series. They are first formed on our own body, 
 as is shown by the names of measures, such as foot, span, &c. 
 " Our own body is for the representing of empty space what 
 our own life is for the representing of empty time." Space- 
 presentation having the number and sequence of its terms 
 somatically pre-formed, our empty space-series generally rise 
 to greater precision than our empty time-series. When our 
 empty space-series have received the proper degree of mobility, 
 almost every positing of a final term seiTes only as a point 
 of attachment for the evolution of a new series ; every limit is 
 only a demand to go further. Thus, the empty space-series is 
 freed from every determinate limit. *' Infinite space " can, of 
 course, as little be positively represented as infinite time, and 
 its negative significance is less than that of infinite time. In 
 trying to represent to ourselves an infinite space-series, we 
 think of it as one that it would take an infinite time to 
 measure. The order of co-existence that our sensations take 
 upon them independently of us is an order that we seem to 
 find given, and accordingly place where we place the content 
 of our sensations, viz., in the external world ; hence the notion 
 of " objective space." From empty objective space the filled 
 spaces occupied by external things seem to us to proceed by 
 limitation and separation. It thus appears as the prius of 
 objects. " Out of all relations to this space stand the spaces 
 in which we order our conceptions or figure our imaginations ; 
 and since nothing prevents us from constructing these spaces 
 also beyond all determinate limits, it is a paradoxical but true 
 thought that there is more than one infinite space." Strictly 
 speaking, every sense constructs its own space. That the 
 spaces of different senses flow together into the space of the 
 external world has its ground merely in the simultaneity of the 
 constructions. The relative "emptiness" of the muscular 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 149 
 
 sensation in itself and previous to that collision of qualities by 
 which " empty " series are formed, makes it specially adapted 
 to develop the presentation of the line. 
 
 For the discussion of the measurement of space and the 
 estimation of magnitude, it is premised— (1) that the magnitude 
 of our space-series cannot be compared with the magnitude of 
 the "object," the contrast of " real and apparent magnitude" 
 only meaning contrast of the constant magnitude of the space- 
 series of touch with the changing magnitudes of visual space- 
 series ; and (2) that our estimate of the magnitude of space- 
 series becomes very uncertain in the absence of comparison 
 with the known magnitudes of sensation-complexes that are 
 present. Several propositions are then arrived at as to the 
 psychological causes of the variation of our judgments on the 
 magnitude of different " space-series " according to the number 
 of their sensational elements, the intensity of particular 
 sensations, &c. 
 
 Space of Time {Zcitratcm), Motion, Number and Intuition 
 are next discussed. The presentation of a *' space of time " 
 is found to consist in " the spatial apprehension of a time- 
 series." In the presentation of motion, on the other hand, 
 the spatial is apprehended under the form of time. As dura- 
 tion is known only in contrast to sequence, so rest is known 
 only in contrast to motion. The presentation of number is an 
 abstract product of an operation common to the forms of space 
 and time. The conditions of its origin are — (1) that a series 
 should be given of which the terms are qualitatively like or 
 are taken as qualitatively like, (2) the emergence and holding 
 fast of the presentation of the single term, (3) the measuring- 
 off of the series by means of the term that is held fast, (4) the 
 comprehension of the measurements as a whole. Number is 
 not to be supposed to arise from the repetition of a unity 
 already known as a unity ; for unity is itself a number, and 
 comes to consciousness along with the other numbers, or 
 possibly even later. To measure our series, indeed, we need 
 an undecomposed part ; but unity of presentation is not, to 
 begin with, the presentation of unity. A clear presentation of 
 unity is arrived at for the most part only by comparison of 
 
M 
 
 n 
 
 i\ 
 
 150 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 such already measured magnitudes as differ by the quantity of 
 a single measurement. Thus if the other numbers are multi- 
 pliers, unity is as a rule a difference. Those sensation-com- 
 plexes of which the elements have taken on the form of time 
 or space may be called Intuitions. Number is not an intui- 
 tion. The result of the analysis of time and space so far may 
 be thus formulated : Out of sensations intuitions are evolved 
 in consequence of the properties immanent in the sensations. 
 The "localisation" of sensations in the bodily organism, 
 notwithstanding its apparent primitiveness, is a secondary 
 phenomenon. A sensation at first unlocahsed receives its 
 space-determination from the reproductive activity that brings 
 it into union with a presentation that has already found its 
 place in the " space-scheme " of pressure-sensations by which 
 we represent the body. Primitively all is vague. By degrees 
 temperature-sensations, organic sensations, &c., become 
 definitely ordered in relation with the interwoven series of 
 sensations composing the surface of the body, and are then 
 said to be " localised." 
 
 While localisation goes on in the region of the more strongly 
 toned sensations, " projection," or the assignment of sensations 
 to the external world, goes on simultaneously in the region of 
 toneless sensations. Of projection there are three conditions : 
 (1) a sensation that enters into the intuition of the body, (2) 
 a second sensation, which is not localised, (3) a space-series that 
 inserts itself between the two. Usually these three functions 
 are taken upon them by three classes of sensations: (1) a 
 pressure-sensation marks out the place on the body, (2) a 
 contact-sensation indicates the external thing, and (3) the 
 muscular sense constructs the space-series between the two. 
 Primarily and immediately only sensations of touch are 
 projected. The sense of sight supports itself in its projections 
 on the sense of touch. 
 
 Projection does not of itself suffice to complete the pre- 
 sentation of the External Thing as thing. For this the 
 conditions primarily required are— projection and conscious- 
 ness of dependence in having the sensation. Neither of these 
 is sufficient by itself. If a localised sensation is to become a 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 151 
 
 position on the body, the space-schema in which it is received 
 must be thought of as something that comes to meet the 
 changing sensation and outlasts it; and if the projection of 
 the sensation of hardness is to become the presentation of a 
 projected hard thing, the consciousness of a permanent ground 
 of sensation must add itself at the place of projection to the 
 temporary sensation of contact. On the other hand, the mere 
 feeling of being conditioned by something else is not sufficient 
 of itself to develop the presentation of the external thing. 
 What makes the external thing an external thing is the union 
 of both moments, that is, the constant appearance of the 
 feeling of dependence at a constant place of external space, 
 or '* the determination of the other by the outer." This 
 determination is wanting to the presentation of our own body. 
 Hence if the body becomes a •' thing" it does not become an 
 "external thing." For the complete development of the 
 presentation of the external thing two other conditions are to 
 be added : (1) that not single sensations of touch but ** total 
 contact-images, i.e., contact intuitions " are projected ; (2) that 
 visual and other sensations are projected simultaneously with 
 sensations of touch. The heterogeneous sensations we project 
 appear before us in constant groupings, and changes of time- 
 association with other presentations isolate the groups. For 
 fusion of projected sensations into a total presentation, not 
 only likeness of position in time but also likeness of position 
 in space is necessary. Thus there is no contradiction in one 
 of two simultaneous sensations being projected and the other 
 locahsed. The sense of touch is the only one that seems to 
 mark out the thing as such immediately on the side of its 
 reality and not of an adhering quality. If we signify by the 
 term Perception the highest form that intuition assumes by its 
 projection, we may briefly formulate the result so far thus : 
 Certain sensations develop into intuitions and certain intui- 
 tions into perceptions. 
 
 An important part of what is called Illusion consists in 
 wrong localisation or projection. Of illusions in general there 
 XLve two classes — viz., "illusions of internal perception" and 
 *' illusions of sense." In illusions of the first class we assign 
 
 \ 
 
 II 
 
152 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 15a 
 
 I 
 
 to a presentation (which, as a particular phenomenon, is no 
 illusion) a predicate from among psychical modes of occurrence 
 which does not belong to it. An illusion of the second class 
 consists in this, that in the particular case localisations and 
 projections are made which either cannot maintain themselves 
 at all, or cannot maintain themselves in the manner in 
 which they are made, against the harmonising mass of 
 other localisations and projections. '* The possibility of 
 illusions of the second kind rests on an illusion of the 
 first kind; for the fault in localisation and projection pre- 
 supposes localisation and projection in general; but that a 
 presentation should appear to us not as a presentation, but as 
 something else, is an illusion of internal perception. Let this 
 substitution be once ratified, however, then only the particular 
 case can be regarded as an illusion of sense where either an 
 unpermitted or a false use is made of the conceded right of 
 externalising a presentation." Illusions of sense are divided 
 into " hallucinations " and '♦ illusions " proper. In hallucina- 
 tions, mere reproductions are taken for sensations, and as such 
 localised or projected, when they ought not to be localised or 
 projected at all. In illusions properly so called, either locali- 
 sation and projection are interchanged, or within the sphere of 
 one of them a wrong position is assigned to the particular 
 presentation. There are cases on the borderland of illusion 
 and hallucination where a sensation is the starting-point, but a 
 reproduction called up by this sensation is projected. Of these 
 cases there are two classes : (1) where the reproduction merely 
 alters the content of the sensation, which is itself rightly 
 projected ; (2) where the sensation merely serves to confer its 
 own "livehness" on the reproduction, which is falsely pro- 
 jected. Illusions of the first of these kinds are scarcely 
 " illusions of sense " at all, but ought rather to be classed as 
 errors of internal perception. Those of the second kind are 
 essentially hallucinations. That transformation of reproduc- 
 tion mto sensation in which the essence of hallucination 
 consists, may be brought about in two ways : either (1) the 
 reproduction annexes to itself the degree of liveliness of a 
 sensation already present, or (2) it sets going by its intensity 
 
 a somatic excitation, which then acts as a centripetal stimulus, 
 and associates sensation with reproduction. Hallucinations of 
 the second class constitute so-called " visions." 
 
 The presentation of the Ego, to which Volkmann now 
 proceeds, he views as developing itself in three stages. In 
 its first stage of development it is the presentation of ** the 
 sentient and desiring body," to which are opposed as Non-ego 
 external things. The Ego of the second stage is *' the con- 
 sciousness of the representing and desiring interior." The 
 bearer of consciousness is for us at this stage internal because 
 organic sensations are associated with the feelings by which 
 it responds to presentations. The specific Non-ego of this 
 stage is the presentation " as image of the external thing." 
 To the feeUng and desiring interior is opposed " the, in itself, 
 indifferent presentation." The ** interior" is related to the 
 images of things as the body to things ; from them come its 
 feelings, to them its desires are directed. The body as 
 opposed to the interior is now external — an antagonism that 
 reaches its full degi'ee of sharpness in the next period. The 
 third stage of development is that of **the Ego as thinking 
 and willing subject," to which is opposed as object **the 
 thought." Representation has now developed into concep- 
 tion and desire into will. There is interaction of thought 
 with " the fixed kernel of our interior." Of this interaction 
 (as of the interaction of the former stage) we become con- 
 scious through emotions, which, though less toned, are still 
 not without some resonance of organic feelings. Thought 
 appears as a product of the spontaneity of the subject, and 
 the body, at this stage, is altogether expelled from the presen- 
 tation of the Ego. At all three stages the development of 
 ideas of the "foreign Ego" runs parallel in consciousness 
 with that of our own Ego. 
 
 The Ego is nothing but a " psychical phenomenon." Its 
 "presentation" is not the representation of a being or of 
 a combination of beings. It is the soul that is a being ; 
 and the soul is pre-supposed metaphysically, not arrived at 
 by psychological analysis. Nor has the " Ego-presenta- 
 
 ,1 
 
154 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 155 
 
 I 
 
 tion " any determinate content. It is merely the becoming 
 conscious of an interaction within an immeasurable presen- 
 tation-complex ; and the presentation that has and knows 
 all others is itself quite indeterminate, being known only as 
 "a point indicated by a manifold presentative activity." 
 From this indeterminate Ego is to be distinguished " the 
 empirical Ego " of each person, which is not absolutely 
 indeterminate, but gives a special "total impression" de- 
 pending on temperament, history, &c. In different persons, 
 for example, the empirical Ego has predominatingly the 
 character of one or other of the three stages of developnient 
 of the Ego-presentation. For these are not periods of a 
 single history in the sense that one period ends where 
 another begins, but to a certain extent independent histories 
 which, after successively starting, proceed for a time parallel 
 with one another. Accordingly, all sorts of combinations of 
 different degi-ees of advance of the different histories may be 
 imagined in different persons, and even in different " presen- 
 tation-circles " of the same person. To the empirical Ego 
 " the tune-series of life," or its total impression as called up 
 m the present, may almost be taken as equivalent. 
 
 " Internal perception " involves three things : (1) the 
 
 becoming conscious of a presentation ; (2) the becoming 
 
 conscious of its presentative activity; (3) the becoming 
 
 conscious of the belonging of this presentative activity to the 
 
 Ego. The real occurrence behind the appearance of the 
 
 Ego's knowledge of the presentation is the soul's becoming 
 
 conscious of an interaction between one of its presentations 
 
 and the most niniilied of its presentation-masses. *' As the 
 
 Ego first arrived at development by differentiation from the 
 
 Non-ego, internal perception now re-integrates this diremp- 
 
 tion by setting the Non-ego in continuity with the Ego." 
 
 It IS through internal perception that the Ego at last becomes 
 
 the central point of the whole life of presentation. The Ego, 
 
 accordingly, may now be defined as " the subject of internal 
 
 perception." 
 
 While internal perception takes place in " the subjective 
 sphere of presentation " and ends with the judgment, " I have 
 
 A," the process of " Apperception," which has now to be 
 considered, takes place in •* the objective sphere of presenta- 
 tion " and ends with the judgment, •* A is Z." Apperception 
 is nothing but the fusion of a new, isolated presentation-mass 
 with an old one superior to it in extent and internal 
 equilibrium ; if the two are not conformable to begin with, 
 then after transformation of one by the other. Internal 
 perception and apperception are thus only two sides of the 
 same process, viz., "reaction of the old upon the new." One 
 of the two may, nevertheless, in special circumstances, entirely 
 give place to the other. In deep thought that follows only the 
 content of presentations, internal perception disappears ; in 
 strong feeling, while knowledge of the feeling — that is to say, 
 its internal perception — remains, " apperception " of it by 
 the maxims that are applicable disappears. When the new 
 is quite conformable to the old, it is apperceived without 
 internal perception ; when it is unconformable, it is internally 
 perceived without apperception. In psychological observation, 
 apperception is internally perceived and internal perception 
 apperceived. 
 
 To be " attentive " to something is to hold back a presenta- 
 tion, or a series or mass of presentations, from " sinking." 
 Attention is " sensible " when its condition is the duration 
 of a somatic stimulus, " intellectual " when its condition is 
 an activity of psychical " aids." Voluntary attention is not 
 to be added as a third kind. ** Attention " is a state, wiiich 
 may or may not be brought on voluntarily by the voluntary 
 bringing on of its conditions, but, once brought on, is either 
 sensible or intellectual. Of intellectual attention the most 
 eminent case is when the giving of an "aid" is due to an 
 apperceiving presentation-mass. All that excites and develops 
 in us apperceiving masses finds attention. The relation of a 
 presentation to the ruling presentation-masses of the Ego 
 being described as the " interest" which the subject brings to 
 the presentation, it may be said tautologically that " we bring 
 attention to all that interests us." 
 
 " Self-consciousness " may be defined as " internal per- 
 ception within the Ego." From the wide circuit of pre- 
 
 Vv" 
 
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 \' 
 
 156 
 
 VOLKMANli'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 157 
 
 I I 
 
 sentations that is the basis of our consciousness of the Ego 
 two different parts or modifications take up a position outside 
 and opposite one another, like subject and object in internal 
 perception; both presentation-masses then return into the 
 totality of the Ego-presentation, and are known as parts 
 of the same continuum. The Ego -first differentiates 
 Itself," as it is itself differentiated from the Non-ego, " then 
 re-integrates itself out of this differentiation." What divides 
 Itself phenomenally is not, of course, " the pure Ego " ; nor 
 is the identity that takes away the division anything but 
 continuity of two presentation-masses in the same totality. 
 " The pure Ego is only the abstract formula for that process 
 by which the Ego-phenomenon completes itself." 
 
 Abnormalities in the functions of the Ego are of three 
 kmds : (1) Disturbances in the interaction of the E<^o with 
 other presentations, or Suspension of internal perception; 
 (2) Disturbances within the presentation-circles of the Ego, 
 or Abolition of self-consciousness; (3) Development of an 
 abnormal Ego, and persistent suppression of the normal E^ro 
 by the abnormal. Insanity is not reached till the abnormality 
 assumes to itself the form of the Ego, and continuity with 
 past life appears broken. However much it may be preceded 
 and accompanied by illusions and hallucinations, these do not 
 constitute it. It is, literally, - alienation," or becoming another 
 person. 
 
 The psychological theory of the Ego having been set forth, 
 we are in a position to deal with mind as thinking, feeling, 
 desiring, and willing. - Thought " Volkmann defines as 
 *• that uniting and dividing of presentations which has its 
 gi'ound^ solely in the content of the presentations them- 
 selves. Thinking presupposes the formation of the concept 
 from the presentation. The origin of the concept, accordingly, 
 IS the first point to determine. 
 
 The Concept is the presentation or presentation- form set 
 free from everj-thing extraneous that adheres to it. To the 
 presentation adhere its fusions with other presentations ; to 
 the presentation-form its becoming conscious in and along 
 
 with the particular qualities of the terms between which it is 
 a relation. So far as the presentation is concerned, we know 
 that no fusion, once completed, can be annihilated, but that 
 each particular fusion can be paralysed in its activity by the 
 activity of all the rest. So far as the presentation-form is con- 
 cerned, the theory of time and space taught us that conscious- 
 ness of the same form may be involved in the consciousness 
 of quite different presentations, and by the comprehension 
 of these in the same total impression may be to a certain 
 extent isolated. The process of setting free the consciousness 
 of a presentation or a form, i.e., relation (Verhaltniss), from 
 all extraneous relations {BezicJmngen) by the reciprocal arrest 
 of extraneous relations is called Abstraction. All concepts 
 arise by abstraction. 
 
 Concepts are divided into conceptions of objects, of attri- 
 butes, and of relations. Conceptions of objects are divided 
 into individual and generic concepts ; conceptions of relations, 
 into form-concepts of , intuition and of judgment. The pre- 
 liminary stage of the individual concept is the presentation 
 of the individual object; of the generic concept, the "generic 
 image" {Gcmcinhild). The object-conception isolates total 
 presentations ; the attribute-conception, partial presentations. 
 For the obtaining of form-conceptions, presentations must 
 be fused in series, and must be at the same time distinguish- 
 able. The condition of our obtaining them is an emotion, 
 by which we become conscious of the relation of the pre- 
 sentations. The forms of intuition are Tin^e and Space; 
 the forms of judgment. Identity and Dependence with their 
 opposites. Generic images of the former are " empty series " ; 
 of the latter there are none but artificially constructed generic 
 images. To the original conceptions arising by abstraction 
 we must attach the " derivative concepts," which are artifi- 
 cially constructed from conceptions of objects and attributes 
 by means of the form-conceptions. 
 
 To carry the conception beyond the generic image to the 
 stage of the logical concept— which abstraction by itself is 
 powerless to do — there are three auxiliary means, viz., internal 
 perception, apperception, and "designation of the concept by 
 
 '!h 
 
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 158 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 159 
 
 IN 
 
 lii 
 
 the word." Internal perception sets the generic image free 
 from reference to the external thing that was perceived, and 
 apperception sets it free from the space-form. Internal' per- 
 ception cannot transform the fluctuating complex of presenta- 
 tions in which arrest and fusion work against each other, that 
 stands for the concept, into a " rounded-off, resting presenta- 
 tion." What it does is to place the whole complex before 
 the Ego, and thus to give a certain "inwardness" to the 
 presentation-mass, to confer upon it a certain tone. The 
 influence of apperception goes further. When once a number 
 of concepts in a measure fixed have been developed, the more 
 general concepts act apperceptively on the special concepts 
 and analyse their manifoldness into its qualitative moments. 
 A concept that comes under the point of view of a more 
 general concept gets one of its determinations fixed, and what- 
 ever fails to get fixed by a point of view sinks back. Apper- 
 ceptions of this kind give the first point of application for 
 definition, which is, " the place-determination of a given con- 
 cept in a given system of concepts." Of yet greater importance 
 is the designation of the concept by the word. " Internal per- 
 ception holds the concept fast and transfers it to the internal 
 world ; apperception analyses it and in a measure transforms 
 the spatial manifoldness of its parts into the logical manifold- 
 ness of its marks ; but the designation by a sound fixes the 
 concept by means of a reflex from the external world and under 
 the unity of this reflex comprehends the internal manifoldness 
 as a unity." 
 
 The concept in the logical sense is an ideal to which 
 the conceptions we actually form may approximate but 
 which they can never reach. For the logical concept is 
 a "completed, resting, determinately limited presentation," 
 whereas psychological concepts are " imperfect fusions of the 
 homogeneous, imperfectly isolated from fusions with the hetero- 
 geneous." Concepts are specially adapted to become apperceiv- 
 ing presentation-masses. In fact, almost all our apperception 
 of perceptions depends on the concepts we have acquired. 
 
 In judging we become conscious of the positing or annulling 
 of one presentation by another. The Judgment accordingly 
 
 pre-supposes (1) a relatively fixed presentation lying at the 
 root of the process, (2) a presentation raised into consciousness 
 by the former and subsequently fusing with it, (3) a checking 
 of the fusion of the two, such as is necessary in order to raise 
 the fusion as such into the object of consciousness. These 
 pre-suppositions give respectively the subject, the predicate, 
 and the copula. According as the gi-ound of the positing of 
 the predicate is in the content of the subject or outside of it, 
 the judgment is, for the logician, analytical or synthetical. 
 For the psychologist, the diff'erence between the two kinds of 
 judgment points to the contrast between immediate and 
 mediate reproduction. " Every analytical judgment is the 
 becoming conscious of an apperception, as conversely every 
 apperception of which we become conscious assumes the form 
 of an analytical judgment." The synthetical judgment rests 
 on " accidental fusions." Apperception is here absent. The 
 synthetical judgment rises into the "judgment of dependence" 
 only when to the consciousness of fusion consciousness of its 
 necessity is added. 
 
 Suspension of judgment is accompanied by a "tension"; 
 conviction, or the resolution of this tension, by a pleasure. 
 As the concept is fixed in the word, so the judgment is pre- 
 served in the sentence. The psychological judgment falls as 
 far short of the logical judgment as the psychological falls 
 short of the logical concept. " Psychologically a prejudice is 
 as much a judgment as knowledge, and knowledge is nothing 
 but the becoming conscious of the necessity of the fusion of 
 two presentations." 
 
 The consciousness of necessity in judging arises when we 
 find ourselves dependent in our determinate judgments on 
 something other than the accidental relations of presenta- 
 tions. That on which we find ourselves dependent can only 
 be either (1) the content of the presentations independently 
 of the fact of psychical occurrence, or (2) the mode of happen- 
 ing of the presentations so far as it is withdrawn from our 
 influence. The first condition gives psychological necessity to 
 the analytic, the second to the synthetic judgment. From 
 consciousness of the necessity of the former pi-oceeds the con- 
 
 I 
 
160 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 IGl 
 
 I. 
 
 M 
 
 I- 
 
 • I 
 
 ception of " identity " ; from consciousness of the necessity of 
 the latter, the conception of "dependence." Of identity we 
 become conscious in the analytical judgment in so far as we 
 become conscious of the apperception that constructs the 
 judgment. The case of the synthetical judgment is more 
 complicated. Reproductions, for example, appear as dependent 
 on the subject ; but this dependence does not give the con- 
 sciousness of necessity. The dependence from which we get 
 the consciousness of the necessity of the synthetical judgment 
 is the dependence of sensations on something external. Com- 
 plexes of sensations, i.e., intuitions or perceptions, have only 
 two modes of being given in which they appear thus dependent: 
 (1) the synthesis of partial presentations in the total presenta- 
 tion of the external thing, (2) the succession of sensations in 
 the time-series of changes in the external w^orld. From the 
 first kind of dependence we get the conception of Substance, 
 from the second the conception of Cause. The conceptions of 
 substance and cause belong to the class of artificial concepts 
 described as educed from given concepts by the application of 
 a form-conception. 
 
 The necessity so far considered is merely " subjective." 
 But the characteristic of knowledge in the logical sense is 
 "objective," as distinguished from merely subjective neces- 
 sity. Without some consideration of " knowledge " in this 
 sense we do not arrive at an explanation of " thought." For 
 "knowledge," defined as that kind of judgment in which 
 subject and predicate are connected with objective necessity, 
 or in which their connexion is determined solely by qualitative 
 relations, is identical with the "thinking judgment" (den- 
 kendes UrtJieil). Knowledge being thus defined, there is 
 evidently no difficulty about the raising of the analytical 
 judgment into knowledge. The analytical judgment gives 
 knowledge when both the presentation-masses that enter into 
 its apperception have developed into pure concepts and interact 
 only as such. Between concepts as such no other relations 
 are possible than those of thought. The completed appercep- 
 tion of one by the other involves the knowledge of their 
 qualitative identity. "Synthetic knowledge," on the other 
 
 hand, seems at first to involve the contradiction that two 
 presentations with divergent qualities are necessarily con- 
 nected, " that is to say, that two presentations w^hich are 
 not one are yet to be counted as one." The solution of 
 the difiiculty is that in synthetic knowledge either one 
 presentation is only a changed apprehension of the other, 
 or both are only different apprehensions of the same 
 third thing. "In the transformation of the allnd into the 
 idem 2)cr alhul lies the logical justification of synthetic know- 
 ledge." Synthetic knowledge is possible only in philosophy 
 (which has to do with "metaphysical" and " oQsthetical " 
 synthetic judgments) and in mathematics. 
 
 The Syllogism (in a generalised sense) is, psychologically, a 
 mediately affirmed judgment that has bound up with it the 
 consciousness of mediation. The need of syllogising arises 
 from the collision of concepts. No less than the psychological 
 concept and judgment, the psychological syllogism falls short 
 of the logical. The rules of the syllogism, and of logic gene- 
 rally, Volkmann here points out, constitute an art for the 
 regulation of thought, not an account of natural psychological 
 processes as they go on when left to themselves. 
 
 The " degree of perfection of thought " consists in the 
 degree of its approach to the ideal fixed by logic. The per- 
 fection of the judgment consists in its correctness [Richt'ujlccit), 
 the determination of which properly falls outside psychology. 
 II, nevertheless, we take up the question of the correctness, 
 Tightness or validity of the judgment, we may draw the dis- 
 tinction betw^een "subjective" and "objective" correctness. 
 A judgment is " subjectively correct," when it is in accordance 
 with the wliole of our permanent presentation-relations, and 
 not merely with a temporary state of preponderance of par- 
 ticular presentations and their casual relations. It is " objec- 
 tively correct " when the right presentations are placed in the 
 light relation. That relation is right which makes the judg- 
 ment into knowledge. The presentation, if a sensation, is 
 light wiien it is rightly projected or localised ; if a reproduc- 
 tion, when it is ordered in accordance with sensation ; if a 
 concept, when it is assigned to its right place in a fixed " con- 
 
 12 
 
1C2 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 103 
 
 11^: 
 
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 :? 
 
 
 cept-tissue." This concept-tissue, the phice in which deter- 
 mines the objective correctness of the concept, is, in daily hfe, 
 that which has been fixed by hmguage ; in speciUation, "the 
 logical schema of science." Different from the rightness or 
 correctness is the "holding for true" (Fiirwahrhaltcn) of a 
 judgment. We hold that judgment for true of which the 
 predicate maintains itself unmoved beside its subject, in spite 
 of all attempts at arrest by other presentations that likewise 
 offer themselves as predicates. If no predicate obtains this 
 absolute preference, but one of them retains permanently the 
 relatively highest degree of clearness, we call the judgment 
 that unites this predicate with the subject "probable/' A 
 judgment that is held for true though passed before the pos- 
 session of the right concept or outside the right relation of 
 concepts, is called— in a wide sense of the term— a " preju- 
 dice." Prejudices are not necessarily either objectively 
 incorrect or subjectively correct. 
 
 Feeling (or Emotion in the general sense) arises when we 
 become conscious of the presentative activity as distinguished 
 from the content of a presentation. We become conscious of 
 the presentative activity through its pressing upon a resistance, 
 which pushes it back upon itself and thereby makes it its own 
 presented content. Feehng is primarily the becoming con- 
 scious of the degree of tension of the activity thus resisted. In 
 its contrast to presentation, and as excluding consciousness of 
 a determinate quale, feeling it is said to be " subjective "; in 
 its contrast to desire, and as excluding consciousness of a 
 determinate direction towards an external effect, it is said to 
 be " passive." 
 
 Since the tension through which feehng arises is the state 
 of a presentative activity either pressed down by its arrest or 
 freeing itself from it, feeling is in respect of its tone either 
 *' non-pleasure " or pleasure. Pleasurable presupposes nou- 
 pleasurable feeling, and is therefore a secondary phenomenon ; 
 but it is at the same time something positive, not a mere 
 negation. The presupposed non-pleasure need not immedi- 
 ately precede the pleasure in time, nor need it have won for 
 
 itself a distinct consciousness. There are "mixed feehngs " 
 in the sense that the different partial presentations of the 
 same total presentation may be accompanied by feelings of 
 opposite emotional tone, but not in the sense that there may 
 be opposite emotional tones in the same presentation. While 
 the particular feeling taken singly is always pure, the total 
 feeling is nearly always mixed. 
 
 Besides its " tone," there are to be distinguished in feeling 
 the properties of "intensity," "rhythm" and "content." 
 The strength or intensity of a feeling is the degree of intensity 
 of its tension. The rhythm of feeling arises from the circum- 
 stance that neither does the intensity of feelings diminish 
 uniforndy nor their tone maintain itself the same. Feelings 
 may be divided, as regards their rhythm, into— (I) those that 
 end with the tone with which they began, (2) those that pass 
 into the opposite tone. (3) those that vibrate during their 
 whole course between the two opposite tones. Total impres- 
 sions of simultaneous feelings may be divided into— (1) mixed 
 feelings that end as pure feelings, (2) pure feelings that 
 become troubled in their course, (3) mixed feelings that 
 periodically become pure or approximate to purity. Feeling 
 receives its "content " from the presentation whose presenta- 
 tive activity is its " bearer." 
 
 The explanation previously given of " the tone of sensation " 
 has its ground in the explanation of emotional tone. For 
 sensation springs from the flowing together of elementary 
 states, while feeling is borne by formed presentations. Now 
 the formed presentations that are the bearers of feeling are 
 present to consciousness. The bearers of the tone of sensation, 
 on the other hand, are for ever withdrawn from separate con- 
 sciousness. Thus the composition of feeling is more accessible 
 than the composition of the tone of sensation, while it offers 
 an analogy with it. 
 
 Of great importance for psychological theory is the "somatic 
 resonance" of feelings. This "reflex sensation," which has 
 its physical basis in the vegetative system while its effects 
 extend beyond, is in inverse proportion to the instinctive 
 movement that accompanies the feeling. 
 
1G4 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 165 
 
 Particular feelings come to be localised in particular groups 
 of presentations. Sometimes they get wrongly localised. By 
 attention to their determinate character they may be detached 
 from particular groups of presentations and even from pre- 
 sentations in general. Determinate feelings may be '• pro- 
 jected " into external things. 
 
 There is no interaction of feelings as such. The ♦' interaction 
 of feelings " is a mere appearance, at the root of which lies 
 interaction of the presentations that are the bearers of the 
 feelings. Thus simultaneous feelings arrest one another only 
 when the presentation-circles in which they have their seat 
 arrest one another, and fuse only when tlie presentation-masses 
 fuse in which they dwell. The repro(hiction of a feeling is, 
 strictly speaking, always a new production. 
 
 Dill'erent persons manifest persistently predominant emo- 
 tional tones of different kinds, depending on a permanent 
 attitude of the Ego to new presentations. According as the 
 Ego habitually feels itself furthered or hindered by these, the 
 person is said to be "light-minded" or "heavy-minded." 
 When the Ego habitually rejects new impressions there is 
 "equanimity." Those natures in which a certain mean state 
 of light or heavy feeling is kept persistently and as with an 
 effort, so that all momentary tones and particular feelings end, 
 as it were, in this permanent "ground-tone," Volkmann calls 
 " affective " (ijemiithlicli). Those, on the other hand, in which 
 the ground-tone of feeling easily gives place to momentary 
 tones and particular feelings he calls " genial." 
 
 Some feelings are limited both in their origin and develop- 
 ment to one and the same definite circle of presentations, 
 while others, either in their origin or during their course, 
 spread indefinitely from one presentation-circle to another. 
 Feelings, accordingly, may be classified into "fixed" and 
 •' vague " feelings. In the case of fixed feelings, the presenta- 
 tions can be definitely assigned from whose interaction the 
 feeling proceeds ; in the case of vague feelings they cannot. 
 Among fixed feelings those take the first place in which the 
 complete ground of the feeling is given in the qualitative 
 relations of the presentations of a homogeneous presentation- 
 
 circle. Fixed feelings of this kind raise the claim to universal 
 validity and necessity in the sense that in them there is not 
 merely a necessary connexion between the occasioning pre- 
 sentations and the feeling, but that from among the occasion- 
 ing presentations themselves all casual relations are excluded. 
 From this class of fixed feelings is to be distinguished a second 
 class in which the ground of the feeling is partly, and a third 
 in which it is wholly, in fusions of presentations as distin- 
 guished from their purely qualitative relations. Fixed feelings 
 of the last class approximate to vague feelings ; for when 
 mediate reproduction is once excited, the excitation propa- 
 gates itself in ever-widening circles and at last indefinitely. 
 To the first class of fixed feelings belong the lesthetic and 
 ethical feelings ; in artistic and religious feelings the influence 
 of fusions is already to a certain extent active ; in most of the 
 " nature-feelings " tlie transition to vague feeling begins to 
 appear. The vague feelings may be classified according to 
 their degree of differentiation from the " common feeling." 
 
 By testhetic feeling is to be understood " that fixed feeling 
 in which the qualitative relation of a determinate combination 
 of presentations reflects itself in its purity." ^Esthetic feefing 
 has for its positive condition clear presentations ; for its 
 negative condition the power to close off' the circle of these 
 from the presentation-circles of daily life. It is thus "uncon- 
 ditional," while the pleasure in the recognition of a teleological 
 relation, for example, is " conditional." An aesthetic emotion 
 more easily arises in contemplation of the unfamiliar, because 
 this is more easily viewed by itself apart from its relations to 
 anything else. With play lesthetic feeling has this in common, 
 that it begins where the needs of life end. 
 
 Art is not always and from the beginning Fine Art ; in other 
 words, its aim is not originally to call up a3sthetic feeling. The 
 work of art is primarily an individual thing that claims to 
 signify a universal. To the end of giving this significance to 
 its work, art employs three means : first, it isolates its object 
 from the real world ; secondly, it abstracts from everything 
 empirically determinate that signifies nothing in relation to 
 the universal it aims at portraying ; tliirdly, it confers deter- 
 
 ii 
 
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 V •' 
 
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im 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 mination by raising beyond what is empirically given those 
 features that have significance for its aim. As art advances, 
 it becomes more and more aBsthetic. In so far as it aims at 
 its end by means of aesthetic form, it becomes tine art. 
 
 Ethical feeling, viewed as ♦' satisfaction or dissatisfaction in 
 the relations of the images of the will," is a kind of a?sthetic 
 feeling, distinguished from others by the peculiarity of its 
 objective basis. The difference of the ethical feeling from 
 the other icsthetic feelings lies in the immediate relation of the 
 presentations in which it is based to the actual will of the 
 subject. For the will of the subject is in accordance with the 
 etliical judgments that have arrived at recognition, or it is 
 not ; and this relation is itself an ethical one and pleases or 
 displeases. According to the nature of the relation is the 
 nature of the pleasure or displeasure. Historically the ethical 
 feeling originates in social relations. 
 
 ReHgious feeling is related to ethical feeling as art-feeling 
 to aesthetic feeling. It originates not in ethical feeling hU 
 in a feeling that maybe called one of " dependence " on an 
 external power. Afterwards it becomes moralised. In its 
 highest perfection it consists in *' the feehng of absolute 
 dependence on a physical and ethical absolute." 
 
 Definitions of the various forms of " self-feeling " and sym- 
 pathy (together with its opposite) are followed by an analysis 
 of the " nature-feeling " briefly referred to above. The kind 
 of nature-feeling Volkmann chiefly has in view is the emotion 
 excited by landscape, which he finds to consist in a har- 
 monious combination of fixed (aesthetic) and vague (organic) 
 feelings. 
 
 From Feeling, or Emotion in the general sense (das Ge/iihl), 
 Volkmann distinguishes Emotion in a more special sense (ficr 
 Affect) as being, instead of a resting state of the feelings 
 {Gemiithsnihc), a movement of feeling (Gcmuthsbcwcguwj). 
 Emotions, in this sense, owe their origin to a certain " sur- 
 prise " of old presentations by new ones ; tlieir continuance to 
 the fixing influence of a somatic reaction. They may be 
 divided into " depressing " and " exciting " emotions. In the 
 former (illustrated by Fear) the newly entering presentation 
 
 VOLKMANN 'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 1G7 
 
 presses the whole consciousness below the normal state of 
 equilibrium ; in the latter (illustrated by Anger) the new 
 presentation divides the old presentations into tw^o groups, 
 one of which it raises and attracts while it drives the other 
 back. Depressing emotions are always painful ; exciting 
 emotions, at a certain stage pleasurable. Depressing emotions 
 destroy apperception and lower self-feeling ; exciting emotions 
 intensify apperception and raise self-feeling. An emotion has 
 three periods : (1) entrance of the new presentation and dis- 
 turbance of equilibrium, (2) culmination of the movement, (3) 
 gradual restoration of equilibrium. It is in the second period 
 that the somatic reaction plays its chief part. 
 
 When the degree of clearness of a presentation remains 
 constant while the degree of tension of its presentative 
 activity increases, there is Desire. Desire is thus a form 
 of consciousness involving at once presentation and feel- 
 ing. It is the consciousness of a "conation" or "striving" 
 directed to the bringing on or against the persistence of a 
 heightened degree of liveliness, clearness or completeness of 
 presentation. From the mere effort of an arrested presen- 
 tation to rise, it is distinguished as being accompanied by 
 consciousness. To feeling it is related, as an activity directed 
 towards something beyond is to an activity turned back upon 
 
 itself. 
 
 If we understand by " desire in the narrow^er sense " the 
 becoming conscious of the effort of the presentative activity 
 to raise its presentation, and by " aversion " the effort against 
 the resisting contrary, then every desire in the wider sense is 
 at once desire and aversion. Desire is simplest when the 
 three moments of which it is composed are assigned to three 
 different presentations. This is the case when the presentation 
 that forms the object of the desire is raised by another fused 
 with it, and hindered in its ascent by an opposite presentation. 
 The first of these moments is the desired presentation; the 
 second is the impulse (Tricb) occasioning the desire ; while the 
 third is the opposition, the function of which only in the rarest 
 cases falls to a single presentation. "Satisfaction" is that 
 
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lOB 
 
 VOLKMANN\S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 pleasure which ends the desire by transformation of the cona- 
 tion into actual presentative activity. The " impulse" is not to 
 be placed in the expected pleasure of satisfaction. Strictly 
 speakmg, the desire does not seek satisfaction as such, but 
 finds it when the tension is resolved. 
 
 In desire, as in feeling, may be distinguished "content" 
 " intensity " and - rhythm." The content of the desire is the 
 desired presentation. There are no absolutely vague desires 
 in the sense in which there are " vague feelings." That most 
 easily comes to be desired which attracts attention. The 
 mtensity of desire depends on the intensity of the impulse 
 and on the degree of fixation of the opposition. Under the 
 head of - fixation of the opposition " comes the effect of prohi- 
 bitions, dangers, .^-c, in intensifying desire. There is rhythm 
 in desire-(l) in so far as between the limits of desire and 
 satisfaction the tones and degi-ees of feeling change, and (2) in 
 so far as there is alternation between rest and movement in 
 the whole psychical life. 
 
 A desire is reproduced when the presentations are repro- 
 duced from whose interaction it proceeded. As little can there 
 be direct reproduction of desire as of feeling ; but desire is 
 i.iore accessible to reproduction through its objective nucleus 
 than mere feeling. Dispositions to desires, so far as they are 
 grounded m established relations of presentations-which are 
 cicqmred especially by habit-are called Inclinations. When 
 they have reached a specially high degree they are called 
 rropensions. 
 
 " Feeling is passive, directionless, blind ; desire is active 
 and directed to an end that it knows, or at least thinks it 
 knows." Feeling becomes desire as soon as " fixations " mix 
 themselves with the presentation-circle in which it is based. 
 Thus, for example, - pity becomes benevolence ; liking, love • 
 hope, longing." * 
 
 The ordinary classification of desires into - lower, sensual" 
 and -higher, intellectual" is based on the contrast between 
 sensation and reproduction, applied now to the desired presen- 
 tation, now to the impulse. Among - desires of sense " two 
 classes may be definitely distinguished, viz., " the pathological 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 1G9 
 
 desires of sensation, and the— in the wider sense — aesthetic 
 desires of perception ; of which the former are composed in 
 all their moments of strongly toned and therefore localised 
 sensations, as hunger and thirst, while the latter have their 
 seat in less toned, clear sensations, and therefore have play in 
 the region of projection, as desires upon perception of moving 
 objects or of regular shapes." 
 
 The form most frequently taken by Impulse is that of a 
 "series." The complication of the form of impulse proceeds 
 to the interweaving of series, and reaches its highest stage 
 when the desired presentation forms the central point of a 
 tissue. " On centralised interweavings of series rests every- 
 thing that we are accustomed to call Love." 
 
 Desires are less mutually compatible than presentations ; for 
 even heterogeneous desires arrest one another, and every arrest 
 of desires proceeds to obscuration. Simultaneous desires can 
 only continue to co-exist when they coincide in the same 
 desired object. Coincidence can take place in three ways : 
 for either the desires may be directed to different partial 
 presentations of the same total presentation or they may act 
 together in the same particular presentation, and in the latter 
 case they may act either in the same or in opposite directions. 
 " In the conflict which the third case involves, the two desires 
 take up alternately the parts of ' desire ' and ' aversion,' and 
 since every progress in the one direction has for its conse- 
 (luence a heightening of the conation in the opposite direction, 
 the interesting paradox results that simultaneous opposite 
 desires intensify one another." 
 
 In immediate connexion with the theory of the impulse, 
 Volkmann continues his account of Instinct — now defined 
 as " that organic pre-formation in consequence of which a 
 determinate impulse transforms itself in a constant manner 
 into a determinate bodily movement without tlie intermedia- 
 tion of a clearly-appearing presentation." The impulse is not 
 in itself a desire, since the direction to a determinate presenta- 
 tion is absent ; but it becomes a desire when a more or less 
 clear presentation, by the reproductions it occasions, attracts 
 it to itself. The instinctive impulse is always " ol)scure," 
 
 
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 170 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 because it is always composed of organic sensations, but the 
 desire in which it expresses itself is not obscure. In instinct 
 the whole appearance of pursuit of ends is to be set " to the 
 account of the somatic pre -formation." 
 
 Volition is desire that has arrived at the prevision of its 
 satisfaction. This prevision, or judgment as to the attain- 
 ableness of the desire in a determinate way, is the result of 
 the carrying over of the desire from the end to the means 
 and consequent checking of the original desire. Like desire, 
 volition contains in itself no "causality of its satisfaction,'* 
 for many volitions remain unsatisfied ; but it knows of such 
 a causality, and on the giound of this knowledge expects its 
 satisfaction. 
 
 All Volition includes Thought as part of itself. For thought 
 is necessary in order to *' transform the j^ost hoc of the time- 
 series into the projHcr hoc of the causal series," and thereby 
 give the security of attaining what is desired. In relation to 
 the thought involved, three periods may be distinguished in 
 the history of every volition, viz., "reflection," "deliberation," 
 and "resolution." As compared with desire, volition has a 
 specially intimate relation to the Ego, from which it has the 
 appearance of proceeding. 
 
 The volition resolved on may remain suspended. The 
 suspended will is called " purpose " ; the realised will, 
 " action." Action, again, may be either " external " or 
 "internal." 
 
 The completed volition, whether it has remained a purpose 
 or has proceeded to action, becomes the object of a judgment, 
 which has the "pathological eudaemonistic " or "ajsthctic 
 ethical " character, according as it connects with the volition 
 a feeling of pleasure or displeasure, taking its origin from a 
 material relation of the willed object to the total will of the 
 subject or from a purely formal relation of the particular 
 volition to another voHtion. l^oth kinds of judgment are 
 extended from judgments on particular volitions to judgments 
 on whole classes of volitions, and, in becoming themselves 
 objects of a deeply ramified will, rise to the rank of "practical 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 171 
 
 principles" or " maxims" — of " happiness," or of " morality," 
 as the case may be. P^thical judgments upou volition usually 
 appear later than eudaimonistic judgments, because they pre- 
 suppose a more abstract apprehension of the volition ; but they 
 are more rapidly transformed into imperatives. 
 
 From the apparent arbitrariness of the resultant volition 
 in cases of conflict among volitions and maxims, arises the 
 problem of Free-will. Volkmann's solution of the problem 
 is that only in appearance does the resultant volition take its 
 origin from " an Ego hovering over the conflicting volitions." 
 Ego and " end- volition " are alike phenomena resulting from 
 the interaction of presentations ; and they result from the 
 interaction of the same presentations. There is thus no 
 free-will in the sense of an emancipation of the will from law. 
 Freedom, in the sense in which it can be admitted, consists in 
 determination of the will by a law recognised by the person 
 willing. It is "autonomy" — not "arbitrary choice" — as 
 opposed at once to " heteronomy " and to "anarchy." It is 
 not freedom of the " will," but of the person. The law with 
 which, for the person to be free, the will has to be brought 
 into conformity, is the " practical maxim." Consciousness of 
 freedom is consciousness of the determination of the walling 
 Ego by the knowing Ego. 
 
 "Moral" as distinguished from merely "psychological" 
 freedom consists in determination of the will exclusively 
 by ethical as distinguished from eudaemonistic maxims. The 
 sum of a person's ethical maxims is his " practical insight," 
 and this, so far as it appears under the imperative form, may 
 be called Keason. To be morally free, accordingly, is to have 
 the will determined by reason. What reason is to the com- 
 pleted volition, Conscience is to the purpose. 
 
 Psychological freedom as a permanent property of the 
 subject in relation to a whole class of volitions is called a 
 "trait of character"; extended over the whole of volition. 
 Character. " That character is moral of which the supreme 
 principle is conscience, or, in other words, the moral character 
 is the realisation of reason in an enduring whole of volition." 
 The opposite of freedom as a permanent property of the 
 
 ■:||1 
 
 1 
 
 , 1 
 
 ]:; 
 
 » <} 
 
' 1 ■ 
 
 172 
 
 VOLKMANN'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 t, 
 
 \ 
 
 subject IS Passion. - The essence of passion consists in this 
 that with respect to a chiss of volitions the maxim is indeed 
 heard, but the will is decided against the maxim." Passion 
 [Lcidcmchaft) is distinguished from Emotion (Affect) as a 
 permanent disposition from a transitory state. Repetition of 
 the same - emotion " may give origin to a " passion " as the 
 feelmg becomes sharpened into desire. 
 
 With these discussions of Freedom, Reason, Character, and 
 
 Passion, Volkmann prepares the psychological ground for the 
 
 theory of legal and moral responsibility which he develops in 
 
 some concluding pages. This takes us bevond the region of 
 
 pure psychology, and the exposition may here close The 
 
 only remark that need be added is an expression of the 
 
 writer's sense of the inadequacy of this attempt to give an 
 
 Idea of the value of Volkinann's treatise. When reduced to a 
 
 bare outline, the book inevitably loses what constitutes its 
 
 most distinctive feature for the student, namely, the exhaustivc- 
 
 ness of its detailed treatment. Some idea may, however, have 
 
 been given of its systematic completeness of arrangement and 
 
 of its breadth of general view. 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 IN Europe there is at present no " military problem." There 
 are, undoubtedly, discussions on the chances of war and on 
 the degree of efficiency to which particular armies have at- 
 tained, but there is no military problem in the sense in which 
 there is an " industrial problem." In other words, there is no 
 difference of opinion as to the relation of the army to the State. 
 It is admitted on all sides that military efficiency is not to be 
 left to chance, but is a thing that governments must attend to ; 
 and it is admitted that the State does not exist in order to keep 
 up an army, but tlie army in order to preserve the State. Nor 
 is it any longer necessary to devise means by which military 
 efficiency may be rendered compatible with any type of political 
 institutions. These are determined by the general pohtical 
 movement; while the type of military organisation is deter- 
 mined independently by military exigencies. 
 
 This was not always so. There have been times w^hen it was 
 necessary to prove by elaborate argument that if it has too little 
 strength for war a nation cannot be sure of maintaining its 
 existence. On the other side, too great military efficiency has 
 presented itself as a danger to free institutions, and schemes 
 have been worked out by political thinkers for combining 
 freedom with the national strength which they saw to be 
 necessary. Thus the question was not simply how to bring 
 to l)ear the knowledge of experts on a public opinion that was 
 in agreement about the end, l)ut ignorant of the means. 
 Theories as to the form military organisation should take were 
 involved with disputed questions about the political structure 
 of society. General ideas, arrived at by reasoning on facts 
 
 178 
 
 i -. 
 
 Vf 
 
 •r 
 
 4 
 
174 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTIiY, 
 
 ( 
 
 accessible to every one, had still a share in modifying the 
 course of events. Partly by the influence of such general Ideas 
 and partly by the conflict of forces, a solution capable of lasting 
 for a time has been at length attained. Anything in iidvance oi 
 the present solution— any kind of international organisation, 
 for exaniple-now seems more out of the range of speculation 
 than it did in the eighteenth century. 
 
 The cessation of the military problem as a question of general 
 pontics has been accompanied by the rise of the industrFal pro- 
 blem. There have been times, of course, when there was no 
 "industrial problem." A certain industrial system was 
 accepted by every one, and all change that was introduced 
 m It came about through unconscious processes; or, more 
 exactly, through processes not determined by any conscious 
 effort on the part of society to shape the industrial system as 
 It ought to be. So far as there was any conscious collective 
 ettoit. it was simply an effort to promote prosperity within the 
 lines of the existing system. It need hardly be said that the 
 present is not a time when this is all that is aimed at. The 
 whole attitude of society or of the State towards industry has 
 become a question for conscious deliberation. The question is 
 not simply to find the means of attaining an end that is agreed 
 upon. There is no agreement even as to the general form of 
 the solution. This being so, the question is not one simply for 
 experts. At its present stage, light may be thrown upon it by 
 reasonmg that proceeds on entirely general grounds ; that is, 
 without any reference to specific proposals. 
 
 The best means of throwing light upon the question in its 
 general aspect seems to be a classification of the chief possible 
 solutions. There is at least a chance that the right solution 
 may be arrived at by elimination of the wrong ones. 
 
 First, the solution known as lah^cz faire may be considered. 
 The advocates of this solution may be most correctly described 
 as industrial anarchists. In spite of disclaimers, this is the 
 doctrme that furnishes the intellectual basis for nearly all 
 attacks on -socialistic legislation." It is, perhaps, the first 
 conscious attempt that has been made to solve the industrial 
 problem. It owes its plausibility partly to the fact that it 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 175 
 
 really embodies some truth, and partly to a confusion. The 
 confusion consists in an identification of economical laissez 
 faire with political freedom. The truth it contains is the clear 
 conception of some results of the science known as poHtical 
 economy. Whan economists had shown that in particular 
 kinds of commercial transaction, such as international trade, 
 the country that does not interfere with the economical course 
 of things will be the most prosperous commercially, it was an 
 obvious practical inference that, whenever commercial pros- 
 perity is the thing desired, the State ought to let transactions 
 of this particular kind alone. The laissez faire school drew the 
 correct inference; but it proceeded to generahse it into a 
 precept applicable at all times and places and to every kind of 
 commercial and industrial transaction. No doubt exceptions 
 were admitted, but they were admitted only as exceptions to 
 a general rule. The line usually taken now is to go on 
 admilting more and more exceptions, while yet continuing to 
 maintain that the rule is true in its generality. Still this 
 process, continued long enough, amounts to the rejection of 
 laissez faire as a universal precept. By gradual concessions 
 on the part of its practical defenders, it is being reduced to the 
 position it was entitled to claim at first — that of a rule true in 
 some particular cases. In practice its application has been 
 mitigated, both by survivals from an older state of things and 
 l)y new modern legislation proceeding from motives not purely 
 economical. 
 
 The type of society that consistent industrial anarchy tends 
 to produce is the plutocratic ; and its advocates are now mostly 
 found among the friends of plutocracy. When no function of 
 the State in relation to industry is recognised except that of 
 clearing the ground for unlimited competition, the natural con- 
 sequence is that everything is made subordinate to this kind of 
 industrial struggle, and that those who are most proficient in it 
 attain, together with wealth, the largest share of political power. 
 With conscious or unconscious art. the industrial anarchists 
 proclaim their cause to be that of individual freedom. Yet it is 
 a fact that freedom, in its political sense, was understood and 
 fought for long before the maxim of letting industry alone — 
 
 ) in 
 
 I 
 
170 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTRY, 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 whether right or wrong commercially— was heard of. And, 
 when we look at the actual state of the case, the contradiction 
 hetween individual freedom and regulation of industry by law 
 is seen to he quite illusory. The operations of the gi'eater 
 industry — and this is what it is commonly proposed to regulate 
 —are part of an immense and compHcated mechanism where 
 there is no room for really free contract in matters of detail 
 between individual employers and workmen. The action of 
 the mechanism, left to itself, is determined by the com- 
 paratively blind forces recognised in economics— love of gain 
 and need of subsistence. State-intervention brings to bear 
 upon it forces involving })oth more intelligence and more regard 
 to ethical ends. By this means it sets the individual free, in 
 a larger number of cases, to become more of an end for himself 
 and less of an instrument for external ends. It thus increases 
 the kind of freedom for which, according to one theory, the 
 State exists. 
 
 Having dealt with the anarchical solution, we may proceed 
 to deal with its antithesis, the socialistic solution. This is to 
 be distinguished here from what is called "socialistic legisla- 
 tion," or ♦• State-socialism " ; these being merely names applied 
 to any mitigation of anarchy. Socialism, in its proper sense, 
 must be taken to mean the actual conduct, by the central 
 government or its subordinate governments and agents, of all 
 industrial operations. It involves, of course, the substitution 
 of collective for individual property. The purely economical 
 argument against socialism is that it would be less efficient iu 
 producing wealth. Work done under the direct compulsion of 
 social authority would be badly done ; and absence of the hope 
 that exists where there is room for competition would further 
 depress all energies. When socialism is considered on more 
 general grounds, the argument is urged that private property 
 is essential to individual freedom. Neither of these arguments 
 can really be answered. And the contention that "genuine 
 socialism is incompatible with individual freedom is completely 
 confirmed by recent popular literature on the socialistic side. 
 To these argmnents it may be added, that socialism has in 
 common with the opposite system the defect of regarding 
 
 mm^m^mam 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 177 
 
 society too exclusively from the economical point of view. For 
 the industrial anarchist, the State is there chiefly to make sure 
 that the action of economical forces is not interfered with. If 
 these by themselves tend to produce a certain t>^e of society, 
 all that remains for the individual is to adapt himself to it. 
 Bringing other social forces into play is not to be thought of. 
 The tendency of commercial competition is to become fiercer. 
 Let us then consider the type that is most successful under fierce 
 competition and try to become like that. Anything that will 
 " pay " is as " liberal " as anything else if intelligently studied. 
 Then let us study intelligently what will pay. On his side, the 
 socialist would exact from everybody labour which could be 
 proved before some social authority to be useful. And such 
 compulsion would be made practicable, and would be made to 
 press on all alike (except perhaps the officials) by the absence 
 of individual property and free contract. Thus, especially, all 
 serious aesthetic pursuits would be rendered impossible (except 
 perhaps when the favour of authority could be gained). For 
 the socialist, the State exists first as an industrial mechanism, 
 and all that is not industrial is a superfluous accompaniment of 
 its working. In short, consistent socialism, when examined, 
 turns out to be as soulless as plutocracy. 
 
 A solution different from either of those that have been 
 discussed is accepted by Positivists and Catholics. This 
 may be called the hierocratic solution. Private property is 
 allowed, but its use is to be ordered in accordance with a 
 uniform religious doctrine theoretically elaborated and applied 
 to practice by a priesthood. Capital, according to the Positi- 
 vists, is to be " moralised." That is to say, capitalists are to 
 regulate the distribution of wealth in the interests of workmen. 
 This could not be secured without some social power separate 
 from the body of capitalists ; and the power is found in a 
 Church. A moral public opinion, practically irresistible by 
 individuals, is to be formed and wielded by an organised 
 *' spiritual power " independent of the State. The solution 
 recently propounded for the acceptance of Catholics does not 
 differ from this essentially ; though the theological doctrine of 
 the Church in the two cases is of course not the same. One 
 
 13 
 
 ,1^ 
 
178 
 
 POLITICS AND INDUSTBY. 
 
 Hi 
 
 merit may be acknowledged in this solution. A wider view of 
 society is taken than in the two others. All social activities 
 are recognised, and not simply economical activity. On the 
 other hand, they are recognised only to be controlled by the 
 doctrine and discipline of a universal Church. No amount of 
 material comfort diffused to any conceivable extent is worth 
 this price. To permit either an old or a new Church to take 
 the place claimed for it would involve the suppression of intel- 
 lectual liberty. Now intellectual hberty, whatever may be the 
 aspirations of the "authoritative " schools, is not a mere incident 
 of a "period of transition," but a permanent conquest of philo- 
 sophic thought and of the development of the modern State. 
 
 The solution which remains to be considered, and which the 
 course of the argument has gradually brought into view, is the 
 doctrine of State-control or State-regulation of industry accor- 
 ding to the best ideas and knowledge attainable at the time. 
 This, in distinction from the others, may be called the political 
 solution. It is untouched by any of the arguments that have 
 been fatal to the rest. In essence, it is the doctrine that has 
 been instinctively acted upon both in ancient and modern 
 States. When a mistaken industrial policy was pursued in the 
 past, this was not because the State failed to recognise the 
 limits of its own general sphere of action, but because it was 
 ignorant of some particular law of economics. The remedy is 
 not to exclude as many industrial questions as possible from 
 the sphere of State-action, but to gain the most accurate 
 knowledge of the conditions of particular problems and then to 
 apply it both negatively and positively ; and not simply for the 
 maintenance of prosperity, but for the transformation of the 
 industrial system itself. This does not imply State-ownership 
 of all capital, which is the socialistic solution ; but it implies 
 that no limit shaU be recognised to the action of the State upon 
 industry except the knowledge that action would be injurious 
 to the Commonwealth. Where there is doubt there may be 
 action or abstinence from action according to the probabilities 
 of the case. At a time like the present, when the industrial 
 system is comparatively plastic, the bias ought to be in favour 
 of action. 
 
 til 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THOUGHT 
 
 DOES human thought take its origin wholly from practical 
 needs, or is there in it from the first a disinterested 
 element ? 
 
 Some modern psychologists would say, not only that it takes 
 its origin from needs and is posterior to action, but that it 
 always remains in its whole structure subservient to practical 
 ends. Just as some ancient thinkers held that virtue was 
 simply a kind of knowledge, so for these moderns thought is 
 nothing more than a kind of will ; will itself being assumed to 
 be primarily directed to practice. What distinguishes thought 
 from mere trains of associated ideas is that the passive states 
 of consciousness that enter into it are seized upon by an active 
 " apperception," and, by being thus seized upon, are turned f 
 into connected ** thought-series." The device of these psycho- • 
 legists might be : " Vro ratioiic voluntas." 
 
 If, in opposition, we were to point to the Aristotelian ideal 
 of the self-contained contemplative life, they might admit this 
 to be a possible ideal and still maintain the essential part of 
 their view. Perhaps they would not admit its possibility ; but 
 if they did, it would be open to them to insist that the contem- 
 plative life is still in a manner active. It is certainly not with- 
 out volition. At most the volition may be supposed to become 
 in the end unimpeded. And it is undoubtedly an ideal that in 
 more than one way presupposes strictly practical activity in 
 some kind of relation to it. Neither a society wholly devoted 
 to contemplation, nor an individual human life filled with it 
 from beginning to end, is imagined by Aristotle as possible. 
 To decide the question as to the nature of thought, we must 
 consider its origin rather than its consummation. ' 
 
 179 
 
 y 
 
180 
 
 ON THE NATUBE OF THOUGHT. 
 
 I 
 
 But first of all, whence com3s the notion itself that thought 
 is merely a kind of volition ? It is derived, in reality, from a 
 great philosopher ; but it seems to imply either a misunder- 
 standing or an exaggeration of his view. Descartes, in the 
 Princii)ia Philosojyhice, seeking to explain the causes of error, 
 drew attention very forcibly to the volitional character of some 
 thought. But he does not say that all thought is volitional. 
 The passage where the doctrine may be found is Part i. of the 
 Principia, sections 31-36. The doctrine is this. Our errors 
 depend on the will rather than on the intellect. All our modes 
 of thinking {modi cogitandi) may be referred to two general 
 ones : perception, or the operation of the intellect ; volition, 
 or the operation of the will. Feeling, imagination, and pure 
 understanding, are modes of perception; desire, aversion, 
 affirmation, negation, doubt, are modes of will. (Nam sentire] 
 imagiiiari, et pure intelligerc, sunt tantum diversi modi percipi 
 endi; ut et cupere, aversari, affinnare, negare, duhitarc, sunt 
 diversi modi volendi.) When we affirm or deny of a thing that 
 which we clearly and distinctly perceive must be affirmed or 
 denied of it, we do not err. But, in order that assent may be 
 given, not only perception but also will is required. Now the 
 perception of the intellect extends only to a few things. It is 
 always finite, while the will is in a manner infinite. There is 
 no possible object of any will that cannot become the object 
 of our will, even though we do not clearly and distinctly per- 
 ceive it. From extending the will that is involved in judgment 
 to things we do not rightly perceive, arises error. 
 
 It is evident that Descartes here does not attempt to explain 
 thought in general as a form of volition, but only judgment in 
 the special sense. From judgment, implying assent or denial 
 (modes of volition), is distinguished pure understanding or pure 
 intelligence which is wholly a "mode of perception," and to 
 vohtion perception is opposed as another "mode of thought." 
 "Perception" was of course to the older psychologists a 
 vaguer term than it is now. It did not mean simply percep- 
 tion of particular objects. We may take Descartes' " pure 
 intelligence " as meaning very much what we mean by " con- 
 ception," as distinguished from judgment. 
 
 ON THE NATUBE OF THOUGHT. 
 
 181 
 
 Judgment itself, which is admitted to be volitional, may be 
 explained psychologically in diiferent ways. The question has 
 been put with regard to volition in general, whether it is essen- 
 tially constituted by a primitive " act of apperception " that 
 cannot be further resolved, or takes its origin from mental 
 elements that do not at first constitute anything that can be 
 called volition. In this last case, " apperception " or " atten- 
 tion " is itself a problem, and cannot be used as a datum of 
 psychological explanation. This is the view of Professor Bain 
 and of Dr. Miinsterberg. The view that apperception must be 
 taken as a datum is that of Professor Wundt. 
 
 However this controversy may be decided, the question still 
 remains as to the nature of conception (Descartes' "pure 
 intelhgence ") in its distinction from judgment. Professor 
 Wundt and his disciples would explain not simply judgment 
 but thought in general as a kind of volition ; or rather, they 
 would probably say that all thought, in the proper sense of the 
 term, is judgment. 
 
 The argument against this view is that it ignores the whole 
 work of modern nominalism. The English nominalists, begin- 
 ning with Hobbes, set themselves to explain what is distinctive 
 in thought as a whole, not simply in its recognised volitional 
 form, and attained what seems a true psychological solution. 
 They took the essential element in thought to be generahty ; 
 and the possibility of generalising they explained by the exis- 
 tence of language. To rise from mere trains of association to 
 general conceptions, what is necessary is a system of signs ; 
 and this is given by articulate speech. " Speech created 
 thought." One particular perception or image — the sound or 
 memory of a word— can be made to stand for a whole class of 
 other images and perceptions. Man is distinguished from the 
 lower animals by the capacity of evolving such a system. The 
 distinctively human faculty is the power of speech and thought. 
 This theory has not been sufficiently considered by the 
 apperceptionists. Still, they might conceivably accept it and 
 push the question further back. Language itself, they might 
 say, is the product essentially of will. All thought, therefore, 
 must still be traced to " apperception." 
 
 Ii< 
 
182 
 
 ON THE NATUBE OF TBOUGHT. 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THOUGHT. 
 
 183 
 
 There is, undoubtedly, in all choice of speech, an element of 
 volition ; as, in fully formed thought, volition enters into 
 judging. But is volition, in the origin of language, the essen- 
 tial thing? To hold that it is, does not seem to be in agree- 
 ment with the best view of modem thinkers on the suWect 
 which may be briefly stated thus. Language presupposes 
 society. Given a gi-oup of social animals, as soon as uttered 
 sounds aroused by certain ideas call up similar ideas in the 
 minds of those to whom they are addressed, there is the germ 
 of language. This germ consists in understanding, not in 
 intention. Sounds, once understood, can become words 
 them '' ^ '' ""^ intellectual power that can develop 
 
 In the case of some languages, this inteUectual power seems 
 to have consisted mainly in volition. The suggestion that the 
 Uimese language was essentially volitional in its origin is an 
 obvious one. Leibniz, discussing the old question whether 
 languages are by institution or by nature (Nouveanx Essais, 
 bk. ,n. ch. 2), remarks that the language of China has been 
 thought to be " entirely arbitrary." This, he proceeds, may 
 be so ; but the artificial languages of which we know the ori-in 
 contam a " natural " as well as an "arbitrary" element. 
 Modern philologists would say that there is something of 
 Le.bmzs "natural" element eveiywhere. Signs, in the 
 beginning, cannot be quite arbitrary, but, to be taken up by 
 others, suppose some kind of correspondence to the thing 
 signified, though not of course a uniform correspondence alike 
 for all men at all stages. In the end, for ordinary speech, 
 words become arbitrary signs, though in the evolution of lan- 
 guage they were not so. The reason why the Chinese language 
 seems most of all arbitrary or volitional is its extreme poverty 
 both of vocabulary and grammatical system. Out of abou' 
 five hundred monosyllables, by changes of tone and of syn- 
 tactical arrangement, the whole spoken language is constructed. 
 The share of arbitrary choice in the structure becomes con- 
 spicuous from the limitation of its material. Yet we perceive 
 that even here the linguistic material cannot have been created 
 by vohtion aiming at practical ends, but springs originaUy from 
 
 the play of feeling and imagination. Such as it is, an emi- 
 nently volitional language is in conformity with the intensely 
 positive and practical Chinese character. It is the language 
 of a race with neither poetry nor metaphysics. The copious 
 languages are the languages of races with a larger primitive 
 endowment of imagination or feeling. 
 
 Still, this does not settle the question with which we began. 
 Whatever may be the pecuUar endowments of different races, 
 is it not always practical need that gives the first stimulus to 
 expression, and so ends by creating thought ? That practical 
 needs count for much in the development of thought and lan- 
 guage is of course unquestionable. It does not follow, how- 
 ever, that they gave the first impulse. Animals also have 
 •♦reason " in the sense that they can intelligently adapt means 
 to ends ; but in animals the disinterested emotion aroused, for 
 example, by novelty, though not entirely absent, is merely 
 sporadic. In the history of human life, on the other hand, 
 there is, as a rule, a search for the testhetic before the useful 
 is sought for. Is it likely that language is here an excep- 
 tion? The question is not as to the external occasion on 
 which language arose. As has ))een pointed out in recent 
 discussion of the subject, the occasion may not always 
 have been the same. The fundamental question is this : 
 What is the internal psychological cause by which it is 
 first determined that there shall be articulate expression at 
 
 all ? 
 
 To find a clear solution of this question, we must return to 
 the first of the modern nominalists, to Hobbes. In the 
 treatise commonly known as the Human Nature j but recently 
 published by Dr. Tonnies as part of the whole to which it 
 originally belonged, namely. The Elements of Laiv, Natural 
 ami Politic y there occurs a paragraph (ch. ix., § 18 ; ed. 
 Tonnies, pp. 45-46) in which the problem is incidentally 
 solved. Hobbes is treating of the passions he calls " admira- 
 tion and curiosity," by which, as also by "the faculty of 
 imposing names," man is distinguished from beasts. '' For 
 when a beast seeth anything new or strange to him, he con- 
 sidereth it so far only as to discern whether it be likely to serve 
 
184 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THOUGHT. 
 
 i 
 
 V. 
 
 his turn, or hurt him, and accordingly approacheth nearer it, 
 or flieth from it ; whereas man, who in most events remem- 
 bereth in what manner they were caused and begun, looketh 
 for the cause and beginning of everything that ariseth new 
 unto him. And from this passion of admiration and curiosity, 
 have arisen not only the invention of names, but also the sup- 
 position of such causes of all things as they thought might 
 produce them. And from this beginning is derived all philo- 
 sophy: as astronomy from the admiration of the course of 
 heaven ; natural philosophy from the strange effects of the 
 elements and other bodies." 
 
 The luminous suggestion that " the invention of names " has 
 arisen from -admiration and curiosity" is in perfect agree- 
 ment with the view that derives theoretical science from the 
 same origin. That it is essentially these two passions that 
 set science going and keep it in movement is sufficiently clear 
 from experience. Practical needs lead to applications of the 
 science that exists, and these applications again determine new 
 theoretical problems ; but they are not the central cause of the 
 pursuit of science. From this pursuit, the usual effect of 
 practical needs is to draw men away. They may direct the 
 attention of societies to the importance of science, but they 
 will not determine individuals to follow it. To work at 
 science strictly in view of practice keeps it stationary. We 
 see this in the cases of Egypt and Chaldaea, where geometry 
 was kept to the purpose of land-measuring and building, and 
 the stars were obser^^ed chiefly with a view to predicting events 
 that had a bearing on national or individual prosperity The 
 same thing holds of language. Its beginnings were theoretical 
 aesthetic, disinterested. To a great extent its development 
 depends on persistence of the original impulse ; on the leavin- 
 of men's minds in some measure free from subjugation to 
 external ends and motives. Literature has a larger vocabulary 
 than daily life. The vocabularies of the Arvan and the Mon- 
 gohan are at opposite extremes. To develop a utilitarian civili- 
 sation too early was to lose possibilities both of scientific and 
 lingmstic growth. Language, as Hobbes saw, like the search 
 for causes, springs from what is distinctively human in human 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THOUGHT. 
 
 185 
 
 nature ; and this is not direction of the mind to the interests 
 of life. The large part interests play in Hobbes' s practical 
 philosophy only makes his position on this point the stronger. 
 With the question about language, the question about 
 thought, from which we started, is solved. 
 
 » > 
 
 i' \ 
 
THE THEORY OF JUSTICE. 
 
 rnHE strong point of modern a priori ethical systems has on 
 -L the whole been the theory of justice. Powerful attempts, 
 such as that of Hobbes, have been made to derive its formulae 
 and to establish its obligation on experiential gi-ounds, but 
 these have always seemed to leave something unexplained. 
 Among recent theories on essentially the same lines may be 
 mentioned that of W. H. Rolph in his Biologische Problevie^a, 
 book to the distinctive ethical point of which justice wa& 
 scarcely done in a review that appeared in Mind, vol. x. 281. 
 A later attempt, in conscious dependence on Hobbes, is Mr. 
 Hugh Taylor's Morality of Nations (see Mind, xiii. 287, 425). 
 This is worked out from the point of view of the special 
 student of society ; Kolph's starting point being rather that of 
 the naturalist. The essence of the doctrine in all its expres- 
 sions is that the formulae of justice are the result of a conflict 
 among societies, or among individuals; and that they are 
 fundamentally '* contractual," and suppose, in their abstract 
 expression, the equality, in the particular relations involved, of 
 the persons contracting. The formulae, when we appeal,' as 
 we must finally, to the ends for which they exist, have an 
 egoistic reference. Their justification is that the interests of 
 the individual are best attained by observing them in al 
 cases. 
 
 Although there is a large portion of truth in this theoiy, it 
 cannot quite maintain itself on its ground of pure egoism. 
 When we suppose the rules of justice established by conven- 
 tion, we have to bring in some element of sympathetic imagi- 
 nation, or some intrinsic social character of men, before we 
 can effectively get our formulae realised in action. Purely 
 
 186 
 
 Lv > 
 
 THE THEORY OF JUSTICE. 
 
 187 
 
 egoistic social units neither could nor would consistently 
 practise the rules of justice. These rules, if we allow their 
 partial origin in egoistic conflict, must somehow be attached to 
 the sympathetic impulses that issue more directly in another 
 class of virtues. Thus Hume, deducing the virtues of 
 benevolence directly from sympathy, was able to incorporate 
 in his ethics, with some modification, the theory of the egoistic 
 origin of justice. According to Hume, in a society of which 
 all ''the members were perfectly benevolent, justice would be 
 superseded. It has its true place in a society of which the 
 members are neither wholly selfish nor wholly sympathetic. 
 
 If, however, we put justice in a lower place, then we are 
 reducing to a subordinate rank a virtue that seems clearer in 
 its obligation than any other. This is the point that can always 
 be made by the a priori thinkers. The experientialist may 
 indeed avoid part of the difficulty by taking the question on 
 psychological instead of on distinctly ethical ground. 
 According to the a priori moralist the formula of justice are 
 expressive of certain objective relations, and indicate the rule 
 to be followed apart from any consideration of consequences. 
 They have an immediate and intrinsic reasonableness. The 
 equalities and proportions they require are something that 
 ought to be apart from any end beyond themselves. The 
 experientialist, on the other hand, cannot admit that they are 
 obligatory in themselves and apart from all consideration of 
 ends— that is, ultimately, apart from all subjective feeling in 
 any individual. He may, however, give a psychological 
 explanation of their peculiar characteristics. Their appear- 
 ance of being specially obligatory may be explained as the 
 impress left by the coercive action of the State in enforcing 
 those moral rules that are necessary for its preservation. 
 Their special clearness may be regarded as an aesthetic impres- 
 sion due to a certain quasi-mathematical character they have. 
 The real reason why they have this character is, it may be 
 said, because, in questions of distribution, we must have some 
 fixed rule, and it is easiest to take that which is intellectually 
 simplest. As a psychological fact, there is a certain pleasure 
 iu contemplating the relations the rules of justice suppose, and 
 
 V 
 
 
\ 
 
 188 
 
 THE THEORY OF JUSTICE. 
 
 THE THEOBY OF JUSTICE. 
 
 189 
 
 a certain pain in contemplating their derangement, quite 
 apart from all consideration of consequences. Ethically, any 
 formula would be good that could be got to work, but a 
 formula not admitting of sufficient abstraction and generality 
 fails to impress itself aesthetically. In themselves the laws 
 of justice are simply one set of rules among others, specially 
 important in view of the ends to be subserved by them ; but, 
 in pure ethics, the aesthetic character they derive from their 
 simpHcity is not to the point. 
 
 Still, after all psychological explanations, an answer has to 
 be given to the rational question why the rules of justice 
 ought to be obsei-ved. The experientialist must at last fall 
 back on the position that justice owes its peculiar place in 
 ethics in some way to the end for which it exists. 
 
 One great gain that has come to ethics from the theoiy of 
 evolution is that the necessity of a social basis has been made 
 clearer than it ever was before. Without social conservation 
 no other end can permanently be attained. Hence the virtues 
 by which the social organism is preserved are the most 
 important of all. On evolutionary, as well as on general 
 utihtarian grounds, this position has been assigned to justice. 
 Because of its special importance for social conservation 
 justice alone, or justice most of all, it has been contended by 
 Mr. Spencer, ought to be enforced by legal penalties. Associa- 
 tions of its infraction with punishment, we may add from 
 Prof. Bain's analysis, cause the appearance to go along with 
 the reality of superior obligation. 
 
 Still, it is only on the rougher forms of justice that social 
 stabiUty can be said with truth to depend; on kinds of 
 abstinence from aggression that are scarcely entitled to the 
 name of a distinctive virtue. Mr. Spencer has pointed out in 
 his Principles of Ethics that the distinctive virtue of justice 
 receives no formulation in the moral codes that have ruled over 
 Eastern civilisations. Compassion, in all its forms, is 
 obviously a different virtue from justice ; and so also is strict- 
 ness in carrying out the precepts of an authoritative code, 
 though this is less obvious. In truth, justice as a special 
 virtue was first distinctly conceived in Greece. Early poets 
 
 and thinkers made attempts at its formulation. Plato made 
 an exceedingly elaborate attempt, but in the end defined as 
 " justice " something— namely the performance of its proper 
 functions by each part of the State and by each part of the 
 individual soul— which has never in any community been 
 recognised as the distinctive virtue signified by that name. 
 Aristotle returned to the problem, and succeeded in fixing the 
 general conception as something that relates to distributions 
 of social goods, and as taking for its intellectual basis 
 relations of proportionate equality. In the development of 
 European thought, the increased definiteness it has got since 
 has come to a great extent from analysis of legal conceptions. 
 What emerges from historical consideration is thus not that 
 justice in the distinctive sense is specially connected with the 
 stability of all societies. Some at least of the Asiatic civili- 
 sations have been exceedingly stable. Yet in Asiatic societies 
 the equalities and reciprocal obligations involved in the con- 
 ception of justice have never come into clear consciousness. 
 On the other side, European States, so far as experience 
 can say up to the present, have been less stable than the more 
 permanent States of the Eastern world ; but the conception of 
 justice has appeared, and has received more and more distinct 
 formulation. What gi'ound then must the experientialist take 
 if he wishes to bring justice finally into relation with an 
 ethical end, and is not satisfied with its presentation as an 
 abstract formula bearing its own evidence in its aesthetic or 
 intellectual character ? 
 
 A ground seems attainable in the following way. The 
 science of society may be considered as having reference either 
 to societies so far as they are merely social aggregates, or so 
 far also as they have poUtical structure. In its general part 
 the science of society might be called anthropolog}% in its 
 special part political history. There is a corresponding dis- 
 tinction among the ethical virtues. Some have a general 
 social reference ; others have also a poUtical reference. Over 
 and above his existence as a unit in the social organism, 
 the individual man may be a member of a free State. 
 Now the ethical virtue of justice has always been under- 
 
 
 
'I 
 
 190 
 
 THE THEORY OF JUSTICE, 
 
 \\ 
 
 |i' 
 
 stood to have a special connexion with pohtical ends. It 
 has never been found possible to treat it adequately without 
 reference to the State. If, taking it as an ethical virtue, we 
 define it as that virtue which, when observed between 
 individuals, tends to the preservation, or to the estabhshment, 
 of a State of particular t>^e, then we have a ground for 
 marking it off from the other virtues. Obviously it both 
 becomes distinctly defined in States involving relations 
 between political equals who are also free— whether con- 
 stituting the whole of the State or not— and, when practised, 
 tends to the preservation of such States. Thus we are able to 
 refer it to an impersonal end which at the same time the 
 individual can regard with desire. If happiness is most 
 attainable in a State that is pohtically free, then the end has 
 the subjective meaning which, for the experientialist, is 
 inseparable from it. A set of objective relations is indeed 
 involved, as the a priori thinkers maintain, but they have 
 somewhere as their accompaniment feelings that spring from 
 the activity of personalities. The subjective end being thus 
 definitely assignable, a ground can now be given from the 
 comparison of societies for placing justice above the other 
 virtues. For it is the virtue that tends to maintain in 
 existence, or to bring about, or to extend, the best type of 
 political society. And, as ancient thinkers saw, only in the 
 best type of political society can the best type of individual 
 existence be realised. 
 
 i' 
 
 w 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.^ 
 
 THE psychology of animals having hitherto been treated 
 only in detached portions, and for the most part in an 
 uncritical manner. Dr. Romanes has " thought it desirable 
 that there should be something resembling a text-book of the 
 facts of comparative psychology, to which men of science, and 
 also metaphysicians, may turn whenever they may have occa- 
 sion to acquaint themselves with the particular level of in- 
 telligence to which this or that species of animals attains." 
 But this is only one of the objects with which he has under- 
 taken the treatment of the psychology of animals. The second 
 and more important object " is that of considering the facts of 
 animal intelligence in their relation to the theory of Descent." 
 The present volume supplies the basis for this mode of con- 
 sidering the facts. " While complete in itself as a statement 
 of the facte of Comparative Psychology," it is preliminary to a 
 second division of the work, which is to be brought out as a 
 separate treatise under the title of " Mental Evolution." 
 
 Since the present volume is to be regarded as the first part 
 of a scientific treatise, it is, of course, important that we should 
 know the critical principles on which the facts have been 
 selected. Dr. Romanes has stated these in his preface. It 
 will not be denied that his canons of criticism are sufficiently 
 severe; and in the book itself we do not receive that im- 
 pression that the facts are being described without careful 
 discrimination, which often makes itself felt in reading col- 
 lections of anecdotes about animals. But, considering the 
 
 » Animal Intelligence. By George J. Romanes, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S., 
 Zoological Secretary to the Linnean Society. (International Scientific 
 Series.) London : Kegan Paul, Trench and Co., 1882. 
 
 191 
 
 IH 
 
 n 
 
 
192 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 \ \ 
 
 , .» 
 
 I' 
 
 possibilities of the subject, most readers will look for descrip- 
 tions which may be scientifically accurate or not, but which, 
 in either case, are interesting in themselves. And, notwith- 
 standing the intention he has expressed, " as far as the nature 
 and circumstances of the inquiry would permit, to suppress 
 anecdote," Dr. Komanes has written a book that is very 
 pleasant to read. Besides this, the materials are arranged 
 in such a way that there is no difficulty in finding any fact 
 that it is desired to refer to. 
 
 Dr. Eomanes points out more than once *'how slightly a 
 psychological classification of animals depends upon zoological 
 affinity, or even morphological organisation " (p. 241). The 
 zoological classification is followed for the sake of its con- 
 venience, but at the same time it has, of course, been found 
 necessary to treat some groups in much more detail than 
 others. " Anatomically, an ant or a bee does not require more 
 consideration than a beetle or a fly ; but psychologically there 
 is need for as great a difference of treatment as there is in the 
 not very dissimilar case of a monkey and a man " (Preface, x.). 
 As an example of the mode of classifying the facts relating to 
 each group, the chapter on Ants may be referred to. First 
 the researches are described that have been made in order to 
 determine the exact character of the special senses of ants, 
 and of the " sense of direction." After this, the powers of 
 memory and recognition are considered, then the emotions. 
 Then follow sections on the powers of communication, the 
 habits, and the general intelligence of ants. Lastly, there is 
 a short section on the nervous system and the sense organs ; 
 but this is not represented in the chapters dealing with other 
 animals. 
 
 Though the complete theoretical treatment of mental phe- 
 nomena in animals does not belong to the present volume, yet 
 there is in the Introduction some discussion of theoretical 
 questions. This was indeed necessary in order to arrive at 
 a provisional mode of gi'ouping the facts. For it has been 
 objected to those who speak of the "emotions" of an ant or 
 a bee, for example, that we are not justified in applying terms 
 derived from human psychology to animals so remote in 
 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE, 
 
 193 
 
 structure from the human type. Dr. Eomanes replies to this 
 objection by showing that the ground of all inferences as to 
 the mental processes of animals is an argument from the 
 analogy of their actions with our own. ** Now it is, of course, 
 perfectly true that the less the resemblance the less is the 
 value of any analogy built upon the resemblance, and therefore 
 that the inference of an ant or a bee feeling sympathy or rage 
 is not so valid as the similar inference in the case of a dog 
 or a monkey. Still it is an inference, and, so far as it goes, a 
 vaUd one — being, in fact, the only inference available. That 
 is to say, if we observe an ant or a bee apparently exhibiting 
 sympathy or rage, we must either conclude that some psycho- 
 logical state resembUng that of sympathy or rage is present, or 
 else refuse to think about the subject at all ; from the observable 
 facts there is no other inference open " (p. 9). 
 
 Assuming that we are justified in concluding that the 
 mental processes are similar when there are similar external 
 appearances, we still need a criterion of mental as distinguished 
 from reflex action ; for we find both in men and animals 
 examples of actions that are " mind-like and yet not truly 
 mental." " Objectively considered, the only distinction be- 
 tween adaptive movements due to reflex action and adaptive 
 movements due to mental perception, consists in the former 
 depending on inherited mechanisms within the nervous system 
 being so constructed as to effect particidar adaptive movements 
 in response to lyarticiLlar stimulations, while the latter are 
 independent of any such inherited adjustment of special 
 mechanisms to the exigencies of special cii'cumstances " (p. 3). 
 The criterion proposed is therefore—" Does the organism learn 
 to make new adjustments, or to modify old ones, in accordance 
 with the results of its own individual experience?" If it 
 does, we have evidence that the limit of non-mental action has 
 been passed ; that is, we are able to fix, by means of this 
 criterion, "the upper limit of non-mental action." After dis- 
 tinguishing reflex from mental action, it remains to distinguish 
 "instinct" from "reason." Dr. Komanes proposes to define 
 instinct as "reflex action into which there is imported the 
 element of consciousness," and "reason or intelligence" as 
 
 14 
 
 M 
 
 I* 
 
194 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 II 
 
 *' the faculty which is concerned in the intentional adaptation 
 of means to ends " (p. 17). 
 
 Dr. Komanes, in his Introduction, defends these last de- 
 finitions against several objections, but the strongest argument 
 that can be brought against them is found in the actual 
 treatment of the phenomena of instinct and " general in- 
 telligence " in the chapters that follow. In discussing, for 
 example, the question of the general intelligence of ants, Dr. 
 Romanes speaks of ** the difi&culty of drawing the line between 
 purposeless instinct and purposive intelligence." He then 
 goes on to say, " It will be remembered that our test of 
 instinctive as distinguished from truly intelligent action is 
 simply whether all individuals of a species perform similar 
 adaptive movements under the stimulus supplied by simi- 
 lar and habitual circumstances, or whether they manifest 
 individual and peculiar adaptive movements to meet the 
 exigencies of novel and peculiar circumstances " (p. 123). Now 
 this distinction between instinct and reason, when it comes to 
 be applied, does not seem to be essentially different from the 
 distinction between mental and reflex action. The distinction 
 of instinct as having an element of consciousness from mere 
 reflex action which is unconscious, seems to vanish in the 
 actual treatment of the subject ; and the way of answering the 
 question as to instinct that suggests itself most strongly is to 
 define it with Mr. Spencer as " compound reflex action," placing 
 both instinct and reflex action, as merely mechanical processes, 
 in opposition to all conscious action. 
 
 If we take this view, we must regard all animals from the 
 lowest to the highest as having a certain measure of " general 
 intelligence." In the higher animals this general intelligence 
 may be as highly developed as the mechanical processes de- 
 scribed by the term instinct. For example. Dr. Romanes 
 says, in speaking of the beaver, "It is really impossible by 
 the closest study of the psychology of this animal to distinguish 
 the web of instinct from the woof of intelligence ; the two 
 principles seem here to have been so intimately woven to- 
 gether, that in the result, as expressed by certain particular 
 actions, it cannot be determined how much we are to attribute 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 195 
 
 to mechanical impulse, and how much to reasoned purpose " 
 (p. 367). Now there seems to be an advantage here in con- 
 fining the term instinct to the mechanical processes and calling 
 all the rest " general intelligence." And Dr. Romanes, except 
 in the Introduction, seems to have looked upon the facts in 
 this way. But in considering the question how the terms 
 should be defined, the difficulty no doubt presented itself that 
 reflex action, instinct, and reason are usually thought of as 
 an ascending series. This, however, is merely because the 
 animals in which reflex, instinctive, and rational action re- 
 spectively are most prominent, form an ascending series in 
 the scale of intelligence. The difficulty disappears when we 
 regard all animals as having some general intelligence ; for we 
 can arrange them in an ascending series (as Dr. Romanes pro- 
 poses) according to the amount of consciousness possessed by 
 them ; contrasting all along the line " non-mental neuro- 
 muscular adjustment " (simple or *' reflex," and compound 
 or "instinctive") with the mental life properly so called. 
 
 That all animals have some consciousness, some ** general 
 intelligence," is regarded as probable by Dr. Romanes ; and 
 perhaps the most interesting portions of the book are the early 
 chapters in which he proves the presence of an element of 
 consciousness in animals very low in the zoological scale. 
 ** Even the headless oyster," he quotes from an unpublished 
 MS. of Mr. Darwin, "seems to profit by experience." And 
 this power of profiting by experience, it must be remembered, 
 is the test of rational as distinguished from instinctive action. 
 But we find evidence of conscious purpose even below moUusca. 
 Dr. Romanes records an observation made by himself on roti- 
 fers, and says that if we were to depend upon appearances 
 alone, this one observation would be sufficient ground for 
 attributing conscious determination to these microscopical or- 
 ganisms (p. 19). Then, after quoting " some observations 
 relating to the lowest of all animals and made by a competent 
 person," he remarks that " although we may suppose that the 
 adaptive movements described by Mr. Carter were non-mental, 
 it still remains wonderful that these movements should be 
 exhibited by such apparently unorganised creatures [arncsba] 
 
 'I' 
 
 M 
 
 
196 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE, 
 
 h 
 
 } 
 
 II 
 
 seeing that as to the remoteness of the end attained, no less 
 than the complex refinement of the stimulus to which their 
 adaptive response was due, the movements in question rival 
 the most elaborate of non-mental adjustments elsewhere per- 
 formed by the most highly organised of nervous systems " 
 (p. 22). 
 
 Now these phenomena, if they are ascribed to mind at all, 
 certainly cannot be ascribed to instinct. And it is scarcely 
 possible, consistently with the principles laid down by Dr. 
 Eomanes, to deny that they are mental. It therefore seems as 
 if we must admit the presence of the intelligent and volitional 
 element in Protozoa ; and this view suggests itself more 
 strongly when we consider the nature of the movements of 
 these animals, and when at the same time we remember Mr. 
 Spencer's description of instinct passing into intelligence by 
 losing its perfectly unhesitating or " automatic " character. 
 
 In the higher (as regards morphological organisation) but 
 less plastic animals Coelenterata and Echinodermata, Dr. 
 Eomanes finds nothing that cannot be explained as reflex 
 action. Taking this into account along with the facts already 
 mentioned, we may infer that the opposition between intelli- 
 gent and mechanical action which shows itself in the tendency 
 of each to encroach on the region possessed at any particular 
 time by the other, is present from the beginning of life ; and 
 thus the division of all that is included in mind into free 
 intelligence and organised habit (instinctive or reflex) subordi- 
 nate to it, is seen to be preferable to the division into reflex 
 action, instinct, and reason. 
 
 The kind of opposition that must always exist between these 
 two things when they have become distinct may be made clear 
 by bringing together the general results of the chapter on 
 Instinct in the Origin of Species, and of those portions of 
 Mr. Spencer's Principles of PsycJiology mentioned by Dr. 
 Romanes in his Preface. Mr. Darwin showed, in the chapter 
 referred to, how the most complicated instincts may be formed 
 out of purely reflex actions by natural selection : and Mr. 
 Spencer had already shown in the first edition of the- Psy- 
 chology how instinctive processes pass into rational processes 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 197 
 
 when they become too complex to be performed unhesitatingly; 
 and how, on the other hand, rational processes when they are 
 often repeated become habits, and may at length be fixed by 
 heredity as secondary instincts. More recently Mr. Spencer 
 has shown grounds for thinking that natural selection is most 
 important in the early stages of evolution, while the formation 
 of habits which at first are conscious, but at last pass into 
 instincts, is most important in the later stages of evolution. 
 But in any case we see here both the continuity of instinct 
 with reflex action and the constant opposition that there is 
 between mechanical quasi-mental action and free intelligence. 
 On the one hand the organism tends to become excessively 
 specialised by the development of instincts under the in- 
 fluence of natural selection and by the formation of habits ; 
 on the other hand rational processes are constantly being 
 applied to slightly different material, thus becoming more 
 varied, and instincts when they become too complex are 
 partially disorganised and contribute their share to the ac- 
 tivity of the free intelligence. Thus, starting with a lowly 
 organised animal having the beginnings of intelligence and 
 reflex action, that is, having the germs of the mental and 
 quasi-mental processes of the higher animals, w^e observe from 
 this point onwards both a process of development of each kind 
 of action along its own line and a process of transformation of 
 each kind of action into the other. 
 
 In some ancient civilised societies of men, habits which 
 were originally special applications of reason to particular 
 ends have encroached to such an extent on the free intelligence 
 that almost the whole of life has become mechanical routine. 
 If the specialising tendency can go so far in the case of men, 
 may we not expect to find animals rather high in the zoological 
 scale (perhaps some species of insects) in which all the mental 
 activity has passed into the form of instinctive processes? 
 The complementary problem to that of finding evidences of 
 intelligence in the lowest animals would be that of finding 
 evidences of the absence of intelligence in the higher animals. 
 In discussing ants Dr. Romanes remarks that some species 
 do not seem to have general intelligence in proportion to the 
 
 m 
 
 \k 
 
 ' i 
 
 ui 
 
 .1 
 
 i! 
 
I 
 
 198 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 complexity of their instincts, though " other species ... ap- 
 pear to be as remarkable in this respect as they are in respect 
 of their instinctive adjustments" (p. 127). But if there is a 
 constant struggle between instinct and intelligence, an animal 
 in which instincts have been fixed so rapidly that all the 
 plastic intelligence has been absorbed in forming them is 
 quite possible, and might be found perhaps among insects. 
 Such an organism would be a realisation of the idea of 
 Descartes that animals are unconscious automata. 
 
 l! 
 
 i 
 
 ^STHETICS.^ 
 
 ALTHOUGH it cannot be said that no contributions have 
 been made in England to the theory of Esthetics, we 
 have certainly nothing to put beside a treatise such as the 
 present English criticism of art has usually taken the form 
 of isolated suggestions worked out in a limited field rather 
 than that of systematic theorising on the whole subject of art. 
 This may by some be considered an advantage, as making 
 easier for the critic the purely receptive attitude towards 
 works of art-the fixing of the attention on the impression 
 received without any attempt at judgment of it by arbitrary 
 rules such as were laid down by EngUsh and French critics 
 of the last century ; and, no doubt, there is some advantage 
 in this attitude as compared with that of the older schools of 
 criticism At the same time the absence of accepted philoso- 
 phical principles carries with it greater disadvantages. The 
 present work is well fitted to make clear how much is gamed 
 by treating art from a philosophical point of view. It has, 
 besides, the merit of combining with philosophical method an 
 appreciation of art for its own sake and a power of expression 
 sufficient to have made the author's reputation as a purely 
 hterary critic. One of the best features of the book is that, 
 Nvhenever it is possible, the judgments of artists on their own 
 art are taken as the basis of the exposition ; and perhaps the 
 great advantage that a German has over an Enghsh cntic, m 
 
 . JE»ihctik. Die Idee des Schonen und ihre Verwirklichung im Leben 
 uadtn de Kunst. Von Mo«.. CABB.feiu=. Dritte neu bearbe.tete Auflage. 
 Erster Theil. " Die Schonheit. Die Welt. Die Phantasie." Zweiter 
 S '• Die bildende Kunst. Die Musik. Die Poes.e." Leipzig: F. A. 
 Brockhaus, 1885. Pp. xxii., 627; xiv., 616. 
 
 |l 
 
 A 
 
 rl 
 
 :i 
 
 i 
 
 
200 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 
 an attempt to treat systematically the science of esthetics, 
 consists in his having behind him a far larger body of 
 theorising by artists themselves both on art in general and on 
 the limits of the special arts. 
 
 The mode of treatment adopted in the present work 
 wiU be best understood from a sketch of the author's 
 general view; but before proceeding further it may be 
 well to give the briefest possible indication of the chief 
 divisions of Prof. Carriere's book. The more general problems 
 of the philosophy of art, the definition of beauty, the relation 
 of beauty in art to beauty in natm-e, and the character of 
 aesthetic ends as distinguished from other ideal ends are the 
 subjects of volume i., the three sections of which are entitled (1) 
 *' The Idea of Beauty," (2) - Beauty in Nature and Spirit • the 
 Material of Art," and (3) "Beauty in Art." This general 
 Part is followed by the treatment of the particular arts in 
 volume ii., where they are grouped under the heads of "Plastic 
 Art," " Music," and " Poetry." 
 
 *' The Beautiful " is defined, at the opening, as the harmony 
 of the manifold of feeling and the unity of the idea in 
 a sensible form the perception of which gives immediate 
 pleasure. The element of feeling in art is the individual or 
 personal element, which is the element of concrete reality. It 
 is by reason of this element that a work of art is incapable of 
 complete analysis. The union of the ideal with the sensible 
 element in beauty is manifested in this, that, while beauty 
 cannot be demonstrated to another but must be felt by each, 
 yet at the same time each seeks to obtain from others agree- 
 ment with his own aesthetic judgments. Beauty as It is 
 perceived in nature is superior to the beauty of art in so far as 
 art cannot completely reproduce all the impressions that are 
 got from any natural object ; on the other hand, impressions 
 of beauty occur scattered in nature and can only be obtained 
 at different times and from selected points of view. Art by 
 the action of the "phantasy" or shaping imagination, collects 
 these scattered impressions and gives to the ideal it has 
 created an embodiment in an individual form. The phantasy 
 has the mediating function in relation to the unity perceived 
 
 t, 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 201 
 
 in beauty that is ascribed by Kant to the faculty of imagination 
 in relation to the reason and the understanding. Ideal beauty 
 is for the "phantasy" what the concept is for the reason, 
 what the idea of good is for the will. The world of sensible 
 appearances, which provides the phantasy with material, has 
 more significance for the artist than for the man of science, 
 whose interest is in the general, or for the man of action, to 
 whom the internal disposition is the chief thing. The end of 
 art is to bring into harmony " the manifold of feeling " and 
 "the unity of consciousness" in a perfectly individualised 
 concrete form. It is thus equally distinct from the ends of 
 science and of morals, although the same ideal unity is ex- 
 pressed in all three. 
 
 What is to be remarked especially in the author's treatment 
 of his subject throughout is that the distinction between the 
 ffisthetic, the scientific and the ethical points of view which he 
 states in the form of a general principle is kept perfectly clear 
 in practice. It is not unimportant to draw attention to this 
 point, for here more than anywhere else the advantages of the 
 philosophical treatment of aesthetics become obvious. The 
 distinction of art, science and morals is indeed a current one 
 in England as elsewhere. But if men of science — the word 
 "science" being taken in its widest sense — are no longer 
 required on every occasion to re-establish the distinction 
 between their own and the ethical point of view, certainly 
 artists are not in the same fortunate case. We need not go 
 far to find the maxim of " art for the sake of art " treated as a 
 slightly immoral paradox. To quote it in the original French 
 is usually considered an aggravation of the offence against 
 ethics implied in the statement of it. More than ever instruc- 
 tive is it, therefore, to find a German writer who, as we shall 
 see, cannot be accused of neglecting or undervaluing the 
 ethical side of things, treating this formula in effect as a 
 postulate of aesthetic science and of all actual artistic work. 
 Beauty, Prof. Carriere says, is its own end and must be loved 
 for its own sake. " No other demand, therefore, may be made 
 of art than that its work shall be beautiful. He who would 
 turn aside the work of the artist for other ends and make it 
 
 . 1\ 
 
 'I 
 
 i^ 
 
 kv 
 
 
 III 
 
 i 
 
202 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 I 
 
 f, ! 
 
 f 
 
 f 
 
 U 
 
 5l 
 
 serviceable to other aims takes away the freedom of art and 
 lowers that to a means which fulfils its destination only as an 
 end for itself." The security in the statement of this position 
 and the consistency with which it is taken as a basis through- 
 out can only be explained by the habit of considering art in 
 the light of philosophical principles. From the philosophical 
 point of view it becomes clear at once that in whatever sense 
 truth and virtue are ends in themselves, in the same sense 
 beauty also is an end in itself. 
 
 The character of aesthetic contemplation most generally 
 recognised is "disinterestedness." This character has been 
 made use of in psychology to distinguish aesthetic pleasures 
 from mere impressions of sense and the pleasures of " the 
 aesthetic senses" from those that have not the aesthetic cha- 
 racter because they are not capable of being shared. Prof. 
 Carriere, w^hile not omitting to bring this out clearly, suggests 
 further application of the character of disinterestedness in the 
 distinctions he draws between the artistic modes of expression 
 and those that are related to them but are of a mixed character. 
 An example of this kind of application is given in the course 
 of a discussion of the relations of poetry to the artistic modes 
 of prose (ii. 501-4), which follows an account of the separation 
 of verse as the language of art from prose as the language of 
 science. 
 
 When poetry and philosophy (which at first included science) 
 were as yet undistinguished, their common organ of expression 
 was verse ; afterwards, when the desire was felt to describe in 
 detail objective facts of history and of nature, prose, the 
 language of daily life, was elaborated into a new organ of 
 expression adapted to this new purpose. As knowledge re- 
 turns to unity, as more and more laws come to be gi'ouped 
 under a single law, it again becomes possible to make science 
 the material of poetry, to express truth in the rhythmical form 
 of emotional speech. Not only is this so, but all along the 
 relations of poetry and science are closer than those of science 
 and the other arts. Thus the writing of history, for example, is 
 susceptible of an artistic form comparable to that of epic 
 poetry. And the dialogues of Plato, so far as living persons 
 
 Lt 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 203 
 
 are represented in them having individual features, are related 
 to dramatic art. The historian, however, is restricted by facts 
 and by the actual order of events ; and the end of philosophic 
 writing is not the concrete presentation of character, but 
 truth in its generality. Here therefore the artistic element 
 either expresses itself imperfectly or is something extraneous to 
 the end of the writer. Again oratory, in its emotional element, 
 has a certain resemblance to lyric poetry. But in listening to 
 an oration the mind is not allowed to rest in aesthetic enjoy- 
 ment ; an appeal is made to the will : hence poetry does not 
 permit the rhetorical except as an element in a whole, as for 
 example in the drama. 
 
 It has been said that the true antithesis of poetry is not 
 prose but science. Prof. Carriere' s discussion of the relations 
 of the various forms of literary art shows us in what sense this 
 may be accepted. We may say \vith a certain truth that prose 
 is antithetical to poetry not in itself, but only in so far as it is 
 the organ of science ; but we may equally well select another 
 use to which prose may be put, namely, its use as a means of 
 influencing action, and oppose this at once to its artistic 
 elaboration and to its use as a means of communicating 
 knowledge. In this way we arrive at rhetoric as a second 
 antithesis to poetry. This antithesis is better than the first ; 
 for, as has been seen, it is especially by the absence of disin- 
 terestedness that oratory is distinguished from lyrical verse ; 
 and disinterestedness has been selected as pre-eminently the 
 character of art. On further reflection we find that this 
 character of disinterestedness ought not to be taken absolutely 
 as the character of art, but is really common to it with science 
 and philosophy. Now rhetoric, with respect to this character, 
 is equally opposed to philosophy and science on the one hand 
 and to art on the other. And the best critics have found the 
 rhetorical spirit as inconsistent with the spirit of poetry as it 
 is with the spirit of philosophy. On the contrary there is no 
 absolute inconsistency between poetry and science. A truth 
 of science, as Prof. Carriere says, may become poetical under 
 impassioned contemplation. 
 
 The element of "strangeness" in beauty, referred to in a 
 
 i 1 
 
 > 
 
 I 
 
 \i 
 
 \ \ 
 
 ii 
 
204 
 
 JESTHETICS. 
 
 t 
 
 III 
 
 r 
 
 I 
 
 ii 
 
 well-known passage of Bacon's Essays, has of late played an 
 important part in aesthetic theories developed from quite 
 different points of view. It has been made by Uterary critics 
 the distinctive character of Romantic art, and by Darwin (in 
 the Descent of Man) the starting-point of the earliest develop- 
 ment of aesthetic feeling in the human race. Both these views 
 have points of contact with Prof. Cai-riere's account of the 
 origin of art. The mind, he says, in order to obtain aesthetic 
 pleasure from the forms of external things, has need of the 
 stimulus of the unaccustomed. An example of the pleasure 
 thus obtained is seen in the morbid attraction of the horrible 
 and of all strong stimulation (i. 10, 254). The emotion obtained 
 from the unaccustomed does not, however, in itself constitute 
 aesthetic pleasure. There is need further of a return of the 
 mind on itself after its movement outwards, a calming of the 
 internal agitation caused by this movement. Art brings about 
 that union of ''the idea" and of "feeling" in which the 
 harmony of beauty consists by first increasing the intensity of 
 conflicting feehngs and then imposing on them "a law of 
 measure," a law in which ''freedom" and "order" are re- 
 conciled. 
 
 Joy in the harmony of beauty proceeds from perception in 
 this harmony of the completion of our own being, the accord 
 in ourselves of nature and spirit, of unity and multiplicity. It 
 has been rightly said that man first perceives external beauty 
 under the form of human personaUty ; hence the personifica- 
 tions in mythologies. And, although afterwards the conception 
 of beauty becomes universalised, it always remains true that as 
 without spirit there is no beauty, so also there is none without 
 sense. 
 
 In all the arts equally there is reconciliation of nature and 
 spirit, of sense and the idea ; but this reconciliation is effected 
 in different ways. Plastic art is objective, as being a represen- 
 tation of bodies in space. Music is subjective, as having feeUng 
 for its content and time for its formal condition. Poetry is 
 especially " the art of the spirit " ; uniting the forms of plastic 
 art, "the art of nature," and of music, "the art of feeUng." 
 Poetry differs from music and the plastic arts in starting with 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 205 
 
 thoughts instead of feelings or images ; but the thoughts ex- 
 pressed by the words of a poem are not there simply for their 
 own sake, but in order to produce in the minds of others the 
 images and feelings that are in the mind of the poet. A poem, 
 both as a whole and in every part, is the expression of a 
 thought in the concrete form of imagination ; as a whole and 
 in every part it is also submitted to a musical law, a law of 
 unity in change, which corresponds to a law of the fluctuations 
 of feeling. The author finds in the history of the arts a support 
 for his classification; contending that the objective arts, or arts 
 of nature, are the first to attain perfection, then the subjective 
 arts, or arts of feeling, and lastly those in which there is a 
 balance of the two elements. The same classification is applied 
 to each group of arts in turn. Of the plastic arts architecture 
 is said to be predominantly objective as deriving its forms from 
 external nature ; sculpture in a sense subjective, since it begins 
 with the human form, treating this as an expression of the 
 human spirit; while in painting there is co-existence of the 
 objective and the subjective points of view. Music, on the 
 same principle, is considered under the heads of " instrumental 
 music," " vocal music," and the " combination of vocal and in- 
 strumental music" (in opera, &c.). Lastly, poetry is regarded 
 as objective in the epic, subjective in the lyric, and as a union 
 of epic and lyric elements in the drama. 
 
 The general principles here may be traced to Lessing's 
 Laocoon ; the grouping of the particular arts and the theory 
 of the three stages of art to the influence of Hegel. These last 
 cannot be regarded as an established part of aesthetic science, 
 as the principles derived from Lessing can ; but at least they 
 give occasion for abundance of interesting comparison of the 
 methods of the various arts and their diverse modes of treat- 
 ment of similar subject-matter. It is, however, a curious 
 example of the power of theory to modify the facts when, in 
 the middle of an interesting passage on the relations of artistic 
 genius to its predecessors and to the past development of the 
 race, we find the author illustrating the general law of depend- 
 ence by a remark which implies that the culmination of dramatic 
 art in Shakespeare was impossible till the epic and the lyric 
 
 M 
 
 f 
 
206 
 
 MSTHETICS. 
 
 I 
 
 ( ) 
 
 had been perfected in English literature (i. 537). At the same 
 time, while a law of the development of poetic art seems here 
 to be forced on the facts rather than inferred from them, no 
 attempt is made in Prof. Carriere's classification to subordinate 
 one art to another in accordance with this law. Each is said 
 to be, in its own manner, an expression of the whole. This 
 absence of any attempt to place the arts above or below one 
 another in rank is an example of avoidance of the dangers of 
 the method of purely speculative deduction, to which, indeed, 
 it was from the first the author's aim to oppose a more concrete 
 treatment of aesthetic questions. 
 
 According to the author's view, the ideal unity expressed in 
 art, in science, and in rehgion is essentially the same. But 
 here again, as has been seen already, he does not subordinate 
 any one of these ideal ends to another. Indeed, he says ex- 
 pHcitly, "Art, Religion, Science, each of these in its kind is a 
 highest point, a summit of human life." The metaphysical 
 doctrine stated above implies, however, that each ideal has 
 relations to the others ; and in one place beauty is described 
 as the completed form, in the world of appearances, of the true 
 and of the good. In all art we are to see the reconciliation of 
 the principles of order and freedom, and in the drama especially 
 the reconciliation of the individual with the moral order of the 
 world. 
 
 Since the drama, in the author's view, if not the supreme, is 
 yet the most developed form of poetic art, as poetic art is of 
 art in general, this application of his metaphysical doctrine 
 may be selected for special examination. But first of all it is 
 necessary to point out that whether this theory be accepted or 
 not, it in no way implies a departure from the most general 
 principle of aesthetic criticism, that art must be judged accord- 
 ing to its formal quality. For this theory is an attempt to 
 determine the relation of matter to form in art, not an attempt 
 to substitute judgment on matter for judgment on artistic form. 
 It affirms that actually the highest types of dramatic art, already 
 accepted as such on grounds distinct from any opinion about 
 their meaning or purpose, will be found as a matter of fact to 
 contain a reconciliation of man with the external order, and 
 
 JES THE TICS. 
 
 207 
 
 that this order is conceived by the dramatist, consciously or 
 unconsciously, as ethical. The hero of a tragedy, according 
 to this view, is represented as triumphing (at least subjectively) 
 by submission to the moral order of the world, or as crushed 
 through resisting it. The same theory is applied by the author 
 to comedy. The reconciliation that is the end of the drama is 
 here brought about in the mind of the spectator by the repre- 
 sentation of that which is really deserving of contempt as in 
 conflict with the moral order, and in presence of this, the true 
 reality of things, as appearing in its intrinsic nothingness. 
 
 A theory such as this is not open to the objection that it is a 
 direct application of ethical canons to art ; and we may admit 
 that Prof. Carriere's theory explains some dramatic effects. 
 To take an example from tragedy, the background of Macbeth 
 is undoubtedly a moral background. But when we try to 
 apply this theory, say to Havilet and Lear, especially the last, 
 it seems less adequate. An interpretation of these plays in 
 terms of an ethical theory of things can only be carried out (as 
 Prof. Carriere tries to carry it out in the case of Lear) by the 
 selection of episodes. For in these most of all among modern 
 dramas we are made conscious that behind " the moral order 
 of the world," the creation of the human spirit, are the elder 
 powers—* ' Fortuna omnipotens et ineluct abile f atum . ' ' Perhaps 
 fate is most prominent in the ancient, fortune in the modern 
 drama. And the fate of the Greek dramatists has in general 
 more of an ethical character than the impersonal background 
 of Shakespearean tragedy. An illustration of this distinction 
 may, however, be found in Macbeth, where the ruUng concep- 
 tion approaches nearer than elsewhere in Shakespeare to the 
 Greek fate. But in the ancient as well as in the modern drama 
 the ethical character belongs rather to the hero of the tragedy, 
 who is brought into conflict with a non-moral order of things, 
 than to anything in the external order itself. What is said, in 
 this mode of considering it, of tragedy, ought to be applicable, 
 in Prof. Carriere's view, to comedy also. Now when we con- 
 sider the higher kinds of comedy and the humorous treatment 
 of things generally as opposed to the tragic, is there not just as 
 much difficulty in reconciling his theory, say, with the treat- 
 
 ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 ^i 
 
 ^, 
 
 ii 
 
208 
 
 ^ESTHETICS. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 \> ■ 
 
 ■ment of life by Cervantes and Moliere ? Can the non-ethical 
 character of the background of human life be brought out more 
 strongly than it is, for example, in Don Quixote and in The 
 Misanthrope ? 
 
 This does not mean that the higher forms of art contain no 
 solution of problems that are at least in part ethical. It shows, 
 however, that the view taken of the final questions of aesthetics 
 must depend to some extent on the kind of philosophy we start 
 with. Perhaps the objection may be made here that the ques- 
 tions now touched upon, whether the author's view or that 
 which has been suggested in contrast with it be accepted, are 
 not properly aesthetic questions at all; that the irrelevant 
 consideration of subject-matter has been introduced in a new 
 shape — if not by the application of ethical tests to art, then by 
 the application of metaphysical tests. The reply to this objec- 
 tion has been partly indicated above. The question discussed 
 is not "What is the true conception of the universe?" but 
 " What is the ruhng conception in works of art already admitted 
 to be highest in their kind?" And it is not proposed to pass 
 judgment on a work of art according as it embodies a true or a 
 false theory of things. The value of a work of art, it is acknow- 
 ledged, must be decided by the aesthetic impression got from it 
 and by nothing else. At the same time, any one taking this 
 view may or may not hold that, as a matter of fact, in the 
 highest poetry a true theory of things will be found implied. 
 
 It is not, however, in any theory of the relation of artistic 
 form to different kinds of philosophical or ethical content, in 
 whatever way such a theory may be understood, that we ought 
 to find the characteristic doctrine of a treatise on Esthetics. 
 The central idea of Prof. Carriere's book is rather to be seen in 
 his manner of viewing beauty as consisting in a certain unity 
 of idea combined with vividness of distinctly individualised 
 feeling expressed in concrete form. It is difficult to see how 
 the elements of the general conception of the beautiful could 
 be better indicated than in Prof. Carriere's formula; and 
 he never allows this formula to become a mere generality, but 
 constantly applies it with success to the decision of actual 
 esthetic questions. We have, for example, an interesting 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 209 
 
 application of one part of the formula when he explains the 
 strength of the impression made by the depth of meaning and 
 clearness of form of the masterpieces of Greek tragedy from 
 the repeated introduction on the stage of the same myth and 
 consequent absence of interest either on the part of the drama- 
 tist or the spectator in the subject-matter as distinguished from 
 the form. In confirmation of his view of the subordinate 
 position of "invention" as an element in poetic art, he points 
 out that modern dramatists also have seldom invented their 
 plots, but have taken their material as much as possible from 
 history or from stories already extant. Thus the modern as 
 well as the ancient dramatist has been able to gain freedom to 
 impose on his special subject-matter the unity of idea character- 
 istic of all art. But while this unity is shown to be an essential 
 element in a work of art, we are never allowed to forget that 
 there is also a concrete element, the element of personality. 
 For the assigning of minor artistic significance to interest of 
 plot and to details of life does not, with the author, tend to 
 pass into an exaltation of the element of generality such as 
 would make art merely the expression of an idea and nothing 
 more. The individual element in art, indeed, is not this 
 element of fact, of actual detail of life to which a lower place 
 is given, but the element of vivid personal feeling. The artist 
 has to select impressions both of inner and outer experience 
 and impose on them the law of his own personality ; and this, 
 as Prof. Carriere shows, is what constitutes "style" in the 
 most general sense. In his discussion of such problems as 
 those of style and of artistic "inspiration" nothing can be 
 better than the way in which he assigns their due place to the 
 unconscious and the conscious elements in genius, and to innate 
 faculty and acquired dexterity in all kinds of artistic production. 
 The historical relations of the artist, too, are extremely well 
 treated. It is a favourite idea of the author, as it has been of 
 other writers on art, to regard the artist as the organ of his 
 time and of his race, in w^hom at length both his ow^n age and 
 the past of which it is the product have become articulate. In 
 this view, of course, the obligations of the artist to his prede- 
 cessors and his relations to the know^ledge and ideas of his time 
 
 15 
 
 I 
 
210 
 
 ESTHETICS. 
 
 
 are not forgotten. Sometimes even, as was pointed out in one 
 case above, this historical view leads to a certain exaggeration 
 of the dependence of the individual man of genius on the com- 
 pletion of previous stages of artistic progress. But here again 
 it is made clear that the individuality of the artist is after all 
 the chief thing ; that the personal element must always be 
 superimposed on the character of the artist as an organ of the 
 race. This is especially well brought out in the section on 
 " Style," where a distinction of Goethe is developed into a 
 theory of the relation of mere ** imitation of nature" on the 
 one hand, and of the exaggeration of a personal " manner" on 
 the other, to the balance of a true "style," in which the per- 
 sonality of the artist is fully expressed but always in such a 
 way that the object is treated appropriately and that the uni- 
 versal or typical element is clearly seen through the individual 
 expression in beautiful form. 
 
 It would be easy to multiply examples of the author's felici- 
 tous applications of his general view in comparisons of the effects 
 of the different arts ; such as his illustration from painting and 
 sculpture of the different kinds of unity required by the epic, 
 *' the poetry of event," and the drama, " the poetry of action" 
 (ii. 545, 587) : but without references to more special discus- 
 sions, which, besides, would only give an inadequate idea of the 
 interest of these volumes, enough ought to have been said 
 already to show the importance of Prof. Carriere's book alike 
 for literary and for philosophical criticism. 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATURALISM.^ 
 
 IN the present state of ethical speculation this book — which 
 gives, in revised and enlarged form, the lectures delivered 
 by Mr. Sorley, as Shaw Fellow, in the University of Edinburgh 
 — is of peculiar importance. Even if it is from the "natura- 
 listic ethics " which the author finds inadequate that we 
 expect the best definite results, yet criticism may be admitted 
 to be more valuable just now than new developments. For 
 the ethical theories founded on the doctrine of evolution are in 
 part inconsistent with one another ; and, as Mr. Sorley makes 
 prominent, some of them are claiming to supersede rather 
 than to continue the hedonistic ethics of the earlier stages of 
 *' naturalism " or experientialism. Those experientialists, 
 therefore, who are desirous of finding in what direction their 
 general doctrine of morality ought to be developed cannot do 
 better than study such a thorough and careful criticism of that 
 doctrine as is offered in Mr. Sorley' s book. 
 
 The essence of a great part of Mr. Sorley's criticism is 
 contained in the following passage : — 
 
 •♦ The ethical writings of the evolutionists often confuse the problems of 
 history and theory in a way which presents the same difficulty to the critic 
 as the works of the corresponding school in jurisprudence. . . . Every one 
 is now familiar with the evils of hypothetical history, and with the iniquity 
 of the proverbial philosophic offence of constructing facts out of one's inner 
 consciousness. The historical jurists deserve no little credit for the 
 thoroughness with which this has been enforced by them; perhaps too 
 the same lesson may be learned from the facts of the development of 
 morality. But it may be questioned whether we are not at the present 
 time more apt to confuse fact and theory in the opposite way : whether the 
 
 ' On the Ethics of NaturalUm. (" Shaw Fellowship Lectures, 1884.") 
 By W. R. Sorley, M.A., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge; and 
 Examiner in Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. Edinburgh and 
 London : W. Blackwood & Sons, 1885. Pp. 292. 
 
 211 
 

 212 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATURALISM, 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATURALISM. 
 
 213 
 
 i f 
 
 w* 
 
 '( 
 
 science of law is not sometimes lost sight of in the history of legal institu- 
 tions, and ethics in danger of being identified with the development of 
 moral sentiments and customs." (Pp. 114-5.) 
 
 The same criticism in other forms is brought against the 
 utihtarian doctrine and against '* egoistic hedonism." All 
 naturaHstic theories alike confound investigations of what is 
 or has been with the determination of what ought to be. A 
 separate chapter is devoted to the " ethics of moral senti- 
 ment " of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, which is found to 
 occupy an insecure position between the empiricism or 
 naturahsm that " denies to reason any spontaneous or creative 
 function " and the opposing theory of rationalism. By no 
 naturalistic or semi-naturahstic theory, the argument runs, are 
 we enabled to pass from the point of view of science to the 
 point of view of morality. Only the doctrine that ascribes 
 spontaneity to Reason, that sees the reaHty of things as a 
 system of relations in a universal self-consciousness, and that 
 introduces the notion of end or purpose into its view of the 
 world as a whole, can furnish a valid philosophy of ethics. 
 
 In the part of his book that deals specially with the 
 hedonistic theories, Mr. Sorley puts very well most of the 
 arguments that have been urged against utilitarianism as an 
 ethical doctrine and against its psychological basis. It will be 
 best, however, to pass rapidly over this portion of the work. 
 Hardly any one who accepts the theory of evolution can hold 
 that this theory makes no difference to the position of 
 utilitarian ethics ; and Mr. Sorley himself believes that evolu- 
 tion has come not to fulfil hedonism but to destroy it. His 
 chapters on the theoiy of evolution, therefore, are those that 
 it is desirable more particularly to examine. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Sorley attaches too much importance to the 
 rejection of hedonism by some evolutionists. Especially in 
 modern times the ascetic bias is a constant cause tending to 
 prevent moralists from being avowedly hedonistic; and the 
 appearance of a new scientific theory, with important ethical 
 bearings, naturally had for one of its earliest consequences 
 stimulation of the research for a non-hedonistic basis of 
 morals. Hence we need not regard this opposition of evolu- 
 
 tion to hedonism as inherent in the theory itself. Doctrines 
 such as those which make "work" or "efficiency" or 
 ** complexity " ends in themselves are partly expressions of 
 the ascetic bias, partly, we may suppose, voluntary illusions 
 intended by their authors as prophylactics against pessimism. 
 
 But Mr. Sorley, of course, does not confine himself to the 
 argument from the actual developments of evolutionist doc- 
 trines in ethics. Standing over against the non-hedonistic 
 theories, there are the more important systems of Mr. Spencer 
 and Mr. Leslie Stephen. Much criticism is devoted to show- 
 ing the inadequacy of these attempts to combine hedonism 
 with evolution. Mr. Sorley candidly admits that he is not 
 convinced by the pessimistic arguments ; but he contends 
 that, since an exact proportion between progress and pleasure 
 has not been shown, " we must make our choice between 
 evolutionism and hedonism." 
 
 If we decide for " evolutionism" three interpretations of it 
 are possible. The end may be stated as " increase of adapta- 
 tion " or as " increase of complexity " or as " increase of life." 
 But none of these formulae can give us any independent ethical 
 ideal. Notwithstanding the attempts of evolutionists to 
 explain the notion of " higher," which, both as applied to 
 conduct and to pleasure, has been taken by the hedonistic 
 schools from current moral opinion, they have not succeeded 
 in getting at any fixed point of view of their own for judging 
 rationally what kinds of conduct are really higher in the scale 
 of development. We must therefore quit the ground of 
 *' empirical evolution " as incompetent to determine practical ; 
 ends, and pass to the view of evolution as the expression of | 
 an internal teleology. 
 
 Mr. Sorley's conclusion as to the relations of pleasure and 
 progi'ess does not seem quite sufi&cient to prove the incom- 
 patibility of hedonism and "evolutionism." Such an "exact 
 proportion "as he requires is unnecessary. The theories of 
 Mr. Spencer and Mr. Stephen ought really to be regarded as 
 " hedonism with evolution," not as an " aUiance " of two 
 independent doctrines called "evolutionism" and "hedonism." 
 Considered simply as rational doctrines of the end of conduct, 
 
214 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATUBALISM. 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATUIiALISM. 
 
 215 
 
 they are hedonistic ; the theory of biological and social evolu- 
 tion is to them only an aid for determining the axioviata 
 media of ethics. The questions to which, in order to maintain 
 themselves, they need an affirmative answer are, according to 
 Mr. Sorley, these : "Is hedonism, as Mr. Spencer affirms, a 
 form of thought in ethics ? " and " Can the theory of evolution 
 give us any aid in determining what kinds of conduct con- 
 tribute to the end as already fixed?" Obviously the second 
 question is subsidiary to the first, not co-ordinate with it. 
 But before considering these points more closely, it will be 
 best to describe Mr. Sorley 's positive contribution to ethical 
 theory. 
 
 His teleological view of evolution (which is not to be con- 
 founded with the old " external " teleology) leads him to 
 affirm as the end of man "self-realisation." The transition 
 from the point of view of science to that of morality, which 
 has been found not to be possible empirically, is possible 
 " transcendentally through self -consciousness," because " in 
 self-consciousness we reach the element of identity between 
 knowledge and action." For "the ultimate self -conscious- 
 ness," knowledge and action are indistinguishable. The being 
 of things and their teleological determination by the absolute 
 Eeason are one and the same. For " the finite self," on the 
 other hand, there is a distinction between knowledge and 
 action, " correct if not pushed to the extent of making an 
 absolute separation between them." In human beings "con- 
 scious volition only follows a conceived want, a recognition 
 that the self as imagined — the ideal self — is not realised in 
 the actual self. The action is towards a fuller working out 
 of the idea of self ; and the end may therefore, in all cases of 
 conscious action, be said to be self-realisation." This end 
 " must not be looked upon as a feeling — for, if it is, it can 
 only be interpreted psychologically as pleasure — but as simply 
 conscious self-realisation." It is the idea of a progressive 
 self-realisation that makes the notion of evolution intelligible. 
 
 Is there any escape here from Mr. Spencer's proposition 
 quoted above ? To decide this, we have only to ask how self- 
 realisation, if it has no subjective accompaniment of feeling 
 
 which is regarded as preferable to other feelings, can be itself 
 an object of preference. It may be said that this feeling 
 exists indeed, but is not part of the end. On the principles 
 of Mr. Sorley' s philosophy, however, this exclusion of feeling 
 from a state of which it is the inseparable accompaniment 
 seems to be an illegitimate " abstraction." Of course there 
 is a meaning in the practical direction to think of self-realisa- 
 tion rather than of the feeling that accompanies it (or is part 
 of it) ; but, because this is a useful practical direction, it does 
 not follow that a certain type of feeling is not ultimately the 
 test of self-realisation, or even (as some hedonists have held) 
 that this feeling is. to be excluded as much as possible from 
 conscious thought. 
 
 Mr. Sorley 's theory has no more power than the theories 
 of evolutionists to evade the hedonistic test. And by the 
 application of this test to every theory in turn we obtain proof 
 of the necessarily hedonistic character of all determinations 
 of the end of conduct. For the rest, the formula of " self- 
 reahsation " may be admitted to be better than most of the 
 alternative formultE. It is in some respects superior to 
 " altruism " ; for, if this points more directly to the social 
 character of the ethical end, " self-reaHsation " has the merit 
 of insisting more on the worth of the individual life. And, 
 unless the individual life has a worth of its own, service to the 
 community can of course have none. This is sometimes for- 
 gotten in modern exhortations to altruism. Perhaps, however, 
 justice is not quite done to the evolutionist formulae, such as 
 " adaptation." The formula of " increase of life," which Mr. 
 Sorley finds less inadequate than "adaptation" and "com- 
 plexity," is certainly rather general, and even vague, till it 
 is interpreted ; but then so also is the Hegelian formula. 
 
 How are we to decide, for example, whether self-realisation 
 shall be in the practical or the lesthetic or the theoretical life ? 
 The formula can obviously be applied with equal vaUdity to all 
 three. Is it then rightly described as an ethical formula ? Or 
 is it not rather a formula of " the art of life " in general, which 
 includes both ethical and other ends ? And in applying it to 
 practical life, how are we to determine what is man's true 
 mode of practical realisation of the self ? 
 
 ^^•%. 
 
i ; 
 
 216 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATURALISM, 
 
 Mi 
 
 I 
 
 ti 
 
 S 
 
 *• 
 
 The answer given by Mr. Sorley is, of course, that since the 
 individual man is an organic part of society his true self- 
 realisation in conduct must be social. Now it is exactly here 
 that the theory of evolution becomes applicable to ethics. The 
 social application of the Hegelian formula is really determined, 
 y. not by a dialectical process, but by a more or less complete 
 doctrine of historical evolution. Similarly the hedonism of 
 the utilitarian school was conditioned by a social doctrine, 
 according to which man, if, as critics point out, he is still 
 regarded as an "isolated individual," is at the same time 
 brought into relation with others by sympathy. What the 
 disciples of Mr. Spencer are entitled to claim is that the 
 theory of evolution in its full sense, as he has comprehended 
 it, is capable of giving still more definite guidance to the 
 formulae, by themselves too vague, of "greatest happiness" 
 or " self-realisation." 
 
 " Self-realisation " has, no doubt, one advantage over 
 " happiness " as a statement of the nature of the highest 
 good. It excludes from the sphere of ethics those incidental 
 pleasures that have nothing to do with the attainment of ideal 
 ends. These pleasures, w^hich are the true object of the 
 " hedonical calculus," really belong to an outlying portion of 
 *' the art of life." This is what Clifford seems to have in view 
 in the passages referred to by Mr. Sorley in a note on p. 6. 
 Clitford argues that " happiness " (regarded as a sum of 
 pleasures) does not concern ethics except in so far as it makes 
 men better citizens. But, if happiness of the kind referred to 
 has no strictly ethical value, it does not follow that it has none 
 at all. For the rest, Clifford's position is not really inconsis- 
 tent with the view that happiness of a certain kind is part of 
 the ideal end. This happiness may perhaps be distinguished 
 from isolated pleasures as being the accompaniment of an 
 activity of the whole personality, and not merely of some 
 partial stimulation. 
 
 There is, no doubt, an important metaphysical difference 
 between the inclusion of activity or spontaneity among the 
 elements of experience and the " rationalistic " doctrine held by 
 Mr. Sorley, which introduces the notion of end or purpose into 
 
 ON THE ETHICS OF NATURALISM. 
 
 217 
 
 its view of the world as a whole. But does this difference 
 affect the theory in its bearing on ethics? While agreeing 
 with Mr. Sorley as to the close connexion of ethics and 
 metaphysics, we may still find it hard to understand how it 
 can make any difference with respect to the end or highest 
 good of man whether man's end is also the end of the whole 
 movement of things. 
 
 The teleology which Mr. Sorley's school regards as the 
 supreme category under which things can be thought, may 
 present itself to another school as a kind of imaginative 
 anticipation of a theory of universal evolution, rather than as 
 the final outcome of a scientific law imperfectly conceived by 
 its discoverers. Even the " external " teleological theories 
 had the merit of pointing out biological facts that needed 
 scientific explanation, and at length found it. Similarly, we 
 may hold, the idea of a universal Reason determining the 
 movements of history was not a mere metaphor, but pointed 
 to an evolutionary law of the phases of human society con- 
 sidered as an organism. In ethics, of course, "teleology" 
 (in one sense) is supreme. An ethical system must bring all 
 knowledge under " the category of teleology " with a view to 
 determining its bearing on the end of man. But w^hen we 
 consider things theoretically, then it is the conception of law 
 that is supreme. We are no longer at the ethical point of 
 view : and to the impartial outlook of the theoretical reason 
 the good of man is no longer anything but a term of a single 
 series among innumerable other series of events in a process 
 of universal change. 
 
 I\ 
 
 I 
 I 
 I 
 
i 
 
 II 
 
 u 
 
 ■ * 
 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION.^ 
 
 PHILIP MAINLANDER was a disciple of Schopenhauer, 
 who in a manner at once original and consistent with his 
 master's principles had worked out a doctrine that may be 
 regarded as the completed t}^e of pessimism, when, in 1876, 
 his early death occurred before the appearance, in that year, 
 of his first volume, entitled The Philos(yph7j of Bedemption. 
 His Twelve Philosophical EssafjSf of which the last was 
 not published till 1886, were intended as a sequel to that 
 work, and the volume which they fill bears the same title. As 
 the two volumes are not only in name but in reality parts of 
 a single work, it seemed desirable to wait for the completion 
 of the Essays before any attempt was made to give a survey 
 of the author's philosophical system. 
 
 This system, although it is especially deserving of the 
 attention of those who are willing to face a philosophical 
 argument ending with the proposition that "the knowledge 
 that life is worthless is the flower of all human wisdom," is at 
 present quite unknown in England. The best mode of exposi- 
 tion, therefore, will be to give first an outline of Mainlilnder's 
 whole work, and then of his doctrine, unaccompanied by any 
 criticism except such as is necessary in order to bring out its 
 distinctive character. 
 
 Of the volumes that contain all we shall now have of Main- 
 lilnder's philosophy, the first consists of The Philosoj^hy of 
 
 * DiePhilosojyhie der Erlomng. Von Philipp Maixlaxder. Zweite Auflage. 
 Berlin : Theodor Hoffmann, 1879. Pp. viii., 623. 
 
 {Die Philosophie der ErVmung, Zweiter Band.) Ztcnlf philosophische 
 Eixays. Von Philipp Maixlaxdeb. 5 Lieferungen. Frankfurt a. M. : C. 
 Kcenitzer, 1882-6. Pp. Goo. 
 
 218 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 219 
 
 Bedeviption itself together with an Appendix in which the 
 author explains, by detailed criticism, his relation to Kant 
 and Schopenhauer, whom he regards as the two greatest of all 
 philosophers. The division into "Theory of Knowledge," 
 *' Physics," " ^Esthetics," "Ethics," -Politics" and "Meta- 
 physics " is carried through both parts of this volume. The 
 Essays that make up the second volume are arranged under 
 two principal heads— " Reahsm and Idealism" and "So- 
 cialism." In the essays of the first group the relation of the 
 author's system to Brahmanism, Buddhism and Christianity — 
 the three pessimistic religions— is explained. The second 
 group is followed by two essays entitled "Gleanings" and 
 "Critique of Hartmann's Philosophy of the Unconscious." 
 This last essay fills the whole of the fifth published part of the 
 volume. Its aim is to show that Hartmann is in error in 
 returning to a pantheism that makes the whole world " a real 
 unity " ; the true direction of thought being to develop further 
 Schopenhauer's doctrine of the individual will as thing-in- 
 itself, which requires that the world should be regarded as 
 only " a collective unity," no longer as the manifestation of a 
 single will or spirit. 
 
 The later portions of Mainlilnder's work show no falling off, 
 but on the contrary an increase in power. And, as might be 
 expected, he finds it possible in a series of essays to say many 
 things that could not be got within the more rigid framework 
 of a systematic treatise. Following the Essays there was to 
 have appeared an Autobiogi'aphy ; but instead of this there is 
 now promised a memoir of the author, by his sister, who has 
 superintended the publication of the whole of the second 
 volume. Those who have read any portion of his work will 
 look forward with interest to the appearance of the promised 
 Lcbcnsskizze, for Mainliinder is one of the writers who awaken 
 the desire to know something more of their personality than 
 can be gathered from their books alone. 
 
 Prof. Wundt, indeed, in his brief reference to The Philo- 
 sophy of liedemption in Mind, vol. ii. 510, seems to be of 
 opinion that its interest is entirely that of an expression of 
 personality; classing it among pessimistic speculations that 
 
 i( 
 
 \ 
 
220 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION, 
 
 
 are " guided more by feeling and temperament than by 
 scientific method." This remark perhaps has reference to the 
 absence of any elaborate attempt to balance pleasures and 
 pains or to deduce the pessimistic conclusion from the nega- 
 tive character of pleasure. It may be contended, however, 
 that this is an evidence of the author's profoundly philo- 
 sophical conception of the question as to the worth of life. 
 While Schopenhauer and Hartmann proceed by indirect 
 methods, deductive or inductive, Mainliinder puts the question 
 directly as one that is to be solved by subjective reflection. 
 Having arrived at his own conclusion, he appeals for confirma- 
 tion to the philosophies of India. What was the result, he 
 asks, when for the first time a philosophically trained class 
 was able to escape from the struggle for existence and to gain 
 complete leisure for contemplation? The result was neces- 
 sarily the pessimism of the Brahmans. Now this is a powerful 
 historical argument. And if it is said that Mainliinder's own 
 pessimistic conclusion depends ultimately not on any argu- 
 ment of this kind but on tempjrament, it may be replied that 
 any other conclusion depends on temperament in just the 
 same way ; that subjective reflection is in the end the only 
 possible criterion of the worth or worthlessness of life. Apart 
 from the view that may be taken of Mainliinder's attempted 
 proof of his pessimism, there does not seem to be any ground 
 for the unfavourable inference that might be drawn from 
 Prof. Wundt's incidental remark. The theoretical basis of the 
 system, as a whole, cannot be said to show any want of 
 rigorous logical connexion. 
 
 The Philosophy of Bedemption opens with the unconciliatory 
 announcement that the author has been the first to establish 
 atheism scientifically. The doctrine that Mainlander calls 
 atheism is a theory of the emanation of the universe from a 
 " pre-mundane unity " that no longer exists. " God is dead, 
 and his death was the life of the world." The atheistic 
 character of this theory, as the author understands it, con- 
 sists in its not admitting any *' real unity " now existent •' in 
 the world," but only a "collective unity" of "real indi- 
 viduals." The individual beings that compose the world are 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF BEDEMPTION. 
 
 221 
 
 not absolutely independent, but " semi-independent." Their 
 connexion with one another and their being constrained as by 
 an external power proceeds from their having once been parts 
 of the pre-mundane unity. This connexion of things is, as it 
 were, a "divine breath " blowing through the world from the 
 " dead godhead." All things have their origin in what may be 
 called anthropomorphically the "will" of the absolute being 
 that existed before the world to annihilate itself, — an end 
 which could only be attained by the " becoming " of actual 
 existence. From the primitive act of the no longer existing 
 unity springs the total movement or " fate of the world," 
 which makes it as if the collective unity now alone existing 
 were " a simple unity with a single movement " to annihila- 
 tion. 
 
 The real beings that make up the world are " forces," 
 manifesting themselves objectively in motion, subjectively as 
 " individual wills." For Schopenhauer these were manifesta- 
 tions of a "will to live"; and it is true that in the animal 
 kingdom, and still more in man, will has the appearance of 
 being an effort to persist in a specific mode of life. In physics, 
 too, the law of the " conservation of force " (ErhalUmg der 
 Kraft) is the expression of a will to live. But when we go 
 deeper, the will to live is seen to be always " the phenomenon 
 of the will to die." The more profound law of the " weaken- 
 ing of force " {Schwiichmuj der Kraft) is still manifest, not 
 only in molecular movements as viewed directly by physics, 
 but in the cycles of animal and vegetable life. Again, in 
 geology, it is manifest in the gradual dwarfing of all hving 
 forms. In the evolution of organisms, however, the will to 
 die becomes more and more masked under the appearance of 
 the will to live. Life, the means, has come to be preferred to 
 death, the end. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the struggle of organisms to maintain them- 
 selves, the weakening of force becomes more and more rapid, 
 and thus the ultimate end is more effectively promoted. This 
 is seen especially in the history of human civilisation, under 
 its forms of " social friction " and the growth of intellect. 
 "Civilisation kills;" and by its universal diffusion the 
 
 1' 1 
 
[i 
 
 222 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION, 
 
 223 
 
 t 
 
 n 
 
 weakening of force will be carried to its limit. In philo- 
 sophical reflection, which begins when civilisation is suffi- 
 ciently advanced, the " will to die " again becomes conscious 
 of itself. The will of the sage becomes identified with the 
 movement of the whole world towards annihilation. He 
 desires consciously the end to which all beings are impelled 
 by a desire that is deeper than their desire for continued life. 
 To this end, as has been seen, they move the more rapidly 
 the more they seek to avoid it; for the putting forth of 
 activity, by reason of the obstacles that resist it, only brings 
 activity to an end the sooner. Yet it is destined that in all 
 men the will to live shall at length disappear and give place to 
 a full consciousness of the profounder will to die. 
 
 For this result, the attainment of an ideal socialistic State is 
 necessary. There are, indeed, a few who can find redemption in 
 any State ; but the mass of mankind can only be redeemed in 
 a State where education and leisure and possibilities of enjoy- 
 ment are the common lot. To see the vanity of all things, 
 they must first have experienced all things. It remains, 
 therefore, in some sense a duty of those who have already 
 discovered the worthlessness of existence to promote social 
 reform, in order to hasten the advent of the ideal State ; 
 which, however, will inevitably arrive sooner or later, although 
 the efforts of individuals may promote or retard it. When the 
 ideal State has been attained, the emptiness of existence will 
 fully reveal itself. Only one longing will now fill the heart — 
 "to be struck for ever out of the great book of life," and, since 
 a stationary state is impossible, this desire will be satisfied. 
 The final description of the movement of human history as a 
 whole, is therefore not " movement towards the ideal State," 
 but " movement from being to not-being," and in it the move- 
 ment of the whole world is consummated. 
 
 It will have been observed that much of Mainliinder's cos- 
 mical system is the translation into subjective and at the same 
 time highly abstract terms of real scientific generalisations. 
 Sometimes he is even more in agreement with accepted 
 science than he thinks. The law of " the weakening of force," 
 for example, is placed by him in opposition to the law of *' the 
 
 conservation of force," as he supposes it to be understood by 
 physicists. If for this last expression the more accurate 
 expression "conservation of energy " is substituted, the law of 
 the "degradation of energy" at once suggests itself as the 
 physical analogue of Mainliinder's " weakening of force." And 
 some physical speculators, assuming, like Mainlander, a finite 
 universe situated in infinite space, have shown how, according 
 to the law of the degradation of energy, all the bodies in the 
 universe nmst at length collect into a single mass from which 
 all motion will have disappeared. 
 
 That such a state of "integration" as this is the absolute 
 end does not, however, of necessity lead to the conclusion that 
 it is a duty to promote this end. An optimist like Mr. Spencer 
 may think it probable that " dissolution " (which comes to the 
 same thing as a final "integration" so far as man is con- 
 cerned), if not the end of the whole cosmical movement, is the 
 end of each particular cycle; and may hold it a duty to co- 
 operate with the evolutionary movement, in spite of its always 
 being reversed. Yet, so far as the actual course of things is 
 concerned, it is evident that Mainlander has just as good a 
 case as the optimists. 
 
 As Mainlander himself sees, the dispute between the 
 optimists and the pessimists must be decided, in the last 
 resort, by a direct consideration of the ends and impulses of 
 human nature. What he holds to be the answer of all the 
 wise, when the question is brought upon this ground, we 
 have already seen. In his own vivid phrase : " Life is hell, 
 and the sweet still night of absolute death is the annihilation 
 of hell." The deepest impulse of man, as of all other beings, 
 is " the will to die," and the highest happiness attainable is in 
 the thought of the cessation of existence. From this he draws 
 the logical consequences. The promotion of social and political 
 reform, although praiseworthy, is not an absolute duty. Those 
 have greater merit who are impelled by pity for humanity to 
 promote directly in others that "transformation and kindling 
 of the will," by the knowledge that " not-being is better than 
 being," which culminates, not in mere indifference to death 
 but in " the love of death." And, finally, the solution of the 
 
 1 1 
 
 ■]1 ; 
 
224 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 225 
 
 w 
 
 . 
 
 problem rests with the individual. The highest virtue, there- 
 fore, is absolute chastity ; for by it the individual, so far as he 
 is concerned, solves the problem for the race. The Philosophy 
 of Bedemption does not commend, but neither does it venture 
 to condemn, suicide. It is better, Mainliinder says, to remain 
 in life in order to help in the redemption of the rest of the 
 human race; yet the sense of the worthlessness of life, and 
 the longing for the repose of annihilation, may become too 
 great for endurance.* All mankind, good and bad alike, are 
 to be consoled by the knowledge that, for the individual, death 
 is a final redemption. The philosopher who has dedicated 
 himself to the service of truth alone cannot avoid the duty of 
 proclaiming this. 
 
 Mainliinder traces his pessimism not only to the religions 
 and philosophies of India, but also, like Schopenhauer, to 
 Christianity. "Pure knowledge," he says, "is not the con- 
 trary but the metamorphosis of faith." On the theoretical 
 side, he connects his own philosophy most closely with 
 Christianity. Brahmanism, because it asserts a unity " in the 
 world," seems to him to be most in error. For this pan- 
 theistic doctrine makes individual beings, which alone are real, 
 
 * •' I would be at the worst ; worst is my port, 
 My harbour, and my ultimate repose, 
 The end I would attain, my final good." 
 
 Against this, something might after all be said in point of logic for Schopen- 
 hauer's position that the end should be expected rather than sought. 
 
 * * My long sickness 
 Of health and living now begins to mend, 
 And nothing brings me all things." 
 
 As a contrast to these dramatic expressions of pessimism, it may be inte- 
 resting to cite an exact anticipation of Spencerian optimism from a not very 
 optimistic poet — 
 
 '♦ tXeKi yap Tig ujg ui xtipova 
 irKina ^poroimv tan rutp dfrnvopiov, 
 »y«u Sk TOVToig avTiav yvttifitfv »;^o>, 
 TrXei'u; rd \pr)aTd rCJv kokiov ityat ^poroTg' 
 II fir) yap t)v t6c\ ovk dv iifiiy ip tpdnJ" 
 
 Eur. Supp, 196-200. 
 
 mere instruments of the All. Buddhism is in error too, in 
 that it affirms, by its doctrine of Karma, "the omnipotence of 
 the individual." This doctrine, however, although affirmed in 
 a one-sided manner by Buddhism, is at bottom perfectly true. 
 For each individual being, when it was part of the no longer 
 existing "transcendent sphere" of "simple unity — repose — 
 freedom," willed all that now happens to it in the " immanent 
 sphere " of " multiplicity — motion — necessity." In the reality 
 of things, that is to say, nothing happens to any being in the 
 world that has not been willed by that being. But Christianity 
 expresses the truth that is in Buddhism while not excluding 
 4he truth that the pantheism of the Brahmans failed in its 
 attempt to express. In making the individual only " half- 
 independent" it recognises "the destiny of the world," the 
 "real relation" in which things stand to one another. That 
 there is a constraint exercised on the individual will as if by 
 an external power— which appears to the undisciplined mind 
 now beneficent and now terrible — is the truth that is con- 
 tained in all theism. The error is in attributing this constraint 
 to a personal God existing " beside the world." This is the 
 error of Judaism, but not of Christianity. The personal God 
 of Christianity was in reality a concession to Jewish mono- 
 theism, as its doctrine of a future life was a concession to the 
 insufficiently tamed Jewish vitality. "Esoteric Christianity" 
 is atheistic ; in a veiled form it teaches the doctrine of the self- 
 annihilation of the godhead that existed " before the world" : 
 and the real reward of the Christian virtues is the " beatitude 
 — felt as contrast through reflection — of not-being." This 
 meaning of Christianity is developed in a remarkable essay on 
 " The Doctrine of the Trinity." As characteristic examples of 
 Mainlilnder's interpretations of Christian theology, it may be 
 mentioned that in his view " the Holy Ghost is the way of 
 God to not-being," and is identical on the one hand with " the 
 destiny of the world," on the other hand with " the Christian 
 virtues" by which that destiny is accelerated; while "Satan 
 is the personified means to the end," "the wild struggle of 
 individual wills." 
 Those to whom this seems mere paradox should read the 
 
 16 
 
 M 
 
22G 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF REDEMPTION, 
 
 227 
 
 ■'If 
 
 '. '\ 
 
 essay ; perhaps they will be rewarded by learning the secret 
 of pessimism. Of one thing there can be no doubt ; and that 
 is, Mainliinder's really strong sympathy with Christian theo- 
 logy and with the Christian view of life in what some may call 
 its exaggerated, others its distinctive form. It is not to Catholic 
 organisation that he is attracted, but rather to the mysticism 
 and asceticism of the Middle Age, to Cathohcism as a personal 
 rehgion. Mixed with this kind of mediaeval reaction there is 
 a larger infusion than is to be met with in the ordinaiy mystic 
 or ascetic of the •• pity for humanity " characteristic of Christi- 
 anity and Buddhism in their origin. It is this that gives 
 Mainliinder his sympathy with the revolutionary movements 
 of modern times. Here, however, he makes a reservation in 
 favour of German patriotism. A "cosmopolitan ideal" such 
 as sociaUsm is not to be pursued in the immediate future. It 
 must be kept in view by those who aim at an ideal state ; but 
 in the meantim(3 the first duty of the citizen is to be patriotic. 
 
 A rather obvious cause of pessimism is suggested by the 
 passages in which Mainliinder, while contending for the 
 necessity of the burdens and restrictions imposed by the 
 State, places them among the serious evils of life. It suggests 
 itself that the pessimism of the Hindus was not reallv a dis- 
 covery they made because they had leisure to see the vanity of 
 things, but was due to their want of political freedom. This 
 suggestion would find support in an appeal from India to 
 Greece. Such a merely external cause as political circum- 
 stances, however, is not satisfactory as a final explanation. 
 Pessimism must also have its internal cause What kind of 
 temperament is it, then, to which reflection seems to reveal 
 nothing but " the intrinsic worthlessness of existence "? 
 
 It is remarkable that all systematic as distinguished from 
 episodical pessimism, all pessimistic philosophy, is associated 
 with a more or less strong Medisevalism. Some one may 
 object that there is no mediaeval reaction in Leopardi. To 
 this the reply is that Leopardi was not a genuine philosophic 
 pessimist. The underlying philosophy of Leopardi is a certain 
 combination of elements derived from ancient thought and 
 culminating in the antique ideals of the individual and the 
 
 State. His " pessimism " is really a sceptical despair of the 
 realisation of these ideals ; and at intervals (at least in the 
 poems) it almost disappears. A genuine pessimist, besides, 
 does not protest against Nature and Fate, but like the 
 Buddhist and Christian saints (as Mainliinder shows) holds 
 himself to be in harmony with the tendencies of the sum of 
 things when by ''the slow suicide of asceticism" he seeks 
 the only end that appears to him desirable. Mainliinder's 
 
 ** esoteric Christianity " is really what he represents it to be 
 
 Christian asceticism made its own reward. He has simply 
 given a well-compacted foundation, of the most modern 
 materials, to what is essentially the mediaeval view of life. 
 
 To point out its causes is not, of course, to refute Main- 
 liinder's pessimism. It may be that the Hindu philosophers 
 and those modern Europeans who are most in sympathy with 
 the Middle Age are those who have most successfully taken 
 into themselves the results of the experience of large and 
 complex societies continued through a long succession of 
 years. What has been said is only intended as an aid to the 
 statement of the question. The conflicting views of life, we 
 now see, are, on the one hand, that for which the dictate of 
 the highest wisdom is to suppress the personality, on the 
 other hand, that for which to maintain the personality is the 
 foundation of all virtue. And what their opponents should 
 seek to establish against the pessimists is — not necessarily 
 that the sum of pleasures in life is greater than the sum of 
 pains ; but that life, by moments, has a positive value, and 
 that these are not the moments in which the personality is 
 approaching extinction, but those in which it has the fullest 
 consciousness of maintaining its own being. 
 
I 
 
 w 
 
 fit 
 ft 
 
 ( 
 
 Vir -t 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES.^ 
 
 THE historical view of systems that makes up the larger 
 part of these volumes, itself the outcome of some of M. 
 Kenouvier's most original ideas, has enabled him, in his return 
 from history to criticism and construction, to express these 
 ideas with renewed force. Both as a history of philosophy 
 from a clearly defined point of view, and as the latest state- 
 ment of M. Kenouvier's own philosophical position, the whole 
 work is of the highest importance and interest. 
 
 The history of thought is viewed not as a series of approxi- 
 mations to a final doctrine which includes all truth in itself, 
 but as a process in which antagonisms become more and more 
 definite ; till at length the theses and antitheses of the chief 
 antinomies of philosophy are marked out into two coherent 
 systems, opposed to one another in detail and as wholes. 
 From the beginning of his philosophical studies, M. Renouvier 
 tells us, he was struck with the inward presence of antinomies 
 in the greater philosophical systems. He found that in a 
 small number of systems, as in those of Nicholas of Cusa, 
 Giordano Bruno and Hegel, the attempt was openly made to 
 solve all antinomies by a denial of the applicability of the law 
 of contradiction to real being; and for some time he was 
 under the fascination of this idea, and himself tried to con- 
 struct a philosophy that should reconcile all doctrines by 
 combining their contradictory positions. With this view he 
 was never able quite to satisfy himself ; and at last he 
 
 ' Esquisse iViine Classification systematique deg Doctrines PhUosophiques. 
 Par Ch. Renouviek. 2 Tomes. Paris : Au Bureau de la Critique Philoso 
 phique, 1885, 1886. Pp. 490, 420. 
 
 S28 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 229 
 
 decisively rejected it. The result of this decision was the 
 conviction that from the beginning of philosophic thought 
 truth has been on one side of each of the great philosophic 
 controversies and error on the other, and that the chief 
 philosophical directions remain always the same. There has 
 been progress in accuracy of view of details, in understanding 
 of opposing positions, and in the statement of these positions 
 and their logical grouping ; but none of the chief directions 
 has ever succeeded, during a period of philosophical freedom, 
 in excluding the others ; and since differences of personality 
 become accentuated instead of disappearing, it is not likely 
 that by free consent at least any of them will ever finally 
 gain the mastery. For it is personality that determines the 
 character of every philosopher's view of the world as a whole. 
 Each view, the true view as much as the false, is a belief, 
 determined partly by the "passive factors" of circumstances 
 and temperament, but ultimately by an act of choice. The 
 great opposing systems which combine in logical order the 
 theses and antitheses of the historical antinomies, and are 
 now in process of being definitely formed, are, on the one 
 side, a pantheism based on the larger hypotheses of science 
 carried beyond scientific limits, and laying claim to the 
 certainty of " evidence " ; on the other side a theism based 
 on Kant's postulates of the practical reason, and professing 
 ** belief " not " evidence " as its ultimate ground of certainty. 
 To the latter system the author proclaims his own adhesion. 
 
 By thus making plain to the reader which side he takes, 
 M. Renouvier has hoped to gain in impartiality, and he has 
 succeeded. A writer who is attracted by strong and decided 
 affirmations and negations, and who sees in the history of 
 philosophy the tendency of systems to become more in- 
 dividualised rather than the tendency to compromise and 
 conciliation, is, besides, under no temptation to tone down 
 his opponents' views, and can do justice to them without 
 finding in them resemblances to his own. M. Renouvier's 
 treatment of views opposed to his own is frequently even 
 more than impartial. The intellectual sympathy which he 
 displays with the pantheistic ideas of the early philosophers 
 
 ty 
 
f 
 
 230 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 of Greece does not disappear when he comes to deal with 
 modern philosophers; but what has struck him especially 
 is the far-reaching character of the ideas thrown out at the 
 opening of each period of speculation, and in times of 
 revolutionaiy change of thought. We are wrong, he remarks, 
 in thinking the height of abstraction reserved for an advanced 
 and complex state of intellectual culture. Except in morals, 
 the true initiators, and often the most profound, in that their 
 views were more exclusive and more absolute, were the 
 philosophers of the first period of Greek thought. And in 
 this period, as M. Renouvier fully admits, the predominating 
 speculative tendency was pantheistic. 
 
 The pantheistic doctrine which was predominant in the 
 earliest Greek speculations, which has found its most rigorous 
 expression in Spinoza, and which is equally the doctrine of 
 Hegel and of the contemporary philosophy that claims to be 
 based on physical science, is, when quite consistently deve- 
 loped, a doctrine of the Thing or permanent substance of which 
 all personality is a passing mode, as opposed to the Idea or 
 phenomenon which has no reality except as part of a con- 
 sciousness ; of the Infinite as opposed to the Finite; of 
 Evolution as opposed to Creation; of Necessity as opposed 
 to Liberty; of Happiness as opposed to Duty; and of Evidence 
 as opposed to Belief. This sixth antimony was the last 
 to receive clear expression. Till Kant, with hardly any 
 exception, the only positions as to the criterion of certitude 
 were those of "evidence" and "scepticism." This last 
 doctrine left the practical choice to be determined, not, as it 
 must be according to the true doctrine of belief, by reasons 
 which although not purely intellectual are valid for all men, 
 but by custom and authority. According to the temperament 
 of the sceptic the attitude finally assumed may be — to take 
 t>'pical examples— either that of Montaigne or of Pascal. 
 Once the doctrine of a belief determined by active as well 
 as passive factors of the personality and finally not on in- 
 tellectual but on moral gi-ounds, — in its distinction equally 
 from sceptical suspension of judgment and from a supposed 
 " evidence " or " vision " that gives assent in spite of the 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 231 
 
 will/ — has been clearly disengaged, all the other theses and 
 antitheses are seen to depend on the position taken up with 
 regard to this antinomy. Hitherto they have always, even 
 in the most rigorous systems, been combined with more or 
 less inconsequence. Till quite recent times Idealism, for 
 example, had not received accurate expression ; there always 
 remained a mixture of reaUsm, of the doctrine of the Thing 
 or *' subject " as it is in itself apart from consciousness. And 
 the progress to true idealism has been accomplished chiefly 
 by means of the works of the modern empirical school, more 
 lavourable to the intellectualist doctrine than to the doctrine 
 of belief, and by mediaeval Nominalism, the scholastic form 
 of empiricism. Again, the doctrine of "the realised infinite" 
 has always formed part of Christian theology, having got there 
 by a confusion of the idea of infinity in the sense of moral 
 perfection with the infinite of quantity in space and time. 
 Yet logically this leads to the pantheistic doctrine of the 
 infinite and eternal substance, and to the denial of an ab- 
 solute beginning of action, that is, of real creation and of 
 free-will. By another inconsequence, the ethical doctrine of 
 the Stoics and of Spinoza was a doctrine of Duty, an " ethics 
 of Reason," essentially identical with the Kantian ethics, and 
 not a doctrine of happiness such as ought to have followed 
 from their system of pantheistic evolution. The definite 
 statement of the antinomy of " intellectualism " and of the 
 "practical reason" removes these and other inconsequences, 
 and makes the constituent propositions of the two systems 
 arrange themselves at last in perfectly logical order. 
 
 Regarded metaphysically, M. Renouvier's doctrine is a 
 phenomenism like that of Mr. Shadworth Hodgson. The 
 difference between the two doctrines consists chiefly in this, 
 that Mr. Hodgson follows more the tradition of the English 
 experiential school, M. Renouvier that of the school of Con- 
 tinental rationalism. At the same time Hume, as represented 
 by the Treatise, has had an influence on M. Renouvier com- 
 parable to the influence of Kant on Mr. Hodgson. In their 
 practical outcome the two doctrines are not unlike, both 
 philosophers having accepted from Kant the distinction of 
 
if 
 
 ? r 
 
 II 
 
 i\ 
 
 232 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 233 
 
 H : 
 
 ) 
 
 the "practical" and the "speculative" reason. Neglecting 
 minor differences, then, let us ask: What is phenomenism 
 as distinguished from other doctrines that also claim to be 
 idealistic ? 
 
 According to M. Renouvier, the ancient idealistic doctrines, 
 such as that of Pythagoras, which tried to account for experi- 
 ence by the limiting mind, as opposed to unlimited matter, 
 which was in various forms the principle of the lonians, failed 
 for this reason, that they took one particular formal element 
 in mind and " hypostasised " it. "Number," the principle of the 
 Pythagoreans, although a formal mental principle, became, 
 when viewed in isolation, a " thing," just as much as the atom 
 of Democritus, the most purely material of all the "physical " 
 principles. On the other hand, the atom, although regarded 
 from the first as an element in things, was not a datum of 
 sense, but the result of an abstraction, and thus had a sort 
 of mental character of its own. The tw^o conceptions, there- 
 fore, opposite as they seem, differed little in effect. And 
 instead of giving their ultimate explanation of things in terms 
 of personality, the Pythagoreans, and the idealist schools of 
 antiquity generally, fell back into a system of pantheism. 
 With the Pythagoreans, for example, all phenomena became 
 parts of a " mathematical evolution of the multiple and the 
 one." In modern times the doctrine of Hegel— described by 
 M. Renouvier as "a Platonism with Eleatic basis, joined to 
 an attempt to trace the history of the Idea confounded with 
 the history of the world of phenomena" — illustrates the same 
 tendency. The "thought" of Hegel is an element in mind 
 hypostasised; and, when the bias of the orthodox disciples 
 of Hegel is got rid of, thought becomes a "thing" figured 
 as evolving itself necessarily and as having personality for 
 a mere temporary phase. Hegelianism thus comes not to 
 differ intrinsically from a materialistic doctrine of evolution. 
 
 From these criticisms of other forms of idealism, it appears 
 that what distinguishes the phenomenist doctrine is the refusal 
 to regard any one element in mind, however capable of dis- 
 tinction by analysis, as having a real existence by itself apart 
 from the rest. That is, the distinguishing feature of pheno- 
 
 menism is its principle of " the relativity of representations ** 
 to one another. It pushes this principle to the extent of 
 affirming that, since actually every phenomenon appears under 
 the form of personality, there can be no ultimate philosophical 
 explanation of things otherwise than in terms of personality. 
 A doctrine such as that of Lotze and his disciples, which 
 makes personality ultimate in its explanation of things, and 
 is idealistic as regards the external world, would nevertheless 
 be rejected by a phenomenist because it retains " the substance 
 of mind " ; its monads being miniatures of the individual mind 
 hypostasised. The doctrine that speaks of " elementary 
 feelings" as things-in-themselves does not, like monadism, 
 assume a substance of mind under the name of " the soul " ; 
 but from the phenomenist point of view it is realistic as the 
 Hegelian doctrine of "thought" is realistic, because it hypos- 
 tasises the material element in mind as Hegelianism hypos- 
 tasises the formal element; and of course it does not place 
 personaUty at the beginning of things. 
 
 Except on one point, M. Renouvier concedes that the panthe- 
 istic system, although incapable of demonstration, is theoreti- 
 cally impregnable. The one point where it can be assailed 
 on grounds of pure logic is its assertion of a real infinite 
 of quantity, which follows from "the doctrine of the thing" 
 as opposed to " the doctrine of consciousness." "The actual 
 infinite number " required by the existence of an infinity of 
 distinguishable phenomena in space or time is self-contra- 
 dictory. The law of contradiction, how^ever, in its application 
 to realities, has been denied by consistent partisans of the 
 infinite ; and to assert it as universally true is, like any other 
 proposition of the kind, an act of belief. Even in this case, 
 therefore, it is in the end moral considerations that must 
 determine the choice of the thesis or the antithesis. From 
 the point of view of the doctrine of consciousness there can 
 be no question of any actual existence that is other than 
 finite. This truth was expressed by the Pythagoreans in 
 their theory of the limit ; but they in part destroyed its effect 
 by retaining " the unHmited " as a kind of matter upon which 
 form is imposed. The doctrine of the infinite and absolute. 
 
284 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 235 
 
 as it has asserted itself in Christian theology, is, however, a 
 falling-off from what we may regard as the typical Greek 
 conception of reality as belonging to a limited, ordered 
 universe, and of the unlimited as essentially unreal. The 
 •* realised infinite," M. Eenouvier shows, has no place in 
 mathematics. And it is there, if anywhere, that we should 
 expect to find it ; since mathematicians use a terminology 
 that seems to imply infinites of all orders. The notion of 
 a real infinity, however, is not only not employed by mathe- 
 maticians ; it is no more required for the philosophical 
 explanation of any mathematical or other scientific conception. 
 Everything that can be expressed in terms of consciousness, 
 that is, everything that can be thought as real, is finite. 
 Consciousness itself, personality, is essentially finite. The 
 ** doctrine of consciousness" requires that phenomena should 
 have a beginning, but not necessarily that they should have 
 an end ; for the absence of a beginning implies a past eternity 
 filled w4th events, that is a "completed infinite " ; but future 
 eternity is supposed never to be completed ; the series of 
 phenomena, even if it should never have an end, wuU always 
 be capable of expression by a finite number. Phenomena 
 have had their beginning in a personality, which, like other 
 personalities, is necessarily finite. The universality of law 
 — the resemblance of the order of phenomena in different 
 persons — requires that there should be one supreme Deity : 
 M. Eenouvier now regards this argument as conclusive against 
 the possibility he had formerly left open for polytheism. 
 The Deity must be held to be limited in knowledge by " the 
 real contingency of futures." For, corresponding to creation 
 in the universe as a whole, there is a real beginning of a new 
 series of phenomena, a cause that is not also an effect, in 
 certain decisions of the human will. Thus the doctrines of 
 the finite, of creation and of indeterminism form a connected 
 group opposed to the doctrines of the infinite, of evolution 
 and of the absolute determination of all phenomena as parts 
 of an eternal series ; and these gi'oups of doctrines attach 
 themselves on the one side to " the doctrine of consciousness," 
 on the other side to " the doctrine of the thing." 
 
 By "evolution" M. Eenouvier understands here "philoso- 
 phical " as distinguished from " scientific " evolution. The 
 special evolution-theories of the sciences, like other special 
 scientific theories, cannot logically, he holds, be extended 
 under the name of " science " to the whole order of the world. 
 " Science," when it is anything more than a collective name 
 for " the sciences," means one of the two opposing philoso- 
 phies; and this philosophy has no right to claim for itself, 
 as it does by assuming the name of " science," the certainty 
 that each of the special sciences has within its own limits. 
 Of the philosophical doctrine of evolution there are two forms 
 — the "statical" and the "dynamical." Spinoza's doctrine 
 of modes is a real evolution-theory of the first kind, although 
 it makes no attempt to express in a single formula the law 
 of the series, which it assumes, of absolutely determined and 
 eternally changing phenomena. Theories that are evolutionist 
 in the more special " dynamical " sense, such as that of 
 Leibniz — which w^as the first to combine the ideas of physical 
 evolution and of progress — introduce the conception of an end 
 towards which the evolution of the world is the necessary 
 movement. They are less consequent than Spinozism ; since 
 they have to borrow the idea of end from the doctrine of 
 consciousness. 
 
 Immediately connected with the antinomy of necessity and 
 liberty is that of happiness and duty. No doctrine of neces- 
 sity, M. Eenouvier contends, is consistent with a morality 
 that makes the correlative conceptions of "duty" and " right " 
 fundamental. For there can be no "obligation" to do that 
 which, by the mere fact of its not being done, is shown, 
 according to the doctrine of necessity, to have been impossible. 
 Determinism reduces all moral questions to questions of 
 selecting the right means for attaining ends fixed by personal 
 taste. The end is not necessarily egoistic ; but if happiness 
 is the only conceivable end, man has, so to speak, "the right 
 to egoism." The sentiment of altruism can only be appealed 
 to so far as it exists ; and it can never acquire the character 
 of an imperative. Eudajmonists, therefore, for the most part, 
 aim at producing by education artificial associations of ideas 
 
 II 
 
 it- 
 
236 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 of the good of society with ideas of personal good. This 
 supposes control of public opinion and of the machinery of 
 education by those in whom the idea of good happens to 
 have taken the altruistic form ; and this control must be 
 exercised with a view to forming all minds according to a 
 single type. The eudaemonist morality of " benevolence " or 
 ** sentiment " thus lends itself naturally to theories of political 
 and social despotism. And that the putting of some ** good," 
 how^ever elevated, in place of the conceptions of duty and 
 right, has actually had such theories for its consequence, 
 is seen in the history of speculations that make the idea 
 of good supreme, from Plato's Kepublic to the political 
 system of Comte. J. S. Mill perceived this tendency of 
 " benevolent utilitarianism " and tried to avoid it, but without 
 success, so far as he argues from his own theoretical point 
 of view. He perceived also the unsatisfactoriness of a 
 morality that depends on artificial associations dissoluble by 
 analysis. In Mr. Spencer's ethical doctrine there is a falling 
 back on the idea of an inevitable progress of the human race, 
 as the means of bringing about a spontaneity of benevolent 
 sentiment ; but in the meantime there is no foundation for really 
 ethical " injunction." As in other utilitarian systems, when 
 there is no question of enforced obedience to external stan- 
 dards all depends ultimately on personal taste. It is the 
 same with the morality of pessimism. Schopenhauer, for 
 example, who makes "pity" take the place of the "sympathy" 
 of optimistic utilitarianism, entirely rejects the idea of duty. 
 Essentially, contemporary optimism and pessimism are at 
 one as to the ethical standard. The opposite ethical doctrine 
 is to be found in the Stoics and Spinoza ; but it received 
 for the first time perfectly accurate expression in Kant's 
 Practical Beason. The idea of duty is implicit in Stoicism 
 as " conformity to the order of the universe " ; that of liberty 
 as *' independence of external things." On the one side, 
 however, there is as yet no true idea of obligation, and on 
 the other side there is theoretical determinism. So far as 
 Kant retains the idea of absolute determinism in the pheno- 
 menal world there is an inconsequence in his system also ; 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 237 
 
 but in his ethical formula, the categorical imperative, he has 
 corrected both the principal defects of Stoicism. Kant's great 
 achievement was to make ethics independent of every system 
 of metaphysics. In consequence of this he was able to found 
 his metaphysical doctrine on his ethics, substituting practical 
 "postulates" for theoretical "dogmas." The relative posi- 
 tions of practice and speculation are thus reversed. There 
 is no longer any apparent dependence of morality on cosmical 
 physics and the law of evolution of the world ; " conformity 
 to nature " has become explicitly what it always really meant, 
 conformity to the nature of reason. Duty has been rigorously 
 defined, and the doctrine of happiness placed in its true 
 dependence on the morality of duty. 
 
 For a doctrine of happiness is after all necessary. The 
 question of optimism and pessimism is not indifferent to 
 philosophy, but is a question which, once it has been raised, 
 requires a decisive answer. Now the Kantian doctrine enables 
 us to view happiness as dependent on our own attitude to- 
 wards the world, not on a previous determination of the nature 
 of the world. There are two beliefs that it is theoretically 
 possible to hold: the belief that duty and happiness are in 
 the end brought into harmony; and the belief that the idea 
 of justice has no application in the universe as a whole. We 
 are under the moral obligation to choose that belief which will 
 enable us to act best. This position is fundamentally that of 
 Pascal's " argument of the wager." The necessity of acting 
 renders it impossible to refrain from choosing ; and we must 
 choose the alternative on the side of which our highest interests 
 are placed. There is this defect in Pascal's argument — that 
 one particular doctrine, the doctrine of the Catholic Church, 
 is arbitrarily taken as the subject of the wager. An opponent 
 can object against Pascal the merely local and temporary 
 character of this doctrine ; and then there is the scientific 
 test of historical evidence. The argument of Pascal, however, 
 can be thrown into a universally valid form. It has been 
 "reduced to good sense " by Locke, and cleared of even the 
 appearance of making an appeal to " the lower interests " by 
 Rousseau. The principle of its reduction to a valid form 
 
 
 iV 
 
 M 
 
 
 1 •; 
 
 
 ^(i 
 
 ii 
 
288 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 is that we must seek "the maximum of security in the mini- 
 mum of determination of doctrine." Kant's postulates of the 
 practical reason — God, Freedom and Immortality — are found 
 to be at once necessary and sufficient. Freedom is required 
 in order to make moral obligation possible ; immortality — or 
 at least continuation of life after death — to make possible the 
 realisation of the ideal of justice in the universe ; theism, 
 inferred, as we have already seen, from the necessity of a 
 creative act and the universality of law, is required as a 
 security for the final ordering of the universe in accordance 
 with the principle of justice. A necessary part of the system 
 of the postulates is that physical evil should be traced to 
 moral evil. This is made conceivable by the doctrine of 
 free-will as *'a gift" which could not be conferred without 
 the power being left to the creature to choose wrong as well 
 as right. By the existence of a real free-will the sense of 
 sin and its reality are also explained. 
 
 We come at last to the antinomy of evidence and belief, 
 on which, according to M. Renouvier, everything else depends. 
 Real indetermination of actions, he maintains, requires real 
 indetermination of judgments. This doctrine of the indeter- 
 mination of judgments is traced to Rousseau. Rousseau's 
 ethical doctrine, although superficially it looks like a "doctrine 
 of sentiment," is really, M. Renouvier contends, a " doctrine 
 of the practical reason." The admiration of Kant for Rous- 
 seau is well known ; and M. Renouvier traces Kant's optimism 
 — in viewing the history of the world as determined in accord- 
 ance with the postulates — to Rousseau, as he finds in Voltaire 
 the literary inspiration of Schopenhauer's pessimism. That 
 belief — the free choice of a judgment as to the ultimate nature 
 of things — is something more profound than " evidence," must 
 be the view of those who hold to the doctrine of consciousness. 
 To affirm the existence of other personalities and of the 
 uniformity of nature is to go beyond what is given in the 
 actual phenomena. We are not, indeed, without motives for 
 believing ; there is evidence that suggests belief ; but there is 
 also an active factor. The mind in part creates the truth to 
 which it gives its assent, as it is creative in volition. Those, 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 239 
 
 on the other hand, who decide for the pantheistic system of 
 the eternal evolution of an infinite substance, always hold in 
 some way, even when, like Mr. Spencer, they speak of ultimate 
 "beliefs," that they are asserting a truth forced on the mind 
 from without, or given in a sort of intellectual "vision," a 
 truth of which denial is impossible. But to any one who 
 speaks of universal beliefs, of propositions the negation of 
 which is inconceivable, the history of philosophy is a sufficient 
 reply. There is no proposition, not even the law of contradic- 
 tion, of which the application to real being has not been denied 
 by some philosopher. The appeal to " evidence " is therefore 
 only a statement of the behef of a particular person that he 
 possesses a certain kind of insight which, it must be supposed, 
 he has by necessity, while others are necessarily in error. 
 
 Since M. Renouvier makes everything depend on his 
 doctrine of belief, we must examine this doctrine closely 
 before proceeding to criticise any other part of his system. 
 The choice of an ultimate belief, in M. Renouvier's view, is 
 an act of free-will ; but he does not represent the doctrine 
 of belief as absolutely bound up with indeterminism. Indeed 
 he shows, in more than one passage, how a determinist may 
 recognise the active factor in judging. Indeterminism being 
 excluded, there seems to be no reason why an opponent on 
 ultimate philosophical questions should not admit the essen- 
 tial part of M. Renouvier's contention, viz., that there is 
 a personal element in all systems of metaphysics; that in 
 this element there are active as well as passive factors of 
 belief; and that whenever we go beyond the mere present 
 phenomenon there is a "wish to believe" one proposition 
 rather than another, determined either by intellectual or 
 practical interests. All beliefs are of course subject to the 
 tests of verification and of consistency. Beliefs that cannot 
 bear these tests must disappear sooner or later, whether we 
 wish it or not. M. Renouvier does not deny this; but to 
 any one who should insist that for these reasons " evidence " 
 is more profound than " belief," he would reply that there 
 is more in the great philosophical systems than can be 
 completely submitted to either test. The pantheistic doctrine 
 
 1 
 
 ■i 
 
240 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 241 
 
 which is the final outcome of the set of positions opposed 
 to his own is, he admits, as consistent with itself as the 
 doctrine of the practical reason. To the positivist or agnostic 
 objection that there is no need to choose between opposing 
 systems of metaphysics at all, he replies that not to choose 
 would be to take custom instead of reason for the guide of 
 life ; but that those who use this argument have really made 
 their choice, and that they imagine themselves to have 
 ''evidence" sufficient for the refutation of the view they 
 practically reject. 
 
 To the behef at which M. Renouvier arrives on the ground 
 of the Kantian postulates, it may be objected, from the 
 practical point of view, that the construction is too "prob- 
 lematical " to have any real influence on conduct. The 
 objection he himself makes to Pascal's argument might also 
 be brought against it. This type of theism, it might be said, 
 is after all only the ghost of a particular historical religion, 
 not really, as is contended, '* quod semper, quod ubique, quod 
 ab omnibus." Its special affinities are seen by M. Renouvier' s 
 regarding as possible an alliance between " the Criticist 
 philosophy of consciousness" and a Christianity cleared of 
 the dogmas of "absolutist" and "infinitist" theologians. 
 A religious creed going beyond the " necessary and sufficient " 
 postulates of the practical reason, he allows to be legitimate 
 in its own sphere. Although it may not be confounded with 
 philosophy, it may be held as a kind of " philosophic faith." 
 But — not to pursue these considerations of detail — there 
 is a fundamental objection to the whole method of " the 
 practical reason." 
 
 M. Renouvier, it must be remembered, contends for an 
 element of active desire in the affirmations of both the great 
 philosophic parties. In the case of the party opposed to his 
 own, he often speaks of this desire as having its motive in 
 intellectual as distinguished from practical interests. Yet, 
 rather strangely, he never definitely asks whether the desire 
 that expresses itself here may not be that by which exclusively 
 we ought to be influenced in the decision of the last questions 
 of metaphysics as of the first questions suggested by scientific 
 
 curiosity. He never seems to conceive it to be possible that 
 any one who has seen that there is active choice of belief 
 should still maintain the primacy in metaphysics of the 
 theoretical reason; should regard the introduction of ethical 
 considerations at the point where the highest speculative 
 questions are reached as being just as irrelevant as it would 
 be in physical science. The exact omission that is made is 
 seen most clearly in M. Renouvier' s view of Spinoza. An 
 "inconsequence" is detected in Spinoza's passage from his 
 pantheistic metaphysics to an ethical doctrine of an elevated 
 kind. The moral emotion that finds expression in the ethics, 
 it. is implied, ought not to have been excluded from the 
 determination of the metaphysical doctrine; since it has 
 been excluded, however, its coming in afterwards is unjustifi- 
 able. But, according to M. Renouvier's view, Spinoza's 
 theoretical doctrine must have been in part emotionally and 
 actively determined ; for no doctrine escapes this necessity. 
 If it was not determined by an ethical emotion, by what kind 
 of emotion, then, was it determined ? Clearly an incomplete 
 enumeration has been made of the elements of Spinoza's 
 philosophy. Account has been taken of the high moral 
 emotion as well as of the passionless analysis ; what has 
 been omitted is the "amor intellectualis " — the desire for 
 perfect completeness of explanation by purely theoretical 
 and "immanent" principles. But is not this the properly 
 philosophical emotion ? And does not its dominance in what 
 M. Renouvier calls the " intellectualist " systems furnish a 
 presumption that these, and not the "practical" systems, 
 have given the right answers to the perennial questions of 
 philosophy? The emotion directed to practice has its scope 
 in the discrimination of right and wrong actions or dis- 
 positions. The philosophical emotion is an impulse towards 
 what M. Renouvier himself calls " the ideal of science." 
 Can any reason be given why, when we are approaching 
 this ideal, we should be turned back from it by views of 
 practical utility ? It is not as if there were no positive 
 impulse conflicting with affirmations made in the name of the 
 practical reason. If this were so, we should have remained 
 
 17 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
242 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES, 
 
 
 for ever absolutely under the dominion of practical considera- 
 tions ; the idea of a disinterested view of the universe would 
 never have occurred to us. But, when this idea has once 
 presented itself, has not "the practical reason" the appear- 
 ance of being in intellectual things something of an interloper ? 
 
 Of course philosophy, if it is to be worthy of the name, 
 must somewhere make a return on practice, so as not to 
 abandon life to the guidance of custom and unreasoned 
 opinion. But M. Kenouvier show^s that it was exactly in 
 antiquity, when the primacy of the theoretical reason was 
 unquestioned, that philosophy applied itself most to practice 
 and had most practical influence. After remarking on the 
 comparative weakness of modern philosophy, beginning with 
 Descartes, on the practical side — the Ethics of Spinoza being 
 mentioned as an exception — he explains the " intellectual- 
 ism " (in this sense) of modern philosophy by the circumstance 
 that the practical field was preoccupied, and that for a long 
 time philosophers w^ere warned off from it. The doctrine of 
 " the practical reason," however, seems to be anything rather 
 than the correction of this kind of intellectualism in modern 
 philosophy. If philosophy, instead of moving away from 
 practice and viewing life impartially in order to return after- 
 wards more effectively to its practical regulation, is to keep 
 practical considerations in view in its metaphysical construc- 
 tions, of two indemonstrable assumptions to take not the one 
 that fits in best with the ideal already suggested by science, 
 but the one that seems most likely to encourage action, this 
 means that action, just as with the Pyrrhonists, will fall under 
 the dominion of custom. For practical considerations intro- 
 duced not merely as a stimulus but as a guide, prior to the 
 final theoretical construction, can only be considerations de- 
 pending on those unanalysed aims of which it is a function of 
 philosophy to ascertain the comparative value ; considerations, 
 therefore, which from the first invalidate the critical function 
 of philosophy with regard to practice. 
 
 This is the effect that a doctrine of the practical reason 
 w^ould seem likely to produce. Yet it must be acknowledged 
 that there is no trace of this kind of effect on M. Renouvier's 
 
 « * « w. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 243 
 
 ■>9 
 
 own practical philosophy. He applies an equally severe analy- 
 sis to all the phrases that have been proposed as solutions of 
 the problems of the ethical end and of the worth of life ; keep- 
 ing always in view the essential question of the aim of the 
 individual. In the case of so consistent a thinker as M. 
 Renouvier, it would be absurd to say that this is in spite of 
 his theory, not because of it. We must try to find an element 
 of truth in the doctrine of the practical reason that may be 
 recognised by those who cannot in any sense accept that 
 doctrine as a whole. 
 
 M. Renouvier, as has been seen, claims for Kant the merit 
 of having been the first to make explicit the independence of 
 the ethical end on particular systems of metaphysics. This 
 truth is already present, he admits, so far as its effective appli- 
 cation to conduct is concerned, in the ** independence " of the 
 Stoics, and in Spinoza's doctrine of freedom as action from 
 within; but this "independence" or "freedom" is represented 
 at the same time as a harmony with external nature, or even 
 sometimes as "obedience" to nature, and is not defined strictly 
 in terms of personality. M. Renouvier's analysis certainly 
 enables us to understand better the fascination which Kant's 
 formula has exercised. The truth of "the autonomy of ethics," 
 we may be disposed to think, is expressed most clearly by 
 M. Renouvier when he states it without reference to "the 
 practical reason "; but that it should appear as if bound up 
 with the Kantian doctrine is explicable. As soon as it is seen 
 that ethics, although dependent for its w^orking out on theore- 
 tical knowledge, is independent of any theory of the universe so 
 far as the determination of its essential end is concerned, the 
 preconceived idea of a subordination instead of a co-ordination 
 between metaphysics and ethics takes effect in a simple 
 reversal of their previous order. The doctrine of the practical 
 reason, therefore, may be regarded as an exaggeration of the 
 truth of "the independence of ethics." 
 
 The process that has just been described is aided by a 
 certain incompatibility, not intellectual but emotional, of the 
 theoretical and the ethical view of things. The ethical view 
 of external nature must always be somewhat Manichaean. M. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
244 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 u 
 
 Renouvier has illustrated this by quotation of the celebrated 
 passages from Mill's Essmj on Nature. Those, on the other 
 hand, who take by preference the pantheistic or intellectualist 
 view, tend to pass from admiring contemplation of the order 
 of the universe to assertion of its ethical perfection. This 
 tendency is found, often unaccompanied by pantheism, in men 
 of science. M. Renouvier contrasts, for example, Darwin's 
 admiration of the law of survival of the fittest, regarded hypothe- 
 cally as imposed by a creator, with Mill's reprobation of laws 
 of conflict and mutual destruction among living beings. And 
 more than once he shows the ethical superiority of Spinoza's 
 system — attained, as he thinks, by the inconsequence of prac- 
 tically detaching ethics from metaphysics, when, according to 
 Spinoza's principles, ethics should be subordinate — over the 
 optimistic doctrines of Leibniz and Hegel. This last com- 
 parison may furnish a suggestion for solving the diflficulty. 
 Is not the remedy to distinguish clearly the ethical from the 
 theoretical point of view, neither subordinating nor suppress- 
 ing either ; to avoid, on the one hand, affirming an ethical end 
 of the universe, and on the other hand to refrain from all at- 
 tempts to find a moral justification of anything in the mere 
 fact of its necessary determination according to universal 
 laws? The refusal to compromise between points of view, 
 each maintained as separately valid, is not really an incon- 
 sequence. 
 
 A distinction of points of view may help to clear up the 
 antinomy of happiness and duty. We may admit that the 
 conceptions of obligation, of duty and of right are not ultimate 
 in ethics, without denying them all relative validity ; without 
 declaring them to be mere illusions, and proposing to substitute 
 direct seeking of the good of others under the impulse of 
 sympathy or pity for the idea of justice as foundation of the 
 social order. There is no doubt that the systematic working 
 out of some doctrines of " happiness," or of a " good " as the 
 ethical end, has led to the theoretical suppression of personal 
 freedom. This, however, is due to the special character of the 
 good that is aimed at ; in these cases somje social good is regarded 
 as superior to the good of all individuals. Those who recog- 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 245 
 
 nise, with M. Renouvier, that the highest good, while attained 
 socially, must be a good for the individual, and that personal 
 freedom is a condition of its attainment, are entirely at one 
 with him practically, although they may make rights and duties 
 deductions from the conception of good, not ultimate concep- 
 tions. To the making of obligation ultimate it may be objected 
 that the word *' obhgation " implies command from some 
 source ; and that a command, as M. Renouvier fully recog- 
 nises, cannot be the ultimate reason in ethics. The empiri- 
 cal doctrines that trace ethical precepts to commands, of 
 which he acknowledges the merit as attempts to account for 
 obligation on egoistic grounds, justify the commands finally as 
 means to a good that can only be attained by social action 
 according to definite rules. But to these doctrines, and 
 equally to those that make more use of sympathy, it is objected 
 that everything depends on the individual taste and disposition. 
 Suppose that any one is not sufficiently sympathetic ; or that, 
 having recognised that the existence of the social order and 
 (as part of it) his own action in accordance with justice, is oh 
 the whole to his personal advantage, he should nevertheless 
 decide to evade the requirements of justice and gain a greater 
 advantage, whenever he can escape detection : how is the 
 moralist to convince him that he ought to act rightly ? To 
 this it can only be replied that voluntary acceptance of an 
 ethical code does after all depend on the empirical fact of the 
 social nature of man ; and the degree in which men act 
 according to the principles they accept, on the degree in which 
 certain dispositions are present. The admission of this, with 
 all its consequences, no doubt supposes a different conception 
 of personal merit from that of Kant. On the whole, how^ever, 
 M. Renouvier' s ethical antinomy, although some irreducible 
 differences are left, does not seem to be quite so absolute as 
 he contends. 
 
 Of the remaining antinomies there is at least one — that of 
 finite and infinite — where those w^ho are in general agreement 
 with M. Renouvier would select the antithesis. The opposi- 
 tion of evolution and creation, which, when they are considered 
 as philosophical doctrines, seems at first irreducible, can be 
 
 
 I 
 
 : 'I 
 
 I 
 
 ll 
 
 '(I 
 
 ?!l 
 
^1 
 
 i 
 
 > 
 
 216 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 solved by an evolutionist without absolute denial of creation. 
 For creation, in the sense in which M. Kenouvier attributes it 
 to the human mind (with exclusion of indeterminism) may be 
 perfectly well regarded as the outcome of a universal process 
 of evolution. This explanation goes naturally with the 
 admission in a certain sense of M. Kenouvier's doctrine of 
 belief. He himself is the first to admit that as regards the 
 antinomy of "Thing" and "Idea" that heads the series, all 
 schools of philosophy are now in a sense idealist, as at the 
 beginning all were in a sense realist. To the contemporary 
 ** school of the ideal," represented in different ways by M. 
 Vacherot and M. Fouillee, he takes up an attitude of opposi- 
 tion, on the ground that it denies in effect the existence of the 
 ideal outside the human mind ; yet he has aftinities with that 
 school. There is much resemblance, for example, between his 
 view of the infinite and M. Vacherot's, although their affirma- 
 tions about the reality of the infinite are quite opposed. Both 
 philosophers bring out with great distinctness the opposition 
 of the idea of perfection, which, as they see, must be that of 
 the highest degree of definite order and clear consciousness, 
 and therefore essentially finite, to the idea of unlimited ex- 
 tension or force, the dmtpov of Greek philosophy, chaos as 
 opposed to cosmos. Again, M. Kenouvier's re-statement of 
 Pascal's " argument of the wager " has something in common 
 with M. Fouillee's doctrine of "risk" in action and speculation. 
 It is true he does not end with doubt but with belief; yet 
 belief, in distinction from knowledge, implies at least the 
 possibility of doubt. 
 
 But although two types of thought may not be quite so 
 clearly marked out as they ought to be according to the theory 
 embodied in M. Eenouvier's classification, it is only with the 
 aid of a classification such as this that an adequate account 
 can be given of the whole movement of philosophy. The idea 
 of a perennial opposition of philosophic doctrines, and of 
 increasing distinctions among them, is not that which his- 
 torians of philosophy like best to dwell on ; but now that it 
 has been not merely stated and defended but made the central 
 idea of a systematic classification, it ought to be recognised as 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 247 
 
 at least as important an aspect of the truth as the more 
 common idea of philosophic progress. And M. Kenouvier 
 does not, by a movement of reaction, deny the portion of truth 
 that is in the conception of progress as continuous and in the 
 same direction. He recognises the limitations it imposes on 
 his own view, as well as those that are due to what he con- 
 siders illogical mixtures of doctrines. One ground that a 
 critic might take here is to contend that these mixtures are 
 not all illogical, and that the divergence is really towards 
 several types instead of only two. This would be a criticism 
 in the sense of M. Kenouvier's own doctrine. But whatever 
 may be the view taken of the outcome of the classification, 
 there cannot be any difference of opinion as to the value of 
 M. Kenouvier's work in detail. Every page of it is full of 
 instruction. To its merits as history this is to be added, that 
 it will compel readers who may have arrived at any frag- 
 mentary philosophic view of their own to consider carefully 
 the bearings of this view with regard to the whole, and the 
 direction in which it ought to be developed if they wish to 
 be consistent. 
 
 It will be remembered that M. Kenouvier finds one logical 
 defect in the system of pantheism to w^hich, as he holds, 
 modern "scientific philosophy" is tending. From the con- 
 tradiction that is said to be implied in the assertion of infinity, 
 Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, in the first of his two articles on 
 M. Kenouvier's philosophy in Mind, vol. vi., has pointed out 
 a way of escape. "The realised infinite," Mr. Hodgson 
 admits, is a contradiction ; but the contradiction comes from 
 taking "representation" as coextensive with phenomena, and 
 assuming categories that are " forms of thought, not percep- 
 tion." " If w^e take the forms of perception, time and spatial 
 extension, as our ultimates, then we shall find that infinity is 
 involved in all perception. Every perceived thing, which is 
 a portion of time or of space, has time or space beyond it. 
 The perception that this happens always, wherever you have 
 a perception, this is the infinity of time and space " (Mind, vi. 
 56). It is remarkable that this restoration of an " unexplored 
 remainder," as the necessary background of all knowledge, is 
 
 I 
 
248 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTINOMIES. 
 
 I 
 
 made from the point of view of what we may call the experi- 
 ential as opposed to the rationalistic phenomenism. Although 
 not made in the interests of a pantheistic view, it serves to 
 rescue pantheism, as formulated by M. Renouvier, from the 
 contradiction he finds in it. M. Renouvier, however, accord- 
 ing to Mr. Hodgson, is right in everything but neglecting the 
 background of knowledge, of which the necessary existence is 
 revealed only in perception. The infinite, in Mr. Hodgson's 
 sense, has no place in mathematical or any other science, but 
 forms the inevitable background of all definite knowledge; 
 practically, the infinite, when dealt with by thought, becomes 
 what M. Renouvier wishes to substitute for it in all cases— an 
 indefinite possibility. The section in which M. Renouvier 
 discusses the antinomy of infinite and finite is, it may be 
 added, one of the most valuable parts of his book. The real 
 matter in dispute is disentangled from the complications of 
 scientific hypotheses, and is shown to be a rational question, 
 which, if it is to be solved at all, will not be solved by the 
 mere " progress of science " independently of philosophic 
 reflection. It is above all in making clear the true character 
 of questions of philosophic criticism such as this, their funda- 
 mental position with regard to the sciences, their persistence 
 throughout all stages of scientific development, and their 
 insolubihty except by criticism applied directly to conscious- 
 ness, that the merit and distinction of M. Renouvier's method 
 consists. Whether we are able to accept his solution of any 
 particular philosophic problem or not, his statement of it may 
 always be taken to be, as far as it goes, perfectly logical, and 
 an indispensable basis for further study.* 
 
 ' See Correspondence printed in the Appendix. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME.^ 
 
 
 EVEN more now than when it w^as first published, forty 
 years since, Prof. Carriere's classical work on the philo- 
 sophical ideas of the Renaissance or " Reformation-time " 
 appeals to the need that is felt for the kind of renewal which 
 he has himself described, by a phrase adapted from Machia- 
 velli, as a ** bringing back of philosophy towards its origin." 
 Along with the increasing specialisation of the present century 
 there has been a rising desire, as Prof. Carriere shows, to 
 attain again that largeness of outlook which has characterised 
 the beginning of each intellectual epoch and which specialisa- 
 tion by itself tends to destroy. The philosophical ideas that 
 within the properly modern period have been developed in 
 different and sometimes conflicting directions, are all present, 
 he contends, " in germinal totality," in the philosophy of the 
 transitional period from the middle of the fifteenth to the 
 middle of the seventeenth century. In Giordano Bruno, 
 the supreme philosophical expression of that period, we 
 may rediscover a view of the world as a whole which 
 was lost in the dispersion of thought during the seven- 
 teenth and eighteenth centuries, but which could not have 
 been fully understood till the various elements com- 
 bined in its original unity had been worked out in their 
 separateness. The systems of Spinoza, of Leibniz and of 
 Hegel are all developments of that which is contained 
 implicitly in Bruno. With the theory of things that Bruno 
 attained by poetic vision, but left to others to develop dialecti- 
 cally, the mystical doctrine of Jacob Bohme — who represents 
 
 » Die philottophinche Weltamchauung der Reformat iomzeit in ihren Bezie- 
 hunijen zitr Gegcuicart. Von Moriz Carrikke. Zweite vermehrte Auflage. 
 2 Theile. Leipzig : F. A. Brockhaus, 1887. Pp. xi., 419 ; vii., 319. 
 
 219 
 
 / 
 
 : 
 
250 
 
 GIORDANO BIWNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 251 
 
 :r 
 
 the freer spirit of the German Reformation as Bruno sums 
 up "^he Italian Renaissance on its philosophical side — is in 
 essential agi*eement. 
 
 It is not necessary to go as far as Prof. Carriere in seeking 
 at the opening of the history of modern philosophy an antici- 
 pation of a final doctrine, in order to recognise the justification 
 of his point of view. Whether Bruno's writings in particular 
 have had any positive influence or not, they have undoubtedly 
 the character that is claimed for them of anticipating many 
 theories of later science and philosophy. And Bruno is most 
 important in relation to the present where he is the repre- 
 sentative of the most daring aspirations of his age. Penetrated, 
 as Prof. Carriere says, with the spirit of the classical writers 
 and thinkers, he sought to form out of the fragments of 
 ancient thought and the beginnings of modern science a system 
 opposed at all points to Scholasticism or philosophy within 
 the limits of faith. He represents at once the ''return to 
 nature," that is, to the direct vision of things apart from all 
 external authority, the rejection of the "consuetudo credendi " 
 — " impedimentum maximum cognitionis," as he calls it — and 
 the "return to antiquity," that is, to the study of what had 
 already been achieved by free speculation and free artistic 
 impulse. Now this intellectual and spiritual detachment from 
 the Middle Age, in spite of the progress that has since been 
 made in the practical sphere and in every field of science, has 
 in some respects never been so complete as it was during the 
 Renaissance. What was at first gained by the insight of the 
 few has had to aflirm itself in its application to details of life 
 and thought and to diffuse itself by degrees downw^ards from 
 the sphere of higher speculation. During this process the 
 " consuetudo credendi " has reaffirmed itself in innumerable 
 reactions, and has often made the systems even of great philo- 
 sophers other than they would have been had they been 
 determined simply by free speculative activity. If then we 
 are to make a new effort at speculative construction, the 
 philosophers of the Renaissance may be of more importance 
 to us than some later and more celebrated thinkers. It is 
 true that a more exact knowledge of ancient thought, the 
 
 principal material of the men of the Renaissance, has since 
 become possible ; l)ut this does not by any means destroy the 
 interest of Renaissance speculation. Ideas derived from 
 ancient philosophy were not merely reaffirmed, but gained at 
 once in generality and concentration through the necessity of 
 opposing them to the concentrated and generalised positions 
 of an authoritative system of received doctrine. Thus it is 
 that in the period of transition before the real beginning of 
 modern philosophy with Descartes, we see better than at any 
 later period w^hat is the permanent character and tendency 
 of the higher speculation of modern times. A new way of 
 thinking as regards the whole is already clearly defined against 
 the mediaeval way of thinking ; and the influence of the 
 resisting intellectual medium in which the modern spirit is to 
 move has not yet been felt in its full complexity. 
 
 Some readers will find in Prof. Carriere himself, so far as he 
 aims at a new philosophical synthesis, a certain falling-off 
 from the Italian philosopher for whom he expresses most 
 admiration. Whether we call it a falling-off or an advance, 
 it is certain that he is not so nearly at one w^ith Bruno in his 
 answers to the highest questions as he thinks. To this we 
 shall have to return ; but first an attempt must be made to 
 give to English readers some idea of the distinctive features 
 of Prof. Carriere's book as a history of the whole period of 
 intellectual transition from the Middle Age. What is 
 especially worthy of note is the wide range of his sympathies. 
 Revivers of ancient philosophy, scientific investigators, magi- 
 cians and alchemists, pohtical thinkers, mystics and original 
 philosophers are successively passed in review, and every- 
 where we feel that the author has more than a mere external 
 interest in his subjects, that he has himself seen things in 
 turn from all the points of view that he is describing. Every 
 chapter is drawn from original sources ; and while there is no 
 want of detailed information, a clear general idea is con- 
 veyed of the meaning of each movement and the purport of 
 the doctrines of each individual thinker. The minor figures 
 of the Renaissance and the Reformation are not neglected, and 
 indications are given of the nature of the preparation for both 
 
252 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 253 
 
 movements in the later Middle Age ; the German mystics of 
 the fourteenth century in particular being dealt with at con- 
 siderable length. The biographies and the general historical 
 background make the book full of human interest. 
 
 The general introduction and conclusion being counted 
 separately, the first four chapters deal with movements, the 
 rest, except the sixth — w^hich is a short introduction on 
 " Keligion and Philosophy in Italy," placed at the beginning 
 of the second volume — with individual thinkers. The move- 
 ments dealt with are (1) the revival of Greek philosophy, (2) 
 the scientific movement and the occupation with "magic," (3) 
 the effort after social and political reform and the speculative 
 ideas in w^hich it found expression, (4) German Mysticism and 
 the Reformation. The writers who are considered to be of 
 sufficient philosophical importance to demand treatment in 
 separate chapters are Bohme, Cardan, Telesio, Bruno, Vanini, 
 and Campanella. The short sixth chapter (ii. 1-6) is chiefly 
 a study of Savonarola. 
 
 The chapter on Giordano Bruno is the longest in the book, 
 and for the author Bruno is the centre of interest. These 
 reasons might suffice to justify a critic in devoting special 
 attention to that chapter. There is, however, the additional 
 reason that the writer of the present notice will thus be discharg- 
 ing an old engagement. Prof. Carriere's general view of Bruno 
 has been adopted by the author of the English Life of Giordaiw 
 BncjiOy recently published by Messrs. Triibner, for the appear- 
 ance of which the continuation of a former article on Bruno in 
 3Iind (vol. ix.) was reserved. Such a critical estimate of 
 Bruno's philosophical position as was promised in the post- 
 script to that article nmst necessarily be stated or implied in 
 any detailed judgment on Prof. Carriere's chapter. The 
 present review, in dealing with this chapter, will accordingly 
 be at the same time a fulfilment of the promise then given. 
 In making the chapter on Bruno the main subject of criticism, 
 we shall not lose from sight Prof. Carriere's general purpose, 
 which, as has been explained, is more than merely historical, 
 being to treat the philosophers of the Renaissance and Bruno 
 in particular in their relations to the present time. His treat- 
 
 ment of Bruno is, besides, more open to criticism than his 
 treatment of philosophers for whom his admiration is less; 
 for this admiration causes him to see in Bruno greater agree- 
 ment with his own philosophico-rehgious ideas, and with 
 those of the mystics whom he equally admires, than really 
 exists. 
 
 As Prof. Carriere would have us return to Giordano Bruno 
 in order to recover a totality of view that the moderns have 
 lost, 80 he would have us return to Jacob Bohme and to the 
 German mysticsof the fourteenth century, Bohme's predecessors, 
 in order to set reformed Christianity free from the dogmatic 
 fetters imposed by Luther and Calvin. Now, of course, he 
 cannot help recognising the differences between Bruno's 
 poetical philosophy and Buhme's mystical theology; yet he 
 tries to show that in spite of all differences the Italian philo- 
 sopher and the German mystic are in agreement " in their 
 highest ideas." Above all, there is in both alike a final 
 "reconciliation of Theism and Pantheism." This recon- 
 ciliation, he contends, is to be found in Christianity rightly 
 understood. Already in the fourteenth century Eckhart, Suso 
 and Tauler had caught sight of it as by inspiration. Marsilio 
 Ficino and other Platonists of the early Italian Renaissance 
 also had glimpses of it. Towards the clearer vision of this 
 reconciliation the whole of modern philosophy has been 
 tending. Opposite ideals of life, too, are approaching their 
 reconciliation. Protestantism, favourable as it was in the end 
 to exact learning notwithstanding the dogmatic formulas by 
 which its growth was long checked, has brought about a new 
 revival of Hellenism in Germany ; and " this reawakened 
 Hellenism is no other than what the Christian Jacob Bohme 
 has depicted as the life of the new birth." 
 
 Of the manner in which " philosophical Mysticism " over- 
 comes and reconciles the opposition of " Deism " and 
 "ordinary Pantheism" two different accounts are given. 
 Sometimes it is represented as combining in a single con- 
 ception the ideas of the universe or of the Infinite, and of God 
 as " self-conscious Spirit; " sometimes as a union of the ideas 
 of the " transcendence " and the " immanence " of God. If, 
 
 \ ) 
 
254 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME, 
 
 255 
 
 however, theism and pantheism are to be combined in a single 
 conception, it is the last contrast that is all-important. God 
 may be identified with self-conscious spirit to the entire 
 exclusion of nature, which may be regarded as an illusion or 
 a mere negation, and the doctrine may still remain pure 
 pantheism. Theism, in any intelligible sense, means the idea 
 of God, in Spinoza's phrase, as '* princeps et legislator," as 
 a personal being ruling the course of things and judging the 
 actions of men. This is what seems to be meant by the 
 doctrine of " transcendence." On the other hand, what is 
 common to all forms of pantheism is the doctrine of ** im- 
 manence." The ultimate explanation that deism and mono- 
 theistic theology seek outside and above the universe, 
 pantheistic philosophy seeks within the universe. But for 
 pantheism itself there remains the opposition of nature and 
 mind, an opposition which is expressed with perfect clearness 
 by Euripides (Troades, 886) in the alternative — Ztrc, tlr dvayKn 
 0i;«T€ot,- t'tTB vovi: lipoTutVj aud therefore was not first revealed to 
 consciousness by Christianity, as Prof. Carriere almost seems to 
 hold. According as it takes one or the other side of this alterna- 
 tive, pantheistic philosophy may assume the form either of what 
 Prof. Carriere calls "naturalistic pantheism" or of what may 
 be called spiritualistic or intellectualistic pantheism ; or it may 
 seek to unite the two opposites in a single conception. Now 
 this opposition of nature and mind is that on which Prof. 
 Carriere principally dwells. When he speaks of " ordinary 
 pantheism," it is naturalistic pantheism that he means; and 
 in most cases when he speaks of the union of pantheism and 
 theism he means the union of the ideas of nature and mind. 
 As he does not clearly distinguish this opposition from that 
 of immanence and transcendence, but rather seems to regard 
 them as the same, identifying the idea of a transcendent and 
 personal God with the idea of God as intellect or spirit, it is 
 necessary to consider separately how far there is an effort at 
 reconciliation of either pair of opposites on the part of Bruno 
 and of the Christian mystics. 
 
 Now there is no doubt that Christian Mysticism really 
 affirms a Deity who is at once immanent and transcendent, 
 
 or in the universe and above the universe. The mystics 
 identify the transcendent and personal God of theology with 
 an internal divine principle manifested in nature and in the 
 human mind. Thus they may be said to combine, if they do 
 not reconcile, the theistic with the pantheistic position. The 
 pantheistic element of their doctrine, however, tends to gain 
 the mastery ; hence accusations of heterodoxy against the 
 mystics. Prof. Carriere himself sometimes seems to reject 
 altogether the idea of an extra-mundane Deity, and in one 
 place he ascribes this rejection to Bohme ; yet in other places 
 he affirms it as the necessary complement of the pantheistic 
 element of his doctrine. The consistent pantheism of Spinoza 
 rejects the idea of a transcendent God altogether, but at the 
 same time seeks to unite the conceptions of nature and mind 
 by making thought and extension attributes of the same 
 substance. Is Bruno to be classed with Spinoza, or, as Prof. 
 Carriere contends, with the Christian mystics ? 
 
 According to Prof. Carriere there is evidence of development 
 in Bruno's writings. In the De Umbris Idcarum he is a 
 Platonic Idealist ; afterwards, in the Italian works composed 
 in England, he gives clear expression to naturalistic Pan- 
 theism ; finally, in the Frankfort books, and especially in the 
 De Ivimenso, the theistic element becomes distinct. If then 
 in the De Imimnso Bruno not merely leaves aside but posi- 
 tively rejects the doctrine of transcendence, this is conclusive 
 against Prof. Carriere's contention for the theistic character 
 of his doctrine. 
 
 That there are passages in the De Immenso obviously 
 directed against the New Testament miracles and the doctrine 
 of the Incarnation, as well as the mysteries special to Catho- 
 licism, may not by itself be sufficient to prove that Bruno does 
 not hold the doctrine of transcendence in common with the 
 Christian mystics. Even a passage such as this is perhaps 
 not decisive, though the very idea of miracle in the sense in 
 which its possibility at least must be admitted by a theist, is 
 rejected precisely in the spirit of Spinoza. Referring to 
 comets, of which he gives a naturafistic explanation correct 
 in principle, Bruno says : — 
 
 :ii 
 i 
 
 1 
 
256 
 
 GIOBDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 *• Some fly to a virtue above and beyond the natural, saying that a God 
 who is above nature creates those appearances in heaven in order to signify 
 something to us : as if those things are not better and the best signs of the 
 divinity which come to pass in the ordinary course, among which those 
 appearances also are not disorderly ; although their order may be concealed 
 from us : but with prophets of this kind we do not speak, nor shall we be 
 careful to answer them where it is not necessary to speak without sense and 
 reason." {De Immenso, iv. 9.) 
 
 In the last book of the De Imiiienso, however, there is still 
 more unambiguous evidence of Bruno's position. For a great 
 part of this book is a polemic against the doctrine of trans- 
 cendence as it was held by Palingenius and other Platonists. 
 There is no " supernal," " intelligible," " immaterial " light, 
 Bruno tells the Platonists, such as they imagine outside the 
 world, no light except that which shines within the mind and 
 outside us in nature — 
 
 •• Quae importunissima pulsat 
 Pectora, quseque intus nobis splendescit et extra." 
 
 " Nature " is the name for a principle that is within things ; 
 and the law by which all things accomplish their course 
 {lex qua j^eragunt inoin'mm cuncta entia cursiim) is nothing 
 but a logical abstraction (ahstractum quiddam logica ratione). 
 The whole is summed up thus : — 
 
 •• God is infinite in the infinite, everywhere in all things, not above, not 
 without, but most present, as entity is not outside and above beings, as 
 nature is not outside natural things, as there is no goodness outside that 
 which is good. But essence is distinguished from being only logically, and 
 as reason from that of which it is the reason." 
 
 f 
 
 
 Passages such as these throw light on the distinction, which 
 in various forms is sufiBciently frequent in Bruno, between 
 God as absolute intellect and the manifestation of God in 
 nature and in the human mind. When, for example, he dis- 
 tinguishes truth ' before things," " in things " and " after 
 things," he is applying in the sense of his own philosophy a 
 traditional logical distinction recognised by him as no more 
 than logical. By the distinction of God as absolute from the 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME, 
 
 257 
 
 knowledge of God is expressed the imperfection of all actual 
 conceptions of the divinity as compared with their ideal com- 
 pletion. Thus in the Eroici Ficrori the mind is represented 
 as striving to identify itself with the absolute unity of the 
 divine intellect, and as constantly baffled in this desire of 
 unattainable knowledge. Nature or the infinite universe as 
 distinguished from the divinity itself is variously called the 
 "image," the "shadow," the "simulacrum" or the "attri- 
 bute " of the primal intellect, w^hich may manifest itself by 
 other attributes, all of which must be infinite and eternal. 
 The possible existence of unknown attributes (on which, for 
 the rest, Bruno does not dwell) again necessitates the distinc- 
 tion of God as absolute from the manifestation or " reflexion " 
 of God in things. 
 
 This may perhaps in one sense be called a doctrine of 
 " transcendence," but it is not to be confounded with the 
 theistic " transcendence," which implies a possible super- 
 natural or miraculous. When Bruno speaks of a God who 
 is known by supernatural light (as, for example, in Delia 
 Causa, ed. Wagner, i. 275) it is as an object of faith, with which 
 philosophy is not concerned ; and he sufficiently explains his 
 attitude towards faith elsewhere. Although, however, there 
 is no distinctively theistic element in Bruno, Prof. Carriere is 
 right in insisting that his doctrine is not simply a naturalistic 
 pantheism. Just as much as Spinoza, though in a different 
 way, he seeks to overcome the dualism of nature and mind. 
 And the conjecture that there is a development in his writings 
 from a more naturalistic to a more spiritualistic doctrine is in 
 itself plausible; for, in a passage of Delia Causa, "Teofilo," 
 the representative of Bruno, declares that he once inclined to 
 the opinion of " Democritus and the Epicureans," w^ho say 
 that that w^hich is not body is nothing, and who consequently 
 will have it that matter alone is the substance of things and 
 is also the divine nature, as was said by Avicebron in the 
 Fons VitcB ; but that, having more maturely considered, he 
 had found that it is necessary to recognise two kinds of 
 substance — " matter " and " form " (Wagner, i. 251). Never- 
 theless there seems to be no evidence in Bruno's existing 
 
 18 
 
 :i 
 
 ! 
 
 f: 
 
 
258 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 U 
 
 writings of such a development. Both sides of his doctrine 
 are already clearly present in the De Umhris Idearum. The 
 Eroici Furor i, pnhlished in London, is chiefly expressive of 
 its spiritualistic or Platonist side. And in the Frankfort books 
 there are expressions of its naturalistic side identical with 
 those of Delia Causa. 
 
 The truth seems to be that before writing anything philoso- 
 phical Bruno had arrived at the pantheistic doctrine of which 
 an expression, as of something already familiar to him, is 
 found in the dedication of his Italian comedv II Candelaio and 
 
 ft/ 
 
 in some elegiacs at the end of the De Umbris Idearum. In 
 these condensed expressions the stress is laid on the unity 
 and permanence of substance and the eternity of vicissitude. 
 Vicissitude, according to Bruno's philosophy, is possible only 
 by the coincidence of contraries in the one Principle of things. 
 The one Principle, the identity of unity and infinite number, 
 becomes explicit in the productive energies and varied forms 
 of nature. Nature produces the human mind, and the mind 
 seeks to return, by intellectual concentration, to the unity of 
 its principle. Thus the source of things and the end to which 
 they aspire are one and the same. 
 
 A more correct interpretation of the doctrine of which this 
 is an outline has been arrived at by M. Renouvier in his 
 Classification systhiiatique des Doctrines philosophiqiies when 
 he describes Bruno as the most consistent of all pan- 
 theists in so far as he most explicitly makes the con- 
 trast of good and evil vanish with all other contrasts 
 in the Absolute, than by Prof. Carriere when he sees in 
 it theistic elements. That this consistent pantheism does 
 not lead to a moral indifference such as M. Renouvier thinks 
 ought to be its consequence, is evident, however, from the 
 passages in which Bruno touches upon ethical questions. In 
 the Spaccio he pronounces a strong condemnation on all that 
 in modern times has been called " Machiavellism," with 
 obvious reference to some positions of Machiavelli himself 
 (Wagner, ii. 217). Like Lucretius, he has in view the ethical 
 applications of his philosophy ; showing how it " takes away 
 the dark veil of the mad opinion concerning Orcus and the 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND EIS TIME. 259 
 
 gi-eedy Charon," how it destroys the fables that are related 
 of maleficent gods, - the dogmas of the sycophants "— 
 
 " Absona quae ingenio, et sensu constantia nuUo 
 Humanam turbant pacem seclique quietem, 
 Extinguunt mentis lucem neque moribu' prosunt. 
 
 j> 
 
 His attacks on historical Christianity are above all on ethical 
 grounds, and it is especially the practical accompaniments of 
 the creed in his own day that move his indignation. His 
 Bestia Trionfantc, in one of its significations, has precisely 
 the meaning that modern criticism finds in Voltaire's Infdme. 
 Among the manifestations of the monster, the chiefs of the 
 Catholic Reaction are not obscurely indicated. 
 
 The general nature of Bruno's treatment of theological 
 mysteries in the Spai:cio and of his " Euhemeristic " theory 
 of mythology is very well brought out by Prof. Carriere, 
 though he does not perhaps quite see that intellectually Bruno 
 was specially hostile to the three monotheistic Semitic religions, 
 for the reason that he found more easily in polytheism an 
 exoteric expression of one side of his philosophy. In his 
 attitude towards theolog>^ to judge from one passage (ii. 99), 
 Prof. Carriere supposes that there was a development— his 
 later books being less contrary to the faith than his earlier— 
 and that this development is established by Bruno's own 
 words before the Inquisition at Venice. Prof. Carriere's 
 interpretation, however, is not borne out by the passage in 
 the documents that seems to be referred to (Berti, Vita di 
 Giordano Brnno, p. 353). And, as a matter of fact, the Latin 
 poems, while they contain fewer passages directed against 
 theological doctrines than the Spaccio and the Cabala, contain 
 more than Delia Causa and Dell' Infinito, to which in their 
 general subject-matter they closely correspond. 
 
 There are, no doubt, variations of mood in Bruno's attitude 
 towards Christianity; but not such as indicate any real 
 change of mind. When he speaks favourably of "the 
 theologians " it is on the supposition that they are willing 
 to tolerate philosophy and even to recognise it as superior to 
 theology. The religion of philosophy is for the few, the 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 II 
 
260 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME, 
 
 
 religion of faith for the many, who are unable to rise to 
 philosophic virtue or have not sufficient natural goodness to 
 act rightly without external law. By those who are only 
 capable of faith and not of reason, the moral precepts of 
 religion must be accepted as commands, and the theologians, 
 having practice alone in view, may attach to them as sanctions 
 doctrines which the philosophers from the point of view of 
 free speculation may reject. But when false leaders arise 
 who, seeking their own gain under the pretext of promoting 
 religion, teach that the gods care only for the beliefs of men, 
 when they extol ignorance and credulity as superior to know- 
 ledge and reason, and persecute those who hold other opinions, 
 they are to be regarded as Hydras and Chimaeras worse than 
 those of old time ; and to overcome them is the task of the 
 heroes of the present world. " True fathers and shepherds 
 of the people" have never prejudiced the liberty of philo- 
 sophers. 
 
 This attitude of Bruno explains perfectly his partial sub- 
 mission to the Church before the Venetian tribunal. As Prof. 
 Carriere says, he had no intention of recanting his philo- 
 sophical ideas. " He recanted his ecclesiastical heresies, not 
 his philosophy." And in return for this purely formal sub- 
 mission in matters of theology, he wished to be free to pursue 
 his philosophical career, not merely as a student but as a 
 writer, without molestation. His hope was that the fury of 
 the Cathohc reaction had abated, and that the new Pope, 
 who was said to be favourable to learning, might accept the 
 dedication of a book he had just composed. Some have found 
 a difficulty in reconciling with this submission his subsequent 
 refusal to recant certain propositions drawn from his writings. 
 The difference, however, from Bruno's point of view, between 
 a submission to the Church in theology, implying only that he 
 had no intention of directly attacking the popular faith and 
 was not an adherent of any new sect, and the unconditional 
 recantation of propositions of his own philosophy, seems 
 sufficiently obvious. 
 
 At the end of his exposition Prof. Carriere makes some 
 interesting and instructive comparisons of Bruno with later 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 261 
 
 philosophers. The analogy with Spinoza has always been the 
 first to suggest itself. This analogy Prof. Carriere draws out 
 in the manner already indicated. In Bruno he finds the 
 original harmony of the doctrines of the unity of the world 
 and the individuahty of its parts that were developed in a 
 one-sided manner by Spinoza and Leibniz ; and he further 
 contends that to the Spinozistic notion of substance Bruno 
 added the conception of a divine " self -consciousness." This 
 last contention, although not admissible in the precise form 
 in which Prof. Carriere defends it, has yet an element of truth. 
 Bruno, hke Spinoza, calls the extended world an " attribute" 
 of God ; but with Bruno thought is not simply an attribute 
 parallel with extension, but, as absolute, is identified with 
 God himself. The idea of personahty, or of " self-conscious- 
 ness " in the special sense, is no more present, however, in 
 Bruno's doctrine than in Spinoza's. The doctrine of absolute 
 thought as the unity from which all things proceed and to 
 which they aspire according to the degree of their perfection, 
 is the spiritualistic side of Bruno's pantheism. On the other 
 side, he also identifies Nature, in one of its meanings, with 
 God. "Natura est Deus in rebus." Nature, again, is some- 
 times identified with matter, and from matter all forms of 
 things are said to proceed ; nature, as an " internal artist," 
 producing the more perfect from the less perfect. By 
 '• matter " is not to be understood here the matter of the 
 Epicureans, but matter as coinciding in the absolute with 
 ** form," or matter to each element of which is joined an 
 element of spirit, so that the world is animated as a whole and 
 in every part. It is to express this side of his doctrine and 
 not the properly spiritualistic or intellectuahstic side that he 
 quotes the well-known lines of Virgil, ending—" Mens agitat 
 molem et magno se corpore miscet." By the substitution of 
 *• toto " for *• magno " — a variation which always occurs in his 
 quotation of this hne— the idea of the universal animation of 
 the world, rather than of its direction by intelligence, is still 
 more accentuated. The notion of intelHgence as directing 
 things finds its expression in the identification of Fate with 
 Providence ; but the perfection of the world which is said to 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
262 
 
 GIORDANO BBUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 i 
 
 ri^ 
 
 ■ 
 
 ]') 
 
 m 
 
 be its final cause is not an ultimate state, but is the actuali- 
 sation of all possibilities. In the theory of particular 
 things, of the life of animals, for example, this doctrine 
 becomes what is now known as the doctrine of " internal 
 teleology." All things seek their own preservation according 
 to the knowledge they have of that which is conformable or 
 opposed to their nature. The actions of ants and spiders, for 
 example, are not directed from without by " unerring divine 
 intelligences," but from within " by their own prudence and 
 artifice." What seems extraordinary in the actions of some 
 animals, Bruno suggests, may be explained by supposing that 
 they have senses which man has not. In what relates to the 
 souls of individual things, Prof. Carriere has noticed especially 
 resemblances to Leibniz. As the terms ** mode " and ** attri- 
 bute " are used incidentally by Bruno in the Spinozistic sense, 
 so the terms "vioiias" and '^Monas monad%ivi' are used by him 
 in the Leibnizian sense. He also puts forth the Leibnizian 
 doctrine that no two individual things in the universe are 
 absolutely alike. The principle of " the coincidence of con- 
 traries," derived immediately from Nicholas of Cusa, by 
 which he combines the opposite terms of his pantheism — the 
 indivisible intellectual unity to which the mind aspires and the 
 infinite multiplicity of a universally animated nature, has 
 obvious resemblances to the dialectic of Hegel. Individual 
 things are represented as all in perpetual mutation, some 
 approaching and some receding from the absolute unity; every 
 soul or central monad occupying in turn all positions in " the 
 wheel of metamorphosis." If those interpreters of Hegel are 
 right who say that he teaches no real evolution in time but 
 only a " dialectical " evolution, then Bruno's philosophical 
 doctrine is more nearly than Hegel's an anticipation of the 
 tendency of modern science. 
 
 In his attitude towards science, as Prof. Carriere says, 
 Giordano Bruno is a guiding star for philosophers. The con- 
 fidence with which he took up the Copernican astronomy into 
 his system, has been entirely justified by the succeeding 
 centuries. That theory, in his day, was in the position of the 
 theory of organic evolution before Darwin ; and it ought to 
 
 GIOBDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 263 
 
 be remembered that he not only accepted the theory of 
 Copernicus but made an extension of it which has also 
 become a permanent scientific possession. Isolated sugges- 
 tions of ideas that have since become important or celebrated 
 have frequently been pointed out. The saying, for example, 
 that the moderns are in reality older than the ancients, occurs 
 in Bruno. The preference he expressed for the earlier philo- 
 sophers of Greece in physics and metaphysics, while allowing 
 the supremacy of Aristotle in " the humanistic sciences," has 
 been shared by many later students. He in a manner antici- 
 pated ** the Cartesian doubt," as is pointed out by Prof. 
 Carriere, though he did not make it the beginning of a 
 systematic theory of knowledge. In all that relates to 
 '* theory of knowledge," indeed, it must be admitted that 
 Bruno remains outside the specifically modern philosophic 
 movement. The modern distinction of subject and object, 
 dating from Descartes, could not of course be present to him 
 This makes it difficult to compare his philosophy with any 
 system that starts from Cartesianism. His general doctrine, 
 when compared with Spinoza's parallelism of the attributes 
 of extension and thought, appears to be predominatingly 
 idealistic ; and this brings him nearer in some respects to 
 later philosophy ; but his idealism cannot be identified with 
 any form of post- Cartesian idealism. At the same time it is 
 not mere Platonism. Bruno's doctrine of matter in Delia 
 Causa is alone sufficient to distinguish him from the ordinary 
 Platonists. 
 
 The ideas of his philosophy, like those of the pantheistic 
 philosophy of the Kenaissance in general, are of course 
 largely drawn from Neo-Platonist sources. And his medi- 
 aeval precursors in the theory of matter — Avicebron and 
 David of Dinant — had started also from Platonism. Bruno, 
 however, does not suppose himself to be simply passing 
 on their theory, as has sometimes been assumed, but, 
 while commending them for what they affirm as to the per- 
 manence of the material principle of things, finds their 
 mode of expression inadequate, as not taking account of the 
 formal principle which is eternally conjoined with matter, but 
 
 
 ') I 
 
264 
 
 GIOBDANO BE UNO AND HIS TIME, 
 
 
 only of accidental forms. With Bruno's doctrine of matter 
 goes his substitution of an evolution-theory for the emanation- 
 theories of the Neo-Platonists. Here he was probably in- 
 fluenced by the Stoics, and by the earlier philosophers of 
 Greece, whom he constantly cites. Indeed there was no form 
 of speculative thought known to his age by which he was 
 entirely uninfluenced. This receptiveness is joined with an 
 equally remarkable freedom. Of the submission of the spirit 
 to external authority not a trace remains. His laudatory 
 citations from all sources — philosophical and poetical, orthodox 
 and heterodox, classical and biblical — are above all the expres- 
 sion of an intellectual or aesthetic admiration. In a writer of 
 the sixteenth century this is at first sufliciently surprising; but 
 it is characteristic of the freer spirits of the time. The re- 
 actionary return of the past is illustrated when, in the next 
 age, we find Campanella, some of whose speculations have so 
 much affinity with Bruno's, laboriously establishing his points 
 by quotations from the Fathers. We moderns. Prof. Carriere 
 says in commenting on this, have no longer any conception 
 of the despotism of authority that then reigned. It ought to 
 be added that for a brief interval and by a small number of 
 minds this despotism had been thrown ofi*, though long efibrts 
 were required before the more widely extended emancipation 
 of modern times could be attained and made practically 
 secure. 
 
 Whatever criticisms it may have been necessary to make on 
 Prof. Carriere' s general view of Bruno's doctrine, the gi'eat 
 merits of his exposition are beyond dispute ; and much of the 
 spirit of Bruno has passed into the translations of verse from 
 the Frankfort books and the Eroici Fiirori. The life has of 
 course been re-written so as to include the results of all the 
 documents published since 1846. For illustration of the 
 sources and historical relations of Bruno's single ideas Bar- 
 tholmess must still be read ; while Prof. Carriere's treatment 
 of the whole philosophical history of the age supplies fuller 
 information as to his intellectual surroundings and immediate 
 antecedents. The only fault of the chapter on Bruno as a 
 hterary and philosophical study is the tendency that has 
 
 GIOBDANO BBUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 265 
 
 already been remarked to tone down some of his distinctive 
 ideas. That this is not entirely without eftect on the details 
 may be briefly shown by comparison of the last pages of Prof. 
 Carriere's systematic exposition of the philosophy (ii. 160-2) 
 with the passage in the dedication of UcW Infinito of which 
 it is for the most part a somewhat condensed translation. 
 Here is a portion of the passage as given by Prof. Carriere : — 
 
 "We fear not, therefore, that the multiplicity of things on this earth by 
 the power of some black wandering demon, or by the anger of a thundering 
 Jupiter, should be hurled out of this dome and shattered and dispersed 
 beyond this vault of heaven or crumble to dust outside the starry mantle 
 above us ; for nature cannot perish in essence, and vanishes only in appear- 
 ance, hke the air in a burst bubble. There is no succesaion of things without 
 an eternal ground, a Jirst and a last. There are no Hmits and walls that 
 should confine the infinite and bound its fulness." 
 
 The sentences to which these correspond in Bruno are as 
 follows : — 
 
 " We fear not that that which is accumulated in this world, by the 
 vehemence of some wandering spirit, or by the anger of some thundering 
 Jupiter, should be dispersed out of this vault or dome of heaven, or shaken 
 and scattered as in dust out of this starry mantle, and the nature of things 
 not otherNvise become void in substance than to the appearance of our eyes 
 that air which was comprised within the concavity of a bubble is dissipated ; 
 for there is knoicn to us a world in which for ever thing succeeds thing, neither 
 is there any ultimate profound, from ichcnce, as from the hand of the smith, 
 they should irreparably vanish into nothingness. There are no limits, terms, 
 margins, walls, that should defraud us or withdraw from us the infinite 
 fulness of things." 
 
 The remainder of the passage concludes from the infinite 
 power of God that the universe, or eternal image of God, must 
 be infinite also, on the ground that in God will and power, 
 act and possibihty, coincide. The last sentences are thus 
 expounded by Prof. Carriere: — 
 
 '• Not vain is the power of the understanding to add space to space, unity 
 to unity, mass to mass, number to number ; thereby it breaks the chain of 
 the finite and raises itself to the freedom of the infinite ; thereby it is loosed 
 from the poverty and exults in the riches of hfe, and no Pluto can hold it 
 imprisoned, no sphere bound it. Nature is an all-fertile mother, and God 
 i» not envious but is love itself," 
 
 ; 
 
 )\ 
 
266 
 
 GIORDANO BRUNO AND HIS TIME. 
 
 i I 
 
 i 
 
 I !' 
 
 In Bruno they are as follows : — 
 
 " So that not vain is this power of intellect which ever will and can add 
 space to space, mass to mass, unit}' to unity, number to number, by that 
 science that unbinds us from the chains of a most narrow and promotes us 
 to the liberty of a most august empire ; that takes us from the believed 
 poverty and narrowness to the innumerable riches of so great a space, of so 
 worthy a field, of so many cultivated worlds ; and lets not circle of horizon 
 counterfeited by the eye on earth and feigned by fantasy in the spacious 
 ether imprison our spirit under the wardship of a Pluto and the compassion 
 of a Jove. We are exempt from the care of so rich a possessor and then so 
 parsimonious, sordid and avaricious a giver, and from the nurture of a so 
 fertile and all-pregnant and then so meanly and miserably parturient 
 Nature." 
 
 Now, of course, as Prof. Carriere is not ostensibly trans- 
 lating from Deir Infinito, but is using it as material for his 
 own interpretation, he has a right to make alterations. The 
 words omitted from the passages just quoted, and a sentence 
 praising ** Democritus and Epicurus," which is omitted from 
 the intermediate passage, may seem to Prof. Carriere incon- 
 gruous or not characteristic ; as, perhaps, according to his 
 theistic interpretation of Bruno, they are. And he could find 
 support for the words substituted. The reason why his 
 variations in this particular case have been cited is to indicate 
 exactly where he may seem to readers who do not approach 
 the subject with his pre-suppositions to fall short of perfect 
 appreciation of Bruno's way of thinking. Within the limits 
 imposed by the desire to approximate the philosopher of Nola 
 to the Christian mystics, neither his general interpretation nor 
 his detailed exposition could be better. 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTER.^ 
 
 THE extremely suggestive speculations of this last work of 
 Prof. Delboeuf have their foundation partly in the psy- 
 chological conclusions of his immediately preceding work, Le 
 Sommeil et les Bt'ves (reviewed by Mr. Sully in Mind, No. 45), 
 partly in his psycho-physical theories. His physical and his 
 psychological ideas find their point of union in the general 
 doctrine stated in the first chapter of the present essay. In 
 opposition to the prevailing " philosophy of men of science" 
 that starts with lifeless atoms and regards life and mind as 
 the result of their combination, the author assumes that life is 
 coeval with the universe, and that the lifeless can only be ex- 
 plained from the living. Inorganic matter and its "fatal" 
 actions are a " residue "of " vital," •* intelligent," " free " 
 actions. All the matter of the universe was primitively vital ; 
 and ** intelligence is the true demiurgus " ; for it is by the free 
 action of intelligence that the transformation of living into 
 dead matter is retarded. 
 
 We know what it is to be alive, but we do not know what it 
 is to be dead. It is death, therefore, not life, that needs ex- 
 planation. The explanation is to be sought in a study of the 
 processes of nutrition, generation and birth. From the study 
 of nutrition we may perhaps learn what distinguishes living 
 from not-living matter and how one is transformed into the 
 other. And the problem of death is bound up with the pro- 
 blems of birth and generation ; for death implies birth, though 
 
 * La Mntilre brute et la Matiere vivante. Etude sur I'Origine de la Vie et 
 de la Mort. Par J. Delboeuf, Professeur a I'Universite de Liege. Paris ; F. 
 Alcan, 1887. Pp. 184. 
 
 987 
 
 : 
 
 I 
 
f 
 
 268 
 
 DEAD MAT TEE AND LIVING MATTEB. 
 
 ill 
 
 birth does not imply death. That which has a beginning will 
 not necessarily have an end, but that which has an end must 
 have had a beginning. 
 
 In his chemi co-physiological study of nutrition, which, as he 
 says, in its positive part merely summarises (but in a very 
 luminous and interesting way) the results of science, the 
 author arrives at the general conclusion that living matter 
 is "relatively unstable," dead matter "relatively stable." 
 " Food" is defined as " a substance which, introduced into the 
 organism, divides itself into two parts : one, more unstable, 
 which is assimilated ; the other, more stable, of which a part 
 is deposited, for example, in shells, teguments, the skeleton, 
 <fec., and of which the other part is eliminated." The " un- 
 stable " part is that which retains most " potential energy." 
 The transformation of " stable " matter into "unstable" that 
 takes place during the assimilation of food is necessary 
 because, during the activity of the organism, forces are con- 
 stantly becoming " fixed," and with this " fixation of force " 
 goes " the stabilisation of matter." Psychologically, what 
 corresponds to "fixed" force or " stabiHsed " matter is the 
 definitely organised portion of the mental life, the perceptions 
 that have become memories of the past, the acts of will that 
 have become organised into habit. In the nervous system 
 there is a stable portion that has been already utilised and an 
 unstable portion that is still disposable. The tendency is to 
 greater " stabilisation." Nutrition cannot continue for ever to 
 replace the lost potentialities of change. Thus there arrives a 
 time when the organism no longer retains the capacity of 
 transforming itself. Its " relative stabilisation " has reached 
 the degree known as "death." 
 
 The division into a free or " unstable " and a " mechanical " 
 part on which it depends for its specific and individual cha- 
 racters only appears in the higher organisms. And a higher 
 organism is not completely unstable even at the beginning of 
 its life. There is a " mechanism transmitted by generation," 
 which is " the will and intelligence of ancestors." In every 
 individual there is a psychological "nucleus" of instinct or 
 hereditary habit. And, physiologically, the ovum is not in- 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTEB. 
 
 269 
 
 different, but has a tendency to grow into a certain specific 
 and individual form. What is made possible by the process 
 of generation is the recovery, for another individual, of a 
 portion of the " instability " that pre-existing individuals must 
 lose. True or sexual generation is itself made possible by the 
 specialisation that is the result of cell-division. Death of the 
 individual, as has been seen, is the consequence of the speciali- 
 sation of a complex organism, its division into a stable and an 
 unstable part, and of the tendency of the latter to become 
 stable, so that no further change is possible. Generation is 
 now seen to be the correlative of death. For only by the 
 double process of death and generation is the continued 
 existence of specialising organisms possible. In the case of 
 those unspecialised organisms that multiply by "fission" 
 there is " birth," but, as there is no true (that is, sexual) 
 generation, so there is no " death," except from external 
 accidents. These lowest forms of life are "immortal." We 
 cannot apply to them " the integral notion of natural death," 
 for they "leave no corpse." "But also we cannot apply ta 
 them the complex notion of individuality, physical or psychical, 
 since this comprises indivisibility and mechanism." 
 
 The discussion of individuality in its relation to generation 
 naturally suggests the question. What is permanent in the 
 individual ? Is it a certain portion of matter, an atom or a 
 group of atoms, already present in the germ and unchanged 
 through life, or is it merely a certain form ? Can we suppose, 
 as physiologists usually do, that all the matter of the organism 
 is " fluent,'' and that physical and psychical identity is still 
 preserved, or does individual identity require some material 
 substratum however small ? The author inclines to the second 
 alternative. He shows that there is no absolute proof that at 
 the end of a certain time (usually fixed at seven years) every 
 particle of matter in the body has been exchanged with another 
 from outside. It is possible that the matter of the " stable " 
 parts is more persistent than physiologists suppose ; and the 
 supposition that a certain portion of germinal matter persists 
 from birth to death is incapable of disproof. The whole body, 
 it is suggested, may be regarded as "a single molecule of 
 
 'r 
 
 i 
 
 1^' 
 
 .1 
 
? 
 
 270 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTER. 
 
 infinite complication " consisting of atoms collected around 
 itself by the germinal group on which depends the identity of 
 the organism. This theory is not fully worked out, but, as far 
 as it goes, it is strikingly similar to the theory recently elabo- 
 rated by M. Burnouf in La Vie ct la Pensee (see Mind, xii. 
 302). 
 
 In Prof. Delboeuf's general speculation, however, the con- 
 ception of a " inonad " as the basis of life and thought is not 
 characteristic. What is distinctive of his theory so far as it 
 relates to the ultimate constitution of things, is his substitu- 
 tion of the atoms of Empedocles for the atoms of Democritus. 
 '* The primordial elements of the universe are endowed with 
 sensibility, intelligence and liberty." The primitive state, in 
 which they wandered at hazard, is that which the poets have 
 called "chaos." It has only a hypothetical existence; for, 
 immediately after their birth, the elements collided with one 
 another, and, affected in their sensibility, applied their intelli- 
 gence and their liberty to flee disagreeable and to seek out 
 agreeable encounters. Thus they created for themselves sym- 
 pathies and antipathies, affinities and repugnances, loves and 
 hatreds. They began to enter into unions with one another, 
 sacrificing part of their liberty for the sake of relative peace, 
 and forming ** habits," which became the laws of the universe. 
 Every sensation is the accompaniment of a precipitation of the 
 unstable into the stable. *• Laws are the residues of acts 
 primitively free." At first the elements were infinite in 
 number, and each was infinitesimally different from all the 
 rest. Insensibly this infinite primitive variety gave place to 
 groups of substances capable of harmonising, and, among the 
 groups formed, differences more and more profound manifested 
 themselves. Organic molecules were formed, and, in special 
 agglomerations of these, liberty, intelligence and sensibility 
 became more and more concentrated. 
 
 Every transformation ends by replacing the transformable 
 by the untransformable. The exercise of life precipitates the 
 unstable into the stable, the living into the dead. Life, 
 indeed, passes from body to body. Dead or relatively stable 
 matter is transformed into living or relatively unstable matter ; 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTER. 
 
 271 
 
 but this "is only possible at the expense of an inverse and 
 greater precipitation of the unstable into the stable. With 
 true corpses, if such there were, life could never be re-made.' 
 The evolution of the universe is therefore from absolute in- 
 stability to absolute stability. Primitively, " every individual 
 was a species," and there were no harmonising groups. When 
 every particle of the universe has taken up a final position in 
 relation to all the rest, there will be a single universal intelli- 
 gence having clear consciousness of the whole universe as a 
 single organism. This is the final term of the transformation 
 of things. 
 
 The law of " the fixation of force " from which Prof. Delboeuf 
 draws the conclusion that the transformations of the universe 
 must have a term is for him both a psychological and a physical 
 law. Its physical expression is of course the law of the " dis- 
 sipation " or " degradation " of energy. The author has sought 
 the solution of the problem of deaf,h, he tells us, '• in that great 
 law, the conquest of our century, according to which every- 
 thing precipitates itself towards its own destruction in spite of, 
 and because of, the very efforts it makes to maintain itself." 
 That this law, if applied to the sum of things, requires a final 
 term, is incontestable. It may be contended, however, that a 
 different kind of final term would be more logically deduced. 
 Instability, defect of equihbrium. Prof. Delboeuf says in one 
 place, ♦* is something," while stabihty is only a kind of residue 
 from which nothing more can be obtained. From this it 
 seems to follow that the end of things, being absolute stability, 
 must be the " absolute death " affirmed as the end in Main- 
 lander's pessimistic Philosophy of Redemption (see above). If 
 the whole process of things consists in a perpetual diminution 
 of *• free " force, then the unity of the world ought to be 
 placed, as it is by Mainliinder, at the beginning and not at the 
 end. The more the theoretical basis of the Philosophy of 
 Redemption is examined, the more clearly it will be seen to be 
 a perfectly coherent (perhaps the only coherent) metaphysical 
 doctrine starting from the assumption of the law of the degra- 
 dation of energy as the most generalised expression of cosmical 
 change. 
 
 
 M 
 
 I 
 
 
f 
 
 I I 
 
 1 
 
 272 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTER. 
 
 The precise extension of this law, however, is still a matter 
 of dispute among physicists. "We may safely say that the law 
 of the degradation of energy is not co-ordinate with the law of 
 the conservation of energy, but is true only under special, 
 and as yet imperfectly defined, conditions. Those who, like 
 Prof. Delboeuf, apply it to the whole, ought to define clearly 
 their assumptions as to the constitution of the whole. On 
 slightly different suppositions, would not the process of things 
 take the form of a cycle rather than of a movement from an 
 absolute beginning to an absolute end ? 
 
 In Prof. Delboeuf's theory of the relations of stable and 
 unstable matter, and of " mechanism " and free intelligence, 
 there is both a speculative element and a positive element. 
 The speculative element consists partly in the theory of the 
 whole process of things that has just been discussed, partly in 
 a theory that acts of free intelligence or will are strictly un- 
 determined. The distinction between the stable and the un- 
 stable, it is clear, is not bound up with the assumption that 
 when once a certain portion of force is fixed, the possibilities 
 of change are for ever diminished by so much. And, similarly, 
 the rejection of indeterminism does not affect the psychological 
 distinction drawn between "free" intelligence and fixed habit 
 or ** mechanism." The doctrine to which Prof. Delboeuf's 
 theory is really opposed is not determinism, but the doctrine 
 that regards mechanism or unconscious habit as an expression 
 of the perfection of an organism, and consciousness as a sort 
 of aberration expressive of defective function. Again, the 
 psychological distinction of mechanical habit and free intelli- 
 gence can be maintained independently of any attempt to dis- 
 cover a corresponding objective distinction, such as that 
 between stable and unstable matter ; though this last distinc- 
 tion, of course, has a value of its own. It may be regarded as 
 an expression in terms of chemistry and molecular physics of 
 what has already been expressed physiologically in Prof. 
 Herzen's "physical law of consciousness." With the whole 
 exposition of the relations of stable and unstable matter, 
 Prof. Herzen's recent statement of his psycho-physical law (in 
 his Conditions i)hysiqiies de la Conscience) ought to be compared. 
 
 DEAD MATTER AND LIVING MATTER. 
 
 273 
 
 The two expositions illustrate the convergence of different 
 lines of thought to the same result. They also show the 
 illusory character of the attempt to make unconsciousness 
 superior to consciousness. The formation of a mental 
 " habit," the " fixation " of a portion of force, or the " stabili- 
 sation " of a portion of matter, may of course indicate a psy- 
 chological advance ; but (as Prof. Herzen shows in opposition 
 to Dr. Maudsley) this advance does not consist in the trans- 
 formation itself of intelligence into habit or instinct, but in the 
 making possible, by the new habit, of a new kind of free con- 
 sciousness superior to that which was possible before. 
 
 The more speculative parts of Prof. Delboeuf's essay are, as 
 has been already said, put forth by him simply as speculations. 
 He does not bring them into definite comparison, on philoso- 
 phical grounds, with the type of speculation to which he 
 opposes them, but is content to claim for them equal possi- 
 bility. Such comparison would not be unprofitable. Much 
 might be said of the relation of his general point of view 
 to idealism, and of the relation of his physical to his psy- 
 chological speculations. The philosophical value of the essay 
 is, however, less in any completed metaphysical doctrine than 
 in its varied suggestions. In view of this, it will perhaps be 
 best to refrain from further criticism, and not attempt to fix 
 in a rigid form what is for the author an attempt to break 
 through the limits of one dogmatism rather than to construct 
 another. 
 
 
 19 
 
 *!<(' 
 
ON FREE-WILL,^ 
 
 III 
 
 APKETTY full summary of M. Fonsegrive's Essay on 
 Free-will has already been given in Mind, xii. 621. 
 From the mere statement of the author's results, it must have 
 been obvious that the book was one of no ordinary merit. The 
 historical part of the Essay is, indeed, not only a good history 
 of the question of free-will so far as the facts are concerned, 
 but at several points throws new light on the development of 
 doctrines ; while its critical and positive part contains one of 
 the best recent statements of the indeterminist position. On 
 all these grounds, some more detailed consideration seems 
 desirable both of the historical and positive conclusions arrived 
 at or suggested by it than was at first possible. 
 
 It must be recalled that M. Fonsegrive's indeterminism is 
 founded on the spirituaUstic conception of the soul, and that 
 his definitions and distinctions are attached historically to 
 those of the accepted representatives of Catholic theology. In 
 both these respects his doctrine differs from the indeterminism 
 of M. Kenouvier, with its phenomenist basis and its divergence 
 — as regards, in particular, the doctrine of divine prescience 
 — from theological indeterminism. It is, however, from M. 
 Benouvier that M. Fonsegrive has adopted his method of 
 proof by appeal to the " practical reason " ; and, partly in 
 
 ^ Essai 8ur le Libre Arbitre, sa Theorie et son Hixtoire. Par George 
 L. Fonsegrive, Professeur agrege cle Philosophie au Lyc6e de Bordeaux. 
 Ouvrage couronne par I'Acad^mie des Sciences Morales et Politiques. 
 Paris: F. Alcan, 1887. Pp. 692. 
 
 Die Willeiisjreiheit des Memchen. Von Fr. J. Mach, k.k. Professor am 
 Staats-Obergymnasium in Saaz. Paderborn u. Miinster: F. Schciningh, 
 1887. Pp. ix., 274. 
 
 274 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 276 
 
 consequence of this, he states with exceptional clearness the 
 modification that indeterminism makes in the conception of 
 scientific law. 
 
 The extent of M. Renouvier's influence may be seen by 
 comparing M. Fonsegrive's Essay with Dr. Mach's, pubhshed 
 almost simultaneously with it, and briefly noticed in Muid, 
 xii. 631. The essential points of Dr. Mach's indeterminist 
 theory are exactly the same as those of M. Fonsegrive's. It 
 is distinguished, as "relative indeterminism," at once from 
 "absolute determinism " and from "absolute indeterminism." 
 It is made dependent on the doctrine of an immaterial soul of 
 which not all the operations are correlated with processes in 
 the organism, and it is attached in the same way to the ortho- 
 dox Catholic doctrine. Just as M. Fonsegrive finds it necessary 
 above all to fortify his position against the psychological de- 
 terminism of the English empirical school and its French 
 representatives, so Dr. Mach is especially concerned to oppose 
 the psychological determinism of the Herbartians. Both 
 writers make a decided advance in the psychological statemen-t 
 of the indeterminist position; rejecting the term "liberty of 
 indifference" and much of the old phraseology about "the 
 will" as a power independent of "motives." Where the 
 difference appears is in the mode of proof of their thesis. 
 There is, indeed, an almost verbal resemblance between Dr. 
 Mach's argument that, when " absolute indeterminism " and 
 "absolute determinism" have been refuted, "relative in- 
 determinism " may be regarded as proved, and the same 
 argument as stated by M. Fonsegrive. M. Fonsegrive, hke 
 Dr. Mach, contends that " relative indeterminism " is not 
 inconsistent with the "principle of sufficient reason" and the 
 law of causaHty derived from it ; since a " free " cause satisfies 
 the principle just as much as one that acts by necessity. Nor, 
 on the other hand, does Dr. Mach omit all appeal to the 
 "practical reason." The difference is that with Dr. Mach 
 the appeal to the practical reason is subsidiary when it is not 
 surreptitious, while with M. Fonsegrive it is the argument that 
 is regarded as finally conclusive. Dr. Mach undertakes to 
 prove the indeterminist position by positive psychological 
 
 II 
 
i I 
 
 276 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 277 
 
 III 
 
 I 
 
 arguments. M. Fonsegrive, in spite of an occasional incon- 
 sistency, such as the assumption that " absolute determinism" 
 has been positively disproved, simply maintains that scien- 
 tij&cally there is no absolute proof of determinism; that the 
 metaphysical proof fails; that, consequently, since neither the 
 thesis nor the antithesis is capable of proof on theoretical 
 grounds, the practical reason must be called in to decide the 
 antinomy in favour of free-will as an ethical postulate. The 
 importance of this difference will become plain when the 
 leading points of the history of the question have been briefly 
 
 reviewed. 
 
 What M. Fonsegrive first of all brings out is that the whole 
 controversy had its beginning in the efforts of the earliest 
 humanistic thinkers to distinguish "that which depends on 
 ourselves," t6 l<i>' imXv, from what depends on causes external 
 to us. The speculative theory that was at first dominant both 
 in Greek religion and philosophy was the conception of an 
 external fate, beneath which man is powerless. The forma- 
 tion of the humanistic sciences required that this conception 
 should be modified by a definition of the limits within which 
 man has power, and of the nature of this power. The clear 
 demarcation of that which depends on man was first achieved 
 in Aristotle's definition of man's power over things as con- 
 sisting in liberty of choice between equally possible alterna- 
 tives. Man, according to Aristotle, not only has the power of 
 choosing between the higher and the lower, but it is impossible 
 to predict his choice ; the future is really contingent. Aris- 
 totle, therefore, has a doctrine of free-will. 
 
 In interpreting Aristotle's formula, M. Fonsegrive makes 
 clear, though without dwelling on the distinction, two aspects 
 —the marking off of that which depends on man, and the 
 ascription of a certain contingency to human action. Aris- 
 totle's doctrine, according to M. Fonsegrive's interpretation, 
 which regards the " contingency of futures " affirmed by 
 Aristotle as real, becomes a free-will doctrine in the modern 
 sense. For the historical course of the free-will controversy 
 has brought it about that indetermination of human actions 
 has become identified in philosophy with free-will. If the 
 
 controversy had taken another course, however, the Aristotelian 
 formula in its other aspect, as the distinction of that which 
 depends on us from that which depends on things, might 
 equally have been called a free-will doctrine. This may be 
 shown historically from an incidental use of the term " free- 
 will " that occurs at the beginning of the modern period. 
 
 When humanistic speculation of a scientific kind began 
 again in modern times, it was found necessary, as it had been 
 in antiquity, to distinguish the part of man in determining his 
 own lot from the part of things. For if man is absolutely 
 subject to a power external to himself, obviously humanistic 
 speculation can have no practical bearing. This was seen by 
 Machiavelli, who, in more than one passage of his writings, 
 discusses the relations of that which in human affairs is in 
 the power of man, and that which is in the power of " fortune." 
 It is of special interest that in making this demarcation, as 
 Aristotle had made it before, he ascribes that which is in 
 the power of man to " free-will," and that, at the same time, 
 although taking this term from the language of Scholastic 
 philosophy, he uses it without any implication of indeter- 
 minism. The passage in which he thus makes use of the 
 term "free-will" occurs in chapter xxv. of The Priiicc. 
 
 •* It is not unknown to me," he begins, *♦ that many have held and hold 
 the opinion that the things of the world are in such wise governed of fortune 
 and God that men by their prudence cannot correct them, nor have they any 
 remedy thereto; and by this they might judge that it were good not to labour 
 much in things, but to let themselves be governed by fate. This opinion 
 has been more believed in our times through the great variation of the 
 things that have been seen and are seen every day, out of all human con- 
 jecture. Thinking on which, sometimes I have in some part inclined to 
 their opinion. Nevertheless, to the end that our free-will be not destroyed, 
 I judge that it is true that fortune is the arbitress of half our actions, but 
 that she yet leaves the other half, or little less, to be governed by us." 
 
 It will be observed that in this passage contingency, so far 
 as it is implied at all, is referred rather to the part in human 
 affairs that depends on external things than to the part that 
 depends on us. This last, for anything that is implied so far, 
 may be rigidly determined according to special laws of human 
 
f 
 
 278 
 
 ON FBEE'WILL. 
 
 ON FREE'WILL. 
 
 279 
 
 % 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 
 nature to be afterwards ascertained by those who cultivate the 
 sciences of man. And it is remarkable that in MachiavelU's 
 general political theory human nature is held to be the same 
 in all ages and the characters of men invariable ; so that 
 individual men are successful because fortune is favourable 
 to their particular character, and fail because they cannot 
 modify their character, and consequently cannot change their 
 modes of action, in accordance with changing events. The 
 clearest empirical distinction, therefore, can be drawn between 
 that which depends on things outside and that which depends 
 on man without the assumption of the least indetermination 
 anywhere. For of course the contingency supposed in things 
 by the reference of changing events to " fortune " need not be 
 more than an apparent contingency, as indeed the contingency 
 attributed by Aristotle to •* that which depends on us" need 
 not be more than apparent. 
 
 The *' freedom," consisting in a certain relative independence 
 of circumstances, that is attributed to man in Aristotle's for- 
 mula is now seen to be separable from the notion of any real 
 contingency. There is another sense of the term " freedom " 
 — to which it has also been proposed to apply the term 
 "free-will" — that has unquestionably been the possession of 
 determinism from the beginning. No special historical evi- 
 dence is needed to show how the distinction between the 
 ••freedom" and the ** servitude " of the mind, between sub- 
 jection to "passion" and the control of passion by "reason," 
 has been insisted on, both in ancient and modern times, by 
 determinist philosophers. 
 
 Indeterminists themselves define " moral freedom " as the 
 state in which the struggle characteristic of free-will has 
 disappeared. It is, indeed, regarded as a case of " free-will," 
 but only because acts of free-will have been required to pro- 
 duce it. The clear view of the nature of complete freedom, in 
 the sense of moral "autonomy," made Aristotle, and, as M. 
 Fonsegrive points out, antiquity generally, regard the power of 
 choosing between the lower and the higher, not absolutely as 
 a perfection, but as the characteristic of an imperfect being 
 that participates at once in reason and in the irrational 
 
 element in things. It is this act of choice between the 
 lower and the higher, and not the degree of our "indepen- 
 dence" of things, or the nature of moral autonomy, that 
 has finally become the battle-ground of the opposing schools. 
 The problem has come to be. Is there anything strictly in- 
 determinate in the act of choice or deliberation ? This definite 
 shape has been assumed by it, as M. Fonsegrive shows, in the 
 controversies of Scholastic philosophers and of Catholic and 
 Protestant theologians. In modern philosophy, as in theology, 
 it has continued to be associated with the question of man's 
 moral responsibihty before law, divine or human. Each 
 school has been required to show that its own view of the 
 act of choice is compatible with this. 
 
 When it is made clear that the real contingency of the 
 voluntary decision is the essential part of the modern con- 
 ception of free-will, the irrelevancy of many of the ordinary 
 arguments for free-will in the sense of indeterminism becomes 
 at once manifest. To show, for example, that in certain 
 decisions of the will we are not constrained by an external 
 power, or to point to the existence of " moral freedom," is to 
 indicate a conception of freedom that is perfectly consistent 
 with determinism. It must, on the other hand, be conceded 
 that no assertion, from the determinist point of view, of 
 freedom in either of these senses, can satisfy the indeterminist. 
 Indeterminists feel that, as Dr. Mach points out, the doctrine 
 of an " internal necessity " is just as much determinism as the 
 doctrine of an " external necessity." What the indeterminist 
 requires for the completion of his idea of freedom is that the 
 act of choice should be free aUke from external and from 
 internal "necessity," not merely from constraint; and this 
 " real contingency " of the act of choice is exactly what it is 
 of the essence of determinism to exclude. For " the real 
 contingency of the future " involves a break in the chain of 
 causation, both psychological and physical. Here Dr. Mach 
 does not quite face the real difficulty. When it becomes a 
 question of proving that the decision of the will is not 
 necessary, he urges that it is not constrained. M. Fonse- 
 grive — and this is his special merit — relying, as has been 
 
Mi 
 
 r> I 
 
 280 
 
 ON FBEE'WILL. 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 281 
 
 li 
 
 said, on M. Kenouvier's argument from the practical reason, 
 has shown the bearing of indeterminism on causation with the 
 utmost clearness. There is, no doubt, some ambiguity in his 
 defence of free-will when he contends that the principle of 
 sufficient reason is satisfied by " a free cause" ; but, when he 
 shows that by no scientific hypothesis can indeterminism be 
 made consistent with absolutely uniform physical law, the 
 ambiguity disappears. A consistent indeterminist is obliged 
 to maintain that, with identical psychological conditions of a 
 decision, the decision may vary without any new cause except 
 a strictly " imprevisible " act of " free-will." Now this means, 
 as M. Fonsegrive shows, that, since the decision is manifested 
 externally, a certain portion of energy must be created or 
 annihilated. Whatever may be the psychological meaning of 
 a "free" as opposed to a "necessary" cause, it is admitted 
 to be inconsistent in physics with belief in the conservation of 
 energy as "an absolute law, without restriction." But, M. 
 Fonsegrive proceeds, as a matter of fact, experience nowhere 
 shows undeviating conformity to law. And to say that all 
 falling short of absolute exactness is due to defects in accuracy 
 of observation is a mere assumption. The slight apparent 
 deviations of experience from uniformity may be in part the 
 expression of real deviations. And if the world is governed 
 by a will instead of by an impersonal fate, by a flexible " law 
 of love" instead of by an inflexible "law of pure reason," 
 then we should not expect to find the absolute uniformity that 
 determinism requires. But there are moral grounds for affirm- 
 ing theism and the doctrine of free-will that is in logical 
 harmony with it. Then, since experience by itself does not 
 hinder the affirmation, the belief is philosophically justified. 
 The claims of science are satisfied by the admission that the 
 course of things is approxiviatehj uniform. And approximate, 
 though not complete, uniformity is consistent with free-will. 
 For the creations and annihilations of energy that are due to 
 human free-will are in any case very small. Perhaps they 
 in part balance one another. It is not a " relative indeter- 
 minism " such as this, but only an " absolute indeterminism," 
 that contradicts science ; just as, on the other hand, it is 
 
 not science but a certain type of metaphysics that requires 
 " absolute determinism." 
 
 Before the logical character of M. Fonsegrive's argument 
 can be appreciated, it must be cleared of some incidental 
 positions that are either superfluous or inconsistent with the 
 mode of proof adopted. One of these has already been indi- 
 cated. M. Fonsegrive is not always willing to make the 
 concession corresponding to that which he requires of deter- 
 minists. He shows conclusively that, even if psychological 
 determinists can explain by scientific hypotheses (such as 
 Leibniz's " obscure perceptions ") the acts of choice that seem 
 most difficult of explanation, this does not prove determinism 
 against objectors; since the scientific explanation takes for 
 granted in the disputed case the uniformity that indeterminists 
 deny. This being conceded, however, the indeterminist must 
 admit in turn that he is leaving scientific ground altogether. 
 If absolute determinism cannot be proved on scientific grounds, 
 neither can it be proved scientifically that there are any residual 
 phenomena of which no scientific explanation is possible. 
 Psychological determinists have not, as a matter of fact, been 
 baflled by the phenomena of deliberation ; and in any case it 
 would be more plausible to attribute difficulties to the im- 
 perfection of their science than to the " free causes " of 
 indeterminism. M. Fonsegrive has only shown that experience 
 does not compel the belief in absolute uniformity of law, not 
 that absolute uniformity is disproved by experience. The 
 argument, therefore, in which he concludes immediately from 
 the untenableness of " absolute determinism " and of " absolute 
 indeterminism" to the truth of "relative indeterminism" has 
 no validity. Again, has any such belief as " absolute in- 
 determinism " — which ought to mean that no inference from 
 the past to the future is possible — ever been held? As 
 believers in " absolute indeterminism " M. Fonsegrive classes 
 Epicurus, Pelagius, Hume and M. Renouvier. Yet he him- 
 self, in the earlier part of his essay, has proved against M. 
 Guyau that for the Epicureans there was at least no indeter- 
 mination in the case of external things, but (after the first 
 declination of the atoms) only in the case of man. And in 
 
 \ 
 

 if 
 
 282 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 288 
 
 I i 
 
 I 
 
 f I 
 
 i 
 
 the interesting chapter on " English philosophy from Hobbes 
 to our days," in which he shows the originahty of the con- 
 tribution made by English empiricism to the free-will con- 
 troversy, he gives to Hume especially the credit of the 
 " negative synthesis " that replaces both " free-will " and 
 " necessity " by " invariable sequence." It is, however, 
 rather the logical consequences of Hume's resolution of ex- 
 perience into isolated atoms of sensation that M. Fonsegrive 
 has in view in classing him as an " absolute indeterminist " 
 than his explicit doctrine as regards free-will ; and with Hume 
 he apparently classes M. Kenouvier on the ground of his 
 explicit indeterminism and his " phenomenism." Hume's 
 phenomenism is, he holds, the only logical form of that mode 
 of viewing the world which seeks an " extensive unity," as 
 the pantheism of the Eleatics is the only logical form of the 
 view which seeks a "comprehensive unity." Pantheism re- 
 quires that there should be only one Being, including in itself 
 all modes of being ; phenomenism requires that there should 
 be a multitude of perfectly isolated beings. Now the *' pure 
 Being " of Parmenides is the only metaphysical conception 
 that can justify the assertion of absolute necessity; while 
 Hume's psychical atoms, being absolutely independent of one 
 other, suppose absolute indetermiuation. Here M. Fonse- 
 grive's argument confounds the independence of individual 
 beings with the contingency of their actions. The idea of 
 independence is, however, as we have seen historically above, 
 separable from the idea of contingency. And, logically, the 
 actions of an independent atom may be conceived to be in 
 themselves rigidly necessary. If any interaction of partially 
 independent beings is supposed, this only makes the changes 
 more complex, without destroying their necessity. As to the 
 doctrine of Pelagius, whom also M. Fonsegrive places in the 
 number of absolute indeterminists, its diiference from the 
 orthodox Catholic doctrine seems to consist not so much in 
 the assertion of a greater amount of indetermiuation, of real 
 contingency, as in the ascription to man of a greater natural 
 disposition to good, or of a gi'eater power over his own fate. 
 So far as the mere indeterminism is concerned, St. Augustine, 
 
 according to M. Fonsegrive's interpretation, does not differ 
 from Pelagius. While we seem to have found so far no 
 indeterminism that is more than "relative," looked at in 
 another way all indeterminism is " absolute." For although 
 it may never have been held that in practice no inferences 
 can be made from the past to the future, yet, according to the 
 indeterminist view, the effect of a decision of free-will may 
 make itself felt at any point of the series of phenomena ; and 
 so there is no point where a break is impossible. The choice, 
 then, as M. Renouvier would say, is between determinism 
 simply and indeterminism simply. 
 
 The exceptions that may be taken to parts of M. Fonse- 
 grive's argument do not, however, affect his central contention, 
 that there is logically a place for real contingency. A de- 
 terminist need have no hesitation in admitting this. When 
 acts of free-will are classed frankly with miraculous interrup- 
 tions of a pre-ordained order that is maintained on the whole, 
 and when prevision is at the same time allowed to be possible 
 within scientific limits, it must be allowed that the whole con- 
 ception of which these strictly " imprevisible " acts form part 
 cannot be scientifically disproved. Even when he has trans- 
 ferred the question to theological ground, however, the in- 
 determinist is not exempt from attack; for here there are 
 the predestinarians to contend with. M. Fonsegrive, with his 
 clear view of all that is involved in indeterminism, is only able 
 to escape from the objection that free-will is incompatible with 
 divine foreknowledge by refusing a imorl to discuss it, by 
 opposing to it what he calls " une fin de non-recevoir," on 
 the ground that " the foreknowledge of God is incomprehen- 
 sible," and so cannot be known to exclude human free-will. 
 The only way of escaping this objection philosophically is to 
 admit, with M. Renouvier, that the divine prescience is not 
 absolute. That admission being made, the form of philo- 
 sophical theism that includes the belief in free-will takes its 
 place as a metaphysical doctrine, to be affirmed or denied on 
 philosophical grounds. The ground on which M. Fonsegrive, 
 following M. Renouvier, contends that it should be affirmed, 
 is, as has been seen, that it is required by " the practical 
 
If 11 
 
 ir 
 
 It!. 
 
 'ti 
 
 m^ 
 
 284 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 reason." The belief in free-will is the only secure basis of 
 moral responsibility. 
 
 So far as M. Fonsegrive aims at showing that the free-will 
 question finally becomes one of metaphysics, his argument is 
 perfectly cogent. The last step, however, the affirmation of 
 a belief on the ground of the "practical reason," is open to 
 dispute. One possible position, as I have ventured to urge, 
 against M. Kenouvier (see Correspondence in the Appendix, 
 reprinted from the Critique Philosophique, Nouv. ser. An. iii.), 
 is that, instead of the system involving free-will, the system 
 involving absolute determinism ought to be affirmed, because 
 it satisfies the desire for an intellectual ideal ; this 
 ideal, in theoretical philosophy, being alone relevant. To 
 this contention M. Renouvier has replied that the moral 
 ideal conflicts with what is held to be the intellectual ideal, 
 and that, as this last is not forced on the mind, the logical 
 position remains for the intellectualist one of scepticism, 
 from which only the acceptance of the postulates of the practi- 
 cal reason offers a way of escape. Now it is interesting that, 
 so far as the question of free-will is concerned, M. Fonsegrive, 
 in a discussion of the determinism within the limits of science 
 advocated by M. Ribot, to a certain extent anticipates the 
 answer to this. M. Ribot's " relative determinism," as it 
 may be called, is obviously, from M. Fonsegrive's point of 
 view, the complement of the " relative indeterminism " on 
 which he more especially dwells. He ought, logically, to 
 admit that it is the only scientific position. For, on one 
 side, free-will, as he defines it — that is, as having for one of 
 its characters the theoretical impossibility of prevision even 
 when all conditions, physical and psychological, are known — 
 introduces an element of which science, psychological as well 
 as physical, can take no account ; and, on the other side, M. 
 Ribot makes no dogmatic affirmation of absolute determinism. 
 Yet this position does not satisfy M. Fonsegrive. He points 
 out that, carefully as M. Ribot's scientific determinism is 
 limited, it inevitably tends to pass beyond scientific limits. 
 Now this, instead of being an argument against scientific 
 determinism, is in reahty an argument for metaphysical de- 
 
 ON FBEE-WILL. 
 
 285 
 
 terminism. What it proves is that even in the most severely 
 restrained statement of the scientific position an ideal is 
 already suggested to philosophy. This ideal, as M. Renouvier 
 has shown, is not forced on the mind ; it is not completed by 
 science : but, on the other hand, it is not arbitrary ; it is 
 inevitably suggested. 
 
 And is it so certain that the ethical argument is in favour of 
 indeterminism ? Determinists have often contended that it is 
 really the denial of the necessity of human actions that would 
 destroy moral responsibility ; and M. Fonsegrive admits that 
 determinism supplies a basis of its own for the greater part 
 of ethical, political and aesthetic theory. What he urges on 
 behalf of indeterminism is that it gives a certain " accent " or 
 a certain " grace " that would disappear with the destruction 
 of the belief in free-will. Yet in a chapter in which he dis- 
 courses of " the degi'ees of freedom " and of the progress from 
 one stage of moral freedom to another by the exercise of free- 
 will, he dwells especially on ** moral gymnastics " ; pointing 
 out, by way of illustration, wnth what psychological exactness 
 " examples and occasions," as aids or hindrances of the moral 
 life, have been set forth in Catholic manuals. Now does not 
 all this minute attention to psychological conditions rest on 
 the determinist part of the Catholic theory? And in what way 
 has the doctrine of an undetermined free-will tended here to 
 rescue that spontaneity which, M. Fonsegrive elsewhere urges, 
 is unrecognised by determinism? In political theory, again, 
 he holds that the doctrine of free-will gives a certain additional 
 sacredness to personal rights. History at least, it may be 
 objected, does not confirm the association of free-will doctrines 
 with political freedom. As to the logical bearings of the 
 opposed doctrines, M. Fonsegrive, in his chapters on " Con- 
 sequences," seems occasionally to be forgetful of what he has 
 himself made plain in the earlier part of the Essay. *' The 
 three characters of free action," he has said earlier, are 
 " contingency, spontaneity and intelligence." He makes plain 
 in his exposition, however, that the first character alone, and 
 this in the sense of a real ** ambiguity of contingent futures," 
 is the distinguishing character of the indeterminist conception 
 
 ;i*^ 
 
'Mf 
 
 286 
 
 ON FREE-WILL. 
 
 of free-will. When, therefore, he sets forth the consequences 
 of his total conception of " free action," this proves nothing 
 in favour of indeterminism, at least against those determinist 
 doctrines that equally recognise *' spontaneity and intelli- 
 gence " as characters of the higher kinds of activity. " The 
 enemies of free-will," M. Fonsegrive says, are "habits and 
 passions." But are these the enemies of strictly indeterminate 
 action as such, and not rather of action that is at once rational 
 and spontaneous in a sense compatible with determinism ? If 
 anything is to be proved in favour of the consequences of the 
 indeterminist doctrine, the element of real indetermination 
 ought to be detached from the others and its consequences 
 viewed separately. 
 
 IDEALISM IN ENGLAND IN THE EIGH- 
 TEENTH CENTUR F.I 
 
 THE present contribution to the History of Philosophy — a 
 branch of study which is now being cultivated with great 
 success in France — not only has a special interest for English 
 readers, but is in itself an excellent piece of work. Its purpose 
 is to trace from the beginning the movement of English 
 thought which in the eighteenth century culminated in the 
 idealistic theory of the external world ; the systems of indi- 
 vidual thinkers being expounded only so far as they are 
 phases of this movement. Accordingly, the author neither 
 confines himself to English names nor to the greater names 
 among Englishmen. For the origin of the ideaUstic move- 
 ment in England, although there are prolegomena of " sub- 
 jectivism " in Hobbes, has to be traced back to Descartes. 
 Malebranche, again, had more influence in England than in 
 France, and by him Cartesianism had already been developed 
 in the idealistic direction. The first chapter, therefore, is 
 devoted to Descartes, and one of considerable length to Male- 
 branche. The idealistic theory, when it had been definitely 
 put forth by Berkeley, first gained disciples in America; so 
 that American names also have to be considered. And, of 
 course, not the least important part of any continuous history 
 of a philosophical movement must consist of expositions of 
 the theories of minor thinkers. The author's study of these 
 has been so thorough that he gives a chapter to Kichard 
 
 * Vldealhme en Anrjleterre an XVIII<^ Sieclc. Par Georges Lyon, Ancien 
 el^ve de TEcole normale superieure, Professeur agrege de philosophie au 
 Lycee Henri IV., Docteur ^s lettres. Paris : F. Alcan, 1888. Pp. 481. 
 
 287 
 
H-f ^ 
 
 288 
 
 IDEALISM IN ENGLAND 
 
 Burthogge, and one to the American Samuel Johnson — names, 
 it may be safely said, which are known to few English philo- 
 sophical students. Adequate accounts are, of course, given of 
 Norris and Collier. Taylor has a place in chapter v. as a 
 representative " proselyte of Malebranche." The last chapter 
 is devoted to Hume, and has for its purpose to show how 
 Berkeleian idealism was continued by the " phenomenalism " 
 of the great sceptic. 
 
 M. Lyon brings out very clearly the nature of the influence 
 of Descartes in England. Descartes' true philosophical suc- 
 cessors in the eighteenth century, he contends, were English- 
 men. In France, it was not the eighteenth but the seven- 
 teenth century that really deserved the name of " the philo- 
 sophical century," so far at least as the metaphysical and 
 speculative part of philosophy is concerned. What was required 
 in order that the idealism latent in Cartesianism should 
 emerge was independent thinking from the Cartesian starting- 
 point ; and in England, where Descartes had from the first 
 enthusiastic admirers but no strict disciples, the requisite 
 degree of independence was found. 
 
 The relation for which M. Lyon contends between Descartes 
 and the English philosophical movement that started with 
 Locke may be taken as established. The author, however, 
 underrates the importance of Locke in the movement. Locke, 
 as he sees, misapprehended Descartes' doctrine of innate ideas ; 
 and, as he acutely points out in discussing a criticism of 
 Green (with whose Introductions to Hume he is well ac- 
 quainted), the unsatisfactoriness of Locke's utterances as 
 regards the external world is due to confusion of thought on 
 the philosophical question, and not at all, as Green says, to 
 the external world being ** the crux of empiricism." Thus he 
 is led to seek the origin of the clear philosophical theories of 
 Berkeley and Hume elsewhere than in Locke. Berkeley, as 
 well as Collier, he tries to derive from Malebranche, though 
 he points out that Berkeley repudiated, while Collier acknow- 
 ledged, the relationship. Again, he seeks to attach Hume not 
 only to Berkeley, but directly to the Cartesian tradition. How 
 near Malebranche came to idealism he shows in chapter iv., 
 
 IN THE EIGHTEENTH C EN TV BY. 
 
 289 
 
 where he also dwells much on the interest of Malebranche's 
 psychology, pointing to his affinities with Hume and Hartley, 
 and in particular to his anticipation of contemporary " psycho- 
 physiology." He finds it surprising that an English disciple 
 like Norris, who, as a Protestant, was not watched by the 
 same suspicious orthodoxy, should have hesitated to draw the 
 idealistic conclusion which Malebranche could only avoid by 
 an appeal to Kevelation. Berkeleianism, however, as M. 
 Lyon himself constantly insists, is at the antipodes of Carte- 
 sianism in this respect, that it is " an a ^jos^erion metaphysics." 
 The a posteriori character of Berkeley's thought, he remarks 
 more than once, is not sufficiently recognised by Prof. Eraser ; 
 and he finds that even in the Siris there is no fundamental 
 •departure from Berkeley's first manner of thinking. Male- 
 branche's doctrine, on the other hand, he describes as "a 
 Cartesian Platonism " ; and throughout the history of idealism 
 he finds the antithesis of the Platonising and the experiential 
 tendency ; Malebranche and Hegel, in his view, representing 
 the former, Berkeley and Mill the latter. Now is not the 
 experiential character of Berkeley's philosophising as dis- 
 tinguished from that of Collier an evidence of his direct 
 dependence on Locke, whose aim it was to oppose the a imori 
 metaphysics of Descartes? Though Locke may have done 
 nothing himself to educe the idealistic theory from the 
 Cartesian "presuppositions," this does not detract from the 
 importance of his experientialism as a basis for the typical 
 form of English idealism. 
 
 An interesting episode of the book is the account of the 
 fortunes of Immaterialism in America. Full expositions are 
 given of the philosophical system of Dr. Samuel Johnson, 
 "the first President of King's College in New York," and 
 Berkeley's first and most faithful disciple, and of the immate- 
 riahsm of Jonathan Edwards as it is found set forth in his 
 posthumous work on the mind. The imtitio imncipii of 
 "common-sense philosophy," however, was soon to triumph 
 in New England, whose University authorities naturally did 
 not fail to become inspired with fear of the "dangerous" 
 consequences of idealism. The discouragement of the Berke- 
 
 20 
 
 
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290 
 
 IDEALISM IN TEE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 leian theory by the authorities met with no resistance, and 
 American immateriaUsm came to an abrupt close. 
 
 A critic who agrees with M. Lyon in regarding the idealistic 
 theory of the external world as definitively established by philo- 
 sophy will find little to controvert in his positive conclusions. 
 The distinction he draws between the two schools of idealism 
 —the experiential and the Platonising school— is a sound 
 distinction, and one that may easily be verified in contem- 
 porary EngUsh philosophy. With what he says as to the two 
 forms of ideaUsm not being so incompatible as might at first 
 appear it is also possible to agi*ee, though it may be doubted 
 whether the reconciUation of them is Ukely to come, as M. 
 Lyon suggests, from ** a Hegehan." The reconciliation that 
 a Hegehan would be likely to attempt is one between 
 *• Transcendental Ideahsm" and the Realism of Common- 
 sense. 
 
 M. Lyon's book ought to find many readers in England. 
 His work has the merits both of fulness of matter and 
 attractive presentation. His accounts of minor thinkers are 
 especially to be commended, as enabling the reader to form 
 an independent judgment upon their various degrees of inte- 
 rest and originality. He has well understood the characte- 
 ristics of the English philosophical spirit, though a failure of 
 perfect apprehension may be detected here and there. When 
 it is said, for example, that Hume, like Mill and all other 
 Enghsh thinkers, claimed the right to speculate as boldly as 
 he pleased without in any way menacing received opinions, 
 this gives a somewhat false impression. It would be a better 
 description of the attitude of Descartes than of Hume or Mill. 
 The exact attitude of Hume, however, as M. Lyon very well 
 shows, is difficult to define. Even native critics are not at one 
 in their definitions of it. 
 
 PHYSICAL REALISM J^ 
 
 MR. CASE'S Essay, if it does not prove, as it is meant to 
 do, that the whole of modern philosophy, with the excep- 
 tion of " natural philosophy " has been an aberration, is never- 
 theless a contribution to philosophical discussion from which 
 much can be learnt. In the first place, the author gives a 
 clear and correct view of the history of modern ideahsm. The 
 Berkeleian theory of the external world, he shows, is the 
 logical result of the development from Descartes through 
 Locke, and the Cartesian starting-point, again, is that which 
 was logically necessary after the development of the theory of 
 the soul and of perception by ancient philosophy. The admis- 
 sions impHed in this view are not less important because the 
 author holds them to constitute an argument that the starting- 
 point of modern philosophy, so far as it was subjective, was 
 wholly wrong. Nor is Mr. Case in detail so undiscriminating 
 an opponent of idealism as might be inferred from his general 
 position. If, in his view, we directly perceive a " physical " 
 world, we do not directly perceive an '' external " world. The 
 appearance of externality in the object of immediate percep- 
 tion, according to the theory of ''Physical Reahsm," is an 
 illusion. To take up this position is, of course, to disclaim all 
 appeal to the "evidence of consciousness" apart from scien- 
 tific, if not also philosophical, interpretation. The name the 
 author gives to his doctrine might, indeed, be expanded into 
 *' Realism on the basis of Physical Science " (and not merely 
 
 ' Physical Realism : Being an Analytical Philosophy from the Physical 
 Objects of Science to the Physical Data of Sense. By Thomas Case, M.A., 
 Fellow and Senior Tutor, Corpus Christi College, &c. London : Longmans, 
 Oreen & Co., 1888. Pp. 387. 
 
 291 
 
 i 
 
 '1' 
 
 !!; 
 If 
 
 ( 
 
 ij 
 
 I 
 
 iij 
 
292 
 
 PHYSICAL BEALISM. 
 
 PHYSICAL REALISM, 
 
 293 
 
 realism as implied in scientific assumptions) ; the doctrine he 
 opposes being defined correspondingly as " Idealism on the 
 basis of Psychology " : though, having once admitted the 
 relevance of physiology, for example, to the question of per- 
 ception, he does not find it possible entirely to exclude psycho- 
 logical considerations. The second great merit of his treatment, 
 after the historical view, is the definiteness with w^hich he puts 
 the philosophical question whether physical science with its 
 '•intelligible world" of invisible corpuscles and vibrations can 
 be rationally explained by a doctrine for w^hich the " being " 
 of external things is simply " being perceived." 
 
 The author, like his realistic predecessors of the common- 
 sense school, finds the origin of modern idealism in a single 
 questionable assumption of Descartes, namely, that we per- 
 ceive immediately "ideas " which are produced by the action 
 of the object on the soul, and that we only mediately infer the 
 object. Once accept this theory of " ideas," and there is no 
 logical escape from absolute idealism. ** If all the data of a 
 man's knowledge were his soul and ideas, he could know 
 nothing but other souls and ideas." Yet the common-sense 
 school was wrong in maintaining that what we perceive imme- 
 diately is the external object. The object we immediately per- 
 ceive is " physical " but " internal." It is some part of the 
 nervous system as affected by modifications produced from 
 without. That which is perceived being physical and not 
 psychical, it is allowable to infer other physical, and not merely 
 psychical, objects from the object immediately perceived. 
 From the modifications of the nervous system w-e infer their 
 external causes ; and in ordinary perception inferences are so 
 conjoined with direct perceptions that the illusory appearance 
 arises of a direct perception of external objects. This doctrine 
 of perception to which we have to return in order to escape 
 from idealism is that of the ancient Atomists. The Atomists 
 did not, indeed, present their doctrine in a quite unexceptionable 
 manner, and of course it had scientific imperfections; they 
 supposed external things, for example, to act on the organs of 
 hearing, sight, and temperature by emissions instead of by 
 vibrations ; but they had hold of the essential truths that the 
 
 *' immediate object" is " not the thing at a distance, but the 
 result of the thing on the organs of sense," and that, '* though 
 internal and representative," it "is neither immaterial nor 
 psychical : it is a physical object." The atomistic doctrine of 
 perception is realistic, but not necessarily materialistic, and is 
 compatible with " theological," though not with " psycho- 
 logical " idealism. Matter may have an existence that is not 
 spiritual, and may yet have been created by a spirit. For the 
 theory of perception, the defect of materialism is neglect of 
 *' the latent factor in all thinking, the soul." "The thinking 
 subject is man, thinking partly by his body, that is, his nervous 
 cerebral system, and partly by a latent factor, his soul, co- 
 operating, as by the composition of forces, in every opera- 
 tion." 
 
 At the ground of this theory of perception there is a psycho- 
 logically justifiable conviction of the special intimacy of the 
 consciousness of the body. As a proof that " the body is a 
 patent factor of the thinking subject," the author urges, for 
 example, the facts of organic sensation. These facts, however, 
 are not sufficient to support his theory. When it is considered 
 that the data of sense that we assign to the body are just as 
 capable of psychological expression as those that we assign to 
 the external world, the whole argument in favour of realism 
 from the knowledge we have of the body loses its force. But 
 let us examine the atomistic doctrine more directly. According 
 to the author, we see " the extended in the optic nerves," we 
 feel " the extended in the tactile nerves " (p. 250). " The hot 
 felt is the tactile nerves heated, the white seen is the optic 
 nerves so coloured " (p. 24). "It is true that red refuses to 
 appear to our senses as a motion representing the external 
 motion which produces it. But the cause of this fact is to be 
 found in the construction of the optic nerve, which, when 
 acted on by a certain imperceptible motion of ether, receives 
 & sensible colour apparently unlike motion, just as oxygen and 
 hydrogen in certain proportions, when acted on by electricity, 
 become water. In the same way, when a wheel rotates too 
 •quickly, the sensible effect ceases to be a motion, because the 
 nerves are insusceptible of taking on so rapid a motion in 
 
i»^1 
 
 294 
 
 PHYSICAL REALISM, 
 
 PHYSICAL REALISM. 
 
 295 
 
 sense. The sensible effect is similar or dissimilar to the 
 external object, so far as the nervous system is capable or 
 incapable of being affected similarly to the external object" 
 (p. 31). The meaning of these assertions, if we are to retain 
 the atomistic theory, must be that when we perceive clearly 
 the motion of the corpuscles of the nervous substance, we have 
 a perception of extension or motion, but that when the vibra- 
 tions impressed on it by the ether are such that we can only 
 perceive them confusedly, then the confused perception of the 
 vibrations is what we call a perception of a heated or coloured 
 surface. Now the mere consideration that a sensation of 
 colour or heat, whatever may be its cause, is psychologically 
 sui generis, shows at once the inadequacy of atomism, by 
 itself, to explain a perception involving heat or colour as one 
 of its sensational elements. With the beginning of psycho- 
 logical consideration the "idea" or "phantasm," in its dis- 
 tinction from configurations and vibrations of material particles, 
 in some form returns. Even in Mr. Case's own theory it 
 returns in a vague form when he says that man is partly 
 "psychical," and more clearly when he says that "the hot 
 felt and the white seen . . . are apprehended by internal 
 sensations of touch and vision" (p. 25). For of course the 
 distinction, made immediately afterwards, of the sensation 
 from its object does not take away the effect of the admission 
 of an internal psychical process. And these are not admissions 
 that are compelled by the author's " theological idealism " and 
 that would disappear from a more consequent " atomism." In 
 his theory of perception, Mr. Case is as consequent an atomist 
 as it is possible to be. Any admissions he makes are extorted 
 from him by the facts. Now it is his own contention that if 
 the " psychical " apparition of the Cartesian or Lockian idea is 
 once permitted to enter, sooner or later the conclusions of 
 Berkeley and Hume must logically follow. The " primary " 
 qualities of matter, under the Berkeleian analysis, go the way 
 of the " secondary " qualities. 
 
 Idealism, however, when formulated as a philosophical 
 doctrine, has to interpret scientific knowledge as well as 
 ordinary perception. Whatever may be its plausibility from 
 
 the subjective side, the proof that it cannot do this would be, 
 Mr. Case contends, a redicctio ad ahsurdum. It is this rcductio 
 ad absurdum that he undertakes to give. " Man as a natural 
 philosopher," he says, " knows things in themselves which are 
 not phenomena, when he knows imperceptible particles." The 
 assertions of physicists, that atoms have a real and not merely 
 a hypothetical existence, are, for philosophical idealism, mean- 
 ingless. But the accepted results of physical science have a 
 higher degree of certainty than any conclusions that can be 
 drawn from the mere subjective data of psychology. The 
 psychological method in philosophy, therefore, since that leads 
 to idealism, is in need of revision. 
 
 Mr. Case, however, has himself tried to make this revision ; 
 and, as we have seen, the attempt only brings him back to a, 
 point where the precise assumptions that have led historically 
 (and, as he admits, logically) to idealism force themselves 
 again upon the thinker. It is clear that a solution of the diffi- 
 culty is not to be found in accepting the scientific view, any 
 more than the ordinary unscientific view of the object of per- 
 ception without an examination of it in the light of philo- 
 sophical theory. Such an examination would remove the 
 difficulty put by Mr. Case. The assertion that atoms are not 
 merely assumed hypothetically in order to facilitate calculation, 
 but have a real physical existence, would be found to mean, 
 philosophically, that the atom is an object of possible though 
 not of actual perception ; that under certain conditions, ulti- 
 mately definable in psychological terms, we should detect 
 certain small, hard bodies having some kind of vibratory 
 motion, which our present sense-organs and microscopes do 
 not enable us to perceive. This, again, means that certain 
 sensations and ideas would follow one another in a certain 
 connexion. What the realist has to show in order to prove 
 his position is that "scientific objects" cannot be wholly 
 resolved into " possible phenomena." Mr. Case, as he tells us 
 (p. 380), has written a chapter, which is in print, to show this 
 at length. When it is published, we shall be able to judge how 
 far he has been more successful than other realists.* 
 
 « In a note on "The Philosophic Term Phenomenon," published in 
 
 II 
 
 • il 
 
 <( 
 
 K 
 
296 
 
 PHYSICAL BEALISM. 
 
 PHYSICAL IDEALISM. 
 
 297 
 
 In detail, Mr. Case objects against the procedure of English 
 philosophers, that in psychology they make realistic assump- 
 tions that are inconsistent with their idealism. This objection 
 is, of course, answered by the distinction that is clearly drawn 
 in recent, though not in earlier, experiential philosophy 
 between psychology (as pure science) and theory of knowledge. 
 As urged by Mr. Case, it does not indicate any leaning to Neo- 
 Kantianism. His chapters on Locke and Kant have a deci- 
 dedly experiential tendency. 
 
 So far, we have not found that Mr. Case establishes anything 
 against the idealistic position. Yet it must be conceded in the 
 end that his arguments do really indicate a w^eakness of ideal- 
 ism as it is sometimes presented. As expounded by Mill, for 
 instance, in the Examination of Hamilton, it is a theory of 
 knowledge with a psychological basis, and nothing more. But 
 when the objects of perception and the objects of science have 
 all been resolved into phenomena, actual or possible, philosophy 
 has further questions to ask. Now science, when it is viewed 
 apart from idealistic theory of knowledge, appears to have 
 answers to give to some of the further questions of philosophy ; 
 while philosophy, by stopping short at theory of knowledge as 
 existing in the individual or even in the social mind, appears to 
 destroy rather than to interpret the answers of science. In 
 this state of things, a not unusual combination of positions is 
 to admit the force of the idealistic argument, to go on effect- 
 tively thinking of the objects of science as existing inde- 
 pendently of all minds and producing them, and, controversially, 
 to avoid all difficulties by a confession of agnosticism. Mr. 
 Case is, as he says of Berkeley, " too philosophical to be an 
 agnostic " ; but he does not see that only philosophy, and not 
 special science by itself, can answer questions as to the nature 
 of reality; that, in short, it is only from the philosophical 
 point of view that an ontology is attainable. To become 
 ontolog>^ philosophy must go beyond the theory of our know- 
 ledge of phenomena ; but the example of Berkeley proves that 
 
 Mind, xiv. 309, simultaneously with the present review, Mr. Case seemed to 
 me to make out only this : that in the use of the term •♦ phenomenon " by 
 men of science as equivalent to fact, idealism is not necessarily implied. 
 
 there is nothing inconsistent with English philosophical 
 method in the attempt to answer ontological questions. 
 Hume's Scepticism and Kant's Criticism have, indeed, made 
 it impossible to continue affirming ontological propositions in 
 the old "dogmatic " manner; but they have not made ontology 
 itself impossible. Hegelianism, for example, whether in its 
 original or in its renewed form, if it is to be rejected, must be 
 rejected not simply because it is " ontological," or on account 
 of its consequences, but because, as a philosophy, it is wrong 
 in method or in principle. Now that the Hegelian philosophy 
 no longer gives satisfaction even to its own adherents, it 
 remains for a philosophy that is psychological in method and 
 experiential in principle to prove its confidence in itself by 
 going back to the perennial questions of ontology. This is the 
 moral of Mr. Case's book. 
 
 ^*j 
 
 I vl 
 
EEALITY AS PHENOMENON. 
 
 299 
 
 REAL/TV AS PHENOMENON.^ 
 
 MANY attempts have been made to revive the Leibnizian 
 doctrine of monads, and perhaps this is the theory of the 
 ultimate nature of things that is now most in favour with 
 metaphysicians. Its obvious defect in its best-known forms — 
 such as the metaphysics of Lotze — is that it does not take 
 sufficient account of the modern criticism of the notion of 
 substance, but postulates the existence of a substantial soul 
 as the substratum of phenomena. Prof. Gourd's book is 
 remarkable as an attempt to furnish the basis for a new 
 monadism that shall be consistent with "phenomenism" in 
 its application to the notion of mental as well as of material 
 substance. In his present volume he does not work out his 
 metaphysical doctrine itself ; but he aims at showing that the 
 doctrine of a plurality of monads is not only consistent with 
 the rejection of all *' ultra-phenomenal substances," but that 
 the analysis of experience on phenomenist principles points 
 to this as the solution of the metaphysical problem. There 
 is room within experience, he contends, for the conception 
 of substance as persisting fact ; and the facts that persist, 
 it may be shown, are " separate " facts, facts divided from 
 one another by impassable " limits." From this result he 
 concludes to atomism in physics and monadism in meta- 
 physics. 
 
 "General philosophy" as defined by Prof. Gourd does not 
 very much differ from what is ordinarily called " theory of 
 knowledge." Its object is the "ultimate diversities" of 
 
 * Le Ph^noniene. Esquisse de Philosophie generale. Par J. J. Gourd, 
 Professeur a TUniversite de Geneve. Paris : F. Alcan, 1888. Pp. 447. 
 
 iftPO 
 
 experience. These ultimate diversities, in the author's view, 
 are all reducible to the " supreme abstract," consciousness. 
 For science they are principles of explanation. For " general 
 philosophy " the principle of explanation is consciousness, to 
 which they are reducible. They all consist of " dualities," or 
 pairs of opposed terms. Of these there are three that are 
 irreducible except to the " supreme abstract." The names the 
 author gives to them are — " the aspects of the phenomenon," 
 " the moments of the phenomenon," and " the facts of the 
 phenomenon." The duality of aspects is the opposition of 
 " resemblance " and " difference " ; the duality of moments is 
 the opposition of the " phj^sical " and "psychical" orders of 
 phenomena ; the duality of facts is the opposition of " being" 
 and " not being." With the first diversity are connected 
 other diversities reducible to it, the relations of which are 
 traced out by the author with nmch subtle analysis. On the 
 side of resemblance he places the " scientific " and the 
 " causal ; " on the side of difference the " non-scientific " and 
 the " non-causal " ; the point that he especially enforces being 
 that there are differences among the particulars of experience 
 that escape the grasp of scientific laws. " Resemblance " and 
 " difference " universally coexist ; but while there is no 
 resemblance without difference, and no difference without 
 resemblance, each may be present to any degree, from a 
 minimum to a maxinmm. Acts of " free-will," since they 
 involve the " non-causal " and strictly " new," are not objects 
 of science ; but they exist among the differing elements of 
 experience. The terms of the second diversity, being mutually 
 exclusive, cannot be called "aspects" like resemblance and 
 difference. Neither can they be called "facts"; for the 
 reality remains the same whether it is "physical" or 
 " psychical." The best name for them is " moments," used 
 not in the strictly " chronological " but in an analogous sense. 
 Within the psychical moment there is the diversity of the 
 " affective " and " intellectual " moments ; within the physical 
 moment, the diversity of " matter " and " change," or, more 
 exactly, " form." The affective and material moments are 
 " non-relational " ; the intellectual and formal moments 
 
300 
 
 BEALITY AS PHENOMENON. 
 
 REALITY AS PHENOMENON. 
 
 801 
 
 " relational." Relation is at its minimum in the affective 
 moment, at its maximum in the explanations of physical 
 science. When it is said that the diversity of "facts" of 
 consciousness is that of "being" and "not-being," it is not 
 meant that "not-being" is itself a fact, but that it is the 
 "negative," as "being" is the "positive," "element of fact." 
 That is to say, there exist "separate realities," " closed-off 
 totals " ; being is not absolutely continuous. There is " sepa- 
 ration," " limit," " interval " ; and the name for this is " not- 
 being." It is at this point that the author finds the rejection 
 of pantheism and the acceptance of monadism in the psychical 
 and of atomism in the physical world to be necessitated. 
 Evolution, to which he refers at the end of his study of "the 
 facts of the phenomenon," he does not reject; but he finds 
 that the question of the first origin of " groups " is scienti- 
 fically insoluble. The theory of evolution merely sets forth 
 the continuity and resemblance that exist; and the real 
 history of groups includes more than continuity and resem- 
 blance. There are differences among reahties — whether inor- 
 ganic things, individual organisms or species of organisms 
 — that are finally inexpHcable, that is, remain for ever " true 
 inconvertible difterences." 
 
 Prof. Gourd's doctrine is, as he claims on its behalf, a con- 
 sistent phenomenism. Some doubt might seem to be thrown 
 on this by his use of the term " dualism " to describe his own 
 position; but the term refers to the "dual opposition" or 
 "diversity" of the "moments" of experience, and not to a 
 diversity between the substances of matter and mind. If a 
 "physical" is distinguished from a "psychical" moment, 
 there is no real ambiguity ; for the physical moment, in Prof. 
 Gourd's definition, is no more "extra-conscious" than the 
 psychical moment. By " fact " or " phenomenon " he always 
 means a fact of conscious experience ; and the notion of the 
 externaHty of the physical world to consciousness is described 
 as arising by a "projection," having a certain illusory character 
 till it is brought under philosophical analysis, of elements that 
 are simply elements of consciousness. 
 
 In the preparation that is made for a constructive meta- 
 
 physics, there is to be noted the constant effort to find a 
 meaning within experience for such terms as " absolute," 
 " infinite," " being," " substance," and others that it has been 
 too easily supposed must be expelled from a scientific and 
 critical philosophy. Prof. Gourd's discussions of these terms, 
 whether they are conclusive or not, will always repay study. 
 In metaphysics he finds that there is inevitably a "projection" 
 beyond experience, not necessarily illusory, but never perfectly 
 verifiable. It is in not being perfectly verifiable that meta- 
 physics differs from science. The condition that is to be laid 
 down for every metaphysical construction is that its materials 
 must be such as are found within experience. When, for 
 example, we assert the existence of other individualities besides 
 our own, we are simply asserting the existence of other series 
 of conscious states, and not of something that is foreign to 
 all consciousness, as when the older conceptions of substance 
 were used. A metaphysical explanation of things may proceed 
 further in this kind of construction ; but it must not work 
 with such conceptions as those of unknowable substrata of 
 phenomena. Nor must it attempt to explain the world as 
 simply a network of relations, in the manner of the Hegelian 
 Rationalism. The " affective " and " material," as well as the 
 " intellectual " and " formal " elements in experience, must be 
 taken account of by metaphysics. 
 
 The value of much of this teaching may be recognised inde- 
 pendently of acceptance or rejection of the author's positive 
 metaphysical doctrine ; but after all it is the metaphysical con- 
 clusions indicated that give their strongest interest to all 
 discussions of "theory of knowledge " ; and a notice of Prof. 
 Gourd's book would be too incomplete if nothing were said as 
 to the bearing of the analyses of his " general philosophy " on 
 his monadism. Does mere analysis of experience, by bringing 
 to light " ultimate diversities," compel the rejection of pan- 
 theism, that is, of the systems for which individual things are 
 determinations of the whole, and the acceptance of monadism, 
 or the doctrine of a plurality of absolutely separate real 
 existences? This is the question that will finally present 
 itself to those who have followed Prof. Gourd's analysis of 
 
 w 
 
 ! 
 
 1^ 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 ill 
 
302 
 
 BEALITY AS PHENOMENON. 
 
 thought. Now, his argument against pantheism is summed 
 up in the remark that all pantheistic systems make the 
 diversities of the universe arise ex nihilo. He himself (in 
 his indeterminism, for example, as he acknowledges) admits 
 creation ex nihilo; but, of course, this does not make the 
 argument against pantheism any weaker ; and if a monadist, 
 rejecting creation, were to affirm the pre-existence of all 
 monads from eternity, then his position would seem to be 
 exempt from any counter-attack based on philosophical ob- 
 jections to the idea of creation in general. A pantheistic 
 explanation of things, nevertheless, remains possible even in 
 face of this more thoroughgoing monadism. For the " differing 
 elements " that are arrived at by analysis are not themselves 
 separate individual things. Differences between individual 
 things remain for monadism, as well as for pantheism, some- 
 thing to be explained, at least by their reduction to differences 
 between elements. Since the differing elements that have 
 been arrived at are simply " abstracts," it is not to be inferred 
 from their being known apart that they really exist apart. 
 Thus it seems open to any one to hold as a metaphysical 
 hypothesis, in opposition to the doctrine of a pluraUty of 
 separate substances, the position that the term '* substance '* 
 is properly applicable only to the whole of existence. Con- 
 sistently with this position it may be held that diversities have 
 pre-existed eternally ; the differences among individual things 
 being conceived as arising by segregation of elements. That 
 this hypothesis is sustainable is not, of course, sufficient to 
 establish pantheism ; but, at least, it may be taken as proof 
 that the philosophical analysis of experience does not compel 
 its rejection. 
 
 •U 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE.^ 
 
 IN former writings, several of which have been noticed in 
 Mindy Prof. Eucken has put forward some distinctive 
 views on the historical movement of philosophy in the past 
 and on the currents of philosophic thought that are most 
 powerful in the present. Hitherto his historical ideas have 
 only found incidental expression in the separate treatment of 
 particular thinkers. His view of present philosophical opinion 
 has been developed independently in Bie Eiiiheit des Geistes- 
 lehcns in Bewusstsein und That der Menschheit (see Mind, xiii. 
 461). Referring readers to that work for a more detailed 
 examination of philosophical thought in its bearing on life at 
 the present day, he now gives a supplement to it in the form 
 of a connected series of studies of the views of life that have 
 received philosophical embodiment at the hands of the great 
 thinkers who seem to him best to represent (or in so far as 
 they seem to him to represent) their own ages. The result is 
 that his view of present philosophy gains in concrete interest 
 and that his historical theorising conveys a more distinct total 
 impression. 
 
 Prof. Eucken's work might be called a history of European 
 ideals with a view to the determination of the ideal for the 
 present time. Setting out from the ** national Greek " view of 
 life, he begins with an account of the philosophies of Plato 
 and Aristotle ; Aristotle being, in his view, the most consistent 
 
 ■ Die LebensaifKchauungen der grossen Denkcr. Eine Entwickelungs- 
 geschichte des Lebensproblems der Menschheit von Plato bis zur Gegen- 
 wart. Von Rudolf Eucken, Professor in Jena. Leipzig : Veit & Co., 1890. 
 Pp. viii., 496. 
 
 308 
 
 I II 
 
 I 
 
 
 »l 
 
304 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE. 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE. 
 
 305 
 
 interpreter of the purely Greek spirit, and Plato, though not 
 so wholly Greek as Aristotle, still in important respects a 
 typical representative of earlier as distinguished from later 
 antiquity. Here is found already the problem of reconciling 
 the claims of personal and impersonal being, which remains 
 central all through the development. Is human life, considered 
 theoretically, simply a phase of non-personal being, or has it 
 a relation to a transcendent personality? Ought it to be 
 subordinated practically to an external process, or to be lived 
 in accordance with an inward ideal? It is only later that 
 these questions will be definitely put; but they are already 
 seeking formulation. In the period of Greek freedom they 
 had found a provisional answer in a view which, while tending 
 to subordinate the individual man to an impersonal universe 
 in the theoretical relation, and in the practical relation to a 
 State that claimed to control his whole life in its own interests, 
 yet did not entirely suppress personality. For the universe 
 was then nearer to man through the absence of the trenchant 
 modern distinction between mind and nature ; and the indi- 
 vidual Greek citizen spontaneously found satisfaction in the 
 personal development made possible by the life of the city. 
 " What for us moderns lies as an ultimate aim at a distance 
 out of sight, is here boldly and largely grasped by the thinker 
 in an anticipatory solution." When Greek freedom is lost, 
 and at the same time the non- Hellenic world comes more into 
 view, " man is thrown from possession into search." The 
 problem, which now presents itself, of an individual life to be 
 lived without aid from spontaneously harmonious relations to 
 natural and political surroundings, is solved in different 
 fashions by the philosophic schools of later antiquity. The 
 Stoics raise the specifically ethical problem to independence. 
 The Neo-Platonists arrive at a properly religious conception, 
 and place the ideal wholly in an inward life. The Neo- 
 Platonist "inwardness," however, remains strongly tinged 
 by the " intellectualism " of antiquity. God and man are 
 conceived under the form of intelligence more than of moral 
 personahty. In the meantime Christianity has appeared, with 
 its promise of giving full satisfaction to the demand for a new 
 
 ideal of personal life by bringing man, conceived as essentially 
 a moral personality, into relation with God, conceived as the 
 transcendent moral and personal cause of all things. The 
 entrance of Christianity is thus '^ the greatest act of emanci- 
 pation in the history of the world." That the character of an 
 emancipation was so soon lost is to be explained by the internal 
 decay of the ancient world, which had no longer the vigour to 
 respond to the impulse towards a renewed moral life, but by 
 the weight of its political organisation and the rigid intel- 
 lectual form of its philosophies imposed on Christian life 
 the dogmas and discipline of the Catholic Church. During 
 the mediasval period the inward life was preserved by the 
 mystics, and at the Keformation the time had at length come 
 for a successful effort to revive the ideal of moral personahty 
 in its earlier Christian form and not under the Catholic form 
 of a synthesis of Christian with Greek and Koman elements. 
 Much, however, still remains to be done. The Reformers did 
 not get so near as they thought to primitive Christianity ; and 
 the restoration of the intellectualism of antiquity, proceeding 
 from the Renaissance and resulting in the more thoroughgoing 
 modern intellectuahsm, has necessitated a new effort at recon- 
 ciliation of opposite theoretical views and practical ideals. 
 Such a reconciliation. Prof. Eucken suggests, may be found 
 in the affirmation of an ''inward and spiritual" miracle, 
 together with the rejection of ''physical" miracle. That 
 revival of the life at once of Christianity and of classical 
 antiquity which constitutes the deeper basis of the new world 
 has now, however, to contend with the specifically and 
 narrowly "modern" ideal of "dynamism," or the putting 
 forth of the greatest possible activity in the movement of civilisa- 
 tion. From the two opposite philosophical points of view of 
 '' Naturalism " and " Intellectuahsm " (in a more special 
 sense), the whole movement of things (human hfe included) 
 is regarded either as a purely natural process or as a logical 
 process of a cosmical reason. The individual thus comes to 
 be thought of as having his reahty and his true hfe as a mere 
 link in an external process which, whether rational or only 
 natural, is in either case impersonal. " Intellectuahsm " and 
 
 21 
 
 !l 
 
 
306 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE. 
 
 I\ 
 
 " Naturalism," however, are in their apphcation to the detail 
 of life in irreconcilable opposition; and the elements of 
 civilisation derived from classical culture and from Chris- 
 tianity, opposed as they are equally to the ideal of mere 
 ** expenditure of force," are, after all, the most genuinely 
 modem. When confronted with Kant's doctrine of the moral 
 personality of man — the most distinctively Christian of modern 
 philosophical doctrines and the highest point reached by 
 modern philosophy — the '* dynamical " ideal of life breaks up. 
 For a time like the present, with its conflicting tendencies, 
 that ideal is, indeed, least of all adapted. The problem 
 
 I before us is one of selection and reconciliation of beliefs. In 
 the final reconciliation, the convictions required by the moral 
 personality must take the lead. An essential requirement for 
 
 ) the personal moral ideal is dependence on a transcendent 
 personality. The reconciliation of the classical and modern 
 ideals with the Christian ideal must consist, therefore, in 
 the carrying on of intellectual life and of the practical work 
 of civilisation under the dominance of the personal religious 
 life. This, in accordance with the principle of Protestantism, 
 must be free, not constrained under a uniform external 
 system. 
 
 The parts of Prof. Eucken's historical sketch that are likely 
 to meet with acceptance or rejection according to the indi- 
 vidual point of view of the reader being left aside, a brief 
 criticism may here be made on what seems a fundamental 
 inconsistency, or at least unreconciled juxtaposition, of views. 
 Catholicism, Prof. Eucken holds, is entirely the result of a 
 •* synthesis " of classical and Christian elements, not at all 
 of a subjugation of the classical world by a new force from 
 without. Among the philosophies that contributed to the 
 formation of the Catholic system, Neo-Platonism appears to 
 him exceptionally important : so much so that he interposes 
 his account of Plotinus between accounts of the older 
 Christian Fathers and of Augustine, and dismisses the later 
 Neo-Platonists as of no significance, because non-Christian. 
 Plotinus, we are told, destroyed what he wished to preserv^e — 
 that is, the ancient world of thought, and promoted what he 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE, 
 
 307 
 
 wished to destroy — that is, Christianity. The " fixation," the 
 '* standstill," of the ecclesiastical system is explained as the 
 last result of ancient ideas, and the system itself as their 
 legitimate outcome ; and the " life- weariness " that made 
 the ancient world, instead of carrying Christianity forward, 
 compel it into rigid limits, is found to have arrived at the 
 extreme in the Neo-Platonists. Yet, after all this, Prof. 
 Eucken insists, not only that it was from Neo-Platonist 
 writings that the mystics of the Middle Age drew the inspira- 
 tion by which they kept up the " internal life of feeling," 
 but also that emancipation from the mediaeval system of 
 thought at the Benaissance was attained in the philosophical 
 field above all by a return to Neo-Platonism as a new starting- 
 point. 
 
 At once the most distinctive and the most noteworthy point 
 of Prof. Eucken's book, as of its immediate predecessor, is his 
 opposition to modern " dynamism "—which, at the same time, 
 he describes not unsympathetically. Probably no one has 
 better portrayed that materialistic mysticism of the "gospel 
 of work " with which we are all familiar. Its power to ally 
 itself with either of two opposing systems of theoretical 
 philosophy, and thus to take on the illusory appearance of a 
 philosophy of life, is well shown ; though, perhaps, Prof. 
 Eucken looks upon it rather as the outcome of those systems 
 than as a mood that attaches itself to them. In any case he 
 brings forward good reasons for holding that it is only super- 
 ficially modern. The subjectivity of modern philosophy must 
 of itself prevent us from finding any permanent solution of 
 the problems of life in action prior to theoretical insight or 
 personal conviction. 
 
 That the " intellectualism " (in the more general sense) of 
 modern philosophy is destined to take the subordinate place 
 assigned to it in the determination of belief is not at all so 
 certain. It is remarkable that Prof. Eucken himself makes- 
 the interesting concession that Kant's exclusive " moralism " 
 has caused him, in theoretical philosophy, to fall short of the 
 great thinkers of the seventeenth century, and that here,, 
 though not elsewhere, the nineteenth century has gone beyond 
 
308 
 
 THOUGHT AND LIFE. 
 
 
 him. Prof. Eucken's own reconciliation of the demands of 
 intellect and of the moral personality by the admission of the 
 miraculous in the realm of mind but not of nature does not 
 seem very hopeful. In his present work it is only suggested. 
 If it were developed, there are obvious difficulties that it 
 would have to meet which are not touched upon. 
 
 \\ I 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION^ 
 
 rjIHE characteristic that first strikes the reader of M. 
 -L Tarde's book is its geniaUty and briUiancy in detail. 
 With all this brilliancy it is, at the same time, the clear pre- 
 sentation of a definite main thesis to serve as the foundation 
 of a scientific sociology. Earlier writers, as M. Tarde points 
 out, have often been struck with the social importance of the 
 phenomena of imitation; but no one has hitherto sought to 
 constitute the whole science of sociology by generahsing those 
 phenomena. What has hitherto chiefly been attempted is 
 rather to bring the facts of society under some physical or 
 biological formula. A purely social expression of the facts 
 has been thought not to be scientific enough. It is true that 
 sociology is based on physics and biology ; for society involves 
 physical and vital as well as purely social facts. The definite 
 constitution of sociology as a separate science requires, 
 however, that there should be some kind of uniformity that 
 is distinctively social, and which cannot be fully expressed 
 in biological or physical terms. This uniformity M. Tarde 
 finds in *' imitation." All scientific laws are cases of " uni- 
 versal repetition." The social form of repetition is imitation, 
 as its physical form — to name the most conspicuous — is 
 vibration, and its vital form generation. Imitation is here a 
 psychological term, being the name for the uniformity dis- 
 played by minds in society. " Pure sociology," or sociology 
 
 * l,e% Loii de VImitation, i,tude Sociologique. Par G. Tarde. Paris : 
 F. Alcan, 1890. Pp. viii. , 432. 
 
 800 
 
 |i 
 
810 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION, 
 
 as far as it is not based on the generalisations already attained 
 by physicists and biologists, is concerned exclusively with this 
 mental uniformity. Within the individual mind a new idea 
 raises up likenesses of itself, and tends to assimilate the ideas 
 with which it has come into relation. So, when men dwell 
 together in society, an invention or discovery, a new mode of 
 thinking or feeling, arising in one mind is " imitated " in other 
 minds, and, as its last result, gives origin to actions having all 
 a certain resemblance because they have their spring in similar 
 desires and beliefs. 
 
 ** Imitation " thus gives to social phenomena that element 
 of generality without which no science can exist ; but the 
 facts of society are not wholly constituted by this generality. 
 What is imitated is in the end always some idea or feeling 
 that arises in an individual mind. The whole movement of 
 society depends finally on the initiative of individuals. From 
 point to point of the series of inventions and discoveries made 
 in the course of history, certain relations of dependence may 
 be detected. It can often be shown that particular discoveries 
 and inventions must have preceded others. There is conse- 
 quently a place for speculation as to the order of the individual 
 causes of social progress. Such speculations constitute the 
 '* philosophy " of society or of history. By the " science " of 
 society the individual causes in their actual grouping must be 
 taken as original collocations, which it is not its business to 
 go beyond. They have a certain " discontinuous " and, so to 
 speak, accidental character, which must always withdraw 
 them from complete scientific explanation. All the sciences 
 that are concerned with given facts, and not merely sociology, 
 have to assume empirical data of this kind. Individuality, in 
 some sense, is at the root of all real existence. 
 
 Every kind of intellectual or moral assimilation of the 
 beliefs or desires of other persons being called " imitation," 
 and every new mode of thinking or feeling an " invention," 
 the aim of social science may be defined as the ascertain- 
 ment of the laws of the imitative propagation of inventions. 
 Socially, as the author puts it, all is invention and imitation. 
 Eesemblances between the members of different societies, 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 311 
 
 when they are not due to imitation are due either to the 
 common pressure of similar circumstances and needs or to 
 heredity. They are therefore rightly called " natural," as 
 not being distinctively human or social. 
 
 In the application of his general conception M. Tarde makes 
 considerable advances towards the establishment of definite 
 laws of the social transmission of ideas. His distinction 
 between the "logical" and "extra-logical" factors of social 
 development, for example, of itself clears away a good deal 
 of obstruction from the unprepossessed study of society ; and 
 his positive laws of the action of the two kinds of causes 
 are far-reaching and generalised from large masses of facts. 
 These laws will be the main subject of what follows ; but first 
 M. Tarde's definition of the '* social group " must be stated, 
 together with an important deduction from it. 
 
 The social group is defined as a collection of beings that 
 imitate one another or that have been brought to resemble 
 one another by imitation of the same model. This definition 
 M. Tarde opposes to the definition of a society as consisting 
 in a union of beings for mutual economical aid. In support of 
 it, he puts various cases of actual societies, and asks whether 
 there is the most genuine "society" between those persons who 
 most resemble one another or between those who have most 
 economical need of one another. Evidently the truest society is 
 between those who resemble one another mentally, though they 
 may be rivals, and not between those who, needing one another 
 economically, have no mental resemblance. Such resem- 
 blance as is required to constitute a genuine society can only 
 be produced by some form of " imitation " — such as common 
 education or common traditions. Hence a judicial definition 
 of society would be better than an economical definition. For 
 the " mutual determination of engagements or consents, of 
 rights and duties " depends on a certain degree of mental 
 resemblance, and arises only among those who recognise their- 
 similarity to one another; while economical relations are 
 rather an expression of the constraint exercised by external 
 circumstances, than of the genuinely social impulse, and can 
 exist without the resemblance due to imitation. Far from 
 
 i 
 
 % 
 
\f 
 
 312 
 
 TEE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 denoting an advanced state of civilisation, the tendency to 
 subordinate the consideration of rights to that of services 
 loses its force in proportion as humanity improves. Society 
 I in the sense of " social organisation " certainly involves eco- 
 nomical aid; but in the sense of " sociahty " it does not. 
 Sociality, or the purely social element in society, is free 
 individual impulse, propagating itself by spontaneous imita- 
 tion. As the social comes more and more to dominate the 
 vital and the physical, purely social relations will gain more 
 control over economical relations. Discussing, further on, the 
 description given of "our contemporary epoch" as one of 
 *' science and industr}-," M. Tarde remarks that to describe 
 it thus is to say that it is occupied with means rather than 
 with ends. Though philosophy has not been wholly neglected, 
 special science has advanced more rapidly than the philosophy 
 of science ; and there is a far greater disproportion between 
 the accumulation of industrial means and their employment 
 for the ends of civilisation. A not very distant age may 
 see the subordination of industry to aesthetic and ethical 
 ideas. 
 
 So far as the imitative propagation of inventions and dis- 
 coveries is due to social as distinguished from physical and 
 vital causes, its causes are in part logical and in part extra- 
 logical. Of the innovations suggested by individual minds, 
 some are taken up and imitated in preference to others be- 
 cause they are found truer or more useful. Their propagation 
 \ is thus " logical or teleological." The way in which logical or 
 teleological imitation proceeds is this. At the earliest stage of 
 social development there is coexistence of all inventions in all 
 kinds without any consciousness of mutual incompatibility. 
 Progress takes place by " accumulation." As inventions con- 
 tinue to accumulate, contradictions declare themselves. There 
 is now a series of dialectical struggles, each of which ends in 
 the victory of one of two opposing ideas or in the supersession 
 of both by a third. First the contradiction is perceived by 
 individual minds. When the phase of mental hesitation has 
 passed, and each person has decided for one idea or the other, 
 the struggle becomes a social struggle between two parties 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 3ia 
 
 or sections. Progress now takes place by " substitution," 
 peaceful or violent, of a conquering for a defeated idea. This 
 in turn does not go on indefinitely. By a process of ehmina- 
 tion a system of principles is at length left behind, within 
 which all later inventions take their places in order. Thus 
 there is once more progress by accumulation; but the ideas 
 accumulated, instead of merely not contradicting one another, 
 now support one another. All this, of course, goes on in ar 
 series of rhythms, not in three continuous stages extending 
 over the whole of human history. Take, as an example, the 
 growth of a language. At first every new name or gram- 
 matical form is a new acquisition, and all can coexist. In 
 time the gi'ammatical forms evolved begin to come into colli- 
 sion. Some are now selected and some thrown out, till at 
 length the grammar of the language has become fixed. Be- 
 yond this point, the vocabulary can again increase, and even 
 more rapidly than at first, a place being ready for every new 
 word on condition that it conforms to certain rules ; but there 
 is no more advance in fundamentals. So it is not merely with 
 language, but with every social institution and with every 
 science and art. The term of all logical conflict is pacification 
 and unity, a common faith in a common ideal. 
 
 Imitation under extra-logical influences also takes place 
 according to assignable laws. Its movement is always from 
 within outwards, and from the superior, whether person, 
 locahty, or class, to the inferior. Further, in any given 
 society imitation either follows by preference the example of 
 ancestors, or by preference takes up innovations, especially 
 those initiated outside the particular social group. That is ta 
 say, it assumes the form either of "custom" or of "fashion." 
 By the law of movement from within outwards is meant that 
 belief determines action, and not action belief. Behefs and 
 desires, not their external expressions, are the substance and 
 force of what is imitated. Imitation of externals is the result 
 of a desire to resemble internally the models that are followed. 
 In the statement of the second law we are to understand by 
 "superior" the recognised superior. Although there is a 
 certain reaction from the inferior to the superior, imitation 
 
 f 
 
 4 
 
 * 
 
m 
 
 S14 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 always spreads from the social summits. And when old in- 
 equalities disappear new ones appear ; so that there are always 
 points from which imitation can proceed. At the present time, 
 indeed, it proceeds more rapidly than ever. The recognised 
 superiors at any particular time are those who show themselves 
 most able to understand the discoveries and to take advantage 
 of the inventions already made. The third law of extra-logical 
 imitation does not apply, as the two first do, to all the imita- 
 tions within any society (the logical motives being supposed 
 equal). Custom, or imitation of ancestral examples, always 
 preponderates over "fashion" on the whole; but there is a 
 certain range for variation, and within this range, according 
 to the society or period, either of the two forms may rule. In 
 all societies imitation takes the form of custom before it takes 
 that of fashion. A social group need not pass from the first 
 stage to the second ; but wherever there is transition the order 
 of succession is invariable. Fashion is uniform and unstable ; 
 custom is multiform and stable. During the Middle Ages, for 
 example, when (in everything but some main points, such as 
 religion) custom ruled throughout Europe, the particular 
 usages varied from country to country and from province to 
 province. On the other hand, they were fixed in time. Pre- 
 cisely the same usages might be found at the same spot after 
 the lapse of a century. In an age of fashion, such as the 
 present, the usages, in those departments of life, for example, 
 to which '* the great industry " appeals, are the same all over 
 Europe at the same moment. Ten years later they have 
 changed, but are equally uniform. Will this instability con- 
 tinue for ever ? M. Tarde's conclusion is that it will not. At 
 the end of the long series of alternations of custom and fashion, 
 there will be a final movement of concentration, and custom 
 will rule universally. The results of the diffusion of innova- 
 tions by fashion will themselves have assumed the "custo- 
 mary" form; but with the restored stability of custom there 
 will be combined the acquired uniformity of fashion. Civili- 
 sation of the European type, having conquered all the others, 
 will have become absolutely fixed, like those that have pre- 
 ceded it. 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 316 
 
 " Fashion," as M. Tarde understands it, is simply the 
 extension of the relation between different classes in the same 
 society, beyond the bounds of particular States. At certain 
 epochs, the foreign usage has the kind of prestige that belongs 
 to the usage of a superior class. Setting out from Mr. 
 Spencer's antithesis of military and industrial societies, M. 
 Tarde brings this into comparison with Tocqueville's antithesis 
 of aristocratic and democratic societies, and finally proposes 
 to substitute for both that of societies of predominant custom 
 and of predominant fashion. This last antithesis, he finds, can 
 really be made the ground for a connected set of generalisa- 
 tions, as the former two cannot. What is aimed at by 
 Tocqueville and by Mr. Spencer alike is to seize upon the causal 
 element of the social transformation going on in our own 
 period. Two types of society are imagined, one of which has 
 for its determining ground to be industrial or democratic, the 
 other, to be military or aristocratic. The type of society that 
 Mr. Spencer has in view when he speaks of militarism, Toc- 
 queville has in view when he speaks of aristocracy, and 
 similarly with the antithetical terms. The industrial or 
 democratic type of society, both thinkers hold, is destined 
 in the future to triumph over the opposite type. Neither 
 antithesis, however, really describes the fundamental contrast 
 of older European society with the society that is tending to 
 be. The causal element of the modern social transformation 
 is that where the past was formerly imitated men now take 
 example from the present. For the fascination of distance in 
 time is substituted the fascination of distance in space. In- 
 stead of ancestors, innovating contemporaries are followed. The 
 industrial as opposed to the military organisation of society, 
 M. Tarde does not find to be everywhere, or to be necessarily, 
 favourable to individual independence. On the other hand, 
 he accepts Tocqueville's conclusions as to the differences 
 between aristocratic and democratic societies, if for aristo- 
 cratic we read " ruled by ancestral custom," and for 
 democratic "ruled by contemporary fashion." He finds in 
 Tocqueville's attitude, however, a certain inconsistency. 
 Though favourable on the whole to the " democratic " state 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 a 
 
 \ 
 
316 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION, 
 
 \\\ 
 
 rii 
 
 of society in which social uniformity is brought about by the 
 gradual diffusion of innovations, Tocqueville, as M. Tarde 
 points out, in the end admits that its tendency is " authori- 
 tative," while the *' aristocratic " state of society, or the 
 society ruled by custom, is comparatively '* liberal" ; and yet 
 Tocqueville cared more for liberty than for equality. It is 
 curious that there is in M. Tarde's attitude precisely the same 
 inconsistency. As a general rule he ascribes a liberalising and 
 rationalising influence to " fashion." Yet in the end he finds 
 that the tendency of fashion is to be more tyrannical than 
 custom. This inconsistency, of course, does not overthrow 
 M. Tarde's historical generalisations, for he does not make the 
 connexion of fashion with freedom any part of these. Its 
 effect is simply to emphasise his own distinction between the 
 logical and extra-logical factors of the social movement. In- 
 novation of a more or less cosmopolitan kind has no doubt for 
 a long time been a liberalising influence in Europe. But, as 
 M. Tarde occasionally recognises, it has not invariably been 
 so, and it is not necessarily so. A Medising Greek, for 
 example, or an Ultramontane, would have to be placed among 
 the partisans of " extra-national fashion." M. Tarde himself 
 gives some illustrations that might be added to these, and that 
 effectively dissociate the "extra-logical" preference to follow 
 fashion or custom from the logical choice of liberty or its 
 opposite. 
 
 The true " social question " of the present time, M. Tarde 
 says in one place, is whether European civilisation shall 
 arrive at its definitive type by discussion and criticism or by 
 the unlimited expansion of some new social authority. The 
 solution, he says, cannot yet be foreseen ; but his desires 
 appear to be on one side, and his expectations on the other. 
 For while he regards it as certain that, the future order once con- 
 summated, behef will again become " intense and intolerant," 
 that a cosmopohtan and authoritative religion (founded on 
 science) will rule over all minds and wills, he expresses the 
 hope that the solution may be long deferred, that our ''price- 
 less intellectual anarchy" may remain to us as long as 
 possible. From different chapters a sufficiently clear idea 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 317 
 
 may be gained as to what the future order, in M. Tarde's 
 view, is likely to be. Again and again he returns to the 
 examples of China and the Byzantine Empire as illustrating 
 the inevitable term of all civilisations. Divergent in every- 
 thing that does not depend on physical and vital causes— for 
 social progress, apart from conquest of one civilisation by 
 another, moves not to a single end, but to many — these two 
 completed social types are alike characterised by the fixation 
 of highly complex customs regulating the whole of life and 
 art. So we may expect it to be with modern European civili- 
 sation. A period of temporary mobility, such as was doubt- 
 less traversed by all the Asiatic civilisations, such as we know 
 that Graeco-Roman civilisation passed through, only prepares 
 for the uniformity of the terminal fixation. Liberty is only a 
 "passage between two disciplines." The idea of "equality 
 before the law," with other juridical ideas of the kind, is 
 destined to become a mere memory in the European con- 
 sciousness. There are signs that the independent search for 
 truth will be sacrificed to the social need for some consoling 
 illusion. Future society will probably be strongly hierarchical, 
 in spite of (or perhaps because of) the diffusion of the same 
 ideas and needs through its whole mass. By progressive 
 mixture of customs following upon their extra-national dis- 
 semination in the shape of fashion, uniformity will, without 
 any poHtical union, be estabhshed perhaps over the whole 
 earth. The universal establishment of a single political 
 organisation is also possible, though there are powerful causes 
 that may prevent this. What we may hope for and foresee, 
 is that individuality will show itself ineffaceable in the end, 
 and will emerge from the society of the future with new 
 and finer shades of difference in the form of the aesthetic 
 life. 
 
 Others have desired or feared a new. Middle Age of this 
 kind. If we allow the chance of its appearance, we must, of 
 course, agree with M. Tarde in the hope that its advent will 
 be deferred as long as possible. Is " intellectual anarchy " 
 our only security against it, or is there some deeper ground 
 of hope that something quite different may arrive ? It seems 
 
 M 
 
 tt: 
 
^0 
 
 318 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION, 
 
 ^ :/ 
 
 to me that M. Tarde himself supplies us with a reason for 
 expecting a different state of things. Our strongest security 
 against a new epoch of authoritative social compression lies 
 not so much in the persistence of disagreements as in a 
 certain approximation to agreement. Societies, as M. Tarde 
 admirably explains, always after a time of conflict arrive at 
 the fixation of their " grammar." "What if the ethical and 
 political " grammar " of modern Europe were to consist 
 precisely of those maxims that are required for the perma- 
 nent establishment of a state of freedom ? It is not necessary 
 that there should be agreement as to the philosophical grounds 
 of the maxims — as to whether, for example, the basis of the 
 idea of justice is experiential or purely rational. All that is 
 necessary is that the practical principles should be determi- 
 nate and such as to gain general assent. In intellectual 
 matters is there not already an approximation to this ? If we 
 suppose the liberty of criticism and discussion recognised as a 
 principle and victorious in any conflict that it may have to 
 enter upon, then by our very supposition we exclude the type 
 of " customary " civilisation imagined by M. Tarde. Under 
 the perpetual action of unfettered criticism no system of 
 minute and tyrannical custom could maintain itself. Fixity 
 of the ideal, given the disposition to use reason constantly in 
 order to determine action, would of itself exclude fixity of 
 usage ; for it cannot be supposed that external circumstances 
 will cease to change, and if they change, then, the ideal 
 remaining the same, human action must vary. The last 
 result conceivable becomes — to make use of a physical 
 metaphor — a moving as distinguished from a stable equili- 
 brium. To say this is even perhaps to concede too much to 
 the idea of a fixed term ; for, as M. Tarde has shown, accumu- 
 lation of discoveries and inventions can go on indefinitely after 
 principles are fixed. This accumulation does not of itself 
 constitute the ideal ; but there is an ideal in relation to which 
 it has value ; and this ideal is one which, conceived by earlier 
 antiquity, did not find its fulfilment in the Byzantine Empire. 
 That M. Tarde 's own expectations are not so pessimistic as 
 we might fancy is perhaps to be inferred from a passage where 
 
 THE LAWS OF IMITATION. 
 
 819 
 
 he suggests that " the ideal of the future " is a modification 
 and expansion of ** the ancient city."* 
 
 » All the recent attempts made in a scientific spirit to forecast the future 
 seem to me to confirm the soundness of the Platonic dictum, that no one 
 while he is in his sober senses can prophesy truly. In attempting political 
 prophecy from a basis of fact and tendency, even Hume, setting out to be 
 as cool as possible, conspicuously failed. For true prophecy we must go to 
 poets inspired by 
 
 " the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come." 
 
 kI 
 
 
 ' 
 
 I ' 
 
 I 
 
 ' 'I 
 
 
hM, 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY.^ 
 
 iii-i, 
 
 THESE substantial volumes form a piece of work that was 
 well worth doing, and is very well done. In the shape of 
 studies of particular thinkers, they include both a history, in 
 efifect continuous, of modern theories of Cause, and an inde- 
 pendent discussion of the scientific validity of the conception 
 and its philosophical basis. The author, it may be noted at 
 the outset, proclaims himself a Kantian ; and being, as nearly 
 as possible, a pure Kantian, he finds much to agree with in 
 English experiential philosophy both before and after Kant. 
 It is on the experiential side of Kant that he especially dwells, 
 one of his principal results being the rejection — in reference to 
 the conception of Cause — of philosophic rationalism. Not 
 merely the particular phenomena that are thought of as 
 causally connected, but the causal relation itself, is given in 
 experience. A mental " activity " is required to turn the 
 ** given " order into a necessary connexion ; but the criteria 
 by which we know that the relation is one of cause and effect 
 are wholly experiential. The rationalistic view of the causal 
 sequence, the notion of the effect as deducihlc from its cause 
 apart from previous experience, though not yet wholly banished 
 from scientific thought so far as it is uninformed by philosophy, 
 can no longer have any place in the philosophical theory of 
 science. 
 
 ^ Die Entwickelung des Causalprohlems von Cartesivs his Kant. Studien 
 2ur Orientirung iiber die Aufgaben der Metaphysik und Erkenntnisslehre. 
 Von Dr. Edmund Koenio. Leipzig : 0. Wigand, 1888. Pp. vi., 340. 
 
 Die Entwickcluiuj des Causalproblems in der Pfiilosophie sett Kant. 
 Studien zur Orientirung, &c. (Zweiter Theil.) Von Dr. Edmund Koenio. 
 Leipzig : O. Wigand, 1890. Pp. xii., 488. 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 321 
 
 The rationalistic notion of Cause, as the author begins by 
 showing, was the predominant one at the opening of modern 
 philosophy. By Descartes it was expressly formulated, and 
 over English philosophy down to Locke it retained a powerful 
 influence. Cause was defined as that from which the effect 
 follows with necessity; the conception of the effect being 
 necessarily involved in the conception of the cause. The 
 starting-point was here given by certain scholastic definitions ; 
 but the notion of Cause took its distinctively modern character 
 first from its combination with the monistic doctrine of the 
 unity of composition of all things, and then from its expression 
 in terms of the '* mechanical philosophy." That it could be 
 made use of for the actual explanation of nature was owing to 
 the employment along with experiment, by the men of genius 
 who founded modern physics, of the method of analysis. 
 Galileo's foundation of dynamics, for example, was the result 
 of the application of analytical thought to experiences of 
 motion. Such elements in the phenomenon were distin- 
 guished as could be experimented upon in sufficient isolation. 
 Whatever discoveries might be made by experiment thus 
 directed, it was nevertheless a long time before science 
 attained the conception of an observed uniformity as constitu- 
 ting a natural " law." For Galileo, as for Descartes, no pro- 
 position was entitled to rank as a "law" unless it could be 
 deduced rationally from some immediately evident axiom. 
 The art, it is true, was in analysing complex relations into 
 simple relations that could be established or disproved by 
 experiment; but to the completed process the form of a 
 deduction had to be given. So long as the relations were 
 those involved in the communication of motion by contact, 
 they appeared so obvious that little question was raised as to 
 the method of pure deduction being the ideal method. The 
 •'mechanical philosophy" could look forward to a complete 
 demonstration of all natural processes from the definition of 
 matter as having figure and impenetrability, together with like 
 simple definitions of motion and so forth. Newton's employ- 
 ment of the principle of " action at a distance " was regarded 
 by the philosophical mechanicists as a falling off from this view ; 
 
 22 
 
 /« 
 
 
 It 
 •3 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
iii 
 
 322 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 i ' I 
 
 such action not being deducible from their definition of matter : 
 and even Newton did not venture at once to reject the concep- 
 tion of a physical axiom as an immediately eyident principle, 
 and of a scientific "law" as to be deduced from axioms. 
 Gravitation was asserted as something really occurring, though 
 not in itself immediately intelligible, that might in the future 
 receive deductive explanation. The Newtonian principle, in 
 the meantime, was found to furnish a thoroughgoing scientific 
 interpretation of the planetary motions such as the rigorous 
 " mechanical" doctrine could not give, and so tended to bring 
 into vogue an experiential philosophy for which ultimate 
 natural laws were neither deducible from mere general axioms 
 nor immediately evident. Then, as scientific research made 
 its way more and more into details, there went on an accumu- 
 lation of observed uniformities that could not be deduced from 
 any recognised principles. Such uniformities also came to be 
 called " laws," and the conception of a scientific law as a 
 uniformity, whether deducible or not, at length became the 
 prevalent one. 
 
 Partly promoting and partly promoted by the scientific 
 movement towards experientialism, there was a properly 
 philosophical movement. The Occasionalist school, antici- 
 pating later " Positivism," denied that there is any rationally 
 deducible or immediately evident connexion among natural 
 events ; nature, so far as accessible to science, being regarded 
 as '• phenomenal," or as consisting of appearances without real 
 " intelligible " relations to one another. To natural science is 
 refused the rational character that Descartes strove to impress 
 upon it. The only recognised "cause," in the older sense, is 
 the will of God. All relations discovered by science are, 
 therefore, arbitrary connexions. It is not to be judged apart 
 from experience w^hat connexions exist or do not exist in 
 nature. There is a fixed order in things, but no real efficiency. 
 The efficient cause is " metaphysical." A rationalistic meta- 
 physic is thus combined with an empirical and phenomenist 
 view of natural law. Independently, the English experiential 
 movement made way. From the ground of Locke's psycho- 
 logical criticism of knowledge, Berkeley proceeded to a com- 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 323 
 
 pletely phenomenist view of nature, and Hume to a pheno- 
 menism (in combination with scepticism) extended universally. 
 The conception of the causal relation as a necessary connexion, 
 involving an intelligible " power" of the cause to produce its 
 effect, became untenable as far as the phenomenist view 
 extended. With Berkeley it disappeared for corporeal things, 
 but not for " spirits " ; with Hume it disappeared altogether.' 
 Scientifically, no causal connexions — not even the most 
 *• obvious" mechanical ones — could now be asserted prior to 
 experience. Influenced or not by this movement, the scientific 
 rationalism of Descartes, while it was carried forward, was 
 also made less rigorous. In Spinoza, indeed, it reached its 
 consummation; but Leibniz, by his principle of "sufficient 
 reason," prepared the way for an experiential view of natural 
 law, combined with an a imorl theory of knowledge. Kant, as 
 the author maintains, brought the double development to a 
 conclusion which is, in essentials, definitive. Later thought, 
 while it has not failed to be penetrated to some extent by the 
 Kantian criticism, and has made great advances in detail, has 
 yet recurred, more or less, on one side to rationalistic doctrines 
 of the pre-Kantian type, and on the other side to pure expe- 
 rientialism. A return to the Kantian criticism is still neces- 
 sary, in order to correct the results of thinkers like Comte 
 or Mill on the one side, and Herbart or Lotze on the other. 
 This is a general outline of what the author aims at showing 
 historically. Let us now try to follow him in more detail, 
 bringing out his most interesting points in relation to par- 
 ticular topics. 
 
 First, it may be useful to recapitulate the names of the 
 thinkers discussed. They are, in the first volume : Descartes, 
 Malebranche (as representing Occasionalism), Spinoza, Leib- 
 niz, Wolff, Crusius, Bacon, Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, 
 the Scottish School (Reid), Kant ; in the second volume : 
 Maine de Biran, Schopenhauer, Trendelenburg, Herbart, 
 Lotze, Comte (omitted in the table of contents). Mill, Ernst 
 Laas and Carl Goering ("German Empiricists"), Spencer, 
 Riehl, Hartmann and Volkelt ("Transcendental Realists"), 
 Wundt. The work is rounded off by a general " Introduction," 
 
 ' 
 
824 
 
 THE PBOBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 1 
 
 a special introduction (to the first volume) on *' The Causal 
 Conception in the Natural Science of the seventeenth and 
 eighteenth centuries," and conclusions (to the second volume) 
 on " The Causal Conception in the Natural Science of to- 
 day " and " The Causal Conception in the Psychology of 
 to-day." 
 
 The maxim of Causality — or, more generally, of Uniformity 
 of Nature — whether it is explained according to rationalistic or 
 experiential principles, may be stated either as a law of per- 
 sistence or as a law of constant sequence. With the 
 rationalists of the seventeenth centur}^ it tended to take 
 the form of a law of persistence of matter and " motion." 
 Simultaneity of cause and effect, and the implication of effect 
 in cause, result from the purely logical view of the relation. 
 To this view the ancient position that nothing is created or 
 destroyed was taken as equivalent, and was asserted for the 
 whole history of the world, so far as accessible to science. 
 Revived Atomism asserted it for matter; and by Descartes and 
 Leibniz it was applied in different ways to motion. Here, 
 what the great speculative thinkers really did was to " postu- 
 late " that in motion there is something quantitatively con- 
 stant. By purely rational deduction no approximatively 
 accurate formulation of that which is constant was arrived 
 at except by accident. Leibniz's view that motion, when 
 there is question of its constancy, ought to be measured by 
 vis viva and not by momentum, could not be established 
 deductively against any other view. Yet it was the constant 
 affirmation of such extremely general principles, supposed to 
 be axiomatic, that pointed out the way to special investigators. 
 The atomic hypothesis has been taken up into exact science. 
 So also the assertion of constancy in " motion " got accurate 
 formulation and proof, when in recent times the law of Con- 
 servation of Energy was experimentally established. A law 
 of a certain type, or a very general hypothesis, had all along 
 been in view as a possible means of co-ordinating phenomena. 
 Scientific insight had only to detect the right moment for 
 recurring to the hypothesis, or for seeking accurate experi- 
 mental verification of a precise formula. 
 
 THE PBOBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 825 
 
 • 1 
 
 With the theories based on Gravitation and Natural 
 Selection, as might have been shown at length, the case is 
 somewhat different. Here an observed process, which had 
 only been taken into account within a small range, or had 
 been incidentally generalised in a more or less conjectural 
 manner by some isolated thinker, was all at once taken up 
 and made the principle of a system of scientific explanation 
 of the highest generality. For this reason the achievements of 
 Newton and Darwin are rightly looked upon as the supreme 
 expressions of scientific genius. Philosophic thought had not 
 80 distinctly prepared for them as for the achievements of 
 Dalton and Joule. 
 
 The iTiethod of the rationalist thinkers, we may say in 
 general agreement with Dr. Koenig, is to a large extent 
 justified. A large part of science owes its origin to philo- 
 sophic thought ascending very rapidly to the most general 
 principles ; and even where philosophic thought has had less 
 part in the origination of scientific theories, bold speculation 
 and hypothesis are just as necessary as experiment. It was 
 the conditions of proof, as distinguished from discovery, that 
 remained to be established by the philosophic experientialists. 
 The rationalistic error was not in inventing theories before 
 finding out all that can be known of the facts, but in supposing 
 that there can be any valid deduction of a natural process 
 from principles of knowledge apart from the constant appeal 
 to experience. 
 
 This error, as Dr. Koenig shows, assumed two forms. One 
 of its forms was the supposition that effects can be deduced 
 from causes by the logical law of Identity. The other was the 
 attempt to construct natural laws by pure mathematics. In 
 the thinkers of the seventeenth century the two forms are not 
 clearly distinguishable. Among the post-Kantians Herbart 
 illustrates the attempt to reduce all science— mathematics 
 included— to formal logic ; while the idea of a mathematical 
 construction of effects from causes is illustrated in its purity 
 by Trendelenburg. The Herbartian view, looked at from one 
 side, is an extreme rationalism. Yet when the Kantian 
 distinction between "analytic" and "synthetic" judgments 
 
 r 
 
 i( 
 
 
826 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 I 
 
 disappears in complete vagueness, so that no a priori is recog- 
 nised but the laws of formal logic, an approach is made to 
 experientialism. 
 
 The first advance beyond pure rationalism on its own lines 
 was the introduction by Leibniz of the principle of " sufficient 
 reason," or of '* ground and consequent," as a scientific 
 principle. Theoretically it was still held that all laws ought 
 to be deduced from immediately evident principles of know- 
 ledge ; but, when deduction was impossible, the actual 
 existence of an experimental sequence under proper conditions- 
 was held to indicate that one phenomenon is the " cause " of 
 another which constantly follows it. That is to say, if we 
 knew its nature thoroughly we should be able to think it as 
 the intelligible "ground" of the ** effect," or succeeding 
 phenomenon, which accordingly is to be regarded as its 
 ** consequent." The appeal to experience was admitted more 
 explicitly by Wolff, who expressly asserted the distinction 
 between the "ideal" and the "real" ground, left vague by 
 Leibniz ; and still more explicitly by Crusius, who made th& 
 real co-ordinate with the ideal ground, to which it had hitherto 
 been subordinated. Thus the Leibnizian rationalism, even 
 before Kant, was still further weakened. 
 
 In the meantime the rationalistic view, consistently worked 
 out, had led to the assertion of a stringent determinism. 
 Spinoza had here developed the doctrine to its legitimate 
 conclusion. He also, first of the moderns, had found a recon- 
 cihation of determinism with the " moral freedom " of man. 
 This was not a new problem taken up by Leibniz, as it is 
 sometimes made to appear ; nor did Leibniz, in his solution of 
 it, succeed in attenuating the Spinozistic determinism to the 
 smallest extent. His "moral" or " teleological " determination 
 is no less really "necessary" than the logical or mathematical 
 determination of Spinoza. 
 
 On the gi'ound of experientialism Hobbes had already 
 asserted a deterministic doctrine as rigorous as Spinoza's.. 
 By Hobbes and Spinoza, whether determinism was strictly 
 demonstrated or not, the proof of "metaphysical freedom" 
 drawn from the declaration of self-consciousness had been 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY, 
 
 327 
 
 rendered once for all impossible. This is henceforth a 
 " classical truth." 
 
 The further transformation of rationaUsm by Kant consisted, 
 so far as causation is concerned, in assigning not only all 
 particular causal sequences, but the form itself of the causal 
 relation, to experience ; the thinking mind being held to 
 contribute simply the affirmation of the causal relation as 
 "necessary." This affirmation is a priori because it is added 
 to the " given " experience. And nothing in it is a priori but 
 the " intrinsic constraint " by which the given causal order is 
 turned into a necessary connexion. Thus rationalism in its 
 older form has entirely disappeared. The results of the 
 English critical movement have been incorporated in the 
 Kantian doctrine. The doctrine is now, as the author 
 expresses it, "Positivism" — but with " Apriorism " super- 
 posed. 
 
 More exactly, while upholding " Positivism " against 
 " Rationalism," and " Phenomenahsm " against " ReaUsm," 
 Dr. Koenig at the same time places himself on the side of 
 "Apriorism" against "Empiricism," and of " Litellectualism " 
 (as he says) against " Sensualism." To understand his theory 
 of Kant's view of causation we must therefore follow out 
 separately his history of the a priori doctrine in modern 
 philosophy. 
 
 The " a priori " is not the " innate." Locke's polemic 
 against " innate ideas" present as such before " perceptions," 
 was fully justified. Even in the Cartesian school, innate ideas 
 have a "logical" rather than a "psychological " significance, 
 though Descartes did not always make the distinction suffi- 
 ciently clear. Leibniz, in his polemic against Locke, insisted 
 more expressly on this distinction, and, by his insistence on it, 
 was the first to put forward " theory of knowledge " as a 
 philosophical doctrine independent of psychology. Both 
 Descartes and Leibniz had at the same time attempted a 
 psychological defence of their common doctrine. Ideas, it 
 was said, are present in the mind before experience * ' poten- 
 tially " though not actually. Leibniz therefore professed, 
 along with logical " apriorism " a form of psychological 
 
 / 
 
 ! 
 
328 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY, 
 
 > ) 
 
 ^i| 
 
 " nativism." Kant went beyond this point and effectually 
 established "apriorism" as a theory of knowledge without 
 mixture of psychology. Knowledge, he held, can only be 
 explained in virtue of a j^riori elements, "logical" and not 
 ** psychological" What philosophy needs is an " epistemo- 
 logical hypothesis" showing how certain *' transcendental " 
 elements, as they may be called, since they are not discover- 
 able in experience, but are necessary to constitute it, can 
 explain knowledge, which cannot be explained without them. 
 Such an epistemological hypothesis is furnished by the Kantian 
 system. 
 
 The distinction between psychology and logic, it may be at 
 once conceded to Dr. Koenig, is a very important one. But 
 is it applicable in the particular way he here contends for? 
 Are not all elements in "knowledge" elements in mind, and, 
 as such, part of the subject-matter of psychological science ? 
 It may be said that " psychological " elements become 
 " logical " when they are either naturally in conformity 
 with, or are voluntarily brought into conformity with a 
 certain intellectual " norm " : but they do not for that cease 
 to be psychological ; and the bringing of them into conformity 
 with a norm is itself a psychological process. Dr. Koenig 
 even is disposed to find in Prof. Wundt's "apperception" 
 the intellectual "activity" that contributes the a priori 
 element in knowledge. This, he supposes, may turn merely 
 " associative " into " logical " processes. But "apperception," 
 if it exists at all, is a psychological phenomenon just as much 
 as the mere associative process to which it is supposed to add 
 itself. 
 
 These remarks have reference to Thought in general rather 
 than to the special question of Cause. When we turn to this, 
 the point becomes still clearer. Every a priori theory of Cause 
 consists essentially in the attempt to show that there is some 
 mental (that is, psychological) element in the conception, to 
 the mere nature of which belongs the conferring of logical 
 validity. That this is the case with an a priori theory such as 
 that of Maine de Biran— " the French Kant "—Dr. Koenig 
 admits. Here the causal conception is derived from ex- 
 
 1 i 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CA USALITY, 
 
 329 
 
 periences of volition ; in these experiences causal efl&ciency is 
 supposed to be known directly. Dr. Koenig's criticism is that, 
 although this theory of the causal conception may be true as 
 a theory of its psychological origin, the validity of the law of 
 causation is not thereby proved. But, in Kant's own theory, 
 is it otherwise than by leaving the conception of mental 
 " activity " quite vague that the appearance comes of intro- 
 ducing into the mental life something that is not " psycho- 
 logical" at all, but purely "logical"? If an accurate 
 expression is desired for the ''a priori elements in knowledge," 
 where can this be looked for but in a determination of them by 
 psychological analysis ? 
 
 "Apriorism," it is clear, needs a psychological basis as 
 much as experientahsm. Experientialism, on the other side, 
 can employ the distinction between logic and psychology for 
 the vindication of scientific knowledge just as much as 
 " apriorism." It was in part the mixture of psychological 
 with logical points of view which, in Hume's theory of 
 Cause, gave the experiential doctrine its sceptical colouring. 
 To have shown this, according to Dr. Koenig, was a con- 
 siderable portion of Kant's service. Now if, in reference to 
 the conception of cause, Kant had simply pointed out this 
 distinction, and for the rest accepted Hume's doctrine, his 
 position would have been pure experientialism. Unless his 
 " apriorism " can deal more effectively with the sceptical view 
 of Cause than by a distinction which the experientialist can 
 also make, it seems, from the logical point of view, a super- 
 fluous addition. 
 
 While taking from Hume the conception of causation as a 
 particular kind of sequence, Kant, in Dr. Koenig's view, made 
 it possible, as it is not for the pure experientialist, to regard 
 causation as " necessary " ; and this he was enabled to do by 
 his philosophical "hypothesis." In this hypothesis consisted 
 his material advance on Leibniz. While Leibniz had assumed 
 a merely " analytic " function of the mind, Kant assumed 
 an original " synthetic " function. " Synthetic knowledge a 
 priori^" made possible by this function, is found first of all 
 in mathematical axioms ; but the synthetic function of the 
 
 i 
 
 f . 
 
 (. 
 
 "■'4 
 
 1) 
 
330 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY, 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 331 
 
 I 
 
 mind contributes also an element to the conception of Cause. 
 Into the question of mathematical axioms and its solution on 
 experiential gi-ounds it is not necessary to enter. The question 
 of Cause is what we have specially to deal with ; and it can 
 be treated separately. It may be admitted that the clear 
 distinction of mathematical axioms, under the provisional 
 designation of " synthetic judgments a priori," from formal 
 inferences on the one side and from a j^osteriori knowledge 
 of natural processes on the other, was a very important step 
 in theory of knowledge, and constituted a definite problem for 
 experientialism ' ; and yet it may be contended that the special 
 Kantian apparatus has done nothing for the problem of Cause. 
 To decide upon its value here, let us see first more precisely 
 what can be done by experientiahsm. Dr. Koenig himself 
 provides us with material for the decision. 
 
 The causal axiom, in his view, is essentially an assertion of 
 "invariable and unconditional sequence." This view he finds 
 with greater or less perfection in Hume, Kant, Schopenhauer, 
 and Mill. To Hume he ascribes the first quite definite deter- 
 mination of the causal problem; to Kant the banishment of 
 Hume's scepticism by means of the a priori doctrine ; to Mill 
 the statement of accurate criteria by which causal connexions, 
 may be distinguished from connexions that are not causal ; 
 and to Schopenhauer an anticipation of the special form 
 taken by phenomenism in Mill's view of Cause. Against Mr. 
 Spencer and others, he urges that the causal axiom, as apply- 
 ing to sequences, cannot be deduced from any law of " per- 
 sistence " or " conservation." The law of conserv-ation of 
 energy does not tell us what other form of energy will emerge 
 as the result of the disappearance of energy in one form ; it 
 only tells us that the quantity will remain unchanged. 
 Phenomena may involve the presence of the same quantity 
 of energy and yet be qualitatively different. The law of con- 
 servation, therefore, does not necessarily imply that the same 
 cause has always the same (qualitative) effect. But this is 
 
 ' This problem is dealt with by Croom Robertson in the article ♦•Axiom,'* 
 PhiloHophical Remaim, p. 119. 
 
 required by science, and is asserted by the causal law in its 
 ordinary form. 
 
 In recent times, the establishment of the principle of con- 
 serv^ation of energy has helped to bring back the view of cause 
 and effect as " identical." A " law of identity " of cause and 
 effect, in the sense of quantitative equivalence, might perhaps 
 be allowed if it were not for the tendency to regard it as 
 deducible from the logical law of the same name. Dr. Koenig, 
 in complete accordance with experiential principles, shows the 
 impossibility of any such deduction. The Heraclitean doctrine 
 of •' absolute becoming," as it is well said in a quotation he 
 makes from Lotze (ii. 167), cannot be refuted by the logical 
 law of Identity ; " for this only asserts that m is m in case it 
 is, and so long as it is, but tvhether it is, and whether it must 
 ahvays be if it is once, upon those points the law decides 
 nothing." A physical ** law of identity," in short, is an 
 assertion about real existence, and no one can be forced to 
 admit it by the mere requirement of intellectual consistency. 
 In this respect — that is to say, in being a material and not a 
 purely formal principle — it is entirely on the same ground as 
 the law of causation of successive events. 
 
 This view in its general sense, an experientialist must 
 accept. Yet perhaps rather more significance ought to be 
 assigned to laws of Conservation than Dr. Koenig allows. It 
 may be conceded that such laws are not by themselves suffi- 
 cient to express the Uniformity of Nature in its full meaning ; 
 yet they are the most stringent expressions of that principle. 
 A physical ** law of identity " has even a certain special force 
 against the sceptical view of causation. The scientific state- 
 ment of it is more easily detached from any psychological 
 account of the way in which it was arrived at, than is the 
 law of successive events. To show how we come to believe 
 that •* every event has a cause," and how our belief might be 
 determined even if the proposition were not true, seems to 
 throw doubt on the truth of the proposition itself. The causa- 
 tion of successive events is undoubtedly capable of scientific 
 interpretation as Mill has shown ; and it is indispensable 
 scientifically ; but the popular origin of the belief in causation 
 
 M 
 
832 
 
 THE PBOBLEM OF CA USALITY, 
 
 I ^ 
 
 clings to it. A law of conservation is not only more easily 
 viewed with regard simply to its truth or falsehood, but also, 
 if we seek for its origin, we find it in the first impulses of 
 speculation rather than in the " customary conjunctions " of 
 common sense. 
 
 Up to this point, what Dr. Koenig lays down, and what has 
 been said by way of objection or supplement, is all on the 
 ground of experientialism. The position that can now be 
 stated is this. Psychologically, either the view of Hume or of 
 Maine de Biran as to the origin of the belief in causation 
 might be accepted, and the truth of the causal law would 
 neither be proved nor disproved. The belief may have its 
 root in experiences of volition, or it may spring simply from 
 observations of external sequences. In either case, the law 
 of causation is to be affirmed not because of its origin, but 
 because it is an indispensable postulate of scientific investiga- 
 tion, and is constantly verified and never contradicted by duly 
 tested experience. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that 
 there remains always for the experientiahst the logical possi- 
 bility of an exception to it. This is much insisted on by Dr. 
 Koenig; and he apparently regards it as the great logical 
 difficulty passed on from Hume to Kant, and not to be solved 
 except by the Kantian " apriorism." 
 
 There is of course no absolute inconsistency between this 
 view and the admission, which Dr. Koenig makes, that the 
 form of temporal succession, asserted by Kant as the 
 "schema" of Cause, cannot be deduced on Kantian principles; 
 or at least that the deduction of it is a gap which no Kantian 
 has yet filled up. For *' apriorism," in Dr. Koenig's inter- 
 pretation, does not profess to assign even the fonn of the 
 causal connexion without an appeal to experience. By this 
 interpretation, one great difficulty of Kantianism is un- 
 doubtedly avoided. A more serious difficulty, however, 
 remains. For it seems as if, when the "synthetic unity of 
 apperception " has once conferred " necessity " of thought, no 
 scepticism as to the strict universality of the causal connexion 
 ought to be any longer possible. Yet, for Dr. Koenig, it is 
 not only possible but legitimate. The position of Lotze, that 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CA USALITY, 
 
 333 
 
 absolutely " new " causes are from time to time introduced 
 into the world, is, he says, for the Kantian as well as for the 
 pure experientialist, irrefutable. Where then is the gain for 
 the Kantian? Is the Kantian position, thus intei-preted, even 
 self-consistent ? 
 
 In any attempt at solution of the logical difficulty put by 
 the sceptic, Kantianism would have to proceed on precisely 
 the same lines as experientialism. Even for the theoretical 
 sceptic as to universal causation, there may, as Hume showed, 
 be no gi-ounds for holding the uniformity of nature to have 
 ever actually been interrupted. Further, if we desire a con- 
 sistent metaphysical doctrine, we may be impelled to an 
 absolute determinism carrying with it uninterrupted uniformity 
 of nature as a corollary. A metaphysic like that of Lotze may 
 be rejected because it does not give intellectual satisfaction. 
 The adherent of Kant's theory of knowledge has here exactly 
 the same arguments at command as the experientiahst ; but 
 he has no advantage. 
 
 Two points may now be selected where the Kantian influence 
 seems to have made Dr. Koenig take up a more uncertain 
 position than he would otherwise have done. The first is as 
 to the relation of mind and body. Psychological causation 
 and physical causation, he would feel himself obliged to hold, 
 must be treated as unbroken and without mutual interference, 
 if it were not for the "activity of apperception." This he 
 takes as a fact, and finds to be the only fact inconsistent with 
 a denial of "psycho-physical" causation, or the production of 
 physical efifects by a psychical activity that has no organic 
 correlate. Isolated as it is, the fact cannot be denied ; for it is 
 required to explain the "intrinsic constraint" from which 
 comes the peculiar necessity of a imoii truths. With some 
 other writers, he accordingly finds it an advantage in Hume's 
 and Mill's theory of Cause that "psycho-physical" and 
 " physico-psychical " causation are not excluded on principle. 
 There is, it may be allowed, in the denial of any real break 
 either in the series of mental or physical causes a reasser- 
 tion of an old rationalistic position. The experiential 
 philosopher, however, has no difficulty in modifying Hume's 
 
 4 
 
834 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY, 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF CAUSALITY. 
 
 335 
 
 or Mill's thought to this extent. The Kantian " apriorism," 
 on the contrary, has introduced a special difficulty, as we 
 see. To Dr. Koenig this difficulty appears so great that it 
 leads him to reject what he admits to be otherwise the 
 most consistent view, and the view best supported by 
 experience. 
 
 The second point is as to the fonii of idealism to be adopted. 
 Dr. Koenig holds firmly to the Kantian '* Transcendental 
 Idealism." This idealism, he acknowledges, has something in 
 common with " Transcendental Realism " — the distinctive 
 point of which is to retain in a more or less attenuated form 
 the belief in an existence that is nothing if not " objective," 
 and that yet has a reality apart from its relations to all 
 subjects. In common with this doctrine, it refuses to resolve 
 " the object of the naive realist " into "mere representations." 
 It recognises the rights of " empirical realism " against 
 ** empirical idealism." In other words. Dr. Koenig, like most 
 Kantians, stops short of the consistent idealism arrived at on 
 experiential grounds. The connexion of "apriorism" with 
 this inconsequence is evident when he admits that Kantianism 
 involves a difficulty never yet solved — and which he himself 
 does not profess to solve — in the "coincidence of the empirical 
 (corporeal) with the transcendental subject." For a thorough- 
 going idealism this difficulty does not exist. When idealism 
 is held quite consistently, the "corporeal subject" (as it has 
 been put) is purely phenomenal. On the common ground of 
 an idealistic and experiential theory of knowledge, different 
 metaphysical doctrines may be arrived at ; but the particular 
 difficulty of accounting for the manifestation of a " transcen- 
 dental subject " in a material organism has disappeared. Dr. 
 Koenig's own view, except at certain points, is consistently 
 phenomenist. His lapses into realism are clearly due to over- 
 strict adherence to Kant. 
 
 Generally, there is more in Dr. Koenig's book for an 
 experientialist to agree with than to disagree with. No 
 attempt has been made to convey an idea of his full and 
 careful examinations of particular thinkers. It can only be 
 said that his exposition is of sustained excellence ; being 
 
 everywhere clear, impartial and appreciative. The result of 
 the whole is to display one thing especially ; and that is the 
 steady philosophical advance that has been made in the dis- 
 crimination of scientific conceptions and in the interpretation 
 of natural law. To show this, no schematic arrangement of 
 thinkers according to a theory of the historical movement has 
 been necessary. When, in the first volume, Dr. Koenig places 
 the Continental rationahsts in a series by themselves, then the 
 English experientialists, and lastly Kant, he simply follows the 
 traditional order without intending to maintain that either 
 series is a wholly separate movement uninfluenced by the 
 other. Indeed, he remarks that one of the few cases of strict 
 ** continuity " that the history of philosophy presents is the 
 discussion of mental "relations" by Hume, Kant and Herbart. 
 The typical example of philosophical continuity is, with him, 
 the succession from Locke, through Berkeley, to Hume. This 
 absence of any attempt at exact historical arrangement of 
 thinkers in a line of development makes the advance that the 
 reader may see in the whole movement, and the continuity of 
 the movement in a certain sense, more impressive. Perhaps 
 it ought to be added that — ^as Dr. Koenig has borne in mind — 
 a condition of perceiving the development is to keep in view 
 especially the philosophy that has been in some kind of 
 contact with science. This does not seem unreasonable 
 when that which is in question is the logic of scientific 
 thought. 
 
 I 
 
THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF EVOLUTION,^ 
 
 fTlHE author of this book, eminent for the cosmological 
 -1- width of sweep which he gave to his geological in- 
 quiries, died near the close of 1890, a few weeks after its 
 publication. In many ways it is a work of special interest. 
 Although the best part of Dr. CroU's life had been given to 
 scientific pursuits, it is really a return to the problems that 
 bad been the first to occupy him. The conditions under which 
 he had devoted himself to science as well as to philosophy 
 had not been the most favourable; but, if we are to make 
 the comparison, his interest in philosophy seems to have 
 come to him most from nature, and his interest in science 
 from circumstances. The present work bears the mark both 
 of philosophical consideration applied to science and of the 
 influence of the scientific spirit on a philosophical mind that 
 had never become estranged from theology. So far as results 
 are concerned, the author may be described as a theist who 
 accepts scientific evolution in its full sense, and who places 
 philosophical determinism at the base of this. The detailed 
 argument is carried through with great clearness and vigour, 
 and brings to light the interaction of new and old elements 
 of thought that are all in their different ways powerful at 
 the present time. 
 
 The first point to be noted is the author's clear view of 
 the necessity for definiteness in scientific explanation, and 
 for permanent distinctions between the different sciences. 
 This he enforces by very decisively separating the problems 
 
 ' The Philosophical Basis of Evolution. By James Croll, LL.D., F.R.S. 
 London: Edward Stanford, 1890. Pp. viii., 204. 
 
 386 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF EVOLUTION. 337 
 
 of the "production" and the "determination" of motion 
 The process of evolution is perfectly continuous, and beneath 
 it there is a constant gi'ound which it is for the physicist 
 to define. The changes in which evolution consists can all 
 be expressed as motions, and motion may rightly be described 
 AS always "produced" by force. The history of the "pro- 
 duction " of things may be traced back indefinitely, and no- 
 where is the ground of production found to be other than 
 constant. This, however, does not exhaust the scientific 
 view, nor even express its most important side. Molecular 
 forces, to which all others may ultimately be reduced, have 
 their particular directions and points of application, and 
 €nter into action at fit moments of time. These definite and 
 particular determinations can only be explained from previous 
 determinations which are equally definite and particular; 
 and those again from others. In the transformations 
 of energy we say that the energy is the same all 
 through. The effects, however, are different. Thermal and 
 •electrical energy, for example, manifest themselves in diffe- 
 rent ways; and it is because of their different modes of 
 manifestation that we call them different energies. Just as 
 we are not to call electricity a form of heat because the 
 energy of electricity can be transformed into the energy of 
 heat, so it is not admissible to say that the energy mani- 
 fested in organic life is merely physical and chemical because 
 it can be transformed into various physical and chemical 
 energies and because these energies are at the ground of 
 vital processes. The modes of energy being different, the 
 uniformities of connexion between them can never be all 
 reduced to a single physical law. 
 
 This view has its application to mind also. Mental evolu- 
 tion, like material evolution, is continuous. What is constant 
 in it is "mind"; but here again true scientific explanation 
 depends on regarding mind as definitely determined. To 
 speak of the production of acts by the will, for example, may 
 be correct as far as it goes ; but every act is a determinate 
 act, and the determination has to be explained by something 
 other than "wiU." The act of choice in its definite cha- 
 
 23 
 
338 THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 \ 
 
 racter is rather to be explained by the " agreeableness " or 
 ** reasonableness " of a suggested direction than the direction 
 by the mere act. In mental even more than in natural 
 science the definite determination, and not the mere pro- 
 duction, is the important thing. 
 
 The idea of ** determination," thus scientifically generalised, 
 is made use of to arrive at a philosophical view of nature 
 and mind. From the impossibility, or at least excessive 
 diflSculty, of admitting an infinite regress in the series of 
 past events, the author infers that the world must have had 
 a beginning. Its determination can then, as he holds, only 
 be explained by theism. We must suppose all determination 
 in the world to take its origin from a determination in the 
 mind of God. The series of events in time is not eternal, 
 but their determination is eternal. This determination Dr. 
 CroU is led to conceive of as strictly necessary. His 
 doctrine is therefore at once a philosophical and a theo- 
 logical determinism. 
 
 Dr. Croll's theism implies a teleological view of things ; 
 and this view he seeks to defend against some interpreta- 
 tions of organic evolution. He succeeds in showing that 
 natural selection does not exclude every kind of teleology; 
 though, of course, something might be said against his con- 
 tention that teleology in the form of " objective ideas " of 
 species and so forth is still required by science. The better 
 course here, from his own point of view, would have been 
 simply to show the independent range of philosophical in- 
 terpretation. "Natural selection" itself as a scientific 
 theory. Dr. Croll remarks in more than one passage, de- 
 rives all its efficacy from being a theory of "determination." 
 It is not a theory of the " production " of forms of life, 
 but explains how determinate forms arise under definite 
 conditions. 
 
 The question of Free-will is discussed in an especially 
 interesting way. From the body of the work the author 
 seeks to exclude it as irrelevant to his general scientific 
 and philosophical positions. Advocates of free-will, he argues, 
 do not really intend to deny the universal validity of the law 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF EVOLUTION. 339 
 
 of causation. Express discussion of the question is relegated 
 to an appendix. Here Dr. Croll shows, in spite of"^ the 
 concession made elsewhere, that the believer in free-will 
 ought if he is consistent to deny the absolute uniformity 
 at least of psychological law. He himself, both on scientific 
 and philosophical grounds, refuses to admit the exception 
 involved in free-will. Many well-pointed arguments against 
 the indeterminist position might be quoted from the chapters 
 he devotes to the subject. The illusory belief in an un- 
 determined will is explained especially from the determina- 
 tion of action by psychological states that are not brought 
 into clear consciousness. " I am directly conscious of the act 
 of the will ; but not, at the moment, of the manner in which 
 it was determined." As soon as particular mental states are 
 distinctly recognised they become, as it were, "objects," 
 like those of the external world, and are thought of as some- 
 thing that is not the Ego. Then the notion arises of an 
 exertion of will that is independent of these, as of other 
 particular objects. An act of which the causes are not 
 known at the moment is not, however, an arbitrary "act 
 of will" pure and simple, but has really been determined 
 by states that only require a new effort of introspection to 
 bring them into clear consciousness. 
 
 When we regard an action as "our own" we hold our- 
 selves "morally responsible" for it, however necessarily it 
 may have been produced. It is our own action because it 
 is the result of our own nature. The relation between 
 action and internal nature in general is this, that "the fruit 
 is bad because the tree is bad " and " good because the tree 
 is good." When an action is compulsorily determined, or 
 proceeds from something outside our own nature, we do 
 not feel that it is our own; hence a mechanical conception 
 of the necessity of human actions, or a conception of them 
 as necessarily determined from outside, may tend to produce 
 theories of irresponsibility. This, however, is not really the 
 conception of the philosophical determinist. Necessity, in 
 its philosophical sense, is simply " the certainty that is in 
 things themselves." By insisting on the inevitable con- 
 
 'I I 
 
li 
 
 II 
 
 340 THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 sequences of actions, the theological form of determinism, 
 far from weakening, has strengthened the sense of respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 This last contention of Dr. Croll's can be justified negatively 
 as well as positively. When they apply their view to ethics, 
 the theological and the philosophical determinist are on the 
 same ground. Both must hold that actions necessarily 
 determined quite rightly carry with them not merely the 
 consequences that depend directly on the agent, but also 
 consequences depending on the nature of men in general 
 and on the requirement of definite means for the attainment 
 of social ends. And the ideas of "irresponsibility" now in 
 the air proceed really from the doctrine of free-will. Accept 
 determinism in the full sense, and it becomes evident that 
 some criterion of the " imputability " of an action to a person 
 will have to be sought other than the absence of necessity; 
 since actions are all necessarily determined either from with- 
 out or from within. On the contrary, adopt a view of guilt 
 and merit essentially identical with that which is derived 
 by CathoUc theologians from their doctrine of indetermina- 
 tion, then every action that can be proved scientifically to 
 be necessitated is at once regarded as something for which 
 no responsibility can be imputed. The demoralising con- 
 sequences that may be drawn do not, however, spring from 
 the scientific proof of necessity, but from its combination 
 with that doctrine of free-will which is regarded by many 
 as the one support of moral responsibility. With philoso- 
 phical determinism there is no danger of any such con- 
 sequences. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ■\\ 
 
 rA •!• j»*»jilr-!S: 
 
Il 
 
 ij 
 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I .— CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 [In the Critique Philosophiquc of May 31, 1887, appeared a 
 translation, by M. Renouvier, of the author's review of his 
 Esquissc cVwie Classification systeiimtiquc des Doctrines philoso- 
 phiqties (see p. 228). This was introduced by the sentences 
 that follow. Succeeding numbers contained M. Renouvier*s 
 reply to criticisms, a letter of the author, and a second reply. 
 These are reproduced exactly as they appeared. One remark 
 may be added ; and that is, that in the short paper, given 
 above, on "The Theory of Justice," an attempt is made to 
 show that a greater actual agreement between the opposite 
 ethical schools is attainable, without desertion of logic, than 
 M. Renouvier, in the concluding words of his second reply, 
 seems to think possible.] 
 
 UN COMPTE RENDU DU DERNIER OUVRAGE DE M. 
 
 RENOUVIER. 
 
 La Critique philosophiquc n'a pas rendu compte du dernier ouvrage de M. 
 Renouvier : Esquisae (Vune classification systematiqiie des doctrines philoso- 
 phiques. Nous avons pense que nos lecteurs connaissaient assez ce livre, 
 qui avant d'etre publi6 en volumes, a paru presque en entier dans la Critique 
 reliffieuse, ou dans le supplement par lequel s'est termin^e cette publication. 
 Totitefois, la revue philosopliique anglaise, le Mind, a donn6, sous la signa- 
 ture de M. Thomas Whittaker, un compte rendu de VEsquisse de classifica- 
 tion, que son rare m^rite nous engage a reproduire ici en traduction. 
 L'esprit de I'ouvrage y est saisi, les idees dominantes y sont indiquees, quoi- 
 que bri^vement, avec une exactitude et une impartialite remarquables. 
 L'independance de jugement de I'auteur de ce travail donne, a ce qu'il nous 
 
 343 
 
344 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 845 
 
 ♦) 
 
 semble, un interet particulier h Texposition cl'idees qu'il parait en somme- 
 comprendie plutot qu'il ne les partage toutes volontiers, et a des eloges trop 
 precisement motives pour C'tre dus seulement a la bienveillance et k 
 Tamenite naturelles de reciivain qui les accorde. D'ailleurs les objections 
 de M. Whittaker au systeme de classification adopte par M. Renouvier, et 
 aux oppositions essentielles et permanentes de doctrines sur lesquelles ce 
 systeme est fonde, sont de celles dont la discussion a le plus d'utilite et 
 de portee. Afin d'y repondre, il convient de les rapporter dans tout leur 
 developpement. Nous remettons au prochain numero la reponse de I'auteur 
 de VExqiii-tse aux remarques et aux doutes de son profond et bienveillant 
 critique. 
 
 * 
 
 EEPONSE A QUELQUES OBJECTIONS CONTRE UN SYSTEME DE. 
 CLASSIFICATION DES DOCTRINES PHILOSOPHIQUES.' 
 
 La principale des objections de M. Whittaker, que je vais examiner 
 bri^vement, — non pas toutefois avant d'avoir cordialement remercie mon 
 intelligent critique pour sa grande bienveillance, et pour ses objections- 
 memes, qui sont serieuses et approfondies, — concerne le rapport a detinir 
 entre les doctrines speculatives et la philosophic pratique, la raison pratique^ 
 Au premier abord, on pent ne pas bien voir comment la manicre de com- 
 prendre ce rapport se lie a une tentative de reduire en systeme, pour ainsi 
 dire, les systeuaes, en procedant a une classification de tons ceux auxquels il 
 est possible a la pensee humaine de parvenir et de s'arreter. Cependaut, ce 
 sont la deux questions etroitement unies. Si, en eflfet, Ton admet la valeur 
 absolue de la raison theorique, Vrriilence des premiers principes, la certitude 
 apodictique, la ih'momtrativitA sans replique d'une doctrine universelle i?rat«,. 
 rendue indubitable a tons, on pourra bien encore se proposer I'examen et 
 une certaine coordination des syst^mes pass6s, ou encore existants, qui 
 s'ccartent de la doctrine ainsi etablie ou imaginee ; maia c'est alors un trait6 
 des erreurs, que Ton croira composer, un repertoire des >io^)hi>imes ; ce ne 
 sera plus chercher et definir ce que sont et comment s'accordent ou s'oppo- 
 sent les conceptions par lesquelles une pensee libre, s'appliquant a I'intelli- 
 gence de I'univers, resout les problemes fondamentaux de I'existence, et 
 prend une position, inexpugnable en fait, contre tons arguments contraires^ 
 de logique pure. On se pose, au contraire, tout naturellement ce dernier 
 probl^me, et je m'y suis moi-mOme trouve conduit, en reconnaissant que la. 
 raison pratique decide au fond ou en dernier ressort de I'adhesion d'ua 
 homme a I'un des grands systemes de la connaissauce speculative. 
 
 M. Whittaker, pour qui I'experience est ce qu'elle devrait etre pour tons, 
 c'est-a-dire d'un grand poids, ne parait pas, en quelques passages, eloigne de 
 reconnaitre que les systemes peuvent se ramener par le fait a quelques oppo- 
 sitions fondamentales (si ce n'est precisement a deux, qui reunissent toutes 
 les autres), entre lesquelles la raison theorique pure est impuissante k 
 decider la question et ti forcer les esprits. II ne laisse pas de croire que cette 
 raison theorique est un ideal juste et suffisant, et le seul legitime dans- 
 
 * La Critiijue Philosophiqne, June 30, 1887. 
 
 Tespece. Et cependant, il est clair que, si les penseurs n'arrivent jamais a 
 poursuivre et a contempler un m6me ideal, ou, pour parler encore plus 
 exactement, si on les voit de tout temps en contempler d'opposes et de con- 
 tradictoires, c'est qu'il doit exister pour eux d'autres raisons de determina- 
 tion que la pretendue raison theorique pure. Et s'il en est ainsi, ce qu'un 
 penseur consciencieux, succedant a la longue experience des autres, a le 
 mieux a faire n'est-il pas de trouver, entre des conceptions contraires, un 
 autre raoyen d'option que celui qui s'est toujours montre impuissant ti faire 
 opter en un meme sens les philosophes, et de controler ouvertement son 
 propre id6al par les donnees d'un domaine secret et meconnu, ou ceux-ci 
 ont, au food, et au moins en partie, puise les raisons qui ont determine le 
 leur ? Ces raisons sont le desir et la volonte ; il y a chance de les faire 
 intervenir plus legitimement en se les avouant et leur cherchant des applica- 
 tions justes, qu'en subissant, au hasard des passions, leur empire qu'on se 
 dissimule. 
 
 M. ^\'^littaker ne conteste pas la presence des elements actif s et passionnels 
 dans les motifs des decisions doctrinales des penseurs. Mais, il voudrait 
 qu'une doctrine procedat de I'emotion et de I'activite, seulement par le goiit 
 desinteresse de la recherche et de la connaissauce, et par I'ardeur des senti- 
 ments qui nous portent au vrai purement intellectif , si une doctrine toute 
 conforme au pur " ideal de la science." La philosophic opererait son retour 
 a la pratique — car il faut bien qu'elle y revienne, on est d'accord de cela — 
 seulement apr^s avoir epuise la theorie. La pratique serait une application 
 de la theorie, a pen pres comme on I'entend dans les arts. Ce n'est pas a 
 la raison pratique et aux postulats qui s'y rapportent, qu'on demanderait de 
 fixer les premiers principes desquels doivent dependre ou I'aftirmation ou la 
 negation de telle doctrine qui se dit la plus fidele a I'ideal de la science ; 
 c'est a la speculation guidee par le pur ajiior inteUectualis. Mais qui ne 
 voit que cette maniere de compreudre Torganisation de la philosophic 
 suppose alors cet id'al vraiment determinable au point de vue purement 
 intellectuel de science universelle, et ces pn;H//>t'« irrefragablement demon- 
 trables ? Et qui ne sait que le criticisme, c'est-a,-dire la subordination des 
 doctrines transcendantes a la loi morale, est ne d'une analyse qui a constate 
 ce que pouvait d6ji\ faire presumer I'experience historique des contradictions 
 des philosophes, a savoir que cet ideal et ces imiicipes manquent toujours 4 
 realiser la double condition due qua non d'une philosophic theorique pure : 
 la necessite et I'unite ? Spinoza, cite avec faveur par M. Whittaker, enten- 
 dait bien que tout fut ou evident de soi ou demontre apodictiquement dans 
 sa doctrine. Et qui croit aujourd'hui que Vamor intelhrtualis, en cela, ne 
 I'a pas trompe ? 
 
 Mais, on se demande s'il n'est pas a craindre que le philosophe, en se 
 guidant des le debut par des considerations de I'ordre pratique, ne tranche 
 par avanoe des questions dont I'analyse et I'examen sont precisement sa 
 fonction, et n'invalide les conclusions a attendre d'une critique impartiale? 
 Cette objection part d'une idee inexacte du criticisme. Le philosophe 
 criticiste n'a, au point de depart de son etude, ui plus de postulats, ni 
 d'autres postulats, ni plus de vues pratiques que n'en out les penseurs dont 
 les resultats different des siens. II a derriere lui toutes les speculations 
 
 hi 
 
346 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 347 
 
 
 If! 
 
 rationalistes du pass^, il les reprend, il les examine, il a les siennes propres, 
 il remplit la tache des investigations et des analyses en tout ce qui concerne 
 les formes de la pens6e, les conditions du raisonneraeut et les motifs d'ordre 
 logique des conclusions et des croyances. C'est seulement a ce moment que 
 se pr^sentent a lui les moyens de supplier a I'insuffisance du pur intellect et 
 de la pure experience pour se porter a une affirmation touchant les probl^mes 
 ultimes de la philosophic et de Tordre du monde. II est bien vrai qu'il peut 
 se tromper dans la balance des motifs d'espoce diverse dont depend sa con- 
 viction finale ; mais rintellectaaliste et le dogmatiste peuvent se tromper en 
 sens inverse, et le metier du criticiste est tout sp^cialement de faire cette 
 pes^e des motifs. 
 
 Autre objection : " I'argument de pari " de Pascal, meme apres la grande 
 rectification et la generalisation qui lui est apportee, reste impuissant a 
 conclure, faute d'avoir pour veritable objet une croyance th^iste k envi- 
 sager, semper, nhiqne^ ah omnibug. Get objet n'est encore que le fantome 
 d'une religion historique particuliere. L'alliance, regard^e comme possible, 
 du criticisme et d'un christianisme affranchi des dogmes th^ologiques abso- 
 lutistes n'est-il pas un aveu de ce caractere de la croyance criticiste ? — 
 Reponse: le quod nbique et semper est une chimera. On ne saurait lui 
 trouver la moindre matirre dans I'histoire des idees et des croyances. Mais 
 les postulats du criticisme kantien : divinite^ immortnlite ^ Uherte^ sont tons 
 trois anterieurs (i I'ere chretienne, et de vrais, dMncontestablcs produits de la 
 philosophie de I'antiquite. Comment done se pourrait-il qu'ils ne repr6sen- 
 tassent plus aujourd'hui que le f ant«*>me des croyances chr^'tiennes ? Ces 
 demieres, si je lesprends dans la religion proprement dite, dependent enti^re- 
 ment de la foi dans J^sus-Christ, dont la philosophie ne s'occupe pas ; et, si 
 J'y considere ce que les theologiens y ont ajoute, elles consistent en ces 
 dogmes m^taphysiques, cet absolutisme et cet infinitisme, que precisement 
 le criticisme rejette. 
 
 Revenons au rapport de la metaphysique et de la morale. La primaut^ 
 de la metaphysique, primaut6 logique et hierarchique, a et6, on peut le dire, 
 unanimement revue chez les philosophes avant Kant. Spinoza, plus 
 qu'aucun d'eux, i\ cause de la construction more (jeometrico de son syst^me, 
 I'a mise en relief. Si cependant il n'a pas laisse de dMuire Tethique d'un 
 ideal emprunte directement de la nature humaine au lieu de chercher 
 quelles idees pouvaient suggerer en morale sa conception de Dieu et de 
 I'univers, et les lois necessaires de la nature, c'est I'eflfet d'une belle incon- 
 sequence : non pas, entendons-nous bien, d'un faux raisonnement qu'on 
 puisse specifier, mais enfin d'une double tendance et d'un double principe 
 chez le penseur qui ne reussit pas k realiser, comme il s'en fiatte, I'unit^ de 
 la connaissance et I'accord de la theorie et de la pratique en un syst^me 
 unique de deductions. M. Whittaker estime qu'on peut sans inconsequence 
 tenir separes les points de vue '* ^thique " et " theorique," n'etablir entre eux 
 ni subordination ni sacrifice d'aucun cote : cela ne se peut pourtant qu'4 
 la condition de renoncer a la solution du probl^me capital du rapport de 
 I'homme a I'univers, c'est-a-dire de professer un scepticisme limite, nn 
 certain positivisme, et de reconnaitre que si, seuls, au fond, le panth^iste ou 
 I'athee etaient dans le vrai, la theorie pure leur donnant raison quant k la 
 
 nature de I'univers, alors la loi morale, tiroe de la nature propre de I'homme, 
 serait une anomalie dans I'ensemble des choses et s'imposerait arbitraire- 
 ment ; que si, au contraire, la loi morale avait une valeur absolue, il sem- 
 blerait bien que la nature de I'univers doit etre nu fond differente de ce que 
 pretend la theorie. La position mentale qui ressort de ce doute est un pauvre 
 id^al pour un philosophe. 
 
 M. Whittaker est frappe comme moi du contraste entre le sentiment 
 pessimiste d'un J. St. Mill, en son celebre Essai sur la Nature, et le senti- 
 ment optimiste d'un Darwin, que ravit le spectacle de la guerre universelle 
 des etres vivants, donnee comme loi directrice ai I'univers par son createur. 
 Faudrait-il done rester neutre entre ces deux sentiments, ou consentir a les 
 eprouver, tantot I'un, tantot I'autre, selon le cdUi par oii Ton regarderait les 
 choses, et selon qu'on les rapporterait, pour les juger, a la loi de I'humanite 
 ou k la loi universelle du fait et de la force, embellie et transfiguree par la 
 contemplation scientifique ? La neutrality est et paraltra de plus en plus 
 difficile k garder, le probleme total subsistant toujours, a mesure que le 
 jugement a porter sur le monde au point de vue du bien et du mal dominera 
 davantage dans les preoccupations des penseurs, ainsi que se marque si 
 clairement, de notre temps, la tendance de la philosophie. 
 
 Au sujet de I'antinomie du devoir et du bonheur, M. Whittaker remarque 
 que Ton peut bien ne point regarder I'obligation morale et son correlatif, le 
 droit, comme des " ultimes en ethique," et toutefois ne pas les traiter d'illu- 
 sions, ne pas mettre a leur place, pour fondement de I'ordre social, quelque 
 idee de bien commun et de bonheur, qu'on imaginerait realisable ou par la 
 voie de la contrainte impos^e aux individus, ou par celle d'une sympathie 
 spontan^e, pour laquelle on compterait sur leurs dispositions naturelles, tr^s 
 gratuitement suppos^e. Le droit et le devoir conserveraient une " validite 
 relative." Ici, je ne comprends pas bien la peusee de M. AVhittaker. On 
 est oblige ou on ne Test pas. L'etablissement de ce qui est juste dans les 
 cas particuliers peut comporter une casuistique, sans doute, et une relation 
 aux circonstances, par suite : mais la justice elle-meme est et ne peut etre 
 qu'un ahsoln. Mais on est dans un " parfait accord pratique " avec le criti- 
 cisme, dit M. Whittaker, avec la morale du devoir, quand on reconnait, 
 comme fait le criticisme, " que le plus haut bien, tout en etant obtenu 
 socialement, doit 6tre un bien poor I'individu, et que la libert6 personnelle 
 est une condition pour I'obtenir . . . quoiqxC on puisse faire des droits et des 
 devoirs des deductions de la conception du lien et non des conceptions ultimes.'^ 
 L'accord pratique ou, plus exactement, politique, existe, en effet, dans ce cas, 
 mais les theories different du tout au tout, le theoricien du bien ou du bon- 
 lieur ayant k definir ce bien, a prouver que le droit et le devoir s'en deduisent 
 en effet, qu'ils en sont des moyens plutot que des obstacles, et que la 
 liberte, qui n'a plus rang de premier principe, ne se trouve point par la 
 m^me subordonn^e et, a I'occasion, sacrifiee. Le theoricien de la morale de 
 I'obligation, lui, a son principe irrMuctible dans le devoir, et ne peut etre 
 conduit d'aucune maniere au sophisme moral de la justification des moyens 
 par la fin. 
 
 L'objection tir^e de ce que " le mot obligation implique comniandement 
 eman^ de quelque source, et que le commandement ne peut pas etre la 
 
 I I 
 
318 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 341) 
 
 raison derniere en ^thique," cette objection ne repose que sur une Equivoque 
 entre la loi externe, de source externe, qui est le sens le plus ordinaire et 
 courant du commandement, soit dans I'ordre civil, juridique et politique, 
 soit meme en religion, et la loi moral', loi interne, exclusive de contrainte, 
 contradictoire de contrainte, impliquant liberte, qui ne tient de I'id^e da 
 commandement que par le caract^re imperatif qu'une conscience autonome 
 lui reconnait d'elle-mOme sur elle-mfime. 
 
 Au surplus, je ne vois point que ce soit *• avoir du m^rite personnel une 
 conception differente de celle de Kant " que d'accorder a I'ecole empirique 
 un fait que M. Whittaker enonce en termes excellents. Je regarde, moi 
 aussi, comme tres vrai que *• I'acceptation volontaire d'un code moral depend 
 apr^s tout du fait empirique de la nature sociale de I'bomme," et que *' le 
 degre auquel les hommes se conforment dans leurs actes aux principes admis 
 par eux depend du degre meme oil certaines dispositions existent actuelle- 
 ment." Mais cette verity n'a point pour consequence la reduction de la 
 theorie morale a des principes tels que ceux de la sociabilite, ou de la sym- 
 pathie, ou de I'interet bien entendu, selon le degre de force qu'ils ont chez 
 chacun, et selon les interpretations et applications que chacun en peut faire. 
 II est bien clair que le principe de I'obligation lui-meme ne saurait produire 
 d'effets pratiques qu'autant qu'il est senti et reconnu par les hommes ; mais 
 ce principe a le merite unique, en theorie, de ne dependre en rien ni des 
 sentiments altruistes existants plus ou moins chez les individus, ni do la 
 maniere dont eeux-ci comprennent personnellement le bonheur, ou leurs 
 interets particuliers, ou I'utilite generale. L'antinomie du devoir et du 
 bonheur demeure bien entiere, malgre les reserves de M. Whittaker : elle est 
 inevitable, par ce seul fait que Tint^ret et le sentiment sont exclus du pre- 
 mier principe de la theorie ethique, et qu'ils sont cependant des elements 
 essentiels de la nature humaine. La est la source de grands problemes dont 
 nous n'avons pas a nous occuper ici. 
 
 La question de Tinfini numerique a ete si souvent traitee dans la Critique 
 philosophiqiie, que je n'y reviendrai pas en cette nouvelle occasion. M. 
 Whittaker voudrait afifaiblir I'opposition doctrinale entre I'infinitisme et la 
 doctrine du fini, ainsi qu'il s'efiforce de la faire pour d'autres oppositions. 
 II voudrait au moins lever la contradiction formelle. M. Hodgson, si ce 
 n'est M. Vacherot, lui parait venir a bout de cette diflBculte. Le premier, 
 avec qui j'ai eu I'honneur de rompre quelques lances, eatime que la per- 
 ception constate I'existence de I'infini, dans le temps et I'espace, parce 
 qu'elle laisse toujours un *'reste inexplore" partout ou elle s'appUque: 
 c'est, d'apr^s lui, la representation qui est incapable de s'etendre sans 
 contradiction aussi loin que les phenomenes, a I'infini. Je pense, au con- 
 traire, qu'il est illogique de conclure, de ce qu'iZ y a toujours un reste pour 
 la perception, qu'/Z y en anrait toujours un a quelque point que la perception 
 flit prolongee ; et, selon moi, c'est la representation precisement, non la 
 perception, qui, par Videe de la possihilite indejinie d'ajouter, et de compter, 
 de concevoir des multiples et des diviseurs, pose les premisses de la fausse 
 induction d'un infini numerique actuel ou realise. Mais quoi qu'il en soit, 
 il y a toujours une opposition inconciliable entre la doctrine de I'infini 
 actuel et celle qui reduit la notion d' infinite d la notion de posgibilitet et 
 
 M. Whittaker veut bien recommander a I'attention de ses lecteurs la section 
 de mon livre ou cette opposition est etudiee dans I'histoire. 
 
 II me reste a dire un mot de l'antinomie de revolution et de la creation. 
 Les deux systemes entre lesquels je place I'opposition irreductible qui est 
 I'un des elements de ma classification dichotoraique,— I'un des membres 
 de la division qui, pour chacun d'eux, reclame du penseur une option logi- 
 quement forc6e, — sont, d'une part, le systeme de la substance eteruelle et 
 n^cessaire (Mati^re, Force, Nature) dont le developpement, necessaire 
 comme elle, produit tous les phenomenes ; d'une autre part, le systeme du 
 commencement absolu du temps et des phenomenes, en un acte pur de 
 creation. Le premier a, je crois, une existence assez considerable a toutes 
 les epoques, et Ti la notre, pour qu'on ne lui marchande pas sa definition 
 nette, intransigeante. Le second est le contradictoire du premier. L'essai 
 de transaction dont parle M. Whittaker, la ressource des evolutionistes qui 
 tentent de sauver la creation en la regardant " comme le debut d'un proces 
 universel d'evolution," constitue une doctrine mixte et non point une 
 conciliation entre les termes de la dualite doctrinale, telle que je I'ai definie. 
 J'ai discute recemment cette doctrine mixte, en des articles polemiques. 
 J'ai seulement a remarquer ici que, quelque tenable qu'on jugeat celle-ci 
 en elle-meme, ma classification et I'option fovcee qui en resulte sont inatta- 
 quables, dans les termes oil je me suis expressement place pour rendre la 
 conciliation logiquement impossible. 
 
 La conclusion critique de M. Whittaker est que peut-etre la divergence 
 
 des philosophes se produit en realite par rapport a plus de deux types, 
 
 et qu'on pourrait soutenir que les doctrines mixtes, dont je reconnais 
 
 I'existence comparativement a mes deux types definis, ne sont pas toutes 
 
 aussi illogiques que je cherche a montrer qu'elles le sont. C'est m'accorder 
 
 un grand point,— sans parler d'autres eloges auxquels je le prie de croire 
 
 que je suis extreinement sensible, — que de me reconnaitre le merite d'avoir 
 
 introduit dans I'histoire de la pensee philosophique une methode qui doit 
 
 s'imposer desormais : la methode contraire et complementaire de celle du 
 
 processus progressif, la methode de I'opposition et des distinctions crois- 
 
 santes des doctrines. N'est-ce pas une consequence visible de I'accueil 
 
 fait a cette derni^re, que la reconnaissance d'un partage dualiste des 
 
 systemes : affirmation et negation persistantes sur certains points, toujours 
 
 les memes? La question logique ne se pose-t-elle pas, en ce cas, tres 
 
 naturellement, de demeler les reelles oppositions irreductibles, d'assembler 
 
 les unes avec les autres celles qui s'appellent, se soutiennent ou s'impliquent 
 
 mutuellement, et de ramener ces groupes au plus petit nombre possible ? 
 
 Et n'y a-t-il pas lieu de presumer, d'apres la nature de I'esprit humain, que 
 
 I'inconciliabilite doit au fond reposer sur une seule et meme determination 
 
 capitale, oil I'affirmation et la negation sont egalement possibles? Et enfin 
 
 la question morale ne vient-elle pas a la suite de la question logique, en 
 
 sorte qu'une fois le partage av^r6 de la philosophic entre deux camps 
 
 adverses, le penseur doit conclure au scepticisme, ou opter entre deux 
 
 croyances, embrasser I'une, rejeter I'autre? 
 
 Mais n'y a-t-il vraiment que deux partis entierement nets entre lesquels 
 le choix se limite, au moins pour la vue elevee des choses, ou la plus deci- 
 
 ■II 
 
» 
 
 350 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 851 
 
 f 
 
 . I 
 
 sive; et ces partis sont-ils bien ceux que j'ai definis? Ici je prie mon 
 critique de distinguer entre les deux points de vue oil j'ai di\ me placer : 
 Tun historique et empirique, pour I'etude et Tinterpretation des syst^mes, 
 et pour I'explication de ce qu'on peut appeler leurs inconsequences ou leurs 
 anomalies ; I'autre logique, pour la definition des solutions, formellement 
 contradictoires, qui ont ete et qui sont encore et toujours propos^es, d'un 
 petit nombre de problemes fondamentaux dont I'etude embrasse tout le 
 domaine de la speculation philosophique. De la deux sujets entre lesquels 
 se partage mon Esquuae de classification. Le premier ouvre, on le conyoit, 
 une ample carriere a la discussion des theses plus ou moins particuli^res des 
 philosophes, qu'il s'agit de ranger sous des chefs g6neraux de doctrines. Je 
 pense, malgre cela, avoir montie qu'en somme, une dualite suffisamment 
 definie se dessine entre les decisions raultipliees, et que cette dualite se forme 
 le plus souvent ou approximativement, de chaque cote, par la reunion des 
 memes affirmations ou des memes negations partielles. On ne devait pas 
 s'attendre a ce que le domaine experimental des opinions, naturellement 
 exposees a tant de variations et de perturbations accidentelles, oflfrit plus 
 de conformite avec une distribution reguliere et systematique des vues 
 possibles de I'esprit. Le second sujet de I'ouvrage, celui qui concerne le 
 plan meme de la classification dichotomique et la justification logique de 
 ses membres, contradictoires deux a deux, est assez concluant par lui-meme 
 pour que, sans exiger plus de points de verification, ou plus constants et 
 plus absolument nets qu'ils ne ressortent de I'eusemble et de la succession 
 des principales idees philosophiques, on se trouve conduit au but que j'ai 
 vise. C'est de considerer le probleme general de la philosophic sous la 
 forme d'un dilemme, pose au fond dans I'esprit, et constamment propose, 
 sous des termes divers, aux peuseurs individuels, dans I'experience et dans 
 I'histoire. Et c'est de faire ressortir la necessite morale ou se trouve 
 chacun de prendre un parti dans ce dilemme, soit qu'il se croie ou qu'il 
 refuse de se croire invinciblement porte lui-mome a sa decision par quelque 
 chose d'exterieur a sa conscience. 
 
 C. Renodvier. 
 
 LETTRE.^ 
 
 Puis-je demander une petite place dans la Critique philosophique, afin 
 d'oflfrir d'abord a M. Renouvier mes remerciements pour la traduction de 
 mon article, et pour les remarques dont il I'a accompagnee ; et puis pour 
 eclaircir ma position sur quelques points qui sont discutes dans la r6ponse 
 ou il m'a fait I'honneur d'examiner mes objections. 
 
 Certaines de ces objections etaient, comme le dit M. Renouvier, de simples 
 " doutes," que sa reponse ^carte en grande partie. Tel est, par exemple, 
 le cas, pour mes remarques touchant la methode dichotomique, dont il 
 presente si clairement, dans ses deux derniers paragraphes, et la justi- 
 fication rationnelle, au point de vue ou il se place, et les limitations 
 historiques. De meme, les reponses aux objections ou il est all6gue que la 
 methode de la " raison pratique " peut nuire a la fonction critique de la 
 
 * La Critique Philosophique, August 31, 1887. 
 
 philosophic par rapport a la pratique, et que le type "criticiste" du theisme 
 est associe exclusivement a une seule religion historique, me semblent 
 ^carter les difficultes. En effet, les objections ont toutes deux trait aux 
 applications qu'on pourrait faire de la methode en question, plutot qu'a la 
 doctrine criticiste de M. R. lui-meme. 
 
 La diflference de vue reellement fondamentale est naturellement celle que 
 M. R. a fait passer en premiere ligne. Soit accord^ que la classification 
 des doctrines est logiquement faite, et que deux systemes definis se trouvent 
 desormais opposes I'un a I'autre, comment notre choix entre eux doit-il 
 ^tre determine? Ce que j'ai soutenu ici n'etait pas, comme M. R. semble 
 le comprendre, pour op^rer un retour k la doctrine de 1' *' evidence.'* 
 J'admets que Spinoza, par exemple, aurait pr^tendu que tout, dans son 
 systeme, s'impose a I'esprit par sa propre Evidence, ou par demonstration 
 apodictique. J'admets aussi que la critique philosophique a rendu impos- 
 sible, pour un systeme philosophique du type du spinosisme, la tAche de 
 defendre sa pretention a ce genre de certitude. La position agnostique 
 ferait naturellement de la metaphysique, pour autant qu'elle est conservee, 
 une simple propedeutique negative au systeme des sciences : Supposous que 
 cette position soit egalement rejetee, et que, avec M. R., nous accordions 
 qu'un choix est necessaire entre les deux doctrines metaphysiques opposees. 
 Ici, la position que je defends, c'est que I'acte du choix doit etre determine 
 non par les Amotions relatives a la pratique, mais par I'espece d'emotion qui 
 d6termina reellement la forme de la doctrine de Spinoza, quoique lui-meme 
 ait pu regarder cette doctrine comme forcee pour I'esprit a raison de sa 
 pure evidence. Cette position, sans aucun doute, suppose un ideal in- 
 tellectuel suggere par la science. Mais un tel ideal, si nous acceptons la 
 dichotomic de M. R., n'est-il pas deja donne dans le systeme pantheiste?" 
 Sans regarder ce systeme comme susceptible d'une demonstration scientifique 
 irrefragable, nous pouvons fixer sur lui notre choix par un acte de ce qu'on 
 peut appeler " croyance intellectuelle." On peut etre intellectualiste sans 
 etre dogmatiste. 
 
 En discutant le rapport de la metaphysique a la morale, je n'ai pas 
 
 entendu proposer " un scepticisme limite," une " neutrahte " motivee par 
 
 un doute sur la nature ultime des choses, mais seulement soutenir la 
 
 parfaite compatibilite du pantheisme le plus consequent avec le maintien 
 
 de la vue ethique, sans qualification, partout ou la volonte humaine peut 
 
 etre convue comme ayant de 1' influence sur le cours des choses. Ne serait-il 
 
 pas vraiment incompatible avec 1' "autonomic de I'ethique," de dire que, 
 
 parce que la loi morale n'a nulle application a I'ensemble des choses, elle 
 
 cesse d'etre obligatoire pour les hommes ? On dira peut-etre que faire du 
 
 point de vue th^oretique et du point de vue ethique deux points de vue 
 
 coordonnes, au lieu de subordonner Tun des deux a I'autre, c'est laisser 
 
 subsister une duality que des penseurs pantheistes, tels que Spinoza et les 
 
 stoiciens, ou n'ont pas aperyu ou ont cru qu'ils evitaient. Mais on peut 
 
 repondre qu'afin de maintenir la position pantheiste, nous devons recon- 
 
 naitre des distinctions implicites que le criticisme a rendues explicites ; et 
 
 M. R. lui-meme nous a montre comment cela se peut faire. 
 
 Relativement aux antinomies du bonheur et du devoir, de revolution 
 
 n 
 
352 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 X 
 
 •et de la creation, de Tinfini et du fini, je ne veux naturellement pas entre- 
 prendre de prouver qu'il n'y a point d'incompatibilite definitive entre las 
 doctrines philosophiques mises en opposition par M. R. Ce que j'ai tache 
 <de montrer, c'est que la difiference definitive consiste plutut dans un 
 renversement de I'ordre des termes, que dans la suppression absolue de I'un 
 4es termes opposes. L'evolutioniste pbilosophe ne nie pas la creation en 
 quelque sens que ce soit ; et, de meme, le creationiste philosophe ne nie 
 pas revolution. M. R., par exemple, encore bien qu'il puisse critiquer des 
 theories seientifiques particulieres d'evolution, ne tient pas toute theorie 
 «cientifique d'evolution, en tant que telle, pour incompatible avec sa 
 doctrine philosophique de la creation. Pareillement, un 6volutioniste 
 philosophe pent appliquer le mot creation li ce qu'il regarde comme le 
 produit, en dernier lieu {ultimately) ^ de revolution. Par exemple, nous 
 pouvons parler de "creations" artistiques et scieniifiqueb, et ceci en un 
 sens qui n'est point purement m^taphorique. Les tentatives de compromis 
 dont parle M. li. sont, je I'accorde, des " theories mixtos " et, comme telles, 
 ne sont pas des reconciliations logiques obtenues entre les deux doctrines 
 philosophiques. Mais ce n'est point ti ces theories que je pensais. La 
 "creation" dont j'ai parle, c'est la creation par I'esprit humain lui-meme, 
 et non point une creation analogue a cette derni^re. Ce que j'ai dit, ce 
 n'est pas que la creation pouvait etre couvue par un ^volutioniste comme 
 le commencement {le debut), mais qu'elle pouvait etre convue comme le 
 resultat {the outcome) d'un proces universel d'evolution. Ainsi la question 
 n'est pas, laquelle des conceptions doit etre supprimee, mais bien de eavoir 
 si la conception de revolution doit etre subordonnee a celle de la creation, 
 ou, au contraire, celle-ci a celle-lu. 
 
 Le changement dans la maniere de presenter cette antinomic pent 
 paraitre pratiquement sans importance ; mais, en ce qui concerne I'anti- 
 nomie du bonheur et du devoir, un semblable changement me parait 
 modifier considerablement la nature de I'opposition. Dans I'idee de M. li., 
 I'alternative est entre une " doctrine du devoir " rationnelle, a laquelle une 
 doctrine du bonheur est subordonnee, et une "doctrine du bonheur" qui 
 pent, theoriquemeut, ne point reconnaitre des droits et des devoirs, mais 
 doit apprecier chaque action simplement par ses consequences bonnes ou 
 mauvaises, le bien et le mal n'etant point des conceptions fixes. Or, si la 
 doctrine du bonheur pent arriver, par un procede rationnel, a des droits et 
 devoirs fixes, et c'est ce que certains de ses d^fenseurs pretendent, elle ne 
 <lifif^re plus de la doctrine de M. R. que par une subordination th^oretique 
 des conceptions de droit et de devoir a I'idee d'une fin, et nullement par la 
 suppression de ces conceptions ; de m^me, precisement, que, d'un autre 
 cote, M. R. ne supprime pas, mais subordonne seulement la notion de 
 bonheur. Une semblable doctrine du bonheur est une doctrine rationnelle, 
 ■en tant qu'opposee a I'hedonisme empirique de ceux suivant qui toute bonne 
 action procMe immediatement de la pitie ou de la sympathie, quoiqu'elle 
 soit *' empirique " d'ailleurs, en tant qu'opposee aa rationalisme qui fait 
 du droit et du devoir des conceptions irr^ductibles. Du bonheur qui est la 
 fin, la liberte au sens negatif , c'est-a-dire Tabsence de contrainte est la 
 condition ; mais la liberte au sens positif peut etre identifiee avec le bien 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 353 
 
 le plus ^lev^. Ainsi comprise, elle garde le rang de " premier principe." 
 La loi interne, suivant cette idee, est obligatoire, non en sol, mais par 
 relation k certaine fin que I'individu a faite sienne. II y a, de plus, selon 
 M. R., un " commandement " implique dans V " obligation " de la loi 
 interne: k savoir le commandement de la "conscience autonome." Ceci 
 8'accorde bien avec la doctrine du bonheur. D'apr^s celle-ci, en e£fet, le 
 mot " commandement " ou " obligation," implique, meme ici, relation a 
 quelque fin. Ainsi, pour la doctrine du bonheur, la difiiculte de faire du 
 commandement un premier principe est enti^rement evitee, tandis que la 
 doctrine rationaliste presente cette difiiculte, de supposer une conception 
 analogue, au moins partiellement, a celle du commandement externe, et 
 toutefois n'admettant pas de reduction. Car la notion de I'obligation 
 externe est reductible naturellement, et pour I'une comme pour Tautre des 
 deux doctrines, k la fois psychologiquement et rationuellement. 
 
 Les remarques de M. R., au sujet de cette antinomie, ainsi d'ailleurs que 
 de celle de I'infini et du fini, soul^vent, comme il le dit lui-meme, des 
 probl^mes dont nous n avons pas maintenant a nous occuper. Sur certaines 
 de ces remarques, au surplus, alors m^me que je ne craindrais pas de trop 
 allonger cette communication, j'aimerais mieux prendre le temps de 
 nouvelles reflexions. Mais, pour ce qui est de I'antinomie ethique, j'ai 
 tenu k bien marquer mon intention, qui n'etait pas seulement d'affaiblir 
 lea differences, mais de trouver de reelles formulas d'accord entre des 
 doctrines qui sont encore, il faut le reconnaitre, profondement opposees. 
 
 T. Whittaker. 
 
 SECONDE REPONSE.' 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i, 
 
 C'est tout plaisir, comme on dit, de discuter avec M. Whittaker, tant il 
 apporte de sinc^rite et d'ouverture d'esprit a I'examen des difficultes des 
 doctrines et k la recherche des vraies differences des points de vue, au 
 lieu de se plaire comme bien d'autres k ces chicanes qui semblent pro- 
 mettre des succ^s d'amour-propre a un polemiste et n'eclaircissent pas les 
 questions. 
 
 Je ne reviendrai done pas sur des points qui paraissent d^sormais 
 r6gl6s entre nous : — sur la justification rationnelle d'une division dicho- 
 tomique des doctrines philosophiques ; — sur la crainte, prec^demment 
 exprim^e, d'une alteration possible de la fonction critique de la philoso- 
 phie, par I'eflfet du role accord^ a la raison pratique dans la decision de 
 certaines questions de theorie ; — sur I'accord ou le criticisme se rencontre 
 avec I'une des grandes "religions historiques," quoique sans I'avoir 
 cherche. 
 
 Reste "la difference de vue r^ellement fondamentale." Admettons la 
 dichotomic et I'alternative forcee entre deux ordres de doctrines; admet- 
 tons, des deux c6tes, le manque de demonstration apodictique, I'impossi- 
 bilite de I'irrefragable certitude: I'acte du choix doit etre determine, 
 
 * La Critique Philosophique, September 30, 1887. 
 
 24 
 
 W 
 
I ' 
 
 II 
 
 854 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 dit M. W., non par les Amotions relatives k la pratique, mais par 
 I'espece d'emotion qui determina reeliement la forme de la doctrine de 
 Spinoza, quoique lui-menie ait pu regarder cette doctrine comme forcte pour 
 Vesprit a raison de »a pure I'videme. Mais je conteste ici a M. W. le droit 
 de separer, en cette affaire, I'tmotion intellectuelle, la " croyance intel- 
 lectuelle " qui determina, je n'en doute point, Spinoza, d'avec la conviction 
 (la conviction fausse) ou ce philosophe t-tait de posseder des demonstrations 
 apodictiques de ses propositions et la connaissance rigoureusement adequate 
 des objets de ses de6nitions et de ses axiomes. Mais quoi ! M. W. ne 
 convient-il pas lui-meme que I'espece d'emotion a laquelle il demande qu'on 
 se fie, "suppose un ideal intellectuel suggere par la science?" Et que 
 devient cet ideal, transporte dans la philosophie, si Ton doit en meme temps 
 avouer que la philosophie est intellectuellement incertaine, n'est pas la 
 science f C'est le propre sujet de I'emotion »ui generis qui disparait. 
 
 Selon M. W., le systeme pantheiste, en dehors meme de I'illusion de la 
 demonstrativite, offre a I'iutellectualiste non dogmatiste un ideal suflisant, 
 et renferme de quoi motiver un choix, une croyance. Cela se pent en fait ; 
 mais ce choix et cette foi ne peuvent plus alors invoquer au nom de la veritt*, 
 sous I'empire de Temotion, de la passion du vrai, un privilege. Considerons 
 les choses comme elles doivent reeliement nous apparaitre des que nous 
 renon^ons serieusement a la certitude du pur intellectualisme, — ce que 
 Spinoza etait si loin de faire. — La passion de la verity n*etant plus toute eu 
 jeu du meme cote, mais demeurant libre, rien u'empeche les autres passions, 
 celles que M. W. designe comme "relatives a la pratique" et qui sont 
 cong^nitales de I'organisation psychique de I'homme, les Amotions et 
 notions interessees, sentimentales, individualistes, finalistes, d'intervenir 
 et de reclamer suns aucun detriment pour la raison, leur place et une juste 
 part d'infiuence dans la solution du prubleme cosmique ct la determination 
 de la destinee humaine. La croyance qui voudrait etre purement intellectuelle 
 est d^capitee, quand on la separe de la croyance a la demonstration pure, et 
 I'ideal pantheiste cesse de pouvoir, de preference a tout autre id^'al, se donner 
 pour intellectuel, du moment que d'autres sont egalement permis a la con- 
 templation intellective. 
 
 En discutant le rapport de la metaphysique i\ la morale, en proposant 
 de "distinguer clairement entre les deux points de vue, I'^thique et le th^o- 
 rique," — sans nier ni subordonner aucun des deux, — et, d^s lors, " d'eviter 
 d'une part I'affirmation d'une fin morale de I'univers ; de s'abstenir, de 
 I'autre, de toute tentative pour trouver une justification morale de quoi que 
 ce soit dans le simple fait de sa determination necessaire suivant des lois 
 universelles," M. W., qui ne refuse pas, d'ailleurs, de constater un d^'saccord 
 entre I'ordre de la nature selon le pantheisme et I'ordre moral de la 
 conscience, n'eutend pas, dit-il, conclure de cette double vue a *^ un 
 scepticisme limits," k une sorte de " neutralite motivee par un doute sur 
 la nature ultime des choses." Mais il ne sufiit pas de dire qu'on n'entend 
 point faire ce qu'on fait implicitement. La neutralite, ou le scepticisme, 
 est au fond et s'impose, s'il y a une desharmonie reconnue et irremediable 
 entre la solution qu'on admet du probleme cosmique, et le vueu qu'on est 
 dispose a ecouter de la morale, sans que Ton voie aucuue raison pour 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 355 
 
 Rubordonner Tune des indications k I'autre, dans le jugement que Ton porte 
 sur la partie inconnue des choses et sur ce qui d(nt etre. 
 
 Mais on pent, nous fait observer M. W., soutenir la compatibilite du 
 pantheisme le plus consequent avec le maintien de la vue ethique en tout ce 
 qui depend de la volonte humaine ; on peut regarder la loi morale comme 
 H&nt sans application a I'ensemble des choses, et toutefois obligatoire pour 
 les hommes. J'accorde, en effet, qu'il ne se trouve pas une formelle con- 
 tradiction logique dans le systeme qui soumet I'univers et la conscience, les 
 causes et fins des phenom^nes naturels et les causes et fins des actes 
 humains intentionnels, a des legislations differentes, opposees, mutuellement 
 irreductibles ; mais on conviendra que I'harmonic esthetique et morale de la 
 doctrine, si ce n'est la pure logique, est alors en souffrance. Toute legislation 
 d'ordre universel, en tant que d'experience constante et gouvernant la nature 
 des choses, adresse a notre volonte, spontanement, quelque chose comme 
 I'imp^ratif stoicien : Naturani sequere. Or, dans I'espece de dualisme propose, 
 deux preceptes naturels se combattent : ce sont ceux dont Spinoza a choisi 
 I'un pour sa theologie, I'autre pour sa morale. D'autres philosophes opineront 
 pour I'unite de r^gle et pour le modele pris exclusivement dans le monde 
 externe; car on ne voit pas pourquoi la volonte humaine s'obligerait A 
 poursuivre un ideal de sa favon, en se conformant a un modele interne, alors 
 que la raison statuerait, d'accord avec Spinoza, que la finalite et les passions 
 individuelles, Elements principaux de composition de ce dernier modele, out 
 un fondement tout imaginatif et illusoire, et que le modele externe, au 
 contraire, s'impose a un entendement rendu adequat a Teternelle necessite 
 de I'univers. Si Spinoza lui-meme a voulu neanmoins conserver un monde 
 int^rieur, un ordre moral, un regne de la liberte (sans prejudice du deter- 
 minisrae absolu) et s'il a ainsi juxtapose deux systemes, c'est qu'il a ete, et 
 meme k tr^s haut degre, accessible a I'emotion morale. II croyait sa theorie 
 du grand monde absolument demonstrative ou forcee pour I'intelligence, et, 
 la logique ne s'y opposant pas absolument, pourvu que le libre arbitre 
 demeur&t fermement nie, il cedait a ladite emotion en prenant dans le petit 
 monde I'exemplaire de la vie raisonnable. Si done il avait pense pouvoir 
 satisfaire k la v^rite des choses en renonvant a regarder comme I'ordre 
 profond, entier et d^finitif de la creation cet ordre de I'univers et de Dieu 
 selon sa doctrine, qu'il r^pudiait comme modele de vie, il aurait probable- 
 ment r^gle sa croyance une fois soulagee du poids des demonstrations 
 pr6tendues, de maniere a obtenir la parfaite harmonic de son systeme en 
 supposant un accord profond du grand monde et du petit monde, ou de 
 la loi morale et de la loi supreme de la nature, c'est-a-dire en admettant des 
 postulats. 
 
 M. W. remarque que j'ai montre moi-meme comment il avait ete possible 
 de combiner la position pantheiste avec le point de vue ethique, a I'aide 
 d'une sorte de dualisme tel que celui des stoiciens ou de Spinoza, et grace a 
 des distinctions que la critique a seulement rendues aujourd'hui plus 
 explicites. Cela est vrai, et c'est encore ce que je viens de reconnaitre a 
 I'iuBtant. Mais ces distinctions, qui servent a expliquer la juxtaposition 
 d'une cosmologie pantheiste et d'une ethique a modele interne, ne suflSsent 
 pas pour la justifier. A mesure qu'elles deviennent plus claires, et la 
 
 
 I 
 
 ) 
 
850 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 
 dualite, le contraste plus fortement accuses, ranomalie, la d^sharmonie 
 paraisseDt aussi plus inexcusables, dans un systeme qui se condamne a 
 coocilier rimmuable necessite des fails t-ternellement enchaints dans le 
 monde avec la loi morale et I'obligation des etres en apparence libres ; la 
 cruelle indifference de la nature, notre ra^re et souveraine t\ tons, avec 
 I'amour et la pitie dans le coeur de ses plus parfaites creatures psychiques ; 
 le principe de la guerre sans fin ni treve des vivants et I'empire de 
 Tegoisme, cette condition de la conservation de chaciue existence, avec 
 la notion du juste et I'ardeur du devouement ; enfin la loi du sacrifice des 
 faibles aux forts et des individus au tout, dans revolution de I'univers, avec 
 la reconnaissance des droits et I'inviolabilite de la personne, dans I'ordre 
 social qui n'est pourtant qu'un produit et une partie de cette evolution. On 
 a beau dire, il y a quelque chose de force et de violent, qui dans certaines 
 combinaisons de doctrines heterog^nes denote une sorte de contradiction 
 latente. Cette contradiction, on finit toujours par la degager en se livrant k 
 une etude approfondie de tout systeme oii les dispositions mentales in- 
 coherentes d'un philosophe ont du I'introduire. 
 
 D'une favon generale, et touchant plusieurs des oppositions que j'ai 
 formulees pour I'etablissement de ma methode de classification dichoto- 
 mique, M. W. pense que "la difference definitive consiste plutot dans un 
 renversement de I'ordre des termes que dans la suppression absolue de 
 I'un des termes opposes," et qu'ainsi il n'y aurait pas I'incompatibilite 
 absolue que je pretends. Je repondrai a cela que, sans doute on pent 
 s'arranger pour presenter les questions de la sorte et const ruire des syst^mes 
 qui, a mon point de vue, sont de nature mixte, mais que, pour moi, j'ai 
 defini les termes des oppositions expressement pour qu'ils fussent contra- 
 dictoires: et, en fait, on ne me contestera pas que les affirmations et 
 negations les plus tranchees, sur ces points tels que je les ai definis, 
 n'aient joue le plus grand role tout le long de Thistoire de la philoso- 
 phie. 
 
 Par exemple, dans le cas dont nous nous occupions tout a I'heure, ce 
 n'est pas, d'une maniere vague, eutre la these de I'homme soumis k la 
 loi morale, et la these de I'ordre de I'univers absolument etranger ^ 
 cette loi, que j'ai etabli I'une des oppositions radicales sur lesquelles ma 
 classification est basee; c'est, d'une maniere precise, entre le choix de la 
 notion du devoir et le choix de la recherche du bonheur pour principe 
 unique et propre d'activite morale. II ne s'agit point de savoir si le bon- 
 heur et le devoir sont conciliables, ni meme lequel des deux a le pas sur 
 I'autre, selon qu'est la doctrine, mais bien si le devoir est le principe unique. 
 Or, d la question ainsi posee des reponses differentes ne peuvent 6tre que 
 logiquement contradictoires, formulees par oui ou par non. La poursuite du 
 bonheur, plus generalement celle du bien sont des faits et des passions, mais 
 ne sont pas la loi morale, et il y a une loi morale : voili\ ce que pense celui 
 qui repond par un oui a la question. 
 
 En ce qui concerne revolution et la creation, " I'evolutioniste philosophe 
 ne nie pas, dit M. W., la creation en quelque sens que ce soit ; et de m^me, 
 le creationiste philosophe ne nie pas revolution." Peut-etre que non, mais 
 I'opposition que j'ai formulee, qui est impossible u lever et qui existe de fait 
 
 W 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 357 
 
 entre les plus grandes et les plus c^lebres doctrines historiques, comptant 
 toutes deux des adherents sans nombre, cette opposition est entre une 
 affirmation et une negation qui portent sur des points identiques :— pur 
 premier commencement du temps et des phenomenes; ou eternite du 
 monde phenomenal .—creation dans la pens6e, par la volonte d'un createur 
 iramcemlant; ou developpement spontane, continu, des proprietes d'une 
 substance necessaire, en laciuelle tout ce qui fut, est et sera, est immanent. 
 Ce sont bien la des positions contradictoires. 
 
 D'apr^s cela, rien ne m'oblige a tenir '* toute theorie scientifique d'evolution, 
 en tant que telle, pour incompatible avec ma doctrine philosophique de la 
 creation,"— M. W. a parfaitement raison de le constater,— encore bien que 
 je puisse ♦* critiquer des theories scicntifiques particulieres d'evolution." 
 Cela depend de savoir si le sens donne a I'idee d'evolution par I'auteur d'une 
 theorie est ou non celui que j'ai pris pour ce mot evolution en le definissant 
 en vue de ma classification des syst^mes. Les theories que j'ai combattues 
 sont, non pas cellesqu'on pent appeler "scicntifiques particulieres," et je ne 
 m'attribue pas pour les juger la competence requise, mais bien celles qui ont 
 tort de se dire serieusement scientifique*, car elles sont loin de se renfermer 
 dans les limites des phenomenes evolutifs accessibles a I'experience ou a 
 des inductions precises d'un genre verifiable. Or ce sont ces dernieres 
 seules qui sont incompatibles avec la doctrine de la creation, telle aussi 
 que je I'ai definie et qu'elle est generalement comprise. 
 
 M. W. parlc, un pen apres, d'un sens ou '' I'evolutioniste philosophe" 
 pourrait a son tour ne pas s'interdire I'idee de creation. Ce serait, dit-il, 
 par exemple, en admettant " des cn'atiouK artistiques et seientifiques," 
 et cela non point par simple metaphore. Mais cet evolutioniste philosophe 
 regarderait ces creations comme " le produit en dernier lieu de revolution." 
 En ce cas, il faudrait, pour juger de la compatibilite ou de rincompatibilite 
 des notions ainsi associees, en reclamer des determinations plus precises. 
 J'ai tout lieu de croire que le reel caractere createur de ces creations se 
 trouverait sacrifie, excepte dans les mots, aux exigences de I'idee philoso- 
 phique de revolution universelle. 
 
 La pensee propre de M. W. sur ce sujet, c'est que la creation *' peut 
 etre con<;^ue comme le resultat {the outcome) d'un proces universel d'evolu- 
 tion." Je n'ai pas, dans ma premiere reponse, saisi exactement cette pensee. 
 J'avais I'esprit prcoccupe de nos pol('nii(iues de France touchant I'idee de 
 revolution consideree comme la forme de la creation du monde par Dieu, 
 et j'ai cru qu'il s'agissait encore ici de cette conciliation pretendue de la 
 theologie et des systemes de la nature. Mais le mot outcome, neologisme 
 anglais, quand il est ainsi pris substantivement, signifie la chose mcme qui 
 provient et r^sultc, et non I'actc de debut et de commencement de la chose 
 qui se produit. Ce qu'il faut comprendre, c'est done maintenant, et sauf 
 erreur nouvelle de ma part, que le proces universel d'evolution de la 
 nature est le grand fait, I'eternelle donnee, et que I'ordre de la iberte 
 et de la creation est le dernier terme de ce proces, un produit de revolution, 
 par consequent. La creation, comme telle, serait exclusivement 1 auvre 
 de I'esprit humain une fois produit, mais le monde lui-meme ne procederait 
 point d'un acte premier, divin, imagine d'apres I'analogie de cette oeuvre. 
 
 It 
 
 i 
 
if 
 
 8r>8 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 N 
 
 Cette maniere de reprtsenter les choses est, on le voit, I'inverse de ce que 
 j'avais cru, Tinverse de la theoiie de •♦ lY'volationisme chretien," que 
 M.^ W. parait, ainsi que je fais, regarder comma insoutenable. II estime 
 qu'en se plavant a ce point de vue, la question ne serait plus de savoir la- 
 quelle des deux conceptions, evolution ou creation, doit etre adoptee, 
 laquelle rejetee, mais seulement quelle est celle des deux qui doit etre 
 subordonnee a I'autre. Je ne saurais etre de cet avis. Les deux conceptions 
 ainsi entendues divergent toujours radicalement et s'opposent sur le point 
 essentiel : I'une affirme reternite des phenom^nes, et I'autre, I'acte de leur 
 premier commencement ; I'une, la procession du monde parti de I'esprit et 
 de la liberte ; I'autre, la procession de i'esprit et de la libertu emanes de la 
 substance aveugle et fatale. 
 
 L' " evolutionisme chretien " nous presente le total de revolution comme 
 I'effet d'un acta de creation. L'esp^ce plus obscure d'^volutionisme que 
 M. W. a en vue nous donne, au contraire, des actes de creation pour lea 
 resultats du fait de revolution, a peu pr^s, sans doute, de la maniere que, 
 dans les cosmogonies antiques, on faisait naitre les dieux et les hommes, 
 I'esprit et ses oeuvres, du chaos et des forces naturelles designees sous dif- 
 ferents noms. C'est la prendre le parfait contre-pied non seulement de la 
 doctrine chretienne, mais meme de la doctrine philosophique de la creation 
 a son premier degre, telle qu'elle apparut dans le vovi; d'Anaxagore et dans 
 le demiurge de Platon. Ce qui semble a M. W. n'etre qu'un "changement 
 dans la maniere de presenter I'antinomie," un remplacement de I'option 
 forcee entre deux conceptions contradictories par le choix d'un ordre de 
 subordination a etablir en un sens ou dans le sens oppose, entre deux con- 
 ceptions legitimes, est au contraire une decision bien nette, et mSme ex- 
 plicite, en faveur du premier principe des reelles doctrines d'evolution 
 anciennes et modernes. Et ce changenient, cette option, a vrai dire, comment 
 M. W. s'imagine-t-il qu'elle " pent paraitre pratiquement sans importance," 
 alors que, par ses liens logiques avec les autres antinomies : de la substance 
 et de la pensee, de I'infini et du fini, de la necessite et de la liberty, I'anti- 
 nomie de la creation et de revolution, meme telle qu'il la comprend, a une 
 portee pratique aussi bien (lue theori(iue immense et (lui s'etend a tons 
 les problemes de la speculation philosophique et des croyances reli- 
 gieuses? 
 
 C'est au changement qu'il propose dans I'exposition de I'antinomie du 
 devoir et du bonheur que M. W. attribue la grande importance pratique. 
 La nature de cette opposition lui parait pouvoir etre considerablement mo- 
 diliee. Un terrain de conciliation pourrait au moins s'etablir, selon lui, en 
 ce que, d'une part, la doctrine du bonheur arriverait chez certains de ses 
 adherents a corriger son vice d'empirisme, a trouver un proced^ rationnel 
 pour determiner des droits et devoirs fixes relativement a sa lin de bonheur, 
 a poser enfin la liberte au sens|positif (qu'il faut distinguer de la simple 
 absence de contrainte) comme le bien le plus eleve a poursuivre, et par 
 consequent comme un premier principe;— et c'est ce que veulent les 
 adherents de la doctrine du devoir ;-et que ceux-ci, de leur cote, ne 
 suppriment pas, mais seulement subordonnent la "notion du bonheur." 
 Ainsi tout le litige des deux doctrines se rOduirait a savoir si Tobligation 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 359 
 
 intimee par la loi morale se rapporte a une certaine fin et lui est subordonnee. 
 Et cela semble au premier abord peu de chose. Mais c'est beaucoup, c'est 
 m^me tout, pour qui analyse bien les termes de la (luestion ; et comme la 
 question se resout contradictoirement, par le oui ou le non, entre les ecoles 
 de morale, I'antinomie que M. W. voudrait affaiblir subsiste en toute sa 
 rigueur formelle. 
 
 Je n'examinerai pas ici, car ce serait trop long, s'il est bien vrai que la 
 doctrine du bonheur se puisse detacher de la methode empirique, et qu'il y 
 ait moyen, sans en appeler a un autre principe de jugement et d'action que 
 le bonheur, de trouver pour celui-la une definition generale independante 
 des gouts et attraits particuliers «iue nous voyons si variables, et qui, leur 
 donnant a la fois satisfaction a tons, permette la deduction de preceptes de 
 conduite fixes et I'etablissement de telle chose que des droits et des devoirs. 
 Mais supposons cette merveille obtenue, il est clair que, par la meme, une 
 idee generale du bien aura ete substitute, en tant (lue regie, au libre attrait 
 du bonheur, ou des plaisirs dont le bonheur se compose, et que cette idee du 
 bien elle-meme aura rcvetu le caractere d'une notion dont on supposera la 
 donnee constante et I'egale determination dans tons les esprits. C|est parce 
 (lu'il subit nUusion de cette metamorphose de la doctrine empirique du 
 bonheur, et qu'il se la figure possible tout en n'abandonnant pas le f ondement 
 propre de I'hedonisme, c'est pour cela qu'il emploie une expression peu 
 usitee: " la notion du bonheur"; et "je ne supprime pas, suivant lui, je 
 subordonne seulement la notion de bonheur," dans mes vues de morale, en 
 contre-partie des philosophes hedonistes qui ne supprimeraient pas, qui 
 seulement subordonneraient theori«iuement a une fin les conceptions de droit 
 et de devoir. Or, ce simple mot notion fait ressortir toute notre dissidence. 
 La morale criticiste n'a pas plus a supprimer qu'a reconnaitre une notion dc 
 bonheur attendu (ju'elle n'en connait aucune. Ce qu'elle connait et reconnait 
 c'est la passion uaturelle du bonheur, passion legitime sous la loi morale, 
 pur fait, et de la determination la plus variable, en dehors de cette loi, et 
 duquel aucune loi ne se pent tirer. Je repete .lue I'opposition qu'il s'agirait 
 de lever garde toute sa force. La morale criticiste nie que I'obligation se 
 puisse deduire du bien et de la fin ; en d'autres termes, (lue d'un bien et 
 d'une fin, ciuelles qu'en soient les definitions, on puisse prouver a I'lndividu 
 que la poursuite lui est obligatoire, s'il n'admet deju le principe de 1 obliga- 
 tion autonomc ; ct la morale criticiste aflirme que, de ce principe une fois 
 admis, suit une determination du bien moral ct de la fin morale, sans 
 qu'ait etc tixee prealablemeut la matiere du devoir. Je m'en refere a Kant : 
 FoMcmcnts de la mrtaphysiqiie den nururs. . x ^ i 
 
 Mais M. W. remarque que toute obligation de source externe est, tout le 
 monde en convient, " reductible " et ne saurait passer pour un premier 
 principe; et, comme la conception du commandement interne est, dit-il, 
 analogue, au moins partiellement, a celle des lois externes, il conclut de 
 la que la premiere non moins que la seconde, et les mots memes comma«- 
 dement ou oblioation " impliquent relation a quelque fan : ^ «^^ T^f, 
 difficulte pour la doctrine rationaliste, qui n'accepte aucune reduction 
 pour sa conception du commandement de la conscience autonome ; et une 
 superiorite de certaine doctrine du bonheur qui admettrait 1 existence d une 
 
300 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 loi interne obligatoire: obligatoire "non en soi, mais par relation a certaine 
 fin que Tindividu a faite sienne." Mais je conteste que ces concepts du 
 devoir et de rautonomie impliquent une fin, ou du moins une autre tin,— car 
 il y a ici une equivoque possible et qu'il faut lever,— une autre fin que celle 
 d'obeir a ce commandement interieur, aux depens meme du bonheur. C'est 
 une difiference radicale, au lieu de I'analogie que M. W. invoque avec lea 
 lois externes. Ce qu'il regarde comme la difficulte de la doctrine criticiste 
 du devoir en est I'idee mke, la grande caracteristique et le Iriomphe ; et la 
 faiblesse de Thedonisme est de ne pouvoir imposer cette certaine Jin que 
 Vindividu doit /aire aienne ; de ne pouvoir s clever jusqu'a I'obligation pour 
 aucune des fins et aucun des principes d'action auxquels il tente de conferer 
 des caract^res d'universalite et d'imperativitc. Ces caracteres sont incom- 
 patibles avec la nature empirique, individuelle et variable de toutes les 
 determinations de sentiment et de conduite qui ont leurs racines dans les 
 impressions agreables, quelque extension et quelque elevation que puissent 
 recevoir les idees d'interet et de plaisir chez les theoriciens de la doctrine du 
 bonheur. 
 
 Les •♦ reelles formules d'accord," cherchees pour la solution de I'antinomie 
 historique des deux grands syst^mes d'ethique, sont plutt reellement des 
 modes d'option timide, et melee de quehjue regret, en faveur de I'un des 
 deux principes contradictoires. Les deux doctrines sont encore, ainsi que 
 I'avoue en terminant M. W., profondt'ment oppostes, et la logique n'autorise 
 pas Tesperaoce de leur conciliation, non plus que la connaissance du 
 passe ne permet de prevoir la victoire definitive de I'une d'elles dans 
 I'avenir. 
 
 C. Renouvibr. 
 
 
 11— THE PSYCHOLOGY OF STIMULANTS. 
 
 nva Ka\ to Ti\oi:,'a\\' ov Ti,v Tvxovtrm, ^iiroiwrt^ ^i rairrt,!', Xa/i/3«i'o.»(Tir o,e 
 Tovrriv Uiii'ijv, i^id to Ttp riXei uov Trpa^ewv tx^v o/ioiw/xa n. t6^ ti yap TtXog 
 oiu'H'oc Tiov inonh'iovx"PfV a'if.tr6v,Kni at TOtavrai ro.r y^onov ovht'ot; c.Vc twv 
 iaofiiviov trtKtVy aWa twv ycyororwr, olov iroviov Kai XuTri/r— Auistotle. 
 
 I. 
 
 The opinions of mankind about the class of substances called " stimulants " 
 and ♦• narcotics" have undergone a series of changes not unlike those that 
 have affected opinions held with regard to many other things of less and of 
 greater importance. These substances, or at least those of them that have 
 been known from the earliest times, such as alcohol in its various forms, 
 were, we may suppose, discovered accidentally, and at first recognised as 
 valuable for their medicinal virtues, and for their powers of soothmg pain of 
 mind and exciting joy. Then people arose who imagined that he who hrst 
 showed men how to make such potent drinks must have been more than 
 human. They, therefore, paid divine honours to the supposed discoverer of 
 wine, and created those Dionysiac myths about which so much has been 
 written. The first worshippers of the god of the grape were the early repre- 
 sentatives of all who try to transcend the limits imposed upon human life 
 by necessity, or to extract from it greater pleasures than it is capable o 
 yielding. Let us remark, in passing, that it is they who have had the merit 
 of finding the need for, and consequently inventing, a number o terms, of 
 which the word " intoxication " may serve as an example, that have since 
 been applied to the delights of poetry, and to religious enthusiasm. In later 
 periods certain moralists, seeing what evils these chcrcheurs dinjim some- 
 times bring on themselves, have made efforts to suppress altogether the 
 agents that give rise to such terrible consequences. And, lastly, science has 
 come to the investigation of intoxicants as of everything else A ter 
 claiming the right to make researches into the origin and worth of mstitu- 
 ions and religions, the scientific man demands that the pretensions of wine 
 to take its place among the things that minister to huinan happiness sha 
 be decidedly experiments performed in physiological laboratories; and 
 that the enthusiasm of those who in former days made Bacchus a god and 
 the wrath of the indignant teetotal lecturer, shall be equally set aside as 
 
 '"onSase of this particular movement of science is the discussion of the 
 
 301 
 
36'2 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 APPHNDIX. 
 
 363 
 
 IndtH' / '" " .^"™'° '^^'""^ "^"^^ ^^ constantly reappearing. 
 
 And this discussion, carried on chiefly by scientific physicians, and followinR 
 the various '« temperance movements" that within the last half century 
 have made their influence felt in England and America, is in several ways 
 very significant. Besides being an illustration of the law that the scientific 
 investigator comes after the moralist, and of the tendency of science to 
 claim for herself the right to say the last word on every question, it supplies 
 not a few instances of a species of onesidedness sometimes found in men 
 
 nL^nf r, r?T' ""^'u- "^""'^ '^'"^ '° ^PP'^ 'h« ^^^i^'^tific 'method in. 
 completely, to look at things too much under the aspect that happens to be 
 
 the farst to draw their attention, and hence to allow their views to be deter, 
 mined by a consideration of only half the facts 
 
 The controversy between the scientific advocates and opponents of teeto- 
 ahsm has been made to turn chiefly on the question whether alcohol is a 
 food or not. The conclusion that has been arrived at by most of the 
 authorities is briefly this: a small but definite quantity of alcohol can 
 be made use of by the organism to keep up the animal heat ; if more 
 than this quantity is taken, it merely serves to stimulate the nervous 
 system. From this conclusion the practical rule has been deduced that 
 a man ought never to take in the course of a day more than the 
 number of glasses of wine corresponding to this amount of alcohol. Some 
 
 'ft 1 fu \u*"' ^"'**'''' ^°^^ ^'^ ^""'^"S *° P^^""t that rather more 
 alcohol than the - saturating quantity " shall be taken, on the ground that 
 
 good wines are agreeable to the cultivated palate. But the question at once 
 
 occui^ to the philosophical reader, why did mankind first begin to drink 
 
 wme? \\as it because they thought it an economical kind of food "> Or 
 
 because they found it pleasant to the taste? It is plain that it could not 
 
 have been for either of these reasons. The authorities have told us that the 
 
 greater part of the wine most people drink does not serve for food at all, and 
 
 they tell us also that man has on the whole been guided rightly in the 
 
 choice of food by his instinct. And if it is contended that the human race 
 
 has taken to alcoholic drinks because it found them pleasant to the sense of 
 
 taste, what is the explanation of the fact that certain nations consume freely 
 
 various preparations of alcohol which, to the unsophisticated palate, are 
 
 merely disgusting ? And how, again, does it happen that nations that have 
 
 not been able to procure wine, or that have been forbidden it by their 
 
 religion, have adopted in its stead opium or some preparation of hemp ? 
 
 offensivr *' ''° *^** '^' '^'^' ""^ '^''' ^''"'' substances is extremely 
 
 Nothing but preoccupation with an incomplete view of the subject, and 
 afterwards absorption in the process of establishing the results of experi- 
 ments suggested by this incomplete view, can have prevented any one from 
 seeing that the reason why men took to stimulants was that they might 
 receive stimulation, and that, therefore, the real question between the 
 advocates and opponents of the general use of wine is whether a certain 
 amount of its stimulating action is on the whole desirable. Now by brinfiin« 
 into detmite consciousness the sub-conscious reasoning that has led the 
 higher races of mankind to persist in the use of alcohol, and to regard it as 
 
 an essential part of the things that make life tolerable for a civilised being, 
 the empirical practice of the majority of men may be justified ; and here, as 
 in other cases, there is a certain advantage in stating articulately to our- 
 selves the ground of our practice ; for when we have philosophised about our 
 social customs, and found them to be good, a little additional dignity is im- 
 parted to them. In this case there is also another and a more convincing 
 argument in favour of taking the trouble to philosophise a little. By so 
 doing we shall arrive at a point of view from which it will be possible to 
 learn what we ought to think of certain exotic drugs, about which curiosity 
 has often been excited. An impartial consideration of the various descrip 
 tions of the effects of these drugs will suggest some modifications in the 
 common impression as to their nature. 
 
 II. 
 
 The whole psychology of the use of stimulants is contained in a passage 
 I am about to quote from an article by De Quincey on -National Temper- 
 ance Movements." He is speaking of the impulse that occasionally causes 
 persons who have made abuse of the powers of wme or opium, but w-ho, 
 after suffering the usual consequences of intemperance, have been completely 
 restored to health, to renew their acquaintance with their favourite drug. 
 '♦ If the reader will permit me for a moment what without such an apology 
 might seem pedantic, I would call it the instinct otfocalmn gxyhich prompts 
 such random desires. Feeling is diffused over the whole surface of the 
 body ; but light is focalised in the eye, sound in the car. The organisation 
 of a sense or a pleasure seems diluted and imperfect unless it is gathered by 
 some machinery into one focus or local centre. And thus it is that a 
 general state of pleasurable feeling sometimes seems too superhcially 
 diffused, and one has a craving to intensify or brighten it by some su&cien 
 stimulant." The " craving " here described is, of course, quite a different 
 thing from the physical craving which is felt by those who are accustomed 
 to the use of any drug. It is not a desire to get rid of a pain, but to ex- 
 perience again the special kind of happiness derived from that concentra- 
 tion of all separate pleasurable feelings which is here compared to the 
 bringing of rays of light to a focus by the lenses of the eye. This sense of 
 happiness sometimes arises spontaneously, but generally it implies as a con- 
 dition some sort of stimulation ; and the desire for it is, of course not con- 
 fined to those who have at some time or other gone to excess in intoxicants. 
 All that aspect of the fact of stimulation which has suggested the remarks 
 I have quoted above, is ignored both by the scientific adv-ocates of teeto- 
 talism, and by those who oppose them merely on the ground ^l^^t alcohol is 
 capable to a certain extent of serving as food. They confuse the so t of 
 feelin^^ De Quincey describes here with the physical craving produced by 
 bug-continued excess, pass it over as something abnormal, and then proceed 
 to discuss the question entirely on physiological grounds, ^l^ne^.l^^^^^^ 
 that the physiological aspect of the subject is ^-^Vortf^^^-^ihe pheno- 
 mena of consciousness have also their claims to recognition. The physio^ 
 logists, through devoting their attention to digestion and circulation and 
 
II 
 
 864 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 865 
 
 secretion, and to the consideration of how much « work " (calculated in 
 foot-pounds ") a normal healthy man does on an average in twenty-four 
 hours, while he remains of the same weight, have at length come to regard 
 the maintaining of his weight at the same level from day to day, and the 
 transformation of the " energy stored up in food " into so much mechanical 
 motion, as ends in themselves. But the whole aim of the individual life 
 cannot be to complete the cycle of changes that constitute life on its phy- 
 sical side any more than the aim of social life can be to prolong itself under 
 exactly the same forms as before. It may be said that in each of these cases 
 progress -that is, increase in organisation-is the end ; but this is an 
 evasion Some meaning must be found for organisation beyond itself ; and 
 to say that organisation exists either that it may continue to exist or that 
 we may afterwards have more of it, is not to assign a meaning to it. Is it 
 not clear that the real end of the things we call •• Hfe," -organisation," 
 progress, consists at least partly in the pleasant states of consciousness 
 tney render it possible to obtain ? 
 
 This must not be taken to be an insinuation of Hedonism as a complete 
 rule of life We are concerned here only with the mass of the actions that 
 makeupthedailyhfeof mostof us; and with regard to these actions the 
 doctrine that has been suggested is the only one that is not a circuitous way 
 of telling us that we most do the things we are in the habit of doing for the 
 sake of being able to do the same things to-morrow. 
 
 Let it, then, be admitted that the feelings of happiness that come to most 
 of us occasionally, are the true expression of the value of the activity of our 
 organism ; that the maintenance of the organism in a state of efficiency, or, 
 to use less technical language, the keeping up of our bodily health, is a 
 means and not an end. The question at once suggests itself, when do these 
 feelings of happiness usually occur ? And to this the answer is-during 
 our periods of leisure. The background of most lives must be some kind of 
 work, that IS, some kind of objective activity, and when this is intense, con- 
 sciousness IS obscured. But in the intervals of work, self-consciousness again 
 appears. If m these intervals we had not some way of giving new forms to 
 the memories of past experiences, and of contemplating them as coloured by 
 our emotional moods, and if we did not sometimes find this process interest 
 ing, we should die of euuuL But the human organism, especially under the 
 slightly abnormal conditions of civilised life, finds itself too much depressed 
 by long.continued exertion to take full advantage of its periods of leisure ; 
 and even supposing these abnormal conditions removed, the nervous system 
 cannot yield its highest effects in the way of rapid thought and vivid 
 emotion unless it has its activity exalted a little by some stimulant. This 
 IS why the desire spoken of by De Quincey makes itself felt. Does it not. 
 then, seem more rational to consider this desire as the natural suggestion of 
 a way of bnngmg about a sort of rhythm of the functions subservient to 
 objective activity on the one hand, and those subservient to contemplation 
 and enjoyment on the other, than to denounce it as " a morbid craving "? 
 To make life an uninterrupted series of states of consciousness of the highest 
 quality 18 impossible, but we may at least try to get out of it sometimes the 
 best it can give us. 
 
 
 If this reasoning should seem satisfactory to the reader, he will find tha 
 he has been led to a confirmation of the belief of common sense that the use 
 men have made of wine has been, on the whole, a wise one ; for, according 
 to the view we have arrived at, they have used it in order to take the 
 greatest advantage of their intervals of leisure, to brighten social inter- 
 course, to bring out their personality more clearly— in short, to intensify 
 consciousness. The effect of wine on the powers of enjoying at once ex- 
 plains and justifies the taste for it. Some, through extraordinary sensibility 
 to stimulants, and some from other causes, have indeed gone to excess in 
 the use of it ; but this does not affect the general argument. And we must 
 not be too severe even on those few who, from one age of the world's history 
 to another, have occasionally over-intoxicated themselves. As has been 
 already pointed out, they have, by means of the experiences they have 
 gone through, been enabled to enrich human language; and they have 
 themselves suffered the consequences of their wrong-doing ; for they have 
 not observed the rule of temperance, which, like other virtues, lies between 
 the opposite extremes of excess and defect. 
 
 III. 
 
 Some of the narcotic agents that are less familiar to Europeans have been 
 known to certain Oriental nations as long as wine has been known to the 
 whole civilised world. Among these the most celebrated are opium and 
 hashish, the stimulating powers of which, since the Western and Eastern 
 nations began to be acquainted with each other, have formed the basis of 
 half-mythical accounts of gorgeous visions and delightful reveries. The 
 curiosity of the more imaginative among Europeans has naturally been 
 excited by such accounts, and these drugs have therefore become the sub- 
 jects of literary treatment as well as of the investigations of physiologists. 
 In this circumstance they differ from more recently discovered drugs to 
 which similar powers have been attributed, such as ether, nitrous oxide, and 
 chloral, which have been described for the most part only in scientific 
 memoirs, and have scarcely as yet become interesting except to chemists and 
 physiologists. It will therefore be best not to speak further of these last, 
 but to confine our attention to opium and hashish. 
 
 For taking this couise there is another reason besides the smaller amount 
 of interest attaching to drugs discovered in modern times. It might seem 
 at first that their having no vague associations derived from history and 
 legend, and their having never been described with a view to literary effect, 
 but having always " had the fierce light of scientific inquiry beating upon 
 them," would make it easier to learn what is the exact nature of their 
 action ; yet the real state of things is quite otherwise. The facts that are 
 given us by physiologists are useless except for the purpose of interpreting 
 the literature of the subject, as will be seen at once when the modes of 
 treatment of the man of science and of the literary artist are contrasted. 
 
 Consider first the way in which a physiologist sets to work when he has 
 decided to study the action of some drug. He administers to himself a 
 measured dose of it; then he proceeds to feel his pulse at intervals of five 
 
860 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 367 
 
 minutes, and to note down his observations. After he has become incapable 
 of doing this, he makes use of the portion of intelligence that remains to him 
 to arrive at the conclusion that his ideas are confused. On the next day he 
 describes the last effect he was conscious of as "inebriation with phan- 
 tasms," or something of that kind. It is well understood, of course, that he 
 is all the time shut up alone in his own room. Now, this is evidently a 
 very inadequate mode of treatment ; we do not learn from statements of 
 this kind what are the real effects of the drug on consciousness. Contrast 
 with this method that of the literary artist, and see how much more 
 likely we are to get from him the kind of knowledge we want. Probably he 
 is a seeker of " artificial paradises," who, having in someway or other found 
 out the effect of the drug, has given himself up to the pleasures he derives 
 from it, without analysing his consciousness or feeling his pulse. At 
 length, however, it occurs to him that his experiences would make a good 
 subject for a book, and he begins to analyse his memories of them, a proce- 
 dure which, from the psychological point of view, is much more satisfactory 
 than that of the man of science, who interferes with the development of the 
 mental phenomena he is observing by trying to classify them as they arise. 
 What will be the nature of a book written under such circumstances ? Will 
 not the writer, just because he has to work up his experiences into artistic 
 form, and not to give the bare facts, find himself able to convey an accurate 
 impression of the sort of " atmosphere " the drug creates around the person 
 who has taken it, of the sort of modification it produces in his ways of 
 thinking and feeling, as distinguished from the modifications of his 
 particular feelings and thoughts, these last being, of course, redistributed 
 according to the demands of the scheme he has set before himself ? But this 
 creation of a peculiar atmosphere through which experiences are looked at, 
 is really the one effect common to all intoxicants; and the fundamental dif 
 ference between any two intoxicants is expressed by the difference between 
 the atmospheres they create. 
 
 The data then for studying chloral, and other intoxicants of modern 
 origin, in a general way, do not yet exist, for these drugs have not yet 
 become the subject of any contributions to literature. In the case of opium 
 and hashish the data do exist, but, if we wish to form an impartial judg- 
 ment about them, we must interpret them by means of the facts that 
 scientific investigators have supplied, and also, if possible, by a little 
 personal experience of the drugs themselves. These conditions being sup- 
 posed to have been fulfilled, it may be penuitted to me to give an account, 
 which shall be brief and general, but accurate as far as it goes, of the effects 
 of opium and hashish on the mind. 
 
 The intoxicating qualities of opium are well known to English readers 
 from De Quincey's Confeifsions. Hashish is scarcely known in England, but 
 has attracted a little attention from time to time in France. Th^ophile 
 Gautier, who was a member of the celebrated " Club des Hachichins," made 
 use of his own experiences as material for the brilliant description in 
 nomans et Contes. Baudelaire, also, has described some of the effects of 
 hashish in Les Paradis artificieU. But, notwithstanding these contribu- 
 tions to the literature of the subject, very little is generally known as to the 
 
 real effect of these narcotics. Some people, for example, suppose they have 
 no effect except to bring about unconsciousness. Another erroneous impres- 
 sion, which is as widely prevalent as the impression that narcotics have no 
 effect except that of stupefying, is that those who use opium as a luxury are 
 accustomed to take doses of it in order to obtain the vivid dreams to which 
 it gives rise. As a matter of fact, opium and hashish, with those who are 
 susceptible to their influence (which all people are not), do not depress, but 
 intensify consciousness ; and, in the case of opium, the dreams are not 
 usually produced at first, but only appear to confiraied opium-eaters, and 
 then only as a secondary phenomenon. 
 
 Opium, in those who are capable of stimulation by it, gives rise to a 
 pleasurable state of feeling something like that which is produced by wine 
 in not excessive doses; but the excitement derived from it, instead of tend- 
 ing to some highest point, remains stationary for hours, and in place of the 
 slight incoherence of thought always present in those who are exhilarated 
 with wine, the most perfect harmony is established among all the concep- 
 tions. There is an extraordinary stimulation of the pure intellect, and not 
 merely of the powers of expression. The opium-eater seems to have had 
 the eyes of his spirit opened, to have acquired a gift of insight into things 
 that to mere mortals are inexplicable. The most remote parts of conscious- 
 ness come into clear light ; the finer shades of personality, those that had 
 been unknown even to the opium-eater himself, are brought into view and 
 become distinct ; the smallest details of the things around take new signifi- 
 cance, and are seen to be profoundly important ; their analogies with other 
 phenomena of nature are revealed. It is the same with the moral as with 
 the intellectual being ; that also becomes indefinitely exalted. An absolute 
 balance of the faculties seems to have been attained. The whole man is 
 what in his ordinary state he only tends to be ; he has realised the highest 
 perfection of which he is capable; only his '' best self" now remains; his 
 lower self has been left behind without need of the purgatorial fire of con- 
 tention with the environment to destroy it. 
 
 To the seeker of artificial paradises, hashish is on the whole less satisfac- 
 tory than opium. It is indeed unsurpassable in its legendary associations. 
 But, although hashish derives from Eastern legends an air of mystery and 
 attraction, it has been found actually not to be equal as a producer of pleasure 
 either to wine or opium. For the visions of the hashish-eater depend en- 
 tirely on his immediate surroundings and take their colouring from his 
 state of mind. 
 
 The intoxication of hashish generally runs its course in some such way 
 as this. First, there is a sense of gladness accompanied by a tendency to 
 extravagant and causeless laughter. Then, after an interval, during which 
 there are sometimes slightly unpleasant muscular sensations as if produced 
 by the passing of electric currents under the skin, the state called by Gautier 
 •' Fantasia " begins. By exaggeration and multiplication of the impressions 
 derived from external objects, the most curious hallucinations are produced ; 
 space assumes monstrous proportions, and time seems indefinitely extended, 
 as in De Quincey's opium dreams. After the *' Fantasia," and sometimes 
 mixed with it, that feeling of perfect happiness called by the Orientals 
 
368 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 •' Kief," a feeling which is also produced by opium, takes posseesion of the 
 hashish-eater; but this state of mind may, by the rising of some casual 
 association, be reversed, and, as it has been expressed, turn to nightmare. 
 
 It ought to have been mentioned that hashish is a preparation made by 
 the Arabians from the leaves of hemp. Several other preparations of hemp 
 have been used as intoxicants ; one of these, called bang, is well known to the 
 inhabitants of India. There is in the Pharmacopoeia an extract of CannahiA 
 indica, which is administered in the form of pills. Slight differences mani- 
 fest themselves in the effects, according as hashish (using this as a general 
 term) is taken in one or other of these forms ; but the influence of tem- 
 perament is probably more important than specialities in the form of the 
 drug. The ordinary extract of Cannabis indica has been known to give rise 
 to a sort of reverie having something in common with Gautier's " Fantasia." 
 The imagination is stimulated, but the power of continuous thought dis- 
 appears. Strange figures may easily be created out of patches of light and 
 shade. A feeling of isolation in the midst of infinity developes itself, and 
 the sense of the vastness of space and time is deepened. A dream-like 
 feeling of happiness spreads itself, ♦* like an atmosphere of light," over the 
 whole being. But the action of the drug in any of its forms is capricious ; 
 it becomes intense, then after a time passes away, and when it seems to 
 have finally disappeared returns again. 
 
 IV. 
 
 No doubt the reader finds that many things have been omitted from the 
 last section which might have been expected to have place in it. " Why 
 has the terrible morrow that follows indulgence in opium or hashish not 
 been described? Why has it not been shown how a craving arises for a 
 renewal of the dose, which the victim at length becomes incapable of re- 
 sisting ? And why has nothing been said about the frightful consequences 
 that follow long-continued abuse of these deadly drugs?" Now this is 
 really equivalent to asking why, in discussing the uses of wine, I have not 
 given a detailed account of an attack of delirium tremens, and gone into 
 a disquisition on the pathology of chronic alcoholism. The terrible 
 visions that are seen by the confirmed opium- or hashish-eater, are 
 really no more a necessary consequence of the use of hashish or opium 
 than the morbid phenomena just referred to are a necessary consequence 
 of the use of alcoholic liquors. The tendency for a physical *' crave" to 
 establish itself is not more marked in their case than it is in the case of 
 wine or spirits. And as to the reaction of •• the day after," it does not 
 exist either in the case of opium or of the various preparations of Indian 
 hemp. Opium causes headache in those who are incapable of experiencing 
 its ** intoxicating " — or, more strictly, its exalting— effects ; but with those 
 who are susceptible of its influence there is no reaction whatever. It does 
 not derange the intellectual faculties. Nor does it give rise to a tendency 
 in external things, which is, I am told, occasionally one of the effects of 
 wine, to mix the images of themselves in various and sometimes puzzling 
 combinations. 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 369 
 
 Wine, opium, and hashish resemble one another in this, that they all 
 afford a means of increasing the pleasurable activity of the nervous system 
 in our intervals of leisure ; they all have the power of exaggerating our 
 personality, of making our consciousness more brilliant. And it is for this 
 reason in every case that nations have taken to the use of such substances, 
 each nation growing accustomed to that which it found nearest to its hand 
 or most congenial to its temperament. ^Vlly, then, should the exotic stimu- 
 lants be regarded as objects of mysterious dread ? Does it seem quite clear 
 that all the advantages are on the side of that particular stimulant with 
 which we happen to be most familiar ? Let it be admitted that it is as bad. 
 to take frequent doses of opium, for example, as to over-saturate the system 
 with alcohol every day ; may it not be that, as De Quincey contended, a 
 moderate use of opium is not absolutely impossible ? 
 
 In order that an impartial answer to questions of this kind may be arrived 
 at, it will be well just to pass in review some of the qualifying considerations 
 that must be kept in mind by a student of this subject who has for his aim 
 to arrive at the unadorned truth. We have seen that it is in the literature 
 of the subject that such a student finds the greater part of his materials; but 
 it must be remembered that the aim of this literature itself is not the dis- 
 covery or the exposition of truth ; it is the production of artistic effect. And 
 the artistic method of dealing with Oriental drugs, as with everything else, 
 demands that the lights shall be made brighter, and the shadows deepened. 
 Hence De Quincey, after invoking opium as the bearer of the keys of Para- 
 dise, must balance this invocation with a chapter on the "Pains of Opium," 
 in which all the imagery of the " ancient, monumental, cruel, and elaborate 
 religions " of the East contributes to the production of an effect of horror 
 and of mystery ; and Baudelaire finds it necessary to place as a dark back- 
 ground to the divine delights of hashish, a moral doctrine according to 
 which every attempt to transcend the normal conditions of human life — to 
 reach '* Kief " artificially — is a sin against the nature of things, and impUes 
 a diminution of the power of the will, which, becoming more and more rapid, 
 must at length bring to nothingness the victim of the " Satanic " desire to 
 escape from the domain of law. Art finds its materials in life, but it must 
 select from them ; it must redistribute the colours it finds in nature, so as 
 to obtain an effect superior to the things themselves. As our purpose is to 
 know what is the exact truth about the drugs we have been speaking of, we 
 must allow for that systematic exaggeration of joys and pains which the 
 artistic mode of treatment renders necessary. 
 
 After weighing these considerations, the conclusion that suggests itself is 
 something like this : Hashish and opium are probably not more potent than 
 wine, and for the majority even of those who are susceptible to them, their 
 fascination is less than that of wine. The effects of these three stimulants 
 are different in quality, but not in intensity ; speaking in a vague and general 
 way, it may be said that wine stimulates chiefly the power of expression, 
 opium the intellect, and hashish the imagination. Why, then, should not 
 these last also be used as a means of economising capacities of enjoyment ? 
 
 The idea has sometimes come to me that some of these drugs might be 
 made instruments of psychological research. De Quincey's opium expe- 
 
 25 
 
J 
 
 870 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 riences have been used as an argument against the Kantian doctrine that 
 space and time are " a priori forms " ; for how, it is asked, can a priori 
 forms become amplified and extended, as De Quincey says time and space 
 were in his visions ? Perhaps the interrogation of consciousness under 
 opium might throw light on the remoter phenomena of association of ideas. 
 If there is anything in this suggestion, opium might become to the psycho- 
 logist a sort of microscope. The consciousness of the subject- as distin- 
 guished from the object-world is said to disappear sometimes under the 
 influence of hashish. How does this aflfect the various theories about the 
 ego and the non-ego f 
 
 When these drugs have been found useful to psychologists, when they 
 have become in the true sense of the term " philosophical instruments," we 
 may expect to learn in an indirect way what is the worth of the suggestions 
 put forth as to the desirableness of assigning to them a place beside wine 
 as medicines for the mind, as dispellers of gloom. Knowledge such as this 
 will not be the least important part of the "hedonical calculus" which 
 philosophers have proposed to elaborate. 
 
 This, however, like the rest, is a mere suggestion. The object of this 
 paper is to bring before the reader the grounds for thinking that the present 
 matter is one in regard to which the common habit prevails of fearing the 
 unknown, of alternately treating it as divine and as diabolical. The exotic 
 drugs of which we have been speaking have, because of their association 
 with the East and the exaggerations they have formed the subject of, at- 
 tracted the attention chiefly of enthusiasts. When the enthusiasts have 
 been at the same time artists, as in De Quincey's case, the result has been 
 that new literary effects have been produced which are as much superior to 
 the phenomena of opium dreams as these are to the events of ordinary life. 
 It is no wonder, then, that the popular notion about opium should be such 
 as we know it to be. But, if opium were ever to become famiUar, does it 
 not seem probable, from what has been said, that we should come to look 
 upon it neither as •' a panacea, a <}>dpnaKov vrjirivG^Q for all human woes," 
 nor as ♦• a substance created by the devil to destroy our bodies and souls '' ; 
 but simply as somethmg which contributes to make human life more agree- 
 ably various, and which may perhaps be considered as producing a balance 
 of good, since in itself all variety is good ? 
 
 UWWIN BKOTHERS, 
 CHILWORTH AND LONDOIT. 
 
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