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This institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order If, In Its judgement, fulfillment of the order would Involve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR: NORDAU, MAX SIMON TITLE: PARADOXES, GERMAN THE MAX PLACE: DA TE : [1 895] »»»-..„ COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY UBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOnRAP HIC MTCROFORM TARCFT Master Negative # ..13.-.8it5/-8„ Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 193^^75 U521 Paradoxe • -^ir>c# Nordau, Max Simon, 1849-1 n?^^. Paradoxes, from the German of Max Nordau ... (Au- thorized English ed.) Chicago, Laird & Lee r'1895i5iG86i 3 p. I., i5i-377 p. 18p™. On cover : Golden rod edition. lestrictions on Use: I. Title. Library of Congress — _ v^opy z. Copyright 1895 : 46815 CB417.N87 12-37247 / -J ■ f ' 1 )X 67 FILM SIZE: •^ ^^ '^'^WflPr TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA REDUCTION RATIO: /A>^ IMAGE PLACEMENT: IA(f^ IB HB DATE FILMED: i&lSlf^.. INITIALS. j/£f^ ™^EDBY: RESEARCH PUBUrATTD NS. INC WDOPBRinriK cj r Association for Information and image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue. Suite 1100 Silver Spring, Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 mm Mulim|lllllllllllllllM|llll|l^ Inches 1.0 ! I.I 1.25 3 4 = I Z5 3.2 4.5 IB 5.0 ■ i.3 I 3.6 14.0 1.4 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 I MONUFRCTURED TO fillM STRNDflRDS BY APPLIED IMAGE, INC. %■ x:z rjuu.: if.^'^^' rvr,xu ---■---^•r?ri--v--; . MV^ •IHHHn::' m J^:iJr" L«i4|S i^.i. ■.'■■■■■■. ■■■■^■■;«jw.'«i*;«;*ih>-ii : ,.,..4irit»ff»UL.': :,- . --^.-r-rj - ;r?t«i«atTtifi^!!!j« tftl::'- ■;Mt;.' «-■**. I'M'* I IT;" _ THE UBRARIES f \ t I ■gii' ^ \f' \i %i^3^7:' ■ ::^H.«i»w..Mfi«i 'i ^ti,itif. i!Hf«^:*?i- i«^^-4' V"'> ! '#* #t»4H I :'■ » ' ;• \ / PARADOXES FROM THE GERMAN ov MAX NORDAU Author of "The Conventional Libs op Our Civilizatiok "PARIS SKETCHES," ETC. (AUTHORIZED ENGLISH EDITION.) \ i CHIC.^CO LA'RD & LEE, Publishers Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by LOUIS SCHICK, 111 tlie office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. .. !!.*•* ••»• • • • • • % PREFACE. Wherefore " Paradoxes " ? Because this book enters upon the discussion of the problems of which it treats in all candor, unbiased by the intimidating decrees of schools and indifferent to customary views and opinions. Statements hitherto considered unimpeachable, be- cause no one has ever questioned their validity, must submit to the demand for their proofs, and then it frequently appears that they have none. Commonplaces are compelled to vindicate their veracity, and if they cannot do this, neither rank nor standing will save them from condemnation. The chief aim of this book is to demonstrate that even what is mosc self-evident is still open to many doubts and may lead to much perplexity, as it frequently happens that the same fact may be supported by the most opposite theories and explanations, which all seem equally plausible and probably are all equally erro- neous. The author will have accomplished his purpose if he succeeds in inducing the reader to distrust all ready-made formulas, and yet give due consideration to every utterance of honest opinion, to admit that the most convincing demonstration still leaves room for doubt, but also to patiently sift the most unacceptable argument, and^ more than all, never to renounce the right of individual conclusions, even iu favor of the highest authorities. The author is willing to allow these principles to be applied to himself first of all. He does not ask any one to share his views ; all he asks is a hearing. He does not flatter himself that he has dis- covered solutions, all ho desires is to induce the reader to search for them. In striving for truth the main thing is not the finding but the seeking. He who has honestly sought has done enough. The Author. Paris, May, 1885. • • a % « :)) „ ( ^ CONTENTS. Optimism and Pessimism Majority and Minority A Retrospect . . • - Success , . • - - The Psycho-Physiology of Genius and Talent Suggestion . . % • • Gratitude . - - - The Import of Fiction The Natural History of Love - Evolution in ^Esthetics Symmetry • . Generalization . . - - Where is Truth? The State an Annihilator of Character * - Nationality . . . • A Glance into the Future • Page. 5 33 71 92 116 203 222 235 248 264 283 298 314 330 344 36G OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. / The pyramids, are they considered one of the wonders of the world? The hanging gardens of Babylon? The Colossus of Rhodes? I know of a greater— the most, artistic and the most astounding perhaps, ever conceived by the mind of man. This is pessimism. By this I mean that genuine, fundamental pessimism which has become the universally accepted point of view, from which nature, humanity and life itself, seem forever the same as in the dismal reaction and fit of the blues which follow a pro- longed drinking bout We must discriminate between two kinds of honest pessimism— the scientific and the practical. Scientific pes- simism is constantly criticising in the most annihilating manner all the phenomena of the universe, singly and col- lectively. The universe, it teaches with profound convic- tion, is a wretched piece of workmanship, no better than the abortive first attempts of some prentice hand. Has its existence any purpose, any way? We stand and shake our heads in front of the ponderous and intricate machine, seeking in vain to discover a mind and reason in the furious whiri. And if we accept that the universe is an irrational, purposeless chaos, is there any law or logic in its separate parts, at least? No. It is crude chance alone that rules nature, and that in nature which most interests us— humanity. No sense of morality governs the course of events, either great or small. Evil triumphs oftener i n n OimilBM AND PESSIMISM- Hian good Atuiman throws Ormuzd down stairs and in- solcii% cliiicMes if the latter breaks his leg on the way. Why does such a world exist? why does saeh a world con- Ikne to exist! And would it not be far better and more in accordance with the laws of morality, if it were to be hnrled back into primeval chaos firom which it is supposed lo have emerged— which latter point, however, is still to be pHivwl' What a foundation of naive vanity and self-glorifica- Mon there is to this way of thinking ! It proceeds upon the assumption that the human intellect is the highest production of nature ; that it can grasp and comprehend everything that exists j that without it, nothing can exist; and that its laws must be those of the universe also. From this point of view alone is this criticism of the phe- nomeha of the universe comprehensible.* K nature is governed by an intellect constituted simi- lar to that of man, it is certainly foolish and oi}en to criti- clam ; for it does not allow us to understand its intentions ; it plays sEly tricks ; it is first extravagant and then stingy, tad it maiwges with such a disr^ard for the future and so recklessly, that it ought to be placed under the guard- ianship of some professor of philosophy, and the sooner the better. The case Is similar in regard to the aggravating lack of morality in the way the world is managed. If some Mghlj-oultured, noble-minded gentleman of this Nineteenth Century, with the highest references from his lo« 4 s mut npon its color changing every day with that of Im n^iv^^„ . 7^ ^""*' "^ """^"'^ "« t"^" '^'•itic of the arbitKio- tj-itmny m the way the world is mana4d -a^istoUe's geocentric theory has been abandoned in cosmology ever since the time of Copc^cur iT Is n^ tonger believed and taught that our earth is the cent e S nature , that the moon was created for the sole purpose of lUummatmg our nights, and the stany host to3^„ snmles for our lyric poets. In philosophy. hoCr Tsb^ «dhere to this puerile conception and abuse the whole sj^ THE bacterium's CONCEPTION OP MORALITY. 13 tern of the universe as idiotic because the supply of coal will probably be exhausted in time, and because Cracatoa was destroyed with some thousands of people as fond of life as we are ; and we consider it immoral because Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake, because Gustavus Adolphus fell at Luetzen, and because so many loving mothers die at child-birth. If the bacteria of decomposition are capable of philo- sophical reasoning, how dismal their prospects must seem to them ! All the world's inventions, regarded from their point of view are horrible and hideously immoral and are daily becoming more so. The broom and the scrubbing- brush, the fatal acid and the dreadful hot water have con- spired together against their existence ; that which might serve as nourishment for them, is removed, destroyed, made inaccessible to them by invisible powers. That de- stroying agent, carbolic acid, often breaks into their life just when they are most comfortably situated, and changes their merry revelry into a dance of death, in which the virtuous bacterium must join as well as the vicious one. But the very things that must be to them the cause for a really justifiable pessimism are described by us in ponderous volumes as the progress of sanitation, ^nd eulo- gized as a subject for congratulation. I can imagine an insect endowed with a taste for art — a fly for instance, which might consider the little bee, the mint-mark on French twenty-franc pieces of a certain date, especially beautiful— and there is nothing absurd in this illustration, for the preference of this insect for paintings and statues is known only too well and disagreeably to all neat housekeepers. But suppose it happens to fly past the colossal statue of Bavaria at Munich— how devoid of sense, how illogical, how unshapely this mass of metal must seem to the tiny insect— without beginning or end ; first 14 ixfiiiiiiBM AND nssniiiif. inodmppeliensibly smooth, then strangely rough; hero mm% titfUQge, aimieas deiralioii, there some irregular de- peeeion ; and if the aeslheio fly were obliged to pass its lie in the interior of the great statue, it could write a book illl of bitter epigrams upon Its conception of the universe; and dilate most eloquently upon the lack of purpose and sense in its world, in a way sure to convince ,all its com- pmion insects in the interior of the colossal fiavaria And yet it would not have come anywhere near the truth, as any ordinarily intelligent courier or guide in Municb could prove to it without the least difficulty. Mo, no ; the philosophy of pessimism can not bear eeiious investigatioa As far as it Is honest it seems to be only one form of profound dissatisfaction with the llmit- atlona of our understanding. W© would like to compre- hend t^e mechanism of the world, but we cannot; this provokes us, and we consequently abuse it; just aa an un- sophisticated savage would throw down a music box In a Wge, after be had tried In vain to comprehend its construo- tioa We glorify ourselves as the lords of creation and yet we are obliged to admit, little by little, that our lord- ahip has after all not so very much to rest upon. We lose our temper at this ; we reduce our bad humor to a science —and call It peiifmlsm. The child that fttretches out its band for tbe ^oon and begins to cry because it cannot reach it, is a pessimist also in its way without knowing it Qnl^ Its pessimism can be easily cured with a little candy. It is, however, gratifying to learn that as a rule, the sysleinatic advocates of pessimism can enjoy good food and good drink, |hat after a sentimental courtship conducted according to the most approved methods, they get married with all due ceremony, and have a highly developed appre- claMon of everything agreeable In life. Their philosophy la an official robe for great occasions, and as such Imposing PRACTICAL PESSIMISM. 15 I' enough for the admiring crowd of spectators; but we know that under the sacred robe with the skull and cross- bones, they wear the usual every-day underclothing, the invisible but comfortable flannel vest such as Tom, Dick, and Harry are wearing too. Besides this genuine scientific pessimism, which does not preclude the greatest enjoyment of real life, there is also a practical pessimism, known familiarly as crankiness. This kind of pessimism neither reasons nor argues. It has no systems, no classifications. It does not make the slightest attempt to explain why the world and life are not satisfactory to it ; it merely feels instinctively and in all sincerity that everything that exists is unendurable and tends to produce destructive thoughts. Such a pessimism can not be refuted ; it can only be analyzed. It is always the attendant phenomenon of some disease of the brain, either already fully developed or as yet only in its incipi- ent stages. Years before one of these unfortunate candi- dates for the lunatic asylum is pronounced insane, he suffers from melancholia, shuns society and becomes mis- anthropical An imperfectly developed organ of thought or one subject to inherent destructive tendencies, has the dismal gift of perceiving its own approaching collapse, of observing its progress, and of realizing the fact that it has begun to decay. In such cases the mind has its own dissolution perpetually before its eyes, and this horri- ble spectacle fascinates it to such an extent that it retains only a weak and distracted power of perception for other phenomena. Such a brain must necessarily reflect the world like an eye overgrown with a cataract, — as the tragic darkness of chaos. All the great poets of the "world-is- outrof-joint " style have been deranged organisms. Lenau died a lunatic; Leopardi was a suflerer from certain generic affections well known to physicians conversant OPTIMISM AND P188IMI8M, with mental disease; Heine was never gloomy nor melan- cliolv until his spinal disease had extended its constantly increasing depredations to his hrain ; and Lord Byron s eccentricity of character is called genius by the unprofes- sional, while the psychologist's technical term for it is psychosis. This pessimism which wrings its hands at the sight of a pair of lovers, and bursts into sobs on a bright May morning, without cause, without consolation and without any respite, is a disease ; and no healthy person will ever think of such a thing as adopting it These are the two kinds of honest pessimism which alone have any claim to criticism. In atldition to these, there is, it is true, a hypocritical gloomy disposition much affected by certain fools who imagine it is becoming to them. It is a dainty dilettanteism, an intellectual token of superiority which distinguishes them from the common herd. A certain pallor of thought is considered interest- ing by persons # iierverted tiistes, like pale cheeks. They are Has^ and bitter in onler to create the impression that they have had many and remarkable experiences, that they liave been the heroes of numliers of strange adven- tures. They sigh and groan ti> make others believe that they are memliers of the small and extremely aristocratic company which has teen initiated into the Eleusinian mys- teries of suffering. It is not worth while wasting our time analyzing i^ssimists of this class. We poke them in the ribs hi the French fashion, and say : " Ah, you rogue ! " I have called the pessimism of the day the most astonishing marvel the world has yet produced, meaning by this that it was a triumph of the imagination over real- ity and a preof of the ability of man to force nature in spite of her most vigorous resistance into a dress designed for her by his eiipricc. Just as lie causes the spreading crown of branches of noble trees Ui grow in the senseless PESSDIISM AS A FASHION. 17 I shape of animals and architectural designs, and as he compels water in spite of its most emphatically expressed disinclination, to flow up hill by means of pumping machinery, so he constructs out of facts which offer him the liveliest and brightest ideas, a most dismal point of view for the universe, and carries his pessimism into nature which sings and proclaims optimism from all the bells of her flowers and throats of her birds. For this is exactly what nature is doing, and it is not even necessary to listen with especial attention to hear it, for the sound will penetrate, even if we stuff our ears full of scholastic and pedantic cotton. The primal instinct of man from which all his ideas and actions proceed, is optimism. Every attempt to uproot it is futile ; for it is the essential foundation of our being and can only be de- stroyed with it. If we inspect closer the principal subjects for the complaints of pessimism, we find that they proceed from a superfluity of rank self-conceit, and that they might be compared to the cares that his wealth entails upon the mil- lionaire. We are discontented with the lack of purpose in the universe as a whole, or rather with man's incapacity to discover its purpose. But is not this discontent in itself alone an indication of the high development to which the human mind has attained? and have we not cause to rejoice at what has been already achieved? The mere inquiry as to the final aim of nature requires a certain vigor and power of thought. What a broad mental horizon is neces- sary before even problems such as these can be recognized ! And to what beautiful prospects man must have climbed, how many intellectual enjoyments and delights he must have experienced on the way, before he attained to the lofty position where he believes himself really justified in and capable of summoning the universe to his feet and 18 OPTIJilSM AND PESSIMISM, saying to it with the authority of a chief inspector : " You must have been designed in accordance with some plan ; I wish to examine this plan so as to pass judgment upon it!" No animal ever feels the pessimism of self-insuf- ficiency (the Weitschmerz), and our progenitor, the contem- porary of the cave-tears, was certainly free from all anxiety as to the final destiny of mankind j when this pri- meval realist had eaten all he wanted, he unquestionably thought that his life had sufflcient occupation ; and if he hapi)ened to have any other desire left, we ma}^ safely assume that it was to go to sleep undisturted. But we have become more cultured with the increasing facial angle, and we have ideals far above and beyond a fat buffalo steak; and while, as is only natural, our zeal for intel- lectual acquirements becomes more and more eager the larger the amount of intellectual capital we have accumu- lated, and as we have already come such a wonderful dis- tance, we can no longer endure to have any limit set to our fhrther advance and progress. The case is similar in regard to one of the other com- plaints of pessimism : that concerning the presence of pain in the world. What short-sightedness ; I am almost disposed to saj', what ingratitude ! But, noble pessimists, if pain did not exist, it would have to be invented ! It is one of the most tenevolent and most useful of nature's provisions. In the first place, pain presupposes a sound and highly developed nervous system ; and this is also the preliminary condition to all the agreeable sensations, whose presence in life we certainly cannot deny. The lower foiins of life are incapable of acute sensations of pain ; but we may assume that in the same way their agreeable sen- sations are ineomparabl}' duller and feebler than our own. It would te altogether too extraordinaiy if our senses were sufficiently acute to delight in the perfume of a rose, or > PAIN OUR GUARDIAN ANGEL. 19 one of Beethoven's symphonies, or Titian's paintings, and yet were insensible to the odor of decomposition, the grating of a file against the teeth of a saw, and the spec- tacle of a cancer. Ask a hysterical invalid afflicted with paralysis in one or both sides of her body, whether she is pleased with her utterly painless condition ! The external world can not inflict pain upon her ; but neither can it yield her any agreeable sensations, and after a brief experience she will beg and pray to be made able to feel pain again. Scores of times I have been a witness when an invalid like this would scream with delight when first the prick of a nee- dle hurt her once more. Pain has the role ascribed to the guardian angel by superstitious miners ; it is our monitor which shows us danger and warns us to struggle against it or flee from it. It is therefore our best friend, the preserver of our life and the source of our intensest enjoyments. For pain incites us to effort to counteract its causes, and this effort is associated with the highest display of our capabil- ities, and affords us that incomparable delight which always attends the active expression of our individuality. Without pain our life would last but a moment, for we would not know how to recognize injurious objects and hence could not protect ourselves against them. One of these improvers of tlie world might perhaps urge in objec- tion that it is possible to conceive of such a thing as intui- tion taking the place of the sensation of pain. It would not be necessary then for us to be warned by suffering to put ourselves in a position of defense against threatening influ- ences—a painless intuitive perception of what is injm-ious might render us the same service. It may be observed in reply to this that either the intuition would not be powerful enough to spur and arouse us to action, and in that case we might not respond always or in a sufficient measure to its admonitions, and thus we would be easily vanquished by 20 OPTIMISM AMD PESSIMISM. the enemies to oiir existence^ — or its warning would be so forcible and urgent that we should he obliged to respond with an excessive exertion of all our powers, and in that case we should experience it as pain just as in the warn- ings now given us b}' oiir sensor}' nerves. What pain is to the physical organism, discontent is to the mental and moral. If it appears with suflieient vio- lence to be recognized as suffering, it becomes an incentive to alter and improve the circumstances which cause it, by the exertion of all our faculties. The idea of regarding his surroundinj^s with glances eager for destruction, will never occur to a happy man. Even Hercules would not have performed his twelve Mmm without comi)ulsion, though they did not cost him much of anything, and te- fore we feel like making our be4ls over again, we must first lie uncomfortably. Discontent is therefore the cause of all progress, and those who lament its presence in our mental and moral life aa a calamity, ought to have the courage to acknowledge in tlie liret place that the condem- nation of mankind to an uiicliniiging, life-long, Chinese iort of existence is their highc'.st ulcal. However, discontent with the existing circumstances in which an individual or an entire people is obligetl to live can not be applied as an argument in favor of pessi- mism. It is, on the contrary, still another proof of the fact that an indestructilile optimism is the foundation of all our thought. For every criticism is the result of a comparison instituted in the mind between the actual and the ideal conditions, which latter we have constructed in the world of our imagination, and which we regard as per- feci But the fact that we can formulate such a criticism with more or less distinctness, is based upon the idea that the circumstances which we consider wrong or unendura- ble are capable of a change for the better; and this idea DISCONTENT ONE PHASE OP OPTIMISM. 21 must certainly be called an optimistic one. And not only this: while we are thus grumbling at something which already exists, while we are clearly thinking or indistinctly feeling that it might be better or how it might be made better'^' we have already carried out the improvement potentially. In the imagination of the discontented indi- vidual the transformation is already an accomplished fact, and has for him, at least, that degree of reality which all things possess in our consciousness— a reality which is the same in the perception of the external world by means of the sensory nerves, as it is in the creations of our imaginar tion, that is, an improved ideal world, formed by some com- bined action of the brain cells. Thus every discontented person is in his own mind, a reformer, a creator of a new world, which exists in his imagination, and which includes all the conditions necessary to human happiness ; and if| he is skilled in analyzing his own sensations, he will soon discover that his discontent with existent objects leads to his being highly satisfied with himself, and that the pleas- ure aftbrded him by this ideal world of his own creation at least balances the displeasure occasioned by the world of reality. And here I do not hesitate to give my argument a personal turn and ask the honest philosopher of pessi- mism whether he is not exceedingly pleased with himself when he has succeeded in setting forth in a convincing style the general depravity and lack of reason in the world and in life? He may perhaps jump up from his writing table and run to embrace his wife in his delight, if some page of his dissertation has turned out an especially deep black ; and when his book is finished he reads some chap- ter in it aloud to his friends in the club room, and experi- ences as he does so an internal satisfaction which alone would make life for him well worth living. To sum it all up : our bitterness at our failure to un- ^uyM^du^ A49 mimi OPTIMISM AND' ■PE88I3II8M. derstand the mecbanisin and purpose of the universe is a proof of the high development of our fjowers of thought, which jield us continual gratification and delight; phys- ical pain is an indication of the health and capabilities of our nervous system, to which we owe all the agreeable sensations of our existence, and discontent is the cause of E creative activity in our imagination which is to us the source of great piivate satisfaction. Where |>essimism uomes in here, I am at a loss to determine. I hope no one will so far misunderstand my arguments as to consider me a disciple of the sage Pangloss. I am by no means a believer in the doctrine taught by this philosopher of content, and am far from maintaining that this is the best of all iwssible worlds. What I assert is something very different to this. I say that this world may be the best or the worst of all possible worlds, or any- where between these extremes ; yet mankind will always and forever consider it desirable. Man has the wonderful faculty of accepting with a certain grim toleration the nat- ural conditions which are absolutely beyond his power to alter, and more than this, of becoming accustomed to them, and learning to regard them as pleasant and matters of course, and finally of becoming so attached to them that he has no desire to exchange them for others, even if he can imagine far better ones. This, certainly, is only possi- ble because the web of his being, upon which exi>erience embroiders all sorts of melancholy figures, consists of opti- mism, pure and simple. Can there possibly be any necessity for examples to illustrate these assertions? They are close at hand. Even the professional pessimist concedes the beauty of nature and rejoices in a fair summer day, when the sun shines forth from the cloudless blue of the heavens, and in a balmy night in June, with the full moon in the midst of A FLIGHT INTO SPACE. 23 ten thousand twinkling stiirs. On the other hand, an in- habitant of Venus, transplanted suddenly to our earth, would probably find it a dreary wilderness of cold and darkness. Accustomed to the dazzling light and furnace heat of his native planet, he would probably shiver with cold in our tropical noon, and consider our most gorgeous colors faded and ashen, our most brilliant lights pale and dim. And how dull, how dead our sky with its solitary moon, would seem to an inhabitant of Saturn, accustomed to the inconceivably brilliant shifting panorama of eight moons, and two rings, and possibly even more than two, which with their rising and setting, their constantly chang- ing relative positions, and their complicated motion present to his view a wealth of variety of which we are unable to form even an approximate conception. And yet we have no longing whatever for the magnificent sunshine of Venus and the bewildering quadrille of Saturn's moons, but are as gratefully content with our paltry astronomical sur- roundings as if we had really been sitting at the feet of Pangloss. And why need we introduce the inhabitants of our sister planets? There is no necessity for any flight into space to demonstrate the optimism of mankind. We need only glance at the polar regions. Human beings are living there whose cheerfulness has be6n remarked by all explorers. They can conceive of nothing more superb than their icy habitations and their eternal night ; and if there were poets among them, they would sing of the fearful snowy wastes of Greenland without doubt, as our bards declaim of some landscape on the Rhine, with vine-clad hills, fields of waving grain, and dusky forests in the background. This idea, by the way, gives us a more cheerful prospect for the future ice-period, which the earth is approaching as it grows older, if the cooling hypothesis be correct. When we picture this future in our imagination, we usually think 24 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. of the last hnmm beings as enveloped in sealskins, crouch- ing over a miserable fire made of the last remaining coals, holding their lean hands over the scanty blaze, and forlorn, forlorn as a consnmptive orang-ontang in the Berlin zoological garden. This picture is certainly erroneous. Judging of our descendants of the glacial era by the Esquim'aux of the present day, I am convinced that the former will be the jolliest fellows imaginable. They will form carnival societies, hold daily festivals upon the ice, keep the cold out of their limbs by unwearied dancing, enjoy their melted blubber accompanied by gay and noisy drinking songs, and consider their lot a most happy one. When finally the very last human being freezes to death, he will probably die with a broad smile ou his lips and the latest number of Punch or the Kladderadatsch of the day in his rigid hands. The iM>et tells us, it is true, that life is not the highest good ; we think and feel, however, as if it were. The thought of the cessation of our consciousness, the annihi- lation of our i>ersonality,— death, even if not our own, but that of our parents, children, or any one we love, causes us the bitterest pangs that we are capable of experiencing, and we are unable to wish for ourselves and our friends any more precious boon than a long life. But what is a long life? A hundred, a hundred and twenty years ; these are^the higliest figures ; noboily would ask for more than this. A centenarian feels that he is to lie envied ; and on the other hand, we lament the fate of the young man obliged to die in his twentieth or twenty-fifth year. These ideas, accepted so universally, which we neither oppose nor criticise, are the logical result of our perennial opti- mism. We are satisfied with a hundred years, or less, be- cause we scarcely ever see au instance in which this limit is passed. If two or three hundred years were the average OPTIMISM IN REGARD TO DEATH. 25 length of the life of man, as is said to be the case with the raven, the carp and the elephant, we would want to live two or three hundred years, and mourn if we were told that we must die at one hundred and fifty, although at present we do not even want more than a hundred. On the contrary, if man's organism were adapted for a life of thirty or thirty-five years at most, like that of the horse, for example, no one would wish to grow any older than thirty or thirty-five, and we would consider an individual dying at this age as fortunate as we now consider him an object of pity. And more than this : if we knew of an instance— even one single instance-of a person's having escaped the inexorable law of death, nobody would ever want to die. Each individual would hope, wish and dream that this phenomenon, observed but once, would be re- peated in his own case. The giv^at majority of mankind would then look upon death in about the same way as they now regard a Chinese execution, where the victim is sawed in two between a couple of boards— as a terrible and ex- ceptional fate which sometimes befalls individuals, but which all strive to avoid by every means in their power. As we have never heard, however, of any one's having escaped death, we all become reconciled to the idea of shufllino- off this mortal coil without any special difficulty, and even without any special grief, and we only hope that it will occur at an advanced age. Might it not be possible for man to live several hundred, several thousand years? We see no reasonable objection why this miglit not be. But we do not wish for it, simply because we know it can not be. Is it absolutely necessary, after all, that death should put an end to our individual existence? We are unable to perceive any real necessity for it, although in the last three years, Weismann and Gotte have attempted to prove that it is a decree designed in the interest of 26 OFTMISM AND PESSIMISM. I the race. Aed yet we accept the fearful fact of death, Bimply because we know it to be inevitable. We are, in short, so happily organized that we accept what is actual, what is absolutely unavoidable, witli unconcern, and do not distress ourselves further with dismal thoughts. This explains among other things the possibility of that dispo- sition to gayety of humor proverbial among criminals on their way to the gallows. Its occurrence cannot be doubted, for it has teen observed by many reliable wit- nesses. The condemned criminal becomes reconciled even to the rope, when he is at last convinced that it is inevitable. If, on the other hand, the faintest, the remotest possi- bilit}' remains that a condition can l»e changed, an evil avoided, or some event hap|)en in his favor, how triumph- antly, how irrepressiWy does the innate optimism of man burst fortli again ! A chance so infinitesimal that no man in his senses would stake his money on it, |}erhaps even so minute thiit it is lieyond the range of probability, serves Mm for the foundation to the most elaborate castles in the air, and works liim np to a state of exijectancy which almost approaches bliss. Here is an extreme example of the tendency of mankind to optimism. A lottery was in- stituted in France in which the great prize was 500,000 francs. Fourteen million tickets were issued, of which one only could be the successfiil one. Each purchaser of a ticket thus acquired one fonrteen-millionth of a chance that the great prize would fall to him. To exhibit the value of this fraction I will introduce an analogj^ There are in Euro|>e alx)ut 100,000 millionaires, and probably over 500,000 persons who i)osses8 half a million. We will omit the half million and take only the one hundred thousand named as a basis for our calculation. Now let 118 assume that out of ten millionaires one is childless, A MATHEMATICAL CALCULATION. 27 5 without near relatives, or at enmity with his family and in the mood to leave liis entire property to some person whose acquaintance he has happened to make, and to whom he has become attached. Europe contains at present about 320 millions of inhabitants. There is therefore for every 32,000 Europeans one millionaire who is only waiting for an opportunity to bequeath his million or millions to one of these 32,000 people. The proportion is even more favorable for a German or an Englishman in reality, as millionaires are more numerous in Gennany or England, than they are in Russia or Italy, for instance. The proba- bility that any one of us, without buying any ticket, will inherit the wealth of some millionaire, is therefore at least one thirty-two thousandth, and is, accordingly, four hun- dred and thirty-seven times as great as the probability that the holder of a ticket in the ^'Lotcrie ties Arts'' will win the prize of 500,000 francs. If we confine our desires to half a million, the probability that it will be left to us by some wholly unknown benefactor — not even related to us as closely as the proverbial American uncle — is even twentj^-five hundred times as great as the chance of such a ticketrholder. Yet none of us would hope for this million or half a million and, still less, count upon it. In a single country, however, twelve million people were found who were willing to pay a franc for one chance in fourteen million of winning the prize, and based serious expecta- tions upon it, although they were 437 or 2500 times less justified than any one among us, although we pay nothing for our chance of becoming a millionaire's heir. It is my opinion that instead of replying to the professional pessi- mists with reasons, we ought to send them as a final, crushing argument, a ticket to the '^Loterie ties Arts.'' Let us reverse the circumstances. We all do things which expose us to the danger of death, with a proportion ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■I Ill Zo OFT'IMISM AMB PESSIMISM. of probabilitj' mocli larger than one in fourteen millions. On the railways of Europe for instance, one traveler in less than each fourteen millions is killed annually. Is any one sufficiently pessimistic to abandon the use of the railroad on this account? The fourteen-millionth of a possibility is evidently not enough to ftighten us ; but it is large enough to awaken hoi>es in us. Our mind is unaffected by so feeble an impression of disagreeable iiossibilitics, while it is susceptible to the impression of agrcMjable ideas, no stronger in intensity. Why? Because, from its very nature, it has a tendency to optimism and not to i)es- aimism. We notice this in the greatest as well as in the small- est matters. Who among us would ever select a profession if we were not obstinate optimists? In every nireor, those who reach the liTiiit ranks arc tlie rare exception. Out of fifty cadets, only one Incomes a giiuend ; among a hun- dred physicians, only one becomes a professor ; the rest remain in inglorious obscurity, frequently in poverty, and are obliged to contend with all the disagreeables of their profession as long as they live, without ever becoming acquainted with a single one of its agreeable anil rcmiuier- ative features. Yet when we come to choose a profession in life, we see only tlie successful one in tlie fifty or the hundred, and not the forty-uiuc or ninety-nine ; and we are irmly convinced that we sliall be this single one, although from the standpoint of every sober reasoner this seems ex- tremely improbable. Tlie case is precisely the same in regard to all our enterprises. Fsiiluro is, as a rule, (piite as probable as success, and ijerliaps moi-e so. Yet we do not hesitate to undertake the enterprise, and of course this is only liecause we have faith in its success. That which occasions the decision, which outweighs the figures of the calculation of pixibabilities, which draws the curtains 1 \ OPTIMISM FOR SELF, PESSIMISM FOR OTHERS. 29 across the window that overlooks the probable unfavorable result, and hangs on the wall the picture of the far less probable favorable issue,— this is optimism. Let it be well uuderstood that this is true only of our- selves and our own affairs. When, on the other hand, we are giving another person advice in regard to his selec- tion of a vocation, when we are judging of the prospects of another's enterprise, we can see the obstacles and the probabilities of failure very clearly, and are almost inva- riably inclined to pessimistic predictions. Why? Because then the purely subjective element of optimism does not delude our calm calculations and influence our judgment. We see the difficulties, it is true, but we do not see the energy which has resolved, and therefore hopes to over- come them. This energy is known only to its owner, and he therefore applies himself to any undertaking, and calcu- lates its results quite differently from tlie spectator, who has only a profile view of the affair, and docs not realize what an extensive front of attack is formed by our assur- ance and the consciousness of our own vital cnerg3^ It is quite amusing to note that even the most inveterate skeptics have this subjective optimism, and 1 jetray it, often unconsciously, on every occasion. People who consider themselves irreclaimable pessimists, still feel a reverence for age, and a tenderness for childhood. Gray hairs impress them with the idea of wisdom and experience, and the in- fant, of promising development. And yet for the time being, the child is nothing but an unreasoning little ani- mal that dirties itself and screams, an annoyance to every one around, while to the eyes of an unprejudiced observer, the old man is, physically, an unattractive image of decay, in disposition, a blind, inexorable selfishness without even the ability to be interested in anything but itself any longer, and, intellectually, an enfeebled, limited intelli- 30 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. gence, illecl mainly with fallacies and prejudices, and closed to all new ideas, Wliy, nevertheless, do we regard age with reverence and affection, and childhood with ten- derness? Because it pleases us to be able to create illu- sions for ourselves, and because l)oth the end and the beginning of life, like the first or last chapter of a book, afford ns the opportunity of composing the missing novel, as charmingly and as edifyingly as we choose, from our OWE materials. We give to the old man the past, to the child, tlie future of an ideal being, although the chances are a hundred to one that the venerable sage was a common- place simpleton in his youth and manhood, an average individual deserving of no respect as regards his prefer- ences and his failings ; and that the child which is arousing such tender emotions, will turn out an unmitigated sneak in character, a grasping shoi^-keeper by trade, that he will lie, crawl, and slander his neighbors like nine-tenths of the people who swarm about us, and who inspire us with neither reverence nor affection. We only take cognizance of disagreeable facts when we actually run our nose against them, and not always even then. But where we are at liberty — as in the case of the old man or the child — in the absence of certain knowledge concerning the past or the future, to imagine it either beautiful or the reverse, we do not hesitate a moment, but improvise out of the old man or the child the dazzling apparition of a demigod, which is in reality nothing but the exaggerated illustration of our innate and heiirt-felt optimism. Legends and fairy-tales, which embody in plastic form the ideas and opinions of the masses, bear a hundred-fold testimony to the irrepressible elementary optimism of the common people. 1 have shown above how unconcernedly each individual becomes reconciled to the awful idea of death. Men go still further — they make a virtue of neces- 1 man's cheerful resignation to the inevitable. 31 sity, and invent some story which expresses the idea that death is a benefit, and that eternal life would be a dreadful misfortune. For this is evidently the moral to the legend of the Wandering Jew, who longs for death as a deliver- ance in his despair, yet cannot find it. Do not the inventors of these legends resemble tlie fox in the fiible, who author- itatively asserts that the grapes beyond his reach, for which he is longing, are sour? Immortality is not to be ob- tained at any price, and it is, therefore, a terrible evil — this consoles us and the fiddler can begin to play for the dance. Or the pretty legend of the poor man whose cross oppressed him to such an extent that he begged for another in its place ! His guardian angel led him to a spot where there were quantities of crosses lying around, large and small, heavy and light, with sharp and rounded comers. He tried them all in succession; none suited him in every respect. Finally he found one that pleased him bet ter than any of the rest, and, behold ! it was his own which he had wished to exchange for another. Then there is the comical story of the three wishes, according to, which a poverty-stricken old couple, to whom some fairy had promised the fulfillment of any three wishes, had not sense enough to realize anything more than a sausage from this wonderful stroke of fortune. Under various foi-ms and conditions these tales are repetitions of the sentiment that every one is charmingly situated as regards his surround- ings, and that it would be wrong to wish for anything dif- ferent from what he has; and that the hunchback is as fond and proud of his defonmity as the guardsman of his imposing stature. The truth is that optimism, an infinite, ineradicable optimism, is the base upon which all man's conceptions are founded, the instinctive feeling which is natural to him under all circumstances. What we tei-m optimism is sim- OPTIMISM Am PESSIMISM. ply the fonn in which our own life-force, or vital energy, and the processes of life in our organism are presented to our consciousness. Optimism is, therefore, only another term for vitality, an intensification of the fact of existence. We feel the operation of life in every cell of our being — a frnitful activity which promotes continued movement, and warns us continually of it We accordingly believe in a future because we are conscious of it in our inmost being. We hope, because we are convinced that we shall continue to exist. Not until this consciousness vanishes with the life-force or vital enei-gy itself, does hope also grow dim and disappear, and the bright portals of the future close ; but then the eye is foiling also, and it is not able to per- ceive the disagreeable cliange. The ability of our organ- ism to adapt itself to circumstances, without which ability it couM not even exist, and its indwelling scheme of growth, which impels it to follow a predetermined course of development, these are the living foundations of opti- mism, which we have learned to recognize in our conform- ing to settled conditions as well as in our looking forward with hope to the future. Valiant striving toward the goal of our development, the triumphant maintenance of our Individ ualit}' in the presence of hostile influences, move- ment, progress, hope, life, — these are all only synonyms for optimism. The old Roman who coined the saying: "dnmspiro, siMJro," "as long as I breathe, I hope,' suc- cinctly expressed in it the philosophy of life, and gave to one of the fundamental truths of biology the form of a classical proverb. 1 1 MAJORITY AND MINORITY. The Pliilistine is the l)Ug])ear of every superior mind. Every one who can detect the slightest trace of genius in himself, though barely enough to justify him in wearing his hair long and condemning the popular prejudice in favor of the stiff hat — is bound to exercise the muscles of his arm pounding away on the head of the Philistine — of course only figuratively, for, as a rule, the Philistine has a man servant, if he is not one himself This hostility is sheer ingratitude. The Pliilistine is useful and has even that relati\'e beauty which belongs to all things perfectly adapted to the end in view. He is the perspective back- ground in the painting of civilization, without whose artis- tic smallness of dimensions the full length figures in the foreground would not give the impression of size. This is his aesthetic role, but this is ftir from being the most im- portant one he is commissioned to play. When we admire the Pyramids— I am sure I do not know why the Pyra- mids have come into my mind again— perhaps it is owing to the fact that from their shape they seem to be especially adapted for the fixed points in mental calculations— do we not say to ourselves that we owe them to the cruelly mis- represented Philistine? It was probably some talented civil engineer of ancient Egypt who first designed them, it is true, but they were built by the Children of Israel, not- withstanding the fact that these latter must have been very common creatures, if we can judge of their character MAJORITY AND MINOEITY. as a whole tcom their acknowledged taste for onions and iesh-pots. Of what tencfit to us are all the conceptions of the man of genius? The}^ live only in his brain and for himself alone— they do not exist for us, until the unin- teresting Philistine in his cotton nightcap has come along, and made them a reality— this kind Philistine, who does not distract his docile attention by any inventive activity of his own, but waits in an inviting state of intellectual blankness for the impulse, tlie ideas and the ordera of those abler than himself. Those who can compose consider themselves as a rule, mbove translating, and rightly too. It is the task of the inspired few to think and will ; it is the task of the medi- ocre multitude to transform the thought and the will into concrete reality. Of what else do we accuse the Pliilistine? That he does not yield readily to the impulse of genius. This is very desirable ; he ought to be esijecially blessed on this very account His weight, his firm equilibrium, which is not easily shaken, make him a kind of g^Tunastic appara- tus upon which the superior nature has to test and also to develope its strength. To he sure, it is difficult to set the Philistine in motion, but it is good exercise for genius to exert itself thus until it succeeds. If a new idea is not able to master the Pliilistine, this evidently proves that it is not strong enough, or that it is of no value, or of no value as yet But, on the contrary, when a new concep- tion operates upon the Philistine, it has already passed the first and the most im|»i1ant test of its worth. With his intellect he is of course incapable of criticising and passing judgment uiK)n the ideas of the inspired few, but on account of his conservatism he is a contrivance which unconsciously, and therefore all the more infallibly, sepa- THE PHILISTINE AT HOME. 35 rates the fully developed and live ideas from the immature and worthless. We could easily understand it if the Philis- tines complained of or ridiculed each other, if one Philistine cast this nickname with contempt at the head of another, as a black man calls another a nigger when he is angry. One Philistine can not get on at all with another, in fact He has neither impulse nor entertainment to expect from him. Each one sees in the dull face of the other the miiTor of his own limitations. Each one yawns at the tiresome reci- tative of the other. When two of them are together they are mutually shocked at the frightful emptiness of their minds, and they have that depressing and humiliating con- sciousness of helplessness experienced by the man accus- tomed to be led, when his leader fails him. But men of ability ought to glorify the Philistine. He is their fortune, the soil that yields them nourishment To be sure it is hard to work, but think how fertile it is ! They must toil hard to make it productive, they must plough from early till late, they must subsoil plough it, dig, break, turn, har- row, rake, hoe, cut ; they must perspire and freeze, but the harvest will not fail them if the seed had the requisite vitality. If imperfect grains or pebbles are sown, of course no successful results need be hoped for, any more than if date stones were to be entrusted to a stone, breakwater. And if the soil remains unproductive with such tillage, it is not the fault of the ground but of the foolish dreamer who attempted it Judgment must assist genius in indi- cating the proper time and the proper i)lace for the utter- ance of its ideas. Only as it shows tact in selecting time and place, will it find the crowd of Philistines always ready to respond to the seed with the harvest As often then as men of genius are assembled around the festive board, their first toast, in all justice and propriety, should be the Philistine. 36 MAJORITY ANB MINORITY. What is, after all, the great cause of complaint against the Philistine? That we are not obliged to seek in orcler to find him ; that he exists in enormous numbers ; that he is the rule and not the exception. If we were to consider him for once alone, withont regard to the proportions of the numbers in which he is distributed^ we would have to acknowledge, if we were just, that he is quitu a nice fellow after all. He is usual 1\' lietler lociking than e\'cii any of the lieat looking monkeys, altliough lie is not so handsome as the A|>ollo Belvedere, which would Ik; common-looking also, if it represented the average tvpe of human itj-. He is far mom acti\-e th:ui even a trained poodle, although he does not equal a circus acrolwt, whom we would likewise consider clumsy, if every liirnier's lad could stand on his head and turn sfinicrsaults in tlie air, instead of shambling along on his two legs as Im docs now, or rould pin flies to the walls witli his rnpiiT, as lie now builds haymows witii his pitchfork. It IVcqiiently happens that he has (piite a good deal more sense than tui oj'ster, or e\-en tluin the intel- ligi*n,t elepliant, even if lie docs not think so profoundly or so clearly as Darwin, whose genius h,owi'\-er may l)e rated b3'the philosophers of the future no higlier than we esteem the physiological theories of Parmenides or Aristotle. When we say l*hilistine we meini simply tlie niMJssible fonns, while it need not necessarily resemble any other given form, and secondly, the law of heredity, which tries to make the new organism resemble the parents from whom it was evolved. Each individual is therefore the result of the operation of these two forces— the primal law of life, and the law of heredity. The former seeks to create new forms adapted to the process of life, and the latter to repeat a design already existing — that of the parents. I can not suffic- iently emphasize the fact that, in my opinion, the infinite freedom of choice among all the fonns jwssible, came first, and was followed by the similarity to the parental form, restricting this choice. Not until this is accepted, does the Darwinian theory become clear and plain, which without it is not a revelation, but merely a record of facts observed. In short, if, as Darwin and with him the whole tribe of his disciples and commentatoi's believe, heredity be the earliest and more potent law deciding the development of the individual, how would any deviation from or improve- ment upon it be conceivable? The offspring would have to retain its resemblance to the parent under all circum- stances, and if its surroundings made this impossible for it, it would simpl}' have to perish. The grand phenome- non of adaptability to given conditions of life, which, accortling to Darwin, is one of the principal causes of the origin of species, would be a problem still unexplained. PRIMAL LAW OP LIFE AND HEREDITY. 43 My hypothesis, on the contrary, offers the solution to this problem. The living being, I say, is confined no more to one form than to another ; it only requires a form that will make the absorption of oxygen and the formation of pro- tein possible to it. It is this very primal, unconditional freedom which allows it to assume any form that may be impressed upon it by its surroundings, as a floating body at rest will move in that one of all the directions possible to it, in which it is impelled by the slightest impulse from without. Does the parental organism give it its own form? Very well, then the young organism will assume the parental form. Do the external conditions in which it has to live try to alter this form, to abolish this resemblance to his parents? Very well, then it will relinquish the in- herited form, and, yielding to the later impulse, assume that which the external conditions of life are trying to force upon it. In this way we can explain adaptability which, according to this theory, is no longer a contradic- tion but an analogy of heredity. Biology, the science of life, recognizes the individual alone, not the species. The individual alone is something actually existent, independent, clearly defined ; the race is much more indistinct, it is often impossible to define it with certainty. Two individuals can never be confounded with each other, nor merged into one, never under any cir- cumstances. This can not be said of species ; on the con- trary, they are changing constantly, although slowly ; their limits vary and become confused almost beyond recogni- tion, they develop into new forms and are something en- tirely different in one geological period from what they were in a former, and probably also from what they will be in a future period. That which binds the individual to the race, notwithstanding this, is the law of heredity, that is, the primal attribute of matter to remain in the form which MAJORIfY ANB' MINORITI^. it has onc€ received, and not to change from it except nncler the compulsion of a new impulse, more powerful than its tendenc}^ to conservatism. The present economy of nature seems to recognize onlv the evolntion of life from life. In theorj- it would be possible to conceive of life as teing evolved anew again and again from inanimate matter. That this does not happen is probably owing to the fact that life can be evolved through the intervention of parentol organisms with less expenditure of force than would V)c necessary in the combination of primeval matter, and that it is a well known trait, characteristic of all nature*s processes, that it seeks to attain all its aims with the greatest possible econ- omy of means to ends, the least possible expenditure of force. We have thus the logical sequence of the phenom- ena of life: the real scene in which they appear— the form—is the individual, not the race. That individuals do resemble each other, and that the race has a semblance of permanence, are the results of two causes : first, that at present, as fur as our knowledge extends, life proceeds from other life alone, and secondly, the operation of the law of heredity explained above. Descent from a parental organism produces similar- ities and a certain attraction between individuals; the primal law of life produces differences and independence. In fact, no two individuals exist exactly like each other in every particular, and probably there is incomparably more difference between the internal and most secret chemical formations and mechanism of the elementory component parts of each separate individual, than between races. This explains also the possibility of egotism, which would be inconceivable and inexplicable, if we had to consider the race as something actually existent and not merely an ab- stract conception of the hmman mind The individual INHERITED AND ORIGINAL PROCESSES. 45 feels iit first that he is the only thing existing and the only iietual reality, and not until he has received a higher train- ing does he beeonie aware of the tact that certain neces- sary relations exist l)et\veen himself and the beings like hiinself, and that by a certain regard for them, he pro- motes his own interests. Tlie sense of fellowship is thus not an original impulse like the sense of individuality or egotism, but is the ae(iuired knowledge that altruism is not contrary to, but is a deepening and a broadening of ego- tism. In this way man attains to the ideal institution of "solidarity," as he has attained to tlie material institu- tions of tiie i)oliee and the land title l)ooks: by a i-ealiza- tion of their usefulness to him. And now the whole of this biological disquisition, which may have seemed to the reader a (le\ iaticni from my course, fits into the frame of the present argument. The law of heredity is the cause of all that is common or stere- otyped ; the primal law of life, of all that is uncommon or original. The lowest processes, which are at the sanic time the most necessary, and therefore the most tVewer, never gets so far as to be ol>liged to under- take the higher and highest processes. It seeks no situa- tion to which its progenitow wei-e not accustomed. If against its will it is placed in a novel iKisition, its first efforts are to escape from it. If these are not successful, itendeavorstoact according to customary analogies, that is, to do in it as it has been in the habit of doing in other and familiar situations, wliicli ha\'e a resemblance to the new situations. If by these petty means of escape, it still fails to accommodate itself to the new demands, it submits to their sway, and succumbs. Thus it always remains within the estabUshed circle of heredity ; it is horrified at the slightest alteration in the lines of its resemblance to its progenitors and comrades in mediocrity, and it con- cludes its life as it began it, a tame copy of forms that had preceded it and surrounded it But an organism whose vital energy surpasses tlie average, either feels at cjuce an impulse to seek new situations, or if it is estab- lished in them, it conquers them at once, or else accom- modates itself to them without payuig any attention to given examples, or being influenced b}- the customs of its progenitors. Such an organism grows triumphantly up to and beyond the limits of heredity— which only reach to a certain height— and in an altitude never attiiined by feebler BEGGARS AND MILLIONAIRES IN VITALITY. 47 individuals, it developes unrestrained into original forms, differing from all the rest. I have thus explained in detail how individual forms and average forms depend upon the amount of vital energy possessed. If an individual has only sufficient vital energy to make an organism of an already determined type, it re- mains within the inherited form, and assists the race in maintaining the inherited and distinctive features. If, on the contrary, the individual possesses an extra amount of vital energy, it conquers the inertia which keeps the com- jjonent matter in the inherited form, and, by its original and innate impulse, developes in perfect freedom its indi- vidual plan of growth and outward form, and we can even go so far as to assert tliat it thus becomes the source of a new variety or sub-species in the race. Life is the most sublime function of matter. The possession of it inspires instinctive respect in all living beings, as pecuniary wealth inspires respect in coimnon natures, and because an orig- inal tyi»e is the result of a greater wealth of life, it is con- sidered superior to the average type, which is the confession of only a small fund of vital energy. Hence we look down upon everything that is common and ordinary, and strive to be original, or if this is beyond our powers, to appear so at least. Those who do not want to be included in the common herd are those who want to have the reputation of being millionaires in life-force. Contempt for the Phil- istine is one of the ways in which we express our admira- tion for life. We pride ourselves far more upon being the founder of a race than one of the descendants, the original copy rather than an extract, and consider it far better to be the title page of a book, rather than one of the num. bered pages bound in it. But as even the most vigorous father is a son at the same time, and each founder of a u^w Uae has had progenitors and ancestors as far back as 48 MAJORITY AND' MINOBITY. the ii.sfiethe or a Napoleon, with all their originality, did not weep and huigli, sleep and shave any differently frc »m what lie is in t!ie lialiit of doing. Among tliosc living huings divided into .sexes, the leinale seems to have less life-tbrce and its c<)n,comitant creative impulse than tlie male. Why this is so T can not say, Init it is a recognized fact that this is the relative pro- [)oi1ion. Darwin hsis collected several himdred [lages of seiKirate ohservations (in his Heseent of Man), whieh go to prove that iu most nices c»f animals tlie female maintains the type of tlie species, while tlie male ditfei's fi*oni it individuallv. often to finite a considerable extent. The female is governed thus by the law of heredity, the mah' by the law of original formal ions, whicli T claim to Ik; the primal law of life. It is the same in the human raee. Woman is as a ride, typical ; man, individual. The former has average, the latter exceptional features. This idea is certainly contrary to the one genendly accepte ieal, and Marguerite, Juliet, and Ophelia resemble each other so closely that they might be taken for sisters, with a 50 IIAJOKITY AXri JIINORITY. slight difference in tlieir dispositioiis nm\ training. This is the explanation of the f aet that women adapt themselves so readily to all social positions. The scent of the stable will cling foreve? to the groom promoted to be Duke of Curland by the favor of an empress. Tlie drum-majors daughter who lias become a countess ihmugli her sov- ereignty over some king's affections, after a few months, ittifl sometimes but a few weeks, can not be distinguished in any respect from a lady lioni for the Ahnanach n uiid stereotyped in man, iny eonceptioii of the liniits of original ity follows as a mat- ter of course. Its riglit of way is unlimited sulyectively ; objec^tivel}', it is eirciinnserilted. When I am alone, I can lie original ; when I mingle witli the crowd, to Ikj common- place is in}' firafc dut}' as a citizen. Those thoughts and actions wliicli concern the individual alone, are free from the restraints of custom, but those actions which trespass upon the circles of others' lives, must confonn tf> the rule of common tradition. By the oijeration of the primal law of life, I am an original, indei^ndent individual, a 8i)ecies unto myself, not exactly rescnihling any other being, and developing aceordiug to a design peculiar to myself alone; liut by the oi^enition of the law of hci*edity, T am connectetl with the ra(« liy a certiiin extent of my surface, to those lieings who resemlile me in consequence of having tlie same genealogicid derivation, and this part of my surface is withdrawn from my free personal jurisdiction. Tu this every one of lis rcsemlilcs the Siamese Twins. Each head can think for itself, can lie meiT,y or sad as it likes, wise or silly as it is provide 3IIN0EITy. OENITTS MUST PERSUADE, NOT C03IMANB. 57 of equal value in coMimoii, wliicli we will cull u, and the proiniiieiit characters a certain siMJcial sometliiii*^ liesides, illffercEt in eacli individual, that we will Iiave to designate in each fcspectivelj, as h^ c, cl, etc. Suppose tlien, four Ininilrecl men assembled together, even if every single one be a gen ins, they con Id only be designated as 400 «'#?, with one 5, one c, one c?, etc. Tlien no other result would be jjossible but that the 400 un should score a brilliant tri- umph over the one ?>, c, i/, etc. — that is, that what is com- mon to them as humanity, would put wiiat is individual to flight, that the cotton eight-cap would knock off the profes- sional silk liat It Is impossible to add things that arc un- like together ; this we learned in the primary schcwl. Con- scfiuently a comlnnation of lilockheads is conceivable, but not a comliination of men of genius. It is jiossible to ob- tain a vote of the majority in regard to the flavor of sauer- kraut, but not u|}on the value of abstract theories. If these latter were put to vote, it is likely that one ballot would l)e cast in favor of each tlieory : tiiat of its originator. The Philistine is thus actuall}' lord in the land, and the most stifl'-jointtMl genius has to keep time with hini in the dance, when the "all hands round" is played. The substance of all our public institutions and of all our poll- tics, is not the intellectaial pvo,luction of a John Stuart Mill or a Ilerlicrt S|)encer, but the stereotyjxjd ideas of the lionest Kunz, who can not make out the contents of his local penny sliect without the assistance of his forefinger in following the lines ; and even tlie most original genius Xnsm his identity and disappeare lieyond recognition in tlie long procession wlien the masses take their turn in line at tlie pcjlls on election day. Must, therefore, the man of genius refrain from pro- claiming ideas deviating fix>m all tliase hitherto known and accepteil, and relinquisli his eflTorts to convert the Philistine to them? By no means. He must not do this ; in liict he can not do it For we have seen how each orig- iind type has an inherent, uncontrollable impulse to force itself upon the masses and shape the latter after its own pattern. But that from which the man of genius must always refrain, is to present his views as commands, and to expect the noble army of Philistines to turn at his word like a well-drilled regiment. He must preacli, not eommand. There is an immense difference in this; all the difference between the missionary and tlie general. I observed not long ago that the Philistine is tlie tdented man's grain-field. This ilhistration seems to me so fitting that I make use of it again. The original thinker has to practise husbandry in a rough way, just as the educator of ehildren practices the science of fine gardening. The lat- ter grafts on young wild trees, eulti>ated slips which have <'-rown on other and older trees of a better cpiality, the former sows his seed with broad sweeps of his arm, and after thoroughly fertilizing and harrowing tlie land he waits patiently until, after months of silent germination, the grain shows its head above ground. The whole thing is only a question of time. An average man likes to in- herit his ideas, and not work them out for himself. We have only then to impart to one generation wJiat we want to have become the common property of the succeeding generation. Those thoughts and trains of thought which our father and grandfather have had in their minds, and which have been repeated over and over again for genera- tions, become in time a component part of our organism, liecomc absorbed into it, and it recpiires no more effort on the part of the individual to think them, than to eat or to sleep or, that is, to perforin any other function that has become organic. Novel ideas and trains of thought, on the contrary, which appear to the individual for the first •JPO' MAJORITY AN1> MINORITY. THE NEWS DEPARTMENT IN OUR ORGANISM. 59 time, tliiwf the whole of his thiiikiog apparatus out of gear, and make new iustitulions ueuessaiy to their recep- tioD, and comijel the attention aud intervention of the will and the consciousness. It is like weaving by machinery. When an old design is being woven, for which the loom has been pmijerly ananged, and in whicli the workman is already exiMjriencetl, everything works smoothly and as if bv magic. The kwm-tender can dmmn the time away without neeessily for thought, wiiilc the cloth gi-ows yartl by yanl But if a new design is to be followed, the loom must be rearranged for it, the Ijelt tied up differently, the shuttles arranged to run in a new way, the 8ni>erintendent must he on hand and Uike hold himself, the loom-tender has to arouse himself from his comfortable doze aud over- see matters— in short, the work no longer goes on by itself, but requires a head and hands to accomplish it. 3Ien of the average type are arranged for organic intellectual work and can not perfonn any other. They are not strong enough nor skillful enough to alter their loom to fit a new design. The sui^erior mind has not only the task of invcntr ing the new designs, but of rearranging all the looms in the immense factory we call humanity, even to their small- est details, so that they can proceed to weave the new do- signs as they had previously been weaving the old. The masses resist the introduction of new thoughts, not l3e- cause they do not want to think them, but because they are not competent to think them. It requires an effort, and eveiy effort is painful, and we avoid what tends to cause pain. This seems to contradict the assertion that the masses are eager for novelty, and that everything new finds a ready acceptance. But this contradiction is only an appar- ent one, as a brief consideration of the subject will soon Nothing reaches our perception or consciousness ex- cept the changes in our nervous system. When there is nothing stirring in the nervous system, neither is the thinking and feeling Ego conscious of anything. The arrangement of the news department in our organism is not that of a vigilant superintendent in chief, stationed at the central point of the Ego, who despatches messengers into the anterooms and outer courts at brief intervals to ascertain if anything new is occurring — ^the superintendent remains immovably at his desk in the inner office, where centre all communications from without. When no mes- sages are being received he remains quiet, and may even fall asleep— at an}' rate, he gives no sign of life. But when the news comes from without : " Some one is knocking iit the right hand gate!" or: "A stone has been thrown against the window in the upper story ! " or : "The senti- nel in the outer court is receiving a supply of provisions ! " or anything of the kind, the superintendent wakes up and replies at once with a message that the intelligence has been received and duly noted, or else with some command ordering what is to be done on the occasion of the occur- rence just announced. If we could conceive of such a thing as the world's passing suddenly into a state of com- plete immobility, our nerves would remain in the condition in which they are at the time ; there would be nothing to incite them to action, nothing to excite them, nothing to produce any change in them, which could be perceived l)y the consciousness. Our eyes would not see; our ears would not hear. The sentinels would still be stationed at the outer boundaries of our personality, but there would be nothing for them to notice, nothing for them to report. Neither would we think, and our consciousness wofc- ' be sunk in apathy, as in a dreamless sleep. To feel i& tfeus to became cognizant of tho fact that the present ooti- 1 3L\.I01UTT AND MINORITY. ditioii of Hic iicrvons system is iiiidergoiiig some altera- tioii. The iiittn-vid, almost too brief to l>c noted, iKitwccn tlic eessation of oue condition and the ccHiiuiencement of anotlier, is really the sole snbstancc of all oiir perception and consciousness. Hence it follows that man, in order to think, in order to become conscions of his Ego, must first receive some impnlse from without ; this impulse or exci- tation, liowex-cr, can only be caused by some change, viz., by something new. And as the consciousness of one's own Kgo is tlic necessar}' prerequisite to all agreeable sen- sations° and is, in fact, a delight in itself, perhaps even the most intense of all dcliglits possi»)le to the organism, it follows that everything that is new, diflcriug from the i)re- ceding, a chnnge, which by exciting the nerves becomes the source of consciousness, is experienced as something agreealile and ardently to l)e desired. But to have this cliauije exiKiricnced as something figrecable, it must not lie abrupt :uid violent That which is new, which is to (?xcite the lu^rves, must difler very slightly from the old, fr(»ra tliat which preceded it, l»y merely a degree, a shade only. It must lie the neighbor of the old, and aiipear as only the CKjiitinuation of the latter. To illustrate tliis with a famil- iar instance : a new shape to the dnjss coat will readily iMicome the fashion if it leaves unaltered the outlines of the present style of the swallow-tail coat, and the genend cliaracteristics of this garment— so airily designcnl and yet so dignified— differing from the preceding style in insignifi- cant details alone, if the tails are cut shorter or more rounded, the revers wider or narrower, and showing plain or lined with silk. But, on the contrary, it would be a difficult matter for some strong-minded and uuprcgudiced tailor to succed in introducing a dress coat that differed radically from the present styles, something in the shape of a Roman toga or even less familiar tliau this. Some- WHEN NOVELTY IS ATTRACTIVE. 61 thing entirely different from what has preceded it awakens disagreeable sensations that may grow into the most in- tense aversion and repugnance. Loinbroso, the great lUilian psychologist, has invented a very apt term ibr this aversion and repugnance, - misoneismus," hostility to what is new, and proves its existence in uncivilized man, in the child and even in animals. To return to my simile of the loom : if the threads vary in color, neither the machine nor the workman in charge are disturbed, as long as the design remains the same. A change in the color of what is being woven does not require any alterations in the loom, nor any more attention on the part of the workman. But if the pattern has to be changed, it entails the troul)le and labor described above. This is the explanation of the fact that the masses are attracted by what is novel, and yet rebel against everything that is really novel, that is specifically different from all their accustomed ideas, with real fury and often with the energy of despair. I am inclined to believe that savage races disappear before the approach of civilization simply because the enormous change in all their surroundings demands too many new ideas and individual efforts of their minds. By himself alone, without any assistance from his inherited processes of thought, the individual uncivilized man is to accept the new impressions, make them his own, assimi- late them, combine them into ideas and trains of thought, and respond to them with individual conclusions and actions that are utterly foreign to his organism, and to which his brain and his nerves are not adapted. This is an achievement almost beyond the power of civilized man to conceive adequately. For it very rarely happens that even the most original civilized man, differing the most from his fellow beings, is forced to accept entirely new im- pressions, and create entirely new combinations of thoughts tt9 MAJORITY AND MINOEITY. nDcl eoiicliwions. But the barbarian is called upon to i>er form this most exalted aehieveineut of the human organism suddenly and continuous!}', on the most extended scale. No wonder that it exhausts him completely and that he soon succumbs. If there were another civilization as im- measurably beyond ours as oers is beyond that of a Papuan of New Guinea, and it were to buret upon us with- out any prepanition, the greatest philosophers and states- men of the Caucasian races of the day would dwindle away and disapiiear before it just as savage tribes die out at the approach of our civilization. My conclusions in regard to the relations between the genius and the Philistine are drawn from these observa- lions, which are directly opposed to those of Carlyle. The Seer of Chelsea has his hero apiMjar like a Captain Cook in the crowd of average men, and, calling attention to his stout guns and cannons, demand of them sub- mission, recognition of his supremacy, and admiration of his superior artistic and scientific attainments, I do not consider the life of one of the select few to be at all like a voyage of discovery to the South Sea, and a landing among naked cannibals. I can not concetle him the right to demand of the typical masses who inherited their ideas ready-made, the same original intellectual activity, inde- jjendent of habits that have become organic, which are renderetl easy to him, the untypical individual, by a greater supply of organic enei-gy. When solitary greatness does not content his impulse to work upon others, if he is not satisfied to sit all his life as the single spectator in tlie theatre— like a well known eccentric royal personage— and listen alone to the play, which his thoughts are ijerforming for his sole laenefit, when he has that instinct inseparable from all powerful manifestations of vital energy or life- foroe, to ensure perpetuation to his form, tmd imprint it GENIUS MUST WED PATIENCE. 63 upon otiier organisms, then he must wed to his originality ji fair damsel wliose name is Patience. He must gradually iiecustom the masses to his novel ideas as to a foreign tongue or an artistic form of gymnastics, that is, by exam- ple, systematic exphuuitions, and freciuent repetitions. In short, the (piestion is whether the average man can lie broken to a new yoke which he can wear with the same lack of thought and effort as the old, just as automatically, as drowsily, and chewing his cud in the same way as the oia_and this precludes all sudden innovations. The reader will perhaps notice that I only place new and old ideas in opposition to each other— not better aiul worse, higher and lower— in short, that I refi'ain Irom eui- l)loying atljectives which might indicate praise or l)lanic, or a prejudice in favor of some, and an aversion to others. The point at issue in the silent or blatant strife between the original minority and the typical majority is, in fact, nothing but the attempt to substitute new concei)tions in tlie phuje of the old and inherited ones. These new con- ceptions need not necessarily be better ones, their essen- tial characteristic is merely that they are new, that they are different from those received by inheritance. The masses are usually called stupid. This is doing them i\n injustice. Considered by themselves alone, they are not so stupid, they are only not so wise as the most talented individuals of the day. The masses merely represent that stage of develoi)ment on which the talented few were sUmding yesterday. The talented few of today are farther advanced, it is true, l)ut tomorrow the masses will be where the former are now, and to have the right to call them be- hind the times, and to look down upon them, the genius of tomorrow must surpass the genius of today as much as the latter surpasses the common herd. Originality and mediocrity have thus not a positive, but only a relative its, MAJORITY AND' MIMORITY. significaiice. The exeepiioii strives to lieeoiiic the rule, the original specimen to beeoine tlie tyim Powerful indi- vidualities are valued as iiHlependently invented models wMch average men are to faithfully copy. The new style of hat designed by some audacious inventive genius yes- terday, when it caused a sensation on the city boulevard, will parade tomorrow at the village church on the heads of all the peasant girls, and will no longer attract the atten- tion of even the beribtoned farmei-s' lads. What causes this difference in its effect? Is the sha|K5 altered in any way? No. It has only ceased to be rare. Commonness is worn-out originality. Originality is the first night, •* premiere," as the French say, of commonness. We shrug our shoulders now when we find a sentimental poet comparing the eyes of his lady love to stars, and admire Lenau when he says in his boldly figurative language : *'The krk climbs in triumph to the skies on her guy- colored songs." And yet, the former simile is a Ijciiutiful one, lar more Ijeautiful than the latter. The lover in com- paring the eyes of his loved one to the stars, gives us lii-st a comprehensive description of them, and then, in copying the picture of the eyes in question, makes use of a method of enlai-ging it which must flatter the vanity of the fair one thus complimented, and enables her to fonn a fine idea of the exalted inspiration of his genius. He also associates the i»rson of his loved one with the UKist sublime phe- nomena of the universe, and exalts her lieyoud her petty individual finiteness into the infinity of nature itself. Ijenau*8 simile can hardly bear comparison with this; it at liest only summons up the image of a ladder in our minds, even if it te a Imlder painted in bright coloi-s, up which a lark is climbing like a trained tree-toad in his glass. It might indeed, be an interesting sight, but not an especially beautiful nor even an inspiring one. The III" COMMONPLACENESS A BADGE OF HONOR. 65 comparison of eyes to stars must certainly have produced a profound impression upon his contemporaries when some poetic genius of the darkest of all dark ages hit upon it for the first time. It has become commonplace. Why? Because it is magnificent Lenau's striking simile will never meet with this fate. It is not profound enough for it. And this is what I have been aiming at : all that is commonplace and stereotyped today was not only the originality of yesterday, but the very flower of this origin- ality, all that w^as best and most valuable in it, all of it that deserved preservation, not only because it was new, l)ut because it was new, good, and true. Hats off to the Commonplace ! It is the aggregate of whatever is most excellent in all that the human intellect has conceived up to the present daj\ What we call public opinion, that is. the ideas that sway the masses, ought not to be the criterion for the best intellects of any given time. But it is worthy of interest- ing even the highest intellects, in so far as it is the fruit of the whole of the previous development of mankind. The confused tumult in a mass-meeting consists of the voices of great thinkei-s who speak from their graves, often a thousand years old, through the throat of some ward politician, hoarse from excessive beer-drinking, and any one who will take the trouble to resolve the noise into its constituent elements, can trace each party cry, that has long since lost its meaning, and each empty phrase, back to some grand original source. The commonplaces of the Philistine's speech began their career as something start- lino- and brilliant, and every instinctive inclination and aversion, every prejudice, every involuntary act of the averaove the masses, and [)rides himself upon liaving nothing in common with tliem, upon thinking and feeling differently from them, and nc»t i»eing understood by tlic crowd, would perhaps Ijc astonished if lie could return to tlic earth a thousand years lienee, to hear the small \my» rc»peating his most pechliar and startling ideas, with as much liiicncy and comprelieusion of the subject as if they were telling him the time of day. What I am unable to understand under these circum- stances is that tlic conservatives and i-eaetioniste, the defenders of existing institutions and opponents of all innovations, are always hostile to the principles of deraoc- racv. If thev realized what was for their best interests, they would all be arch democrats, they would advise the Czar to introihice universal suffrage into Russia, they would liave the Swiss Referendum instead of their present Parliament, and consider the decisions of a popular assem- lily of incomparalily greater imix)rtancc tlian those of a cabinet meeting. The masses are always conservative, be- caose they act from inheritcnl racc-impnlses and not from individual trains of tliougbt; they are consequently only alile to feel at home in the inlu ritetl conditions, and not in new ones. Tliey may at times obey some iwwerfiil individual will that has dragged tliein out of the ruts of custom, but no impulse of their own to roam at will, will ever induce them to forsake the l}eaten paths of preceding generations. Revolutions are always the work of a minor- ity of individuals, whose originality can not endure the inherited conditions which were not calculated for them, and which are not adapted to them. The majority follows tliem, but reluctantly, and not until they have become gradually accustomed through several ages to consider the existent conditions as outgrown and unjustifiable. The only true innovators known to history are those enlight- ened despots of whom the conservative historian raves. On the other hand, those revolutions that proceeded from the masses, soon sank irrevocably into commonplaceness. We ought4iot to place the portrait of Frederick the Great, or Joseph II, at the commencement of a reactionary his- torical work, but that of some Democrat of '48, with the significant hat of his epoch, and if reactionists were intelli- gent and honest, they would acknowledge tliat barri- cades are one of the supports to the present structure of state and society. However, when I employ the word commonplace in connection with politics, I use this tenn as a mark of respect. The object of politics is to procure for the masses the most favoral>le conditions of existence, possible ; it must therefore conform to the necessities of the masses. They think and feel automatically, that is, by established precedents, and in habits that have become organic ; they therefore demand, and with justice, that they be not called uiwn to perform new and individual mental labor, which is almost always beyond their powei-s. By politics, then, we mean the rule of the majority, commonplaceness, inherited traditions. Any one not disposed to approve of these terms, as too unpartisan, can substitute for them, the tyr- anny of mediocrity and the good old way, if he likes. bo MAJOEITY AMB MlNORITT. THE Philistine's place in the world. 69 III Tlie stroog-wilM iudividuiil of original development is not comfortable in the t3'pieal conditions which are preciselj' adapted to the t3*pica! masses. So much the worse for the strong-willed individnal. He has no right to force the short legs of everj'-da}- people into his long pantaloons, on tliat acconnt Ever}* institution that pleases the miijority is a good one; not considered in itself, hut under the given circumstances. Tliis can not be otherwise. Let us assume that tlie masses are mistaken, that they arc de- manding what is nonscuse and are passing the most fool- ish laws. Then for Heaven's sake, let us hasten to grant their nonsensical demands and carry the foolish laws into execution ! Tlie masses will soon find that they arc woi"se off than tliey were before ; some wiser and more for-sighted minds will reveal to them the causes of their distress, and they will soon demand the needed changes. If, however, contrary to all expectation, they find themselves pleaseil with their nonsense and eomfortolile nnder their foolish laws, tlien they are completely justified, when tlie wise-acre tries to convince them with all his might that they are un- reasonable in feeling pleased and comfortable under these conditions, in escorting him out of the temple, according til ancient usage, with a shower of brick-bats, or, in the less elegant modern style, pointing him out to the police as a treasonable individual or a disturber of the pnl)lic peace. If the masses are stupid, let tliem sta}- stupid ! It is very Mc and nolile in the more intelligent individual to wish to undertake the arduous task of graduallj' educating them up to a higher grade of intelligence, but at first the}' can demand institutions and laws adapted letter to the com- prehension of lilocklieads than to that of shrewd and eraft}' legal quibl>lers and stock-spceulators. I can only offer my sympatliy to the minority of intelligent individ- uals who are compelled to live under tlie same laws and institutions. Let iis imagine a city inhabited altogether or almost exclusively by blind people. Theoretically we can conceive of such a thing. A person not blind would demand to have the streets lighted. His suggestion, in itself, would be most excellent. He could advance the most convincing arguments in favor of the necessity for street lamps, and portray with the most vivid eloquence the glories of the night illuminated by the electric light. And yet, the blind populace would reject his proposition by a unanimous vote, and I should like to see any rational being who would not acknowledge that they were right, and the advocate of the illuminating system wrong! Alxlera, the home of Democritus, requires a city council consisting of Abderites alone, and tliere is no room in it for the guests of the Platonic symposia. If the latter are residing in the city, however, and do not wish to emi- «rrate, there is nothino: for them to do but to establish a v\uU among themselves, where they can meet and ridicule tlu'ir fellow-citizens to their hearts' content. 1 think the Philistine can be satisfied with the place 1 have assigned to Iiim in the world. T consider him a mon- umental figure, that is, the monument of the past— to be sure not always very perfectly preserved— with nose de- faced, wretched attempts at restoration, and a coat of whitewash applied by some barliarian of a town white- washer. His physiognomy is a chromo-lithograph of some picture of great merit as a work of art. He is the uni- versal legatee of Genius, which bequeathes to him its most precious treasures. I see in imagination above the white night cap the green turban that proclaims him the descendant of the Prophet. Genius of course will not allow him to enter its inmost sanctuary. This is its ex- clusive, individual domain. The majority has no voice there. How the man of genius thinks and feels is his own 70 MAJORITY AND MINORITY. affair alone. But when he issues fortli frora his sanctuary, when he is no longer content with the effect produced by his example alone, when he is no longer satisfied to act for himself alone, he must lay aside the special robe of originality and assume the unifonn of commonplaceness. Then he can be nothing more than an honored Philistine among the Philistines. In England, any prince or lord wishing to have any share in the administration of the municipal government, must first apply fV>r admittance to some Guild. He must beconu', nominally, a toilor or draper or something of the kind. This is just exactly what 1 mean. A RETROSPECT. Once at a large evening party, I sat in the corner and observed the scene before nie. The host was forcing his hard and unyielding features into that rigid smile or rather grin of a danseuse, which shows too plainly that it has been borrowed for the occasion from some dealer in masques and costumes. Tlie hostess was curving her carmine painted lips in a sweetly amiable smile, while she was darting glances of triple distilled poisonous envy at some of her feminine guests who were 3'ounger and more beauti- ful than herself The young ladies were playing the com- edy role of startled and rustic country innocence, cleverly at times, and tlien so awkwardly that one was tempted to hiss them off the stage and pelt them with rotten apples- there were little mouths left open in the forgetfulness of pretty confusion, eyes raised toward Heaven in causeless ecstasy, there were perfectly imbecile "ah's" and "ohs," bursts of Idiotic giggling, like what oystei-s might indulge in if some mischievous finger were to tickle them, witty little repartees which made me want to raise my arms to Heaven, and utter a yell of despair, and through all this charming l>y-play and perpetual motion, the marvellous self control of a warrior grown gray in service. Now and then a hard, implacable side-glance at some rival, a cruel or envious criticism of her appearance and toilette, with a scrupulous depreciation of its value, scientifically accurate observance of the length of her conversation with the di^ 72 A EETBOSPECT. AN EVENING PARTY. 73 ferent gentlemen and attention to the number of her part- ners and suitors, and between all this €old-blooossible upon him, and the collision of these two absolutely imme:isurable vanities, these doubly merciless egotisms, produced in both the gentleman and tlie lady, a delightful self-satisf action, visible to all, — such as the organism ex- |)eriences when it is conscious of an}- grand and appropri- ate manifestation of energj'. Besides these male and female fools so passionately in love with themselves, be- sides these insatiate scalp-hunters of Iwth sexes — who only seek victims in a drawing rtiom as in a primeval forest, to be able to susijend their trophies from their belts — there were other prsons to interest the s|>ectator. Shrewd and practical suitoi-s wore bi}iiig sicgo to the mothers and aunts of wealthy heiresses. Some repulsive-looking block- heads were groui)ed around this ami thut silly and brazen- faced flirt, about wIkjui all sorts t>t* scandalous stories wore whispered from oar to ear, and their sensual eyes, their satyr-like smilo, revealed the secret thoughts that were exciting their morbid senses. Other people were crowd- ing around a young man, the prime minister's influen- tial i)rivate secretary, and did not consider it any dis- grace to receive his unspeakable platitudes with smiles of approval and npplause. A famous poet was being forced into a corner by a couple of officious ladies— who by every means sought to conceal their rings of annual growth, and made to serve as a pretext for the utterance of silly com- monplaces upon certain works of poetry. A profound, philosophical thinker was so ill-advised as to stray into a small circle which had gathered around an artist inflated with sell-conceit, and once there, was so good-natured as to take part in the conversation. The artist was talking of nothing l)ut himself, his rivals, his paintings and his tri- umphs, and f(ir a whole half hour gave the philosopher no chance for anything but the most non-committal and even imbecile remarks at which he must have blushed himself, afterwards. An actor was declaiming some anecdotes of the green room of rather questionable taste, with an em- phasis and an energy as if he were standing on Mt. Sinai and proclaiming the salvation of the world, and flames of admiration were darting from the eyes of his fair listeners which almost burnt holes in the waistcoat of this theatrical High Priest. A man of many millions was looking at this brilliant, busy scene, and thinking to himself complacently how much more grandeur and sublimity he represented than these poets and philosophers, actors and artists, insig- nificant creatures to whom the fashion of the day or the 74 A RETROSPECT. partialltj of society, yieltled a ccrtoiB proijortionate respect, but who yet, taken Jill togetlier, were not worth a himdmlth part of his sigiiiitino. So this blending of idiotic arro- gance, of silly love of dress, of limitiitions and lowness of mind, adamantine self-conceit, and mere sleek stupidity, whirled on with dance and conversation, with the har- monious accompaniment of music and the clatter of plates and cups, until five or six houre had struck one after the other, and the guests had taken leave, with long-drawn features and black circles around their eyes. Arrived at home 1 began to meditate ui)on tlie impres- sions received during the evening, as is my unfortunate halv it Wliy had I fatigued m}-self by the unwholesome \igil? Wh) IimI 1 deprived myself of the comforts of my bed U> breathe air whose oxygen luid alrctuly been consumctl by common, stupid, bad or mediocre peoiile, in tlie heat and the crowd? What benefit to boily, mind or temper had I obtained from this torture? What agreeable impressions had I recei\ eil? what witty or sensible remark liad I heard? to what rational expressions of my sentiments had I been impelled? Glancing over the last few hours 1 saw nothing at all : a desert with a few dry camel bones, and slitcly at them, when I thought of the incompreliensible weakness with which I hatl stepiMjd into other people's tubs and waded in the mire of their views and opinions—it actually seemed to me as if I were one of the parties to the crime with- WHAT THE MICROSCOPE REPRESENTS. 75 out any extenuating circumsUmces to plead in my favor. I had a regular Katzfujamnur, all the more acute as 1 had not had the pleasures of the previous iutoxication. And, as usually happens in such eases, I did not vent my ili- humor \x\ion myself— who alone was really to blame for it all,_but upon the rest. It is so characteristic of human nature to make others responsible for the discomfort that we have inflicted upon ourselves. So I tried to enliven my embittered mood by passing a universal sentence oi condemnation upon all mankind. All geese, or donkeys, or rascals ! lluminating animals, or blood-thirsty l)easts. or mongrel dogs of that kind whose pups are always drowned or given away ! Olyects of disgust or of horror ! And a rascal or a fool, he who 'athout being driven to it uv necessity, will train with these eieatures, and voluntaruv howl with the wolves and bellow with the oxen, and i)raise the flavor of carrion to the vulture and compiimcnt tne turkey-hen upon her intellect ! While these thoughts were chasing each other through my brain, my glance fell accidentally upon my mieroscope left ui)on the writing table after my afternoon's work. The sight of this instrument affected me as never before. The comparison may seem extraordinary but the miero- scope seemed to rise Ijefore me like the nude Phryiie before the judges at Athens, and say: "Look at me, and then condemn me if you can ! " I heard a voice in my heart that, with solemn emphasis, began to call me unjust, and to praise in exalted terms the human race which I had just been condemning. How had I dared to accuse those beings who had been able to invent the microscope, of stu- pidity and superficiality. What profound, persevering and intense mental effort even this one instrument represented ! It might be that it had been chance alone which had re- vealed the action of a ray of light upon a convex or a con- 76 A RETROSPECT. cave glmss and tlien efwn a combination of both. But the human intelkjct had Udcen advantage of this accident, and by its exertions had obttuned from it all the fruits it was able to produce. The track of the rays of light through the different glasses had to be traced and accurately de- termined, as they first separate, then converge, and then unite. The geometrical laws for these phenomena had to be disco vei*ecl An apparatus of marvellous delicacy had to be constructed to engrave lines on a sheet of glass that would divide a millimeter into tenths. Men have accom- plished all this. And why this exi>enditure of energy and thought? To move the bonndarj- stone of knowledge very slightly forwaixl — a distance almost too infinitesimal to be measured. For none but the entirelj' ignorant can over- estimate the services which the microscope has been able to render to humanity. What we can distinguish through the microscope is not only in size but also in importance, of infinitely less value than what we can see with the naked eye. The dog is far more wonderful than the infusoria and the oak-tree than the bjicterium. A vein is far more won- derful than a hair bulb, the combined movement of an arm far more surprising than the crawling motion of a lump of protoplasm or the Brown's sparkle on some inorganic atom of matter, and a human chest with everything contained in it, far more anifizing than a cell and its ct)ntent& The conclusions in regard to the relations existing between the univerae aud our Ego, which a single glance at the world around us enables us to form, are teyond all comparison with those drawn from the most ijersevering study of mi- croscopical preparations. Of that which we are really anxious to know — how bodies are constituted in their in- most structure, of what final, simplest elements they are composed, and the oi)eration of the chemical and vital forces — ^the microscope does not reveal a syllable. The THE SECRETS OF NATURE. 77 last form of all. disclosed to us by the most perfect of these instruments, is the cell, in which we distinguish a kernel. Possibly our sight may reach so lar as to discern that this kernel consists of an integument, probably cou- tnining some fluid, with a central nut or atom. Here our seeing'^and distinguishing ceases. Judging from its actions, the cell-kernel must l)e an extremely complicated piece of mechanism, whose construction and operation we ought to first understand before ^^e can solve the mystery of life. But such an enormous interval still extends between the cell-kernel and its ultimate constituent elements, that the short distance we have traversed by the aid of the micro- scope— from the tissue visil)le to the naked eye, to the cell —is not to be mentioned in comparison with it. It is as If I were sitting in a room in Berlin and wanting to look over at New York, had opened my door so that my range of vision had l)een enlarged by the w lole width of the anteroom. And for this insignificant increase of their range of vision, men have taken all these infinili; i)ains, have toiled so perseveringly, ami expended so nnich intel- ligence and skill ! Turning from my microscope to the book-case, my glance fell i^pon the works of Thompson and liehnhoUz. I beoan to meditate upon what we know at present of what are so oencrally called the secrets of nature. ' Nature has no secivls. She does everything with good-natured open- ness. Her work is done in the bright daylight, developing liuht and noise, and is accompanied with special phenom- ena that attract attention to it. It is our fault, or rather our weakness, tluit we are not al)le to comprehend what is going on around and inside us. As parents converse un- concernedly on all possible subjects in the presence of very young children, while the as yet undeveloped brain of the smalfand unheeded auditors is not capable of grasping the 7fi' A. K'ETRint in our knowledge of nature. It is a favorite lancy of mine to imagine Pythagoras visiting the scientific department of some one of the great univei-sities of the tlay, as a famous foreign scientist, escorted by the pro- fessore in charge. I picture to myself the trains of thought passing through his mind, and the alternations of amazement, reflection and admiration expressed by his countenance when the apparata are shown and explained to him, which analyze tlie rays of the sun and even of the nebuliB to the chemical nature of their sources, which rc^is- ter the number of sound-waves in a second, and determine the number and extent of the vibrations of a raj of light, tiie rapidity with which the electric current passes through a copper or silver wire, and measure the amount of heat, which becomes free or is retained in the chemical combi- nation or separation of two gases. What a vast horizon PYTHAGORAS VISITLNCJ OUR INIVERSITIES. 79 would suddenly open before him ! What an almost divine enlargement of his intellect he would feel in himself ! And yet this grand old Greek knew so much in his day, and had already conceived the idea of seeking to trace the action of immutable, simple mathematical laws in the phe- nomena of nature ! AVhat vast intelligence was required merely to surmise that the air we breathe is composed of several elements, that water, so simple, so omnipresent, and therefore so fomiliar to us all, and certainly for thousands of years not noticed as anything remarkable, consists of a combination of two gases, that a sound is in reality a suc- cession of waves, a single color several thousands or mil- lions of vibrations ! In fact, as I analyze my sentiments, I find that these wonderful fiiets in natural history do not inspire me with such amazement as the impulse within us which has impelled us to search for them. Those men who devoted years of study and investigation to the uninterest- ing subject of water, who, proceeding from their obseiTa- tion that heat transformed it into a substance like air, propounded the query whether steam itself was not com- l)osed of more elementary steams or gases— those men were not obtuse nor inattentive. They were not satisfied with any superficial appearance. They wanted to see down to the foundation of everything. Or those men who de- voted their time to something so common as an impression on the sense of sight or hearing, and learned to recognize this impression, apparently so simple and indivisible, as a combination of several elementary constituent parts, were they careless ho,.s vmints, enjoying life from day to day? No those men were moral. They were profound and grand. They did not seek the gratification of their coarser and coarsest senses ; they sought delights for the noblest instincts we possess-the longing for truth and knowledge. There is certainly a pleasure in the discovery of a new 80 A RETROSPECT. triitli, and probtilily a f:n* more in tense one, than any merely pliysiciil grutifientioii eaii possibly afford. Arelii- medes' ery of *• Eureka ! " rin«4s ( Uarer tlirough tiie hisUiry of hiimaiiiiy than the raplurous cry of any lover at liis loved one's first embrace, and Newton's si>eeehless hornir, when his dog, by upsetting liis lamp, set fire to tlic mann- seript eonfciining his most important caleulations, was probal)ly a p:uig as full of anguish as those experiencetl l)y Mapoleon, the evening of Waterloo. 3Iost assuredly it is a pleasiire very diltercnt from the one produced by a good supper, or even a 8uccessi< m of good suppers extend ing to one's life's end, or by puniding in elegant elotlies, or the flatiering remarks of one's neighliors at table, sf> called coufiuests, and success in society, and assuredly thcM-e are men, to whom we feel like kneeling, tliose men who alile sense of exaltation. For tliese kings, tliese conquerors of liroad intellectual tloraains, these victorione commanders in ehief in the warfare against powerfid errors, were not enemies, but my own dis- tinguished ancestors, to be related to whom^howe\er dls- OUR MiailTY ANCESTORS. 81 tant the relationship— and to be descended from whom— in lu)wever remote a degree— is a source of incomparable pride and exultation. And this descent, this relationshii). can not be denied. All of us wlio have any share in the civilizationof the age belong to the family of these intel- lectual sovereigns, although perhaps only as younger sons, without any expectation of ever succeeding to the more exalted positions. We all bear a family reseml)lance to tlie illustrious heads on coins and medals. We can prove the possession of family jewels— ideas and conceptions— which we have inherited from these ancestors. They toiled for ns like giants, and we are now living amid cer- tain possessions in tlic way of knowledge, whose ac(iuisi- tion was a far more wonderful task than all tlie twelve hd»ors of Hercules coml)ined. 1 repeatcul what has been done so often l)efore me, that it has almost become commonplace : inspired by the sight of Lubbock's History of Man, T passed in review in my mind the whole development of our race from its first api)earanee upon the earth to the present day. What an ascent! What a succession of glorious and elevating scenes! Those human beings whose kitchen refuse is found in the moors of Denmark, and those whose skulls are discovered in the valley of the Neander, at-Cro-Magnon and at Solutre, did not stand much higher than the more gifted animals— perhaps not so high as the trained poodle, which Sir John Lublux'k is now teaching to read; cer- tainly below the Terra del Fuegans, the Bushmen, or any other living type of human beings. They were not so well protected against the cold and the wet as the naked angle worm, whidi can at least l)ore its way quickly and easily into the ground. They were weaker than the great beasts of prry, slower than the hoofed (|ua(lrupeds, and more de- fenceless than the horned animals. Where they could not A R,ETR.OSFKf'T. fiiiil fruits on the trees, they lingered on the sea-eoast, and wsiited until the reeeding tide left theni all kinds of shell- fish on the betiek for their focMi But in these wretched creatwres there lived a certain soiuething that made them the pride of tlie earth. They were the only ones in the long series of living lieings known to ns who dion inaccurate observation and partiality. In Yucatan, the ruins of grand temples reveal- ing a highly cultii^^ted knowledge of architecture are found in the primeval forests, while the present inhab- itants of the country dwell in cabins made of branches. In Central Asia the nomadic tribes, whose only shelters are tents of rugs, wander through the ruins of extensive cities, with stone palaces, irrigating canals, statuary and inscriptions. In Egypt the pyramids and the gate towers look down upon the mud cabins of the Fellahin. It seems as if the first half of the Middle Ages had been nothing lint tlie decline of the ancient Graeco-Iloman civili- zation.^ I do not at all forget to take tliis into account. But what is it we notice in each one of tlie cases cited above? Merely this, that mankind, for a while had tor- gotten those cravings for luxuries and how to satisfy them. The Beautiful, the Superfluous could be forgotten, but the Necessary, the Useful, never. Men might lose their skill in embroidering their clothes, but never that'of clothing thenis(^lves, after they had once acquired it. They might cease to shingle their roofs with plates of gold, but they would never cease having a shelter. The essential facts of knowledge, that is, those destined to assist man's Inherent helplessness in the midst of a hostile nature, that is, those which render the preservation of self less difficult, these facts lie has never forgotten. It has happened that bar- barous trilies have invaded and destroyed states which had become enervated and corrupt by a high state of civiliza- tion. Then comes the cry of retrogression and return to A RETEOSPECT. barlMrisin. xill wfoiig. The triumphant barbarians were never stationary in these eases. They eontinned develop- ing by their own energy, or by learnhig from the eonciuered peoples. And that tliese latter did retrograde, was not te- cauae their iinpnlse to progress liad iMXiorae stotionary, but bccanse they were foreibly prevented from continuing to live in their ohl ludiits by their new masters. I will be- lieve in the possil)ility of a retrogression of mankind, if a single ease in the history of the world, even one single in- stance, can Iw pointed out to me where a jK^ople— not forced into it by some external, irresistible compulsion, but still living in the same surroundings and eircnmst-anees as of old — has ever declined from n state of civilization once attained to a lower state, rapidly or even gradually. I have sought in vain f the new convenience. He yells as if his teeth were Iteiuir pulled when he thinks be Is inadecinalely honored, THE BEArnES OF TNWRITTEN HISTORY. appreciated, or insufficiently paid. So railroads and labor- saving machines are by no means arguments to refute the meanness of men. . _ I will not stop to reply to these assertions m detail I will only say, how grand has been the intellcctnal.m< moral as well as the material progress of mankind . W hat an a-.reijate of nobility of character, tidelity to convic- tion;:;nd sublimity of purpose is the history of our rac^ ! To be sure, if we cIiooscn wc need see nothing in it but a scries of dovastatin- wars, brutal piUagcv intrigues, lies, umust aelions aiul deeds of violence. But it is not the fault of the human racc^ in general that the wntei^ of his- tory have prefc^Tcd to depict the hideous and cnnnnal side c.r ■,venls. There is a l)eautiful side as well ; we have only to seek Ibr it In the most revolting carnage ot a UatUe, there are always glorious traits of unsellislmess^ seH- sacrilice, and benevolence displayed. Even in die si uig ^ tcr of the innocents at Bethlehem there w(.-e probal)^ srnne mothers who found in it an opportunity to lavish all the treasures of a maternal heart, loving with the utter for- ...fulness of sell; and I do not doubt that even on the oye of St. Bartholomew there were not lacking deeds o touching loyalty and glorious heroism. The naines o^ those who Ibu^ht aiKl bled Ibr what they recognizecl as tiiah shine forth from every page of the history ol the world. Blood was shed, noV>le, generous blood, often in^« at every acquisition, at every onward stride of the world s pro..ress. And those who otfered it, so magnammousl^ , wh.:; reward did they expect? Evidently no material reward, for how could all the millions in the Bank of Eng- h.nd benefit me, if the communication between my mout^i ,nd mv stomach had been interrupted by my throats ha^- ingbeen cut in two. And not even a moral rc.vard not even fame, that continued life in tlie memory ot mankind, , f IIIR A BF.TROSFKCT. for iniiii}- ilectls of lieroisui occur in obscurity, unobserved by lofniaeious witnesses, seen only by tlie hero's inward eye whicli elosed for ever when the sacrifice was completed. Tlie advance guard of ilie anny of thouglit never fought for tlieir own niatcri::! ndwintage, lint for the possession of a treasure so fine niid noble that it rc«inn'cs a superior miiid to even appreciate it — for the right to breathe in an fitinosphere of truth, to In-ing tlieir actions into harmony with tlieir views, to utter aloud the lightest whisper in Iheir inmost soid, and allow all men to share in the knowl- edge of some lieneficient discover}'. T need not refer to the martyrs, as a tragic instance. The beauly of lumiiuiily was not revealed amid the flames at the stake, and on the stage of the bloody scaffold alone, it manifests itself more mo«lcstly, but just as visibly, at all times, at all places, and among us now. Our evtMy-da}- life is intei-woven and penetrated with it. Our ci\'ilization bears its features in tlie smallest as well as in the largest details. For example, let us imagine the sentiments which have preceded the decision to found a hospital, where poor people will be taken care of during tlieir ill- ness ! Or a loaning estalilisliment, where money is loaned to tliose in need at a low rate of interest ! Those who in- vented tlicse institutions were rich, as a rule, living and dying in Iuxuit, without aiiv |K»rsonul experience of cruel necessitv and misery. We could not liave reproached them if their minds Iiad l>een occ^npied with the familiar scenes of a luxurious existence alone, if there had been no iw)m in them for scenes of poverty which they had never seen. But the}' came out of themselves. They went forth le nuest of what was outside their own exi>erience. They took the trouble to imagine tli© sufferings of others. Sit- ting as rieli men at their table, they in(|uire(l of each other what the seiitimeiits of Lazarus, outside the gate. TTTE ANTT-VTVTSECTTONTSTS. 87 might be, and playing with gold pieces, they imagined how it would seem not to have pennies to buy bread for their little ones. Is this not tine, is it not unselfish? Perhaps tlie thought of possible contingencies may have had some share in It. The first person who cared for the sick and tlie poor may have lieen unconsciously influenced by the idea : " I miglit some day lie poor and sick myself, and then the hospitaror the lending house would be a benefit to me as w(Ml. " But surely no one has ever thought, at least in Europe where the doctrine of the transmigration of souls is • but little believed.- that lie would ever be a dog or a horse, and yet societies to protect and care for homeless dogs have been founded, and the royal mantle of human charity thrown over the unreasoning animal. I respect this benev olence which even includes the sufferings of animals in its sphere of action, even when it appears in the anti-vivisec- tion movement. Those people who originated it are, to be sure, hopeless imbeciles, as regards their intellects, pro claimincr l)y it such an utter lack of comprehension and reason 'that they ought to l)e unconditionally deprived of tlie right of discussing the atfairs of the state and the com- munity, and even of managing their own property. But, as rerought home from tlie i»arty I had attended. I was on the point of acknowledging that the devil's agent was right. But there was the microsciope, the illustrious names were still shining on the backs of the lKM>k8 ! — No, he wtis not right. THE SUBLIME ATTRIIUTTES OF Hr.MANlTY. 89 It is an oratorical device it) separate mankind into a vast llock and a few shepherds. It is false, this trying to rcpn- sent the select few as the only impelling force, the masses as the i)erpetual himlrance. I shared in this error, myself, for a long while, I must confess. I believed that all Caucasian humanity might be thrown back to the standpoint of the Middle Ages or even farther back still, by decapitating ten thousand selected contemporaries, the only real upholdcis of our civilization. I do not believe this any longer. The; sublime attributes of humanity are not the exclusive pos- session of a few, who are the exceptions. Tliey arc the fundamental attributes which are evenly distribute throughout the entire mass of the race, like tlie organs and tissues, like the blood, the cerebral matter and the bones. Of course a few have more than others, but all have some. It is a pity that the experiment can not l)e tried in reality ! but, theoretically, I can imagine a number of the uKj^st ordinary, average men, without any special intellectual training, without any professional knowledge of anything, men with no more comprehension of any subject than is obtained from superiicially glancing over the articles in the newspapers, and listening to the conversation in saloons; 1 can imagine a number of these men shipwrecked on a desert island and thrown altogether upon their, own re- yyiu-ees,— what would be the fate of these Crusoes? At first they Avould be worse off than the savages of the South Sea Islands, never having learned how to make use of tlieir natural talents. They would not km)W that it is possible to cat without being served by a waiter, or that food is to be found outside of the markets, or that the needed hard- ware can be procured in other ways than 1)}' repairing to the store. But this state of aflfiiirs would not last long. They would soon learn how to help themselves. The}' would first make discoveries in themselves, and then pro- V m A RETROSPECT. LATENT POSSIBILITIES. 91 i i eeed to imixirtaiit inventions. It wonld soon become :il>[)iireiit lluit a greid nieclmniciil talent was latent in some «>ne of them, a talent for philosophy in another, for organi- zation in a third In the evolntion of their exi>erienee they would reiM?at the whole histor}' of the development of mankind, in the course (»f one or two generations. They would all of them have seen a steam engine, l)ut none would know exactly liow it was constructed, and yet by the study and i-eflection of each, the>- woidd soon find it out imd make one for themselves. They would all of tliem lune lieard guni)owder described, and jet none would know exactly the proiX)itions in which the ingredients are com- bined ; and yet, notwithstanding this, they would soon iin)- duce serviceable gunpowder. And in the same way with fdl appliances, arts and sciences. Tliose men who at homt? would have been considered the most ordinary set of indi- viduals, would prove in reality to be all Newtons, Watts\ Helmholtzes, Graham Bells, etc. Tlie opi>ortunity for de- veloping, which the desert island afforded them, had ne\ er arrived in the midst of our civilization. Civilized life required nothing more of them than gossip and stupidity, and more or leas cash. With the latter they lx)ught what- ever they wanted and could not obtain on credit, and gos- sip and stupidity they supplied abundantly at all times. Necessity recjuired earnestness, profound reflection and inventioos of them, and behold ! they supplied them when- ever needed, and in a sufficient quantity to have made them men of mark in any large city of Europe. It has long been a familiar saying that we become l)est acquainted with men in cami>life or on a journey. Why? Because there they do not slide along in the accustomed grooves, be- cause they have to manifest all the intelligence they havt; in their inmost teing to meet the (emergencies that arise, and because, as a rule, tliis coini)ulsiou forces them to reveal qualities whose existence in them no one would ever have suspected. I am almost ready to ])elieve that every nor- mally developed man has in him tlie talent for a great pro- moter of civilization. He has only to be compelled to become one. Just as the top l)ranches of a tree can be turned into roots, if the tree is planted up side down in the ground, and the leaf-iii'own l)ranches compelled to iml)ibe the'r noiiri^^hiiieiit from the soil. Mv soiree now oreseiited itself to me in a very diti'er- cnt liiiht. I no louirer saw silly girls and fops, egotists and blockheads, commonness and vanity, l)ut only un- reeoLniized talents. Brutuses feigning idiocy, great men who would l)e able to restore the whole of our civilization, present and lo come if li should happen to be destio3ed l)y anv uossioie cause. A profound love and admiration for all humanliv filled mv heart and lasted, until I— next came in contact with my fellow-men. THE ULTlMxiTE AIM OP EDUCATION. 93 o U i^Lj.ll#oo« Wluit is the iiltimule aim (.C ((lucutioii. (»f nil teaching iiiid of all tniiiiiHg? Evidently to make lile^ jaoiv agreea- ble l>y deei)eirni<:, eiiriehiiij^ and heautifyingr it There can lie Init one opinion on thi.s point. Those insti-netors of youth \v!h. Mi)i)arently interpret the purijosi- of edneation otherwise, simply do not ^'o so far as its extremest aim, hut sloi) <»n the way. Thus whei; it is said that education is for the purp(»se of forming the eharaeter. What does this seiiienee mean if we analyze it? The eharaeter is foriiied-not for the sake of its own beanty, nor to delight the e\ es of a few eonnoissenrs, as a bronze statnette is east and ehascd, Init with a view to applying it to some ijrac- tieid advantage. A fine eharaeter— that is, decision in resolution, iKH'scverance in performance, inflexibility in the convictions, loyalty in the affections, and fearlessness in the inevitable confliets— is considered a good weapon »>f offence and defence in tlie struggle for existence. It is assumed that it greatly facilitates the victory over one's rivals and adxersaries, or—if the gods choose to aH(»w an unrighteous cause to triumph and the righteous cause has to console itself for defeat with Cato's approbation —that it will afford to the eon(|uered i)arty the satisfaction of feel- ing rewarded by and proud of those very qualities which led to his defeat. Or if it is claimed that the aim of educa- tion is to cultivate the intellect, strengthen the will, and develope a toste for the good ami the beautiful, . . .AVhat is the use of all this? The intellect is cultivated to enable it to comprehend the phenomena of nature and society, to have the satisfaction of understanding the nature and the cause of many things— at least up to a certain point, and to learn to avoid dangers and profit l)y ad^'antages. The will is strengthened to enable it to keep everything harm- ful away from the individual. The taste for the good aneaceablj resign their place at the feast of life. This is the secret of the whole matter. It seems as if schools and colleges had been devised by some shrewd individuals who wanted U) secure the best morsels for themselves and theire, and spoil in advance the apiMitite of those sound, lively stomachs whose future hunger might be dangerous to them. It seems m if the teachers saw rivals growing up around them in their pupils, and tried to make them harmless from the start, by cutting their nails, filing their ti'cih, and tying lilue goggles in front of their sharply oI^ si'r^ iug eyes. The school prepares us for the struggle for existence in exactly the same way as if a book of military tactics should prepare the soldier for war, by instructing him that he has weapons merely to leave them at home ; that lie must be careful to retrain from answering the enemy% shooting with any firing in return ; that he must relinquish to the enemy all the good ix>sitions he may have at his command, and that, more than all else, it is far more glorious to be defeated than to be victorious. Many l>eople would consider such a manual of tactics nothing but nonsense ; but the enemy indeed, would be very much pleased with it. The success to which I refer here, can also be differ- ently described in a few words. It signifies to gain the respect of the majority. This aim, it is true, can lie reached in many ways. We gain the resi>ect of the majority if we have great wealth, or act as if we had ; if we can present our name like a jewel in a precious setting of titles; if we can make our breast shine with the bright colors of riltbons and crosses ; if we have power and influ- ij^aaUfcJ THE DEFINITION OF SUCCESS. 95 ence ; if we are able to force the town or the country to the conviction that we are great, or wise, or learned, or honor- able to an exceptional degree. The practical advantages gained in return by the one respected are also of many kinds. They are material or moral, or both at the same time, generally with a preponderance of one or the other element. The masses have the good habit of manifesting their appreciation in the form of ready money. Tlie poi)- ular physician has many patients and receives magnificent fees. The popular author sells his books in many editions. If a man is successful, he will thus earn large sums of money, and be able to obtain for himself all the pleasures that are to be had for lucre in this vale of tears. One of these successful men will devote himself to pheasants and trutlles, another to chami)agne and Johannisberger, a third to ballet- dancers, and some odd fellow perhaps, even to the relief of the desei-ving poor. It is not necessary for us to follow the devious pathways of individual preferences. The moral advantages of success are of another kind, and although nothing can be bought with them, as the popular saying goes, yet they have a high value for most people notwith- standing. And what a strange contradiction is human nature T The grocer will not give a single box of ground pepper for these moral advantages, not even when it is adul- terated with olive stones, but he will make the greatest sacrifices of time, patience, eager exertions, and e\'en of money, his dear, blessed money, for them. They are: deferential salutations on the street, having the newspapers mention us from time to time, and, in marked instances, accompanied by flattering adjectives. In the various classes of society and professions they assume different forms. Royal notice at a court ball ; the ersities can also be partirdly approved of, for the cluljs and secret societies aftbid op|x>rtnnities for the development or e\'olu- tioa of some important talents, — for instancCj the talent of THE POLLY OF A CLASSICAL EDrCATTON. 97 attracting the attention of one's equals and superiors by loud speechifying and versatility, or that of discerning the prevailing currents and allowing one's self to float along with them, or of paying court to influential people ; and attenti\^e observation of the relations existing between the professors, the assistant professors and the tutors will also lead a talented young man to certain conclusions that may be of great value to him all his life. But unfortunately the high schools do not lay the greatest stress on students* societies, and the}' do not restrict themselves to exer- cise an educational influence by the inspiring examples of academical careers — or at least of some academical careers. They inflict upon the young all sorts of lectures and exer- cises, with recitation-rooms and laboratories, and all these seem to me of very questionable practical value for the student's success in life. The gyninasiuni or classical course, finally, is not worth a pinch of powder. It does not further in any way the future citizen entrusted to it. On the contrary it makes him still more awkward in the struggle for success. It means a sad waste of the most valuable years of life. I ask what possible advantage it can be to a lad to be fed on Horace and Homer? AVill it enable him afterwards to comprehend inaehine-made poetry more easily? Or what advantage will the enthusiasm bring to him which he may have experienced in reading Iphigenia? Will it enable him to converse wittily of the '* Beggar Student " ? As the last moral of history the sen- tence '^ Pro jxifn'd morr' is impressed upon him. Is this imposing sentence any guide how to address the Lord Chancellor with all due deference? To sum it all up, even with the best of talents, the lad will learn nothing that he can api)ly to any practical use hereafter, and he will not be able to apply to any practical use anything that he will loaim !f ^K1 98 SUCCESS. There is a sad gap in oui* present system of education wliicli really ought not to remain unfilled any longer. I dream of a sdiool wliicli would unhesitatingly assert that it edneated its pupils for suc^eess. and would not falsely claim to serve any cast asiile ideals. TIhmc^ are certainly men nowadays, who attain to sucticss witliciut any such in- stitutions. But tliis does not prove anything against tlie correctness of my idea. In tlie dark ages of lKirl)arisni, even in coinitries without any scliools at all, tlu»rc were some isolate*! and exceptional sages who acipiired their knowledge without any guidance or extraneous assistaiun*, entirtily by their (»wn industry. But how laI)oriou8 are tl lese sol i tarv stud i cs ! How much time is 1 < »st i n them without need or profit! To wliat errors one is liable! How far from perfect and how onesided, even in the most favorable cases, are the results! A teacher, on tlie coii- trar}', removes the obstacles IVom one's [)ath ; tlie tradi- tions of acquired knowledge pre\iMit aberrati(ms and idle fancies. Those men wlio have worked their own way autodidactically to success, when they turn arouiul at tlie «j:oal and look over the way they ha\'e come, must acknow4- edge with regrcit liow nnniy deviatitms from the path, how many steep climbs and how many weurv. sandy and marsliy places, a skillful guide or a little knowledge of the count rv would have saved them. One tiling I must state first of all — My school of suc- cess would not ha\e any classes for girls. Woman is in the fortunate situation of not re«piiring any instruction in this science. She Is pix)vided by nature witli all the knowlcHlge she requires to attain to success in life, and the |ictty arts, not alread}' kirn in her. she accpiires afterwards without any assistance. In the present arrangement of til© world, by far the largest number of women are striv- ing for l»ut one form of success — tliey want to pleaae tho WHAT SUCCESS MEANS TO WOMAN. 99 men. To attain this aim they need only to be pretty or to attract attention in some way. The lamentable idea has occurred to certain perverted minds to found young ladies' seminaries. In them the poor creatures are taught to draw, to pound on the piano, to speak foreign languages with an absurd accent, and confound the dates in history— thus, the very things that will later make them objects of liorror to the men. The idea of these schools can only have originated in the brain of some soui-ed old maids, or vengeance-seeking, henpecked husbands, whose wives were in the habit of lieating them. It shows an utter miscom- prehension of the feminine aims in life. The orientals, in their inherited, primeval wisdom, look at the matter from an incomparably more rational point of view. Am«mg them the girls learn nothing else but dancing, singing, to play the lute, to tell stories, to dye their nails with luMUia, and the edges of their eyelids with khol— that is, the ac- complishments which make them pleasing to man, which give them opportunities of displaying their charms in the most favorable light, which will fascinate and permanently attach their masculine companions to them for life. Our poor girls of the Occident, by the prevailing system of training, are artificially prevented from following their own impulses, which wouUl further their interests far more than all the spectacled and unspectacled professors in their institutions of learning combined. Not until they have left the foolish torture of the school behind them for good, are they free to follow their inward impulses and develope according to nature for the end in view. Then they evolve from themselves the art of painting their cheeks, of putting on powder, of wearing striking toilettes, of walking, standing and sitting in such a way that what is offensive in the contour of their dresses is most especially prominent; then, they learn all by themselves, how to wpmmfiiiiiiriiMfTr*"! ' iirnN^iWMiH J 100 SITCC188. twtty OE an expressive by-phij with their fans, how to allow their ej'es to eiist liiittering glances, how to put on little airs, lovely gestures, delicious little pouts, and to make the charming modulations of the voice express child- like iunottence, maidenly roguisluiess or piquant ignorance. With these means at their connnaml they are sure wher- ever thev go to gather a liost of admirera around them, to get dancing-partnei*s. adorera, a husliand and all the rest, in short, to obtain everything that makes life charming and agreeable. The eWerly ladies will turn up their noses at them it is tnie, and they will make rather a repellent than an attmetive impression upon tlie tetter and nobler men, who will think that grease, patches of paint, flour and daubs of all kinds are as much out of place on a feminine face as on a velvet dress, and that expanses of shoulders and enormous bustles make a woman look humpbacked and t!onsumptive, or like a Hottentot, and that the craving for admiration and love of dress distort even the prettiest creature in the world into something positively repulsive. Bnt what has woman to care for these criticisms? 8 he does not expect any kindly regard from her own sex, and would not know what to do with it; and as to the mascu- line critic, it is :i matter of extreme inditference to h(?r if some learned crank does turn his back on her in disap- proval, if only the young gentlemen from the Jockey CUili gaze after her through their eyeglasses. Tt is impossible for her to conform her appearance and conduct to the ciiterioB of a man of taste. Tlie man of taste is a phcEuix. Many women live and die without ever having met one. Only in the fairy tiile does it hapiM*n that the Prince comes and" finds the Sfeeping Beauty and releases her. In real life it is iMJst not to count upon this mythical peraon, and if any maiden is hidden liehind the growth of briars, she has eveiy chance of staying and lieing forgotten there. THE PATE OF AN APOLLO. 101 Woman thus reveals great shrewdness when she seeks to please the crowd and not the undiscoverable phanix. But if woman as a general thing can dispense with a theoretical training for success, man is not so fortunate as a rule. He has to please individuals of his own sex in order to make his way in the world, and this is not so sini- l»le a matter as to make a favorable impression upon those <»rthe opposite sex. It is true that there are some careers in whicli man enjoys the same advantages as woman, where he can operate with his personality and has only the ladies to please ; for instance, as an actor, a tenor or clerk in some dry goods esta])lishment. Men of this class do not need any school to teach them how to succeed. If nature has treated them at all like a real mother, they go ahead without any theories, as if propelled l)y steam. The finest instruction, unfortunately, can not give a charming, wav- iui^ moustache, and even if one is able to inpart a special charni to one's hair by artificial arrangemcnit, the hair- dresser has to have a sntlicient abundance of hair at his •lisposal or he cannot successfully perform his sacred rites. An Apollo Belvedere in flesh and blood, or even one of those warriors without a scar stationed on the Palace hi'idtreat Berlin, need not have any anxiety in regard to their getting on in the world. As a private soldier, he will s<»on be promoted from the kitchen to the sitting-room of tlie family ; as a footman or coachman, he will be always in active demand ; as a waiter, he will make the fortune of his hotel and his own into the bargain; as a "supe"' or one of the chorus, he can have his choice among the daughters of the land, and even to some degree among the mothers. He will r average individuals only. A Beethoven, even without any school of nnisic, will become what he is liound to liccoinii, but chorister's sons of the every day type, have to Ik; lield to the drudgery of coun- terpoint to enable them to olitiiin S(nnc Ktipcllmeister's |)08ition, with a riglit to a pension later on. We will thus not regard here all the categories of exceptional individ- ualities,~the A|k>1Ios, the aristocrats of tlie first class, with their solid annual income, the sons of millionaires— none of these have to cliase after success, success chases after tliem. My school of success is destined for tlie wretched multitude alone which is l>orn williout titles an«l incomes, and in spite of this fact, dreams of large bank accounts, and the order of the Red Eagle. These onlin:uy men now would enter upon the struggle for exisUnice with far lietter prospects of success if they had been systenniticallv trained to find their way through the press and iurnic»il of real iiie* If the school of success were now estal)lished, the di- rector ought to {ippeal to the conscience of every l^itlicr who wanted to confide a boy to him, with this little discourse delivered in all candor: "Dear sir, will you first consider what you rcnlly want. Tf you destine your son to pass his life in an ideal world in which merit alone receives the lanrel-wretdhs, mothing to seek here. You will do far l)etter in that case, to send hiin to any other school you like, and have him educated in tlu^ good old way. In that case he will read the poets of ancient and modern times, play with the sciences a little and swear l)y what the teacher says. But if you want your son to he a man whom others greet with deference in the street, who travels in palace cars and puts u[) at first class hotels, if you want him to have monev and influence and be able to look down with contempt on all grim, famishing wretches, then leave him here. That he will ever have a place in Plutarch— this I do not guarantee ; l)ut T do guarantee that you will find his name some time in the political roll-call opposite some fine otlice."' The training school for success would of course have different departments, of a lower and higher grade, the same as the schools of fossil learning. As not every scholar is striving after a collegiate education and a professorship, thus not every ambitious fellow aims to be a prime minister or a millionaire. Many are content with more modest aims ^aSiiMfi I' iiiid therefore require no more than elementarj' instniction. It will thus he advisahle to divide the school into tlic eoni- mon school department, the intermediate and the high Sfhool. Tlie conimon school woiild he for those who wish to devote themselves to the more nsual trades, to manual lalior, trade, etc. Tt would only }»e nt»cessary to impress one single elementary principle u|x>n them, which the wis- dom of tlie masses long since discf>v(*red for itself, namely, tliat '•Honesty is the licst iwilicj." Tliis does not sound at all like >Ia<*hiuvt»lli. Init it can not l»e impro\'ed upon — it is the fact, once tor nil, ihut a man can iK'st recommend himself in the Innnlilcr walks of life by carefulness and re- liahility. Tlie shiM»miiker who makes I toots well and jx>n honor, the giXM*(»r who, under the name of sugar, sells sugar and not sand, these will niaivc iiuMr own small, mod- €»st way in the world ane satisfied with the good will of their custouicis and their ihuly meat and vegetal)les. The same popular wisdom also asserts, however, tliat "l^iffing is part of tlie trade," hut wlien we take everything into acc»ount, and consider, we must come to the conclusion to avoid this |K»iut of view. Tlie ele- ments in tnuU- aiv too simple to .nak.. luimb.ijr a.lvisahle. Even a stupid fellow sees too soon into lies, fidse pre- tence« and bnigging, ami shi.s ofT. In these .areers suc- cess is really the rowarrl ..f honest ability. Ix^anse .yorj one is capabh* of judging for himself. Any one can see wliether a coat is too tiglit or too loose, the most ohtUse intellect can not foil to notice, if liis Itedstead comes to pieces, and only in a few social circles in Saxony will an admixture of cliicory in the cotfee fail to attract attention. The case is dilfereut in tlie higher professions. Any one whose choice foils on one of these requires a more pro- tracted and careliil preparation for success, and this he might gain in the intermediate and liigh school. In them MODESTY AX IMPEDIMENT TO STCf ESS. 105 it is i)roposeut envy and cite tliem as further proof of your greatness. The vast mnjoritj' on the otlier hand, the multitude that makes success, will believe you, they will reiterateyoiir jiidguieut of 3'oui'self aud make way for you to take the place you ha\ c usurped. This result is assured to30U by tlic cowaixlliness and meuUd indolence of the masses. Their cowardliness causes them not to dare to contradict you, to show you }'()ur place, as the saying is. You will be accepted just as you are ; your arrogance will be regaitled as one of your characteristics, noticed perhaps for a moment and then never thought of again. If you are invited anywhere, the hostess will say to lierself: "That man thinks he is of the greatest importance. No one can pay too much attention to him, or show him too much honor. What shall we do? I must seat him at ray right at tlie table, or else he may take offence and go away feeling that he has been insulted." If some modest person of real wortli happens to be there, to whom this place really ought to be conceded, he is very calmly addressed as mBMH" THE CROWD BELIEVES ALL THAT IT IS TOLD. 107 follows: "You have no objections, have you, to my giv- ing him the preference? You are above all such triviali- ties," and you have as a settled thing the first place for yourself, you have accustomed people to yield it to you, and after a while, the idea that it might be otherwise will never enter any one's head. The mental indolence of tlu^ masses is the second guarantee of the expediency of }our arrogance. Only a small number of men are capable of or accustomed to distilling an opinion out of the crude mat- ter of facts, that is, collecting impressions. ol)ser\iug closely the results of experience, comparing, iuterpret- insr, dijjestinic them in their mind, to come fuially to some tirnily founded individual opinion about them; but every one is capable of repeating a sentence spoken in his presence. On this account the settled opinions of others are accepted with joy and l)elief In' the masses. It makes no difference whether these opinions are utteriy false, nor whether they are in the most flagrant opposition to the facts. To become aware of this, the masses would have to be able to test and estimate the facts themselves in a logical manner, and this they are not capable of doing. I met with a remarkable instance of this not long ago. It happened that 1 had to prescribe some mead for a l)aby, to be given occasionally in teaspoouful doses. Half an hour after my visit to my small patient his mother burst like a bomb-shell into my room, and screamed in l)reathless alarm before she had fairiy crossed tlie threshold : "OIl Doctor, my child is dying ! Hardly had it taken a few drops of that diabolical medicine when it turned black in tlie face and began to cough most dreadfully, and came very near strangling. Oh, what kind of stuff have you been gi^'ing the poor child ! " I saw at once that the child had merely choked a little, but still I replied with a portentous mien : "Yes, I am not surprised. When we employ such heroic y i 108 SUCCliSS. remedies :is ine:ici, we must expect such effects. ' The woman wriiiig her hands and liegan again: '*But how toidd 3'on prescribe sncli a heroic medicine !" "Do you know of what mead consists?*' I interrupted her. "No." "It is a solution of hoiiej and water." Her coun- tenance expressed the sjime horror as if I had said : " Of sulphuric acid and rat poison." "You understand," I re- sumed, "that where we use such severe ingredients as water and hone}'. . . . " " That is so," she said with a sigh, and an expression of grief and bitter reproach. Just like lliia woman, the masses take everything literally that is said to them, and repeat it with blind belief, never dis- tinguishing tetween truth and Msehood, between serious- ness and mockery. To this, entire nations owe their renown and rank in the world. They have in reality all the worat and most degrading qualities, but they assert that they have tlie finest and noblest. They are envious and they call themselves generous, they are selfish and Ihej call themselves unselfish, they hate and despise all foreign peoples, and they extol their universal brotherly love of humanity ; they resist eveiy progressive innova- tion, and maintain that they are the hatching houses for every novel idea ; they have dropped far behind in every departnieni and they keep constantly re|>eating that they lead the way in evervthing ; with their hands they force weaker peoples to tecome their servant* and oppress them, rob them of their liberties, and violate the faith of their swoiii treaties with them, while with their mouths they are proclaiming all the while the finest principles of justice. And the world does not take the trouble to look at the facts, but listens to what they say and repeats it with im- plicit belief* It does not notice that the hands are contra- dicting the lips, and it is convinced that those nations are really all that they claim to be. APPEARANCES MORE IMPORTANT THAN REALITY. 109 So, no retiriii-- modesty, y^miig num, if you want to make your mark in the world. Humble yourself ami every one else will humble you. Yield the precedence to another imd the spectiitors will be convinced that it bc- h»ngs to him by right. Call yourself of no account, your achievements of no iniportiuice, your merits over-appre- ciuted, and your listeners will have nothing more prcssmg to do than to .si)reii(l your opinion of yourself abroiid, willi out mentioning from whom it came. It must of course be understood that I am not saying that modesty is to be east aside under all cireuuistunces. The time will come when it can 1»e assumed witiiout harm, and even with advautiige. This is when vou have fully attained your aim. As soon as you are in a position in whioh you are recognized, and which is really of first rank, and so surely defined that no one can be in doubt as to the place to which you are entitled,— then you can play the role of the modest man. Then you can remain at the door, you will ]>e escorted in triumph to the platform; then you can decline compliments, certain that they will be repeated with em])ellisliments and empha- sis- you can then speak without concern of your insignifi- cance, your decorations, your emliroidcred dress coat, will sufficiently contradict you. You will not detract from your influence, and 30U will gain the advantage .that every one will be touched and enraptured with your humility. You luue ncnv learned that appearances are of far more imporbuice than reality. Drink as much wine as you want to, but preach water. This is always edifying even when your nose is blazing like some weird will o' the wisp, and your legs are no longer al)le to support you. If whde you are declaiming Pindar's Ode in praise of Water, your lips are trembling in delirium tremens, you need not worrv. Your audience will take it for emotion, and have only the more reverence for you. r,: i !l|i SUCCESS. Another fimclainentjil prmciple is this : beware of being kind to others. With kindness }ou will never amount to anything. Your rivals will despise yoiu your enemies ridicule you, and your well-wishers consider you a bore. No one will have any considcnitiou for you, for people will any: "Ah, yes, X., that good-natured fellow, if you tread on liis toes he will smilingly beg your pardon most politely.'* NaiTow- minded, foolish advisers inny [)er- haps tell 3011 that it is good policy to si^eak well of every- )K>dy, its by these means 3'ou may di sari 11 possible enemies. Do not iniagine anything of the kind. The reverse is true. As 110 one has any shooting to fear from you in return, the}' will 8h' wliich 1311 V ions cletrautioii is tfiiiisfonued into elcMjiient praise, cool reserve l<> «:lowiiig fiieiiiisliip. tMjnleinpt to respet-tf II I iid in iratioi i . As a matter of eourse yvu iiiu.sl be careful imt Uj neglect the visible Hiuiiifestatioiis <>!' the pluloso[)hieiil principles W wMeh you are to guide your behavior iu the world. Duly the very wealtliy, against whose uiillious no one can insinuate a doulit, have the right to lie modesl in ttieir waj' of living, but these have no cause to aiiply to in}' sehotjl of success. The poorer \c>u are, the ni«)re necessary it is for you to make an inijiosing api»car- ance. Dress richly, have your surixiuudings elegant, live as if Golcoiida was enkdled upon you. But this costs monev? Vcrx' true, and lots of it, Unx But if one; does not liapix^ii to ha\e any? Then go iu debt Del»t? ! Ccrtaiuly, niy l>oy, certainly. There are few ladders lliat cnal>le one to climb so rapidly :uid securely to the higliest aims as del>ts. It is revolting when we reflect how they have been traduced by pedants, and brought intelty, narrow honest v? No one will turn to look afiir vou. Join some threadbare company, live in an attic, eat «lry bread, :ind ne\'er rim in debt — you will soon feel the re- sults. The dogs will liark at you, the watchmen will look y* m over with distrust, res{)eetable people double lock Iheir doors in your face. And tlie grocer, whose customer you are, will cease to take the slightest interest in you from the moment when you have paid him the amount of his bill. If you are stricken down in front of his store TUE BENEFITS OF DEBTS. 113 door, his only thought will be how to remove the obstruc- tion from his threshold. Then, on the contrary, get every- thing on criMlit, pump where you can, and your condition will be transformed as if by magic. Iu the first place all the enjoyments of lifi'. will bo accessible to you that the poor be^L^gar has to deny himself. Then your general appearance will arouse? on all sides the most favorable prejudices. At last you will have a whole body guard or retinue (.f zealous, even fanatical, co-workers for your suc- cess. For each creditor is a friend, a well-wisher, an active agent in your promotion. Me will not allow any- lliing to^'befall you. No fatlier will exert himself to such :m extent in your behalf as a creditor. The more you owe him. the orcater his interest iu seeing you prosper. He watches over you that not a hair of your head be rumpled, for your life is his money. He trembles when any peril threatens you, for your ruin is the grave of his claim. Have quantities of creditors, young man, and your ftite is ensuivd from the start. Tluy will secure for you a rich wife, an exalted position and a fine reputation. The most fortunate investment is to apply the money of others to an ornamental formation of your own existence. These would 1)0 the leading ideas according to which the nature of the students of success should be c.nltivated and their actions regulated. The most advanced pupils miiiht also be initiated into the fundamental principles, upon which the whole science of training for success is founded. It admits of being concisely expressed :— Suc- cess in this world can be obtained in two ways, either by one's own superiority, or by the weaknesses of otliers. The first way is by lar the most diflficult and uncertain, for, in the first place, it assumes that one has superior advan- tages, which, however, is not the case of every ones and in the second, it is inseparable from the condition that these li! I . # \4 114 srrrEss. advantages are noticed and appreciated at tlie right time and to a sufficient extent, which almost never liappens in actual experience. Speculating on the failings of others, on the contrary, is always successful. The teacher would thus l)e justified in saying to his pupil : '-Bo not take the trouble to accomplish anything of extraordinary merit, to allow your work to speak in your behalf: Its voice is feeble and it will l>e drowned in the shouts of jealous mediocrities, its language is foreign and will not be under- stood l)y the ignorant multitude. Only the noblest and most unselfish will pay any attention whatever to your productions and appreciate them, and even the}' will hardly do any tiling for you if 3'ou do not intrude your personality upon their attention. So instead of wasting your time in honest and toilsome exertions, employ it in studying the weaknesses of the multitude in order to profit by them. The masses have no judgment, consequently make them accept yours ; they are superficial and thoughtless, hence beware of being profound and crediting them with any ability for mental labor ; they are dull-witted, hence you must appear upon the scene with such commotion that even dull ears must hear you, and dim eyes see 3'ou ; they do not understand sarcasm, but accept everything literally ; lience you must say distinctly and in the plainest terms, whatever 3'ou have to say bad about your rivals and good aliout 3'ourself ; they have no memory, so you can make, use unconcernedly of every means that will help you on towards the goal. When you have once reached the goal, no one will ever remember how you got there. With these principles you will become wealthy and great, and it will be w^ell with vou on the earth." If only some scholar whom I am initiating into the mysteries of success does not happen upon the impertinent idea of asking me : '^ As you know so well how it is done, HOAV THE SOUP IS PREPARED. 115 you must have progressed very far yourself? ".... This would cause me some embaiTassment I could only re- ply then: "I have seen others attain success, and that is enough for me. Standing in the kitchen to see the soup prepared, one is apt to lose his appetite. But he may be willing for others to eat it, nevertheless." I ifi'' ii.*t THE PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOGY OF GENIUS AND TALENT. I must clefiee, and with as much precision as possible, the ideas around wliich revolve the observations to whieli this chapter is devoted. What is talent? Uliiit is genius? The repl}' to this querj' consists usually of unintelligible phrases in which nouns expressing admiration, and appre- ciative adjectives predominate. We ought not to rest sat- isfied with this. We do not want any complimentarj' oratorical fiourishes, but an honest explanation. I think we shall be approximating the truth very nearly if we say thai a being of talent is one who performs those actions which are generally or frequently practiced, better than the majority of those who have tried to attain the same proficiency ; a genius is a man who invents new modes of action, never before attempted, or else practices an old faculty in some entirely original, extremely individual manner. I speak of a talented being and a man of genius, intentionally. Talent does not seem to me in any way re- stricted to the human race. It exists beyond all question in the animal kingdom as well. A poodle that can be trained to more complicated and artistic tricks than other dogs is a being of talent ; likewise a robin redbreast or a blackbird, that sings better than his comrades; or even a pike that pui-sues his prey with greater siiciess, or a glow- worm that shines more brightly. Gt»nius, on the cnutrar}', BEFTNITTON OF TALENT AND GENroS. 117 is only conceivable in man, in so far as it manifests its presence in individuals. It consists in the fact that an individual strikes out a new path for himself, never trodden before to use the familiar phrase. And this, as far as can iK^ determined by human observation, not a single animal has ever done. It may be sometimes aecompUBhed by races They may thus be endowed with genius m com- mon * The whole svstem of living beings most cerUunly does accomplish it. The evolution of organisms from the one-celled being up to man, proves this. We can thus as- sert that the orjraniv. worid in its entirety is endowed with 'cenius, that evolution and the possession of genius are sy- nonymous terms, and the theory of the Descc'ut of Man is merc^lv a recognition and proclamation of the sway ot a genius in the oroanic worid. It is certain that even in the hidividual animal a limited f^v(Mlom of development does exist -an impulse to deviate from the inherited tribal type '-for the changes in the construction and functions of species, which we perceive after ages of development, must have been accomplished in the indiviih.als after all But the deviation from the established type and the effort towards a new, is so exceedingly slight in the individual animal that we must overiook it, because we really can n(>t take coc. uizance of it. If a bee w(Te to construct an eight- or four-sided cell, instead of a six-sided one, or a swallow to invent a new shaped nest, or if an ox were to prefer to die rather than l>e harnessed into a yoke- they would manifest genius. But the worid has never yet seen any- thin- of the kind, while it most certainly has seen human beings who were successful in accomplishing similar devi- ations from the inherited modes of action. The difference between the talented individual and the -enius, is thus one of quality, not of quantity. It does not escape mv attention, however, that this diflerence could k. f 118 THE PSYrilO-PIirsiO'LOCJY OF fJENIlTS AN'D TALENT. be uldmiitelv IriU'tMl to .i inore or less, in cvc-rv instance, if we carried our investi^i^iitioiis xcrj* far into tlie essence of things. To illustrate this : a man nnist possess a certiiin amount of memorv, will awl judgment to Iks a i)rofessor of histor}'. But these f|ualities combined only make a suc- cessfid mediocrity, at best onl\' a respectable degree of tident But if the}' exist in an unusual amount, the one who thus possesses them ma}' live to become a great statesman, a ruler of men, he ma}' (»ven turn the course of tlie liistory of the world, and he must be considered a genius. Tt is a fact that the difference is based upon the vai^'ing amounts of i\m s:ime qualities only, but it is such a vast difference, that tlie two merely quantitatively differ- entiated phenomena produce the impression of being entirely unlike in their very nature, and not tearing the slightest affinity one to the other. In the same way the diflerence between Mont Blane and a grain of quartz sand is ofdy quantitative. At Ixittom they are one and the same. The quartz grain would only have to be big enough, to be Mont Blane ; the mounbdn would only have to shrink to an infinitesimal size, to te the grain of sand. And yet we find that the mere difference in size is sufficient to produce two such nulicalli- different objects as Mont Blanc and the grain of sand, out of thinsrs that are identical in composition. I have alread3- attempted to prove in the eliaptjer, "Majority and Minority," that not ever)' oi^auism is capa- ble of responding to impressions arriving from without, with an individual, new and non-inherited reaction of the nervous and muscular s^-stem, that is, l)j- thoughts and actions. Only an organism e8i)ecially perfectly con- structed, especially rich in vital energy, is able to accom- plish this. The genius — ^whose essence T imagine I perceive in the ability to assimilate the pencirtions obtained from GENIUS LEADS, ALL OTHERS FOLLOW. 119 the world without in an original way-thus presupposes a hicrher organic development. The key-board of his nitel- lect has one more octave, as it were. No amount of industry, no amount of practice can produce this longer extension. It must be part of the original construction. GcHjthe remarks lightly and in the most innocent way pos- sible: "Grasp the oxhaustless life that all men live! Where'er you touch, there's interest without end.' The "Merrj- Andrew," in whose mouth he places this sentence, is evidently fond of a joke. The remark sounds very na.ve, and is in fact the proud vainglory of a sublime self-con- sciousness. "Grasp the exhaustless life that all men live " Indeed ! The receipt is a well-tried one, but it requires a genius to follow it. An ordinaiy man, or even a talented man, has no idea how to go to work to make this grasp, and if he attempts it, will withdraw his hand empty This is because the average man, and I include the man of fcilent in this class, does not see the world at all but only the reflection of it in the eyes of the gemus He does not see "the exhaustless human life" in actual presence, standing out in relief before him, but only as a 8ha- stances that every li¥iiig being requires for its sustenance — carton and nitrogen — exist everywhere on the earth in enormons quantities, but animals can not make use of them in any way in the fonn in which nature first offers them. An animal would ijerish in an atmosphere too heavily laden with earlwnic acid, and on a soil too rich in nitric salts. Plants alone are able to make use of these raw materials for piiriwses of nourishment, and among plants, only those containing chlorophyl Not until the plants have oi)erate*l iqion the earl)on and nitrogen in their own organisms, do tlie latter iMiconie litteil to lie the nourishment of animals. Precisely similar are the rela- tions between the genius and the non-genius, the latter in- cluding the men of tolent The non-genius is not able to digest nature, to assimilate it, to transform it into elements of his own consciousness. He sees objects, but he forms no picture out of them ; he hears, but ho does not grasp and understand. The genius, on the contrary, has a cer- tain something within him, a clilompiiyl, as it were, which rendiH-s him capable of fomiing finished pictures out of the plienomena observed, wliich the average human intellect is then able to receive into its consciousness. Darwin gives lis an amazing picture of the life on the entirely naked St. Paul reef ill tlie middle of the Atlantic Ocean, in the first chapter of his ** Naturalist around the World." Two kinds of liinls make there their nests, the booby and a kind of sea-swallow, tlie white-head. But a certain species of fly, a tick and a moth live as parasites on these birtls ; a kind THE ST. TAIL REEF. 121 of dung-beetle and a wood-louse derive their iiourisliment from their dung ; numerous web-spinning species pre\- on the flies and moths, and we can add, what Darwin does not mention, that a whole world of microscopic beings, such as infusoria, cocci and bacteria is certainly swarming around these higher animals. All that was necessary, then, was the arrival of one bird to transform the desolate St. Paul reef into a home for a long train of living beings, which without the bird could not have survived a single day tlurc. A precisely similar occurrence is that of the evolu- tion of a system of literature in a nation. Some genius, with the menUd digesting tipparatus peculiar to him alone, takes the impressions i)erceived, and transibrnis them into a literary master-piece, comprehensible to all. Immedi- ately a whole swarm of parasitical beings spring into existence First ciniie the imitators, who copy the original work with more or less skill. They are like the flies and ticks who subsist upon the sea-swallow's blood. Then come the critical and esthetic schools which ik. longer have anything to do with naked nature, but devote them- selves exclusivelv to the results of the digestion of this irilure bv the genius and his imitators. These are like the spiders who follow the flies, and the dung-lieetles who live on the guano. And last of all come the historians of liter- •iture who proceed to relate with immense importance how everything came to pass. I can not find the living being on the St. Paul's reef at the moment, to correspond with these, as I do not quite venture to compare tliein to the microbes. Thus we have a grand national literature, with estheiic works of the second rank, with esthetic systems. with clever, critical works, with histories of literature and special essays on isolated passages in them, with learned commentaries on all these books, and with a whole tram of professors who make their living by lecturing upon W' if I i 122 THE FSYCilO-PHYSIOLOOY OF OENIUS AND TALENT. tlieiii with great prof nudity, from year's end to year's end, and all these literary pi-ocluctions, with their living train of learned men, have their origin and their excuse for being, solely in the creations of some honest genius, who was neither a learned man nor a professor, wlio produced his masterpiece as an apple-tree lieara apples, just because it was oi^anieally in liini to produce it, and all the rest of the little folks who followed after him would not have known enough to say Bah! to naked nature placed in front of them, and they would not even have ni;ule their appearance any more than the scanty animal life on the St. Paul reef, without the bird that alone made existence there possible to ii Genius thus depends on a primarily more exalted organic development ; talent on an extreme cultivation — attained by industry and practice— of the natural faculties possessed by the majority of sound and nonnal individuals in a given race. But if I were now to assert that genius has a pliysiological, structural foundation, the I'eader would be justified in asking me what the structural tissue could be, whose more exuberant development produced genius. This question looks rather formidable, but yet it might not be so difficult to answer, perhaps, if genius or talent were simple phenomena. We could then obtain the answer to the problem by a very simple method. In one case we find a remarkably fine memory, In another, an ex- traordinary will; in these two cases the brain centres which represent the memor}- or the will are thus excep- tionally developed. As to which are these centres, we are not fully informed at present, but they will \m found in time, and we are already on the track of several. In this way it would be mere child s play to analyze and explain the exceptional intellectual phenomena. Yes, but un- fortunately the matter is not such a simple one. Genius I'L. THE STRUCTURAL SUPPORT OF GENIUS. 123 and talent are extremely complex phenomena ; very larely do they declare themselves by the prominent manifesta- tion of some single principal mental faculty ; even if such a fticulty does predominate in most cases, and can be deter- mined by careful investigation, there are almost always sev- eral principal faculties engaged in producing the combined effect of genius or talent, although in unequal degrees, and the different proportions in which they enter into the composition produce such different results, that it is often extremely difficult to decide from them what were their organic causes. The whole art of physiologically ana- lyzing genius, as well as talent, will thus consist of resolv- ing what appeal's to be a homogeneous whole into its elementaiy factors and tracing these latter to their source in the organism. Every educated person knows now-a-days that our central nci-vous system, that is, the cerebrum and cere- bellum, the medulla oblongata, the spinal cord, and the sensorv- and motor nerves, does not form one continuous orgtln with one simple function, like the heart or the kid- neys, for instance, but a combination of numerous organs, similar in regard to their construction but with entirely different functions. It resembles, as a whole, the system of digestion. The whole mechanism of the digestive organs, from the entrance to the exit, with all their auxiliaries, forms one single apparatus, the different parts of which all work together with the purpose of rendernig the nutriment received fit for the construction and mainte- nance of the organism, by mechanical and chemical changes adapted to the end in view. But how dissimilar are the separate constituent parts of this grand apparatus ! TUe salivary glands have nothing in common with the pancreas and the liver ; the stomach is arranged in an entirely dif- ferent manner from the duodenum ; the gastric glands P: I'IPI 124 THE PSYCIIfFPHYSlOLOflY OF O'ENIUS AND TALENT. differ in every resixiei irom the intestinal absorbents. Hero a licinid is oxt-reted. wliieli tniiisfornis stjireh into sugar; in anotlier plate ii similar liquid, whicli renders tlie insoluble allininen dissolvable. Here is some tissue whose exclusive function is to move the fnsciousncss aud allcjwing this consciousness to act in return upon the external world. But this function is divided into numerous and very dissimilar separate branchcstif duty, which are performed by entirely differ- ent parts of the brain and spinal marrow. I will explain this by a single instance. Let us take tlie sense of sight. Any one looking at this subject from an unprofessional IKiint of view would probably thinlc it a very simple ^mat- ter to pick up a newspaper and read what was printed on it. That he would not be able to do this if he were blind, Is also self-evident to him. But lie would perhaps l>e very much astonished if he were told tliut a seeing eye is not all tliat is necessary to iierform the act of reading, that the cooperation of a series of other organs, situated in the brain, is recpircd also, and that reading is impossil)le if even a single one of these organs fails to work properly. The ball of the e\e serves as a sort of a diu-k chamljer uijon the rear wall of which falls the image of the extxjroal world, diminislied in size and as distinct as possible. This background is an expansion of the optic nerve which trans- mits to the bmin the impression received, that is, the image aist on the retina. The impression is felt at a ceitain spot DISSECTING THE ACT OF SEEING. 125 in tlie brain, which is most prol^ubly situated in the rear of what is called the proper ganglia. The impression is linally comprehended at still another point which may lie m the lower left lobe of the brain, as the investigations ot Kuss- maiil Westphal and others have determined with consider- able appearance of accuracy. The eye thus reflects the ex- ternal world -, the reflected image is transmitted l)y the optic nerve to the proper ganglia; the ganglia transform the reflected image into a sense-perception, which is trans- ferred to the gray l)rain-matter aud, after being operated upon by the latter. V)eeomcs a conscious idea. If the eye is incapable of performing its duty the image is reflected to no puri)ose, and the communication between the Lgo and the Non Ego by this means, the sense of sight, ceases entirely If the optic nerve is diseased tlie external world is reflected on the proper place, it is true, but the image foils to l>e transmitted to the spot where it is first U^\t It the rear pait of the proper ganglia is out of order, the image niav reach the brain, but there is no one there to receive it MS it were; it is as if there were telegraph coinmuniea- tioii and no receiving instrument in the receiving office. The image is then not felt. If, however, the brain matter in the lower left lo])e he disorganized, the image will l)e telt but not understood, its signiticance not realized. • The man may see, but he will not know what he is seeing. It is as if continuing the simile of the telegraph, the receiving in- strument were in place and the dispatch duly received at the office but it could not be delivered to the persim •iddressed. Thus it is with every single eflbrt of the mind, every act of the will every sentiment and every idea, and liowever plain and simple each effort may appear, in reality it is something verv complicated, in the realization of which the numerous parts, that is, organs, of the central nervous Bvstem. materially unlike in structure, all play their part. 126 THE FSYCllO-PlIYSlOLOtiY OP GENIUS AND TALENT. These sepiinite orgaES situated in the spinal conl and the brain are called centres, and they have been classified aci-onliiig to their iinportiince. We si»ak of higher and lower centres. Their station on the ladder of rank is of coni-se determined by the fiinction they are destinetl to perform. But the estimate of the value of these func- tions is based not upon their imi}ortance in the preser- vation of life, but upon the share they have in producing the specifically human attiibutes. There are certain fac- ulties possessed by man alone ; for example, the faculty of abstract thought and speech. Others that he possesses iu common with the animals; for example, the memory and the will. And there are still others which he shares with all living beings ; for example, nutrition and procre- ation. (01 couree it is not to be understood that even the most sijecifically human of id! our powers, thus even the example just mentioned, abstract thought or si>eech, are necessarily exclusively human, because they appear fully develoijcd in man, and there is no trace of them in the animals below him in rank. According to Romane, the English animal psychologist, it is rather a matter beyond all question, that the intellectual activity of our race is merely the intellectual activity of animals cultivated to a Mgher degree, and that even in this as well as in every- thing else, nature has only the grand general lines of unin- terrupted development with no chasms and gaps. But this is not the place to discuss this matter at length.) The imiik of a function and consequently of the nerve centre whicli controls it, is thus in an inverse ratio to its distribu- tion in the organic world and its importance to the preser- vation of life. Without the coarser and more delicate alimentary processes, that is, without digestion, respira- tion and tlie circulation of the blood, the organism could not exist for a moment. But the digestive centres in the RANKS OF THE NERVE CENTRES. 127 i^aiiglia of the so-called sympathetic nerve, and the centres of the action of the luuscles of the chest and heart iu the medulhi oblongata, are considered the lowest of all. The movements of the limbs and especially tlie proper combi- nation of these movements to produce the acts of walking, grasping, etc., are of great importance to the individual, but still he could live without them. But the centres of muscular activity and their harmonious action (coordina- tion is the technical term) in the spinal cord, and probably in the peduncles of the cerebrum, perhaps also in the cerebellum, are the next highest in rank. The memory, the faculty of judgment and the imagination, in conclusion, are not at all inevitable conditions of life, but are delightful lux- uries ; the individual can continue to exist very comfortaljly years and even tens of years without them ; but their nerve centres in the gray cerebral matter rank the highest of all. This classification is b}' no means arl)itrary ; it is justified by facts. The more common and necessary a function is, the simpler and coarser the organs for it ; as the f mictions become more individual and differentiated, the organs be- come more delicate, more complicated and therefore more fragile. A plough is a more important necessity of life, and is used by more persons than a watch, and the watch is more necessary and more widely distributed than a "precision instrument" made for the purpose of compar- ing a meter stick with the Paris standard meter. But the plough is much coarser and simpler than the watch, and the latter is much coarser and simpler than the - [)recision instrument." It is not an easy matter to destroy a plough ; a watch must be handled more gently, but it will stand many a hard knock ; the "precision instrument" is thrown into disorder by even the shaking of the ground caused by a caiTiage driving past at a distance. The case is the same in regard to the nerve centres. The more individual, 1*1 ' If if ft. / m 11 128 THE PSYCEU-l'ilVSlOLiKiY OF GENIUS AND TALENT. the more sptjeiJil iiud t«xflusive tlie tusk reciiiin-d of tliem, tlie more coiiipliciiteil, tlie more tlelicate and couseciueiitly tlie more fragile they are. Nutrition is a coai-se fuiu- tion, for iiistaEce. Strietly speaking, it does not re(iuirc any special organs, as we miglit also dig a furrow without any plough, with merely a ploughshare, a stick or a stone, or even with the bare hand, but of course not so easily or conveniently as with a plough. The simplest little lump of protoplasm has the ijower of receiving nutriment, using the word iu its broadest sense, by absorbing solid, fluid, and gaseous matter, and thus also of digesting and lucatli- iug. If we require a highly complicated apparatus for tliis IMJrforinaEce, such as tlie system of the circulation of the liloml, of respiration an.I digestion, it is only because our or- iitinism has necessarily more coniplieated tasks to ijerforra tlian a lump of protoplasm, and is organized with a view lo a division of labor, as a cabinet minister, for instance, ha.s neither the time to cook his own dinner uor to mend his clothes, mattci-s whicli a Neapolitan beggar, on the other hand, can attend to very well. At the same time, even in our complicated organism, which operates with such an extensive division of labor, the process of alimentation is a common and simple matter, and the ner\ e centres eon- trolling it are so coarse that they resist destruetive influ- ences the longest, and are in fact tlie last to die. The centres of movement are also rather low. anon this distribution of tasks. Pri- marilv, each cell of which we consist, is an organism in itself,* wliicli can do everything that an organism, wishing to continue to exist, Ima to do ; the cell can receive and assimiliite nourishment, it can propagate in the simplest way, by partition, and it can move by contracting its pro- toplasm. But when countless millions condiine to form an nniniid or human organism, tliey pmeeed to divide among themselves these dittbrent occupations, so that each one can perfonn but a certain appointe*! task, forgets how to perform any other, and as a consequence, would have to perish if the other cells did not do for it what it is no longer able to do for itself. The red blood corpuscle can absorb oxygen and convey it to all the tissues, but it has ceased U» lie able to move and pix>pagate. The muscular fibre can move and drag the rest of the formations of the body along witli it, liut it could not alisorit unprepared nutritive matter from nature, and could not propagate, etc. 1 '*) EVERY OEGANISM A COLONY. 131 With all the equality that originally prevailed between the elementary parts, or, to retain the term used above, be- tween the citizens of the colony, a very strict system of ranks has since been developed. The organism is a compli- cated system of society, with proletarians, citizens, and reigning classes. It includes elements which represent the most varied stages of development in animal life. The blood corpuscles and lymph cells rank no higher than bacteria, with whom, by the way, they often have to contend, and by whom tliey arc sometimes defeated, although as a rule, they prove themselves the strongest. Man's spinal cord ranks no higher than a frog's, his sensory centre no higher than a monkey's, his language centre no higher than that of a human being of the lowest race-a Bushman, for example, —the exalted centres of thought and of judgment alone raise the indefinite organism above and beyond all other living beings, causing it to be not only a living being, not onlyli vertebrate animal, not only a human being in gen- eral, but a special human being, an individual distinct from all other individuals, and towering above all the rest if these centres are developed to an especial degree. This hierarchy within the organism does not preclude a certain independence among the separate classes. One might say that they were constantly fighting among them- selves for the principles of democracy and aristocracy. The lower centres do not like to be ordered about by the hi<^her ones, the higher strive in vain to escape from the tyranny of the lower. The" brain centres can not prevent the assimilating centres from doing their work, they can not compel them to do this work in any particular way, more rapidly or more slowly ; the action of the blood cor- puscles, the lymph glands, etc., are entirely beyond the con- trol of the consciousness and the will. Only indirectly are the brain centres able to prove that they are the most 132 THE PSYCII0-PHYS10L,0«Y OF QENIirS AND TALENT. powerful after all ; they can deprive these lower centres of the conditions in wtiicli alone they are able to perform their functions, by preventing the entrance of food into the stomach, for example, or of air into the lungs, thus rendering it impossible for the digestive glands and blood corpuscles to perform their allotted tasks. And vice versa, the lower centres also retain the higher in a state of l>ond- age, as the latter are onl}' able to accomplish their best work when the former are performing their duties regu- larly and ixjrfectly. Democratic tendencies are prevalent not only among the lower classes of the colony which forms the organism, Its whole system of government is also a democratic one, or at least, very unlike a monarchy. We liave not one single centre that lords it over all the other centres of the organism like an absolute monarch, but several, which have all an equal rank and are invested with exactly the same amount of respect and iiower in tlic organic colony. Three at least, of these centres can claim to be rcganled as the triumvirate which decides all sovereign matters relat ing to the oi-ganism ; they are the centres of consciousness, memory and volition. (At the same time it is a mere assumption on my part that these three facidties have established centres; it hm not yet been proved, an stance. In vain we persuade and convince ourselves, with all the powers of our judgment, that a certain action ought to be performed,— yet we do not do it. The consciousness is completely convinced, but the will pays no attention to it. Oi* we prove to ourselves with the most unanswerable armnnents that we ought to refrain from a certain action. The will listens, allows the stream of argument to flow past, and at last does the very thing to whieh the consciousness so strenuously objects. The highest centres are thus en- tirely independent of each other, they sometimes agree to aet, in concert, then again th(\v conflict and interfere, and in fact are contending for the supreme authority through- out tlie entire life of the organism. We have already seen, in the chapter, "Majority and Minority," that the highest centres require a very rich and complete de\'elopment to be able to produce new combina- tions, that is, to respond to impressions received from with- out with thoughts and actions such as were never conceived before, and which are entirely without precedent, while these centres, at a lower stage of development, act only \^ 134 Till FSYCIfO-FllYSIOLiMiV OF OKXTl'S AND TALKNT. MConliBg to the tmlitioiial and inherited way, that is, they do exactly as they have been in the habit of doing on similar occasions, and as was done l)y their parents before them. Ever3' form of activity that is repeatedly practiced, liecomes organic. That is to say, the relations which must exist between the nerve cells and the ner>'e fibres to pro- duce this activity, by frequent rei>etition tecome fixed and rigid, so tlmt it proceeds antomaticully. Notwithstanding all that Herbert Spencer miiy say against tlie introduction of illustrations and analogies in the explanation of psycho- logical processes, it is still a good way to make this ex- ceedingly diflScult matter intelligible to the uninitiated. Hence I do not besitote to introduce a crude and therefore all the more pertinent illustration to explain wliat is meant by this oi-ganic and inorganic vital actitm of tiic brain centres. The organic acjtion stands in the same relation to the inorganic, as the music produced by a music l»ox to that produwl l»y a professional pianist Tlie music Iwx plays the piece for whicli it was built correctly to the end, If it is wound np; but of course it can not play any other than this one piece. The virtuoso, on the other hand, can play eveiy piece the notes of which are placed l>efore hira, and, if endowed with unusual talents, will invent new com- iwsitions and play on without referring to tlie notes of others. In the average masses the brain centres are like the meclianlcal music box ; they play no pieces except those for which they were constructed, which have become organic In them. Who was the mechanic that arranged their works for the given pieces of music? It was the long line of progenitoi-s who kept playing the same com- posTtiona over and over again In tlie same way, until the instrument, from being originally played by freely moving fingere, became at last an automaton. In the exceptional men, on the contnury, the brain wntrea are like the virtu- HOW ACTIONS BKCOME ORGANIC. Id5 1 osos. They can play pieces that no one ever heard before. Their repertoire does not consist of a few pieces which they keep struinniiiig over and over again, ])ut changes con- stantly, and without any limitations as to number. One question still remains : why do frequently repeated actions become organic? Or to retain the illustration already selected : why does a freely played piece become fixed in the cylinder in the music l>ox by frequent repetition? My answer to this (^an be but a hypothesis, which, however, harmonizes with all that we know of nature's laws : I say that it is due to the operation of the universal law that everything in nature is done with the least possible ex- penditure of force. When the will or the consciousness have new combinations to form, they require a large ex- penditure of nei-vous energy. Each movement of the labor to be performed must be ordered and superintended. Now this expenditure is or)viated if it is possible to per- form automatically those actions wliieli are frequently rei)eated. Then a single impulse is sufficient— which can ha produced by some mere impression on tlie senses, or some command of the consciousness or will — to set the mechanism in motion, and the work is perforaied from be- ginning to end, without the highest centres having to pay any attention to it, tike part in it or issue any separate orders. This is surely the reason why frequently repeated actions are no longer controlled by the freely working highest centres, but proceed automatically, that is, organ- ically. This tendency to economize labor and energy by a transformation as comprehensive as possible, of free into automatic activity, is so marked that its influence is con- stantly felt not merely by the race but also by the individ- ual It does not require a long succession of generations to cause certain actions to become organic in the centres that perform them ; it is accomplished in a very brief space 1^ ' tl 136 THE PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOCIY OF OENICS AND TALENT. of time, iiiiicli less thiiri the life of a human being. P^ren the most energetic organism — that is, acconling to my previous definition, the most orijjinul organism, — sees his originalit}' become automatic, and although he may retain liis originality as regards other human Ijeings, he is no longer original compared with liimself. He becomes like a music box which mechanically reijeats the musical arrangements peculiar to it alone. This explains the reason why the most individual genius C(mic8 at last to have mannerisms, and the honest cobbler in the story was not so far out of the way in his criticism of the beautiful painting, when he remarked thiit it must have required years of ha!)it to produce a work like it Tlie automatic workings of the highest centnjs do not appear to the consciousness as ideas, but as emotions. Duly those forms of activitv which proceed from beginning t*» end in the consciousness, that is, which commence with some impression on the senses, becoine next a sensation, and after leading to some surmise as to their cause, are stoKMl away in tlic memory, and contriliute to form a judg- ment, which tlie will is particularly commissioned to exe- cute — those foims of activity alone are apprehende- tion to all that I still have to say in tins chapter, and I shall draw many other conclusions from it thmughout the { LIMITATIONS OF MAN's CONSnorSNESS. 137 renuiiiider of this woik. We must never forget that what we call the cciJisciousuess is m>t tlie entire organism but only one separate organ in it, compreliended in one brain centre, tliat it is, in short, not the consciousness, but a consciousness. Each centre has its own separate con- sciousness, of which, however, the highest centre of all,^ the one tliat Ibnus the foundation of our thinking Ego, of our intellectual i)ersonality, receives no intbruiation, or at most only an indistinct one. Our Ego, that is, the highest brain centre, learns nothing, or nothing exact, in regard to the processes occurring in the centres in the spinal cord and the sympathetic nerve. And yet, it is be- yond (lucstion that these centres have each their conscious- ness as well, although but a limited and suljordinate con- sciousness, so that they are conscious in each instance of the actions and the orders to be given to the tissues under their control, with which they are to respond to the excitation. We must imagine the consciousness as an inner eye con- templating the centres and their activity through a kind of microscope. The field of view of this microscope is com- paratively limited, the observing eye sees nothing of all that lies outside of it, nor even the beginning and the end of those pictures which extend across the narrow field of vision. The consciousness l)ecomes aware of the ultimate results of the vital activity of other centres, but not of their beginnings and course of development. When mem- ory slides some image across the field of view of the con- sciousness, it sees them ; but it sees and knows nothing as to how it was produced, nor whither it is gliding. The ease is precisely similar where the will is concerned. The consciousness sees the results of the vital activity of the will centres, that is, the combined movement of certain muscles, or a series of movements adapted to the end in view. But as to how the innervating impulse, that is, vM Mill ;i 138 TEB PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOOy OF GENIUS AND TALENT. tie iMiwer wliifh, atjtiiig tbroiigh the nerve conduits, causes the muscles to contract, is evolved, of this the con- sciousness is and remains ignorant The ways in which the consciousness tiikes cognizance of its own special activity and of that of the other centres, as they become visible tio it on Its circumscribed field of view, differ in ever)' respect. Its own operations, which it commences and finishes itself, and all the separate parts of which it lias prt^pared itself, leave no feeling of unceitainty and dissatiifaction in it. For they are ideas, as I said l>efore ; ideas, that is, things both bright and clear. The oi)erar tions of the other centres, on the contrary, of which it hi4S only a partial knowledge, over which it has no direct con- trol, whose separate paiis it can not distinguish with any accuracy, whose teginuings, growtfi and end it alike fails to see, are the cause of a cerUiin uncomfortable and strained sensiition, sucli as tlie eye exiieriences when it is vainly striving to see distinctly something very far away, veiy small or very dimly lighted; it is a realization of its own liraitiitiiins, a realization of its own weakness and in- completeness, a combination of curiosity and uneasiness, and the longing for increased knowledge. This sensation is emotion, which we feel in our consciousness as premoni- tions, longings, confused excitement, and vaguely defined wishes. The distinct and clearly defined work of thinking —this vital activity on the part of the highest centrc of consciousness, which I will call by the term cogitation, as opposed to emotion, is accomplishetl only by those more thoronghly ecpiipped individuals, who have the iK>werof piwlucing new com lii nations. The average masses, whose centres work automatically, who represent such combimv tions only as are already organized, are restricted to emotion. By far the largest majority of human beings never have a single clear, thorouglily illumined idea in FEW MEN HAVE THOUGHTS, ALL HAVE EMOTIONS. 139 their consciousness throughout their entire Hie. Their consciousness never sees any other than vague, dim pictures ; they would not be able to describe with any dis- tinctness what is going on in their minds at any given moment; every attempt to do this would sink at once into indefinite babblings and meaningless commonplaces witli- out relief. They live on emotions exclusively. Emo- tion is thus what is inlierited, cogitation what is individu- ally attained. Emotion is the vital activity of the race, cogitation, the vital activity of the individual. Notwithstanding the fact of their vagueness cniolious are subjectively more agreeable than cogitatiou, though they leave the consciousness unsatisfied and even uneasy ; this is owing to a triple cause. In the first place it is easier,— that is, it requires less expenditure of nervous energy, as labor performed automatically by the nerve centres is less trouble than free and conscious labor,— —and easiness is regarded as pleasure, and effort as trouble or pain. In the second place, the inability experienced by the consciousness to see with any definiteness the processes taking place in the centres which work automatically — the emotions— includes an element of anxiety along with an element of fascination and excitement. The consciousness endeavors to surmise what it does not know; 'it tries to picture what it can not see distinctly. And this activity on the part of the consciousness is nothing but the imag- ination aroused to action by the emotion. But we know by experience that imagination is one of the agreeable manifestations of the active consciousness. In the thiixl place,— and this argument has been already advanced by Darwin,— the most important activities of the organism are also those most frequently practiced ; those organic processes therefore which, as a general thing have become automatic through frequent repetition, are the most im- w im THE PS.YCH0-FHYS10'M)0Y 01' GENIUS AND TALENT. portaiit for the preservation of the iEdividiuil and of the race. And as these processes are apprehended by the eon- sciousness only hi the form of emotions, it follows that tlie organism ascribes the highest imfjortance t» the emotions as the most essential and important manifestation of organic vital activity, that is, in subjective terns, it expe- riences them the deei>est and the most intensely. The reverse of these tlnee ai-guments is true in regai-d to cogi- tation. It can not he experienced as more agreeable he- cause, in the first place, it is too difficult and inconvenient for the average organism, in the second plaxse, because it does not arouse that delightful play of the consciousness which we call imagination, and, thirdly, because at the irst glance it does not seem importtmt and essential to the oi-gimism, which knows that it has existed without it hitherto, and it has first to demonstrate its importance or utility by finding frequent opportunities to repeat itself, with appreciable advantiige to the organism. In this latter case, however, it soon liecomes organic and is transformed ii-om cogikition into emotion. These supiiositions throw liKht upon a nnmber of hitherto obscure phenomena. The Komantlc school, which prefers the old to the new, and cousidera the Middle Ages more "poetic'* than our own times, which raves over a ruin and calls a building adapted to its purpose and in good repair, an alwmination, this school has its wiots in the facts that old, traditional ideas arouse the centres to automatic action, and consequently, are apprehended as emotions, while the novel ideas, not oi^anic as yet, require an effort of the consciousness to consider them, and thus produce cogitation. The old stage-coach aroused emotion in the minds of the generation that last had used it, the railroad, cogitar- tion J thus the contemi>orarie8 of the great revolution in our means of transportation considered the stage-€oach i THE STEAM ENGINE IN THE POETRY OF THE FUTURE. 141 poetic, the niilroad dry and prosaic. The whole of poetry and its operation are based upon this radical difference be- tween emotion and cogitation. The substance of poetry is general human relations, circumstances and passions, that ts fre(iucntly repeated organic activities which have be- come automatic ; it is therefore produced by emotion and it arouses emotion. Even in its forms of expression it retains all the old ideas, not accidentally, but necessarily, because it is comprclieusiV)le that inherited ideas should appear also on the consciousness^ Held of view in the garb in which the ancestors transmitted them to posterity. For this reason "poetry still alludes to spirits and fairies and gods; for this reason it still anthropomorphizes natui-e and the affections ; for this reason it arms its heroes with aiTOW and club, instead of Henry rifles ; for this reason its travelers proceed from place to place on their noble steed, instead of taking the sleeping car ; for this reason it retains the cosmic conception of the infancy of our civili- zation. It has nothing to do with modern ideas and forms It does not feel at home in the views and institu- tions of the day. They are too new for it ; they are as yet not organized ; they have not yet become automatic ; they are not yet emotional, but cogitational, to express it in one word. For this reason every attempt to ^nve to poet- 17 a modern substance is utterly ineffectual. When some- times a rhymster sets himself the task of constructing what is called practical poetry, and introduces science into his verses he only demonstrates thereby that he has not the sli-htest intimation of what the essence of poetry really is. Pwtry is emotion ; to attempt to make cogitation of it would be like attempting to transform a dream into wide- awake reality, without its ceasing to be a dream. But the transition from cogitation to emotion will soon follow as a matter of coui-se. It is only a question of time. What is H-.J. I ! 1 ^'1' i 142 THE ■pSYCHO-PIIYBIOLOOY OF GENIUS AND TALENT. new today will he old a tliousaiid j^ears lieiice. What is individual todaj' will belong then to the race, ha\'ing been handed down from one generation to the other until it has become organic. By that time a railroad station will seem quite as ixjetic as a ruined castle today, a Krnpp gun the same as a lance, a reference to an electro-dynamic machine or to a bacillus as poetic as now one to the wings of song or to the nightingale's lament For we must not forget that all this old-fashioned partiphernalia of i>oetiy was at one time fully as new, that is, as cogitational as are now the railroad, modern fireanns and our natural science. At that time the knightly armor and the castle on* the moun- tjiin |ieak were considered just as prosaic and matter of fuct IIS we now consider a shooting jacket and a barracks, and nothing but what was old then, was suiTounded with the iioetic halo. This is not mere assumption, we have es- tablished data for this assertion. Almost all ancient peo- ples associated certain religious, mystic, and thus emo- tional ideas with stone implements, after they had been in the |K)sse88ion of bronze articles for centuries. The stone article was to the savage of tlie bronze and the preceding iron age, what all the mediaBval nibbish is to the senti- mental enthusiasts of our age. There are generations, ages, peoples, and epochs in which the automatic activitj surpasses the freely combin- ing activity of the highest centres, in winch emotion pi*©- vails over cogitation. Woman is far more emotional than man, as her highest centres scarcely ever attain to the most advanced state of development, whicli occurs much more frequently in man. The child, whose centres are not yet matured, and the aged person in whom they have al- ready tegun to decay, have almost nothing but emotions, without any cogitation. In sickness and convalescence, when the organism and thus the whole central nervous sys- EMOTIONAL KA<^KS, PK«)PLKS AND KPO(MlS. 143 ) tem, is still feeble, it is only capable of emotions. Mental affections first announce their appearance by the facility with which the person affected changes his moods, becom- ing morose and gay in turn, that is, by the variability of his emotions. The Chinese and the modern Latin races are emotional peoples; they allow themselves to be im- pelled by semi-conscious moods, that is to say, l)y the inherited automatic activity of their centres, and produce but very few individuals in whom the highest centres are powerful enough to restrain tliis tendenc}' to automatism ("to inhibit" is the technical psychological term) and pro- duce free coml)inations, that is to think for themselves, to iKi cogitational. The Middle Ages were one long single eix)ch of purely emotional character. What was traditional was all-powerful. The individual was entirely lost in the family, the corporation and the class. For almost five hundred years there was not a single l)rain centre that was capable of cogitation. Consequently the whole eix)ch had to be sentimental, religions and mystic, adjectives which none of them mean anything else than that lack of distinct- ness with which, as we have already seen, the automatic activity of these centres comes to the consciousness of the individual. The detailed explanations to which T have been devot- ing myself hitherto, may liave seemed somewhat discursive, but those readers who are not professional psychologists will find them of the utmost importance as a preparation to what is to follow. Now for the first time he can under- sttuid what I meant when 1 said that genius and talent could be traced directly to the degree of development ' attained l)y certain centres. In what part of the brain we are to look for these centres, whose special development is revealed by some special powers, this is something of which in most cases we are still ignorant. But it is not ill: I w I! li I 144 TEE P8YCHO-Pll,YSI<»L<>logii*:il iiiiiitoiiiists, iiiul tlie ex\mi- mental pathologists, ptnliups iilso the systeiimtic exiiiiiUKi- tioii of the brahis of speckill}' emhieiit uieu, which has only reeeiitly been commenced, may rcsult in detennining the exact locution of the diiferent centres. Those people who consider intellectual ;i(tivity to be the work of a soul, that is, of some nonmaterial guest in our material I »oy exact science altogether. We need not dwell long upon the subject of talent. Tt has no anatomical foundation. Tt is not due to any special development of tlie centres. Neither in essence nor even in quantity, does the talented man differ from those i)eople in whom we do not perceive any talent. I am almost tempted to express this thought still more abruptly, and say that there is no such tiling as talent. At least, we must not attempt to express anything specific by this term. Taleiit— that means, industry and opportu- nity, opportunities for practice and development. Ever}' normal human being, which tenn excludes all forms of dis- ease, decay and a lower degree of develo})ment than that attained by the average type of white humanity at the present day, has in him all that is needed to perform any Ibrm of activity in the way that is generally said to reveal talent. He has only to devote himself exclusively or mainly to the one form of activity he selects. We can make whatever we choose out of any perfectly healthy average child, by drilling it for it, with common sense, sufFieiently long and sufficiently strictly. Witirthe proper training it would not be a very difficult task to form regi- ments and even armies, of whatever you want, artists, authors, orators, scientists, without any previous discrim- ination. l)y lot and chance, as recruits are enlisted in the army, and every man of this army would have to be accepted unconditionally as a man of talent. On this tacit assumption the whole of our system of education is founded. The school takes it for granted that all the scholars are equally endowed and are able to attain the same aims of cultivation ; hence it has for all the same 141; THE 1'SYCHO-PIlVSIO!.(NlY OF OENirS ANT) TALENT. systems of instruction, the siiiiie lessons, the same sul^ects H) lie studied. If, however, tliere hnppeu to be satisfae- torv nod unsatisfaetory scliolare, this is owing to tlie greater «r less iiidostrv of the pipils-with the exception of tliose of imiierfeet, that is, non-typical, diseased development--or to their opiKHlunities for devoting themselves more or less exclusively to the tasks allotter it, and attain in it a reasonable if not exceptional measure of success, and afterwards dis- cover the secret of his birth, and find that lie was descended from a fr.mily which had already given evidence of the possession of talents in the same calling; if this test were to ]>e ivpeated sufficiently often to exclude the operation (»f chance, then and not until then would it be demon- strated bevond a doubt that a certain talent is hereditary. But I repeat that I am not aware of any such test having been made up to the present time, and I doubt -very much whether it ever will be made. The circumstances are entirely different in the case of o-enius. Genius is not a synonymous term for the pro- ficiency attained by ample practice. It is not a normal type exceptionally well developed, as the result of favoi- •iblc conditions. Genius is an exceptional organization, dif- fering from the normal organization. It is founded upon the special development of some one nerve centre, or some- times possibly of more than one, or even of all the centres. The o-cnius therefore performs all actions controlled by his 1511 TUB FSTC!10-l*IIYS.I0L0(ir OP CIBNIl!« AND TALENT. iinnsiiallj (levelopi'd centres, in an exceptionally perfect manner, far wore perfectly than pei'sons of the average type, even though they liad eiiltivated these same centres to the utmost limit of perfection attainable l>y them. From a strictly pliysiolojricnl point of view, every instance in whicli any centre or even any tis«n(^ is developed to an excpptioiud degn^e, largely surpassing the average stand- anl, ought to he properly descrilied as genius. An ex- tremely robust man, able to perfonn continually the severest labor, exi)osed to all the inclemencies of the weather, deiuivcd of sleep, with insufficient fd and clothing, and yet with it all, not impairing his health, such a man might *l)e called a genius in lite-force, as his lowest centres, tliose which perforin the simplest tasks in the organ- Ism, llie most secret mechanic.-d juid chemical processes in the living cell, must be excei)tionally perfect in him. 3Iilo of Oroton was in this sense a inuscnhir genius*. The muscidar tissue had attained a degree of development in him beyond that of any otlier lunnan being known to the ancients. He was thus alile to do tilings which had never Ijeen done before him, which did not seem possible to the average man, and in ilict, were not possible. He wrenched trees asunder with liis hands. This was a way of splitting them wliieh had never occurred to any one before, and in which no one could imitate him, no matter how much he practiced. Tlic utmost he could do was to attempt it on much smaller and weaker trees. There must certainly have been talented muscles which succeetled by persever- ing practice, in accomplishing on > oung saplings the feat that the muscular genius alone was able to accomplish on full grown trees without precedent and practice at the fii-st attempt. There might be a man with su(;h a perfect sense of liearing that, as he strolled along the street, he could distinguish what was said in the innermost rcM)ms of the MILO OF CROTON. 151 houses, and even what was whispered. He would be a hearing genius. Without any trouble and as a matter of course, he would learn things and discover secrets of which the average man could not even conceive a suspicion. But such a fonn of perfection is not called genius, because it is not exclusively human. All living beings' have the lowest centres controlling the vital pro- cesses, and if we should call the robust man mentioned alx)ve' a genius, a frog that had remained alive in the lieart of a stone for untold centuries, or a cat that had sur- vived six weeks without food, imprisoned in some pipe among the ruins of a conflagration, would have a right to the same title. In the same way the muscular develop- ment of Milo of Croton would only cause him to rank with some especially strong elephant, or at most, with some ex- ceptional flea that could jump much fiirtlier than any of his companion fleas, and a hearing genius does not surpass the animals among whom the different senses are developed to a perfection incomprehensible to us, such as sight in the day-birds of prey, and scent in the dog. Some animals have certain faculties that presuppose a nerve centre pecu- liar to them alone, and absent in man. The gymnotus eel is al)le to give electric shocks ; the carrier pigeon can find its way home again across an entire continefit; certain carnivorous wasps have such an exact knowledge of the anatomy of articulates that they pierce with their stitigs, whicli are guided with infallible certainty, all the nerve ganglia in the rings of a caterpillar's body, with the excep- tion of the ganglia in the head, so that the caterpillar is completely paralyzed, but yet does not die, and the living body serves the wasps' brood for food, but can not injure them by any movement in tlie narrow nest. All these foculties are wanting in man. He will probably never acquire them because he does not need them. He has far H 152 THE psYeiio-priYsioi.oGY of ukxits and talent. more tlwin their eqniviilciit in liis Iiiglier. more coniprelieii- sive faculty of reason. He eonstrucls for hiiiiself more powerful sources of electricit}- than those iK>8sessed by the gymnotus. With the compass and map lie finds his way just as surely as the eaixier pigeon. He studies anatomy until he is even more proficient in it than the wasp. But still it is possible to imagine a human Iwing born as a freak of nature, that i^ssessed the electric organ of the gym- notus, or tlie caiTier pigeon's organ of locality, or tlie organ that rephiees in the wasp the text books of anatomy and physiology, or an organ wliieli might enable him to perceive the movements occurring in tlie brain centres of otliera, as we can now |»reeive with our eyes and ears tlie movements of another kinil : that is, to read the thoughts of others. A luiman l)eing thus endowed would accom- plish things that we could ncjt help considering marvellous. He would be credited with supernatural lowers liy all but the most advanced minds. But lie would hardly ^^e called a genius. We have to restiict this term to those beings who have developed to an exceptional extent — not some sub or su|)erhuman centre — but some one of those which telong solely and exclusively to the human race, one of those highest centres possessed l>y man alone in its most perfect foi*m. This limitation of its meaning precludes the possi- bility of that misuse of the wonl to which even those most cai-efid in their huiguagc are often liable. I regi-et the necessity of introilucing names, but I am afraid I can not dispense witli them as ilhistrations to make tliis argument |M»rfectly clear. We call a Liszt, a Makart, a Dawison, a genius. This is no more appropriate than if we were to call some esiMicially muscular man, like tlie example above, a ireniiis. In all these three cases the whole matter is merely the exceptional state of perfection to which certain TKE MlsrSK OK TFIK TKRM OENinS. 153 of the very lowest centres have .itUiiiicd. To ik-iiioiistratc this we must analyze the apparently very complex plie- nomeiui of a pianist, painter and tragedian, and determine their simple ultimate factors. Let us examine first the pianist's playing. It is pro- duced l)y certain motions of the fingers, hands and arms, (we can omit the comparatively unessential motions of the feet), and by an impulse which causes these motions to be more or less violent, slower or faster, more even or more irregular. There is thus a tlescending series of organs to be taken into consideration: first, a nc^rve centre which gives the impulse for motions of various degrees of intensity and of various kinds, changing with extraordinary rapidity ; sec- ondly, nerves which are sensitive enough to transmit this impulse with the greatest possible velocity and accuracy, so that it will not undergo the slightest change in the de- gree of its intensity nor in its special character ; and finally, the muscles of the upper limbs, which maintain their rela- tions to each other with such precision that their movements are always accurately prop«)rtioned to the impulse received. AVe know that the labor of cxmibining the movements of the muscles for a given purpose — co-ordination — is per- formed b}' certain centres, and we have a right to assume that the musical impulses are evolved in somo sensory centre which is incited to automatic action by impressions iini)arted chiefly by the sense of hearing, but also l)y some other senses and In-ain centres as well, it" these impressions appear always or frequently in conjunction with those of the sense of hearing. These non-acoustic impressions, which are usually combined with the acoustic, are princi- pally amatory. Primitive man, like a long list of animals at the present day, probal)ly accompanied his love-making with noise, (rhythmical ci-ies, singing, etc.), and hence our brain centres have retained an organic association of the 154 THE PSYCIUVPIIYSIOUM.Y OF (IKSllS AND TALENT. activity ..f the centre of propagation with the o.ie of the «en«xti«n of rhythmical «onucl. When one of Uu.e centres is excited to action, the other is affectwl sj mixithctuullN with it Love thns amuses musical impulses, and the opera- tion of the ceuti-c controlling the musical impulses aiyuses the centres of love (p,x.pagation). B..I tins is far f .-om being the only association of the kind. Every scene, every event in the exterior world includes ele.nents that excite not one sense alone, but all the senses to action. Let us take toi instance, a sunny morning in spring. The sense to « lucu this scene principally appeals is of course the sense ol si-rht, iu* the most essential element in it is the suushme and its iHiculiar effect upon the landscape. But In^sules this, the sense of smell m.-eives the impression of the odors of the grasses mid flowers, of the ascending vaix.rs and the ozone in the air, the sense of feeling, the impression ol co^Jness and a certain degree of moisture, and the sense ol hearing, of the voices of certain animals and l.mls and the rustling of the foliage, eU-. Each. separate complex scene or phenomenon consists thus of impressions upon several or uiion all of the senses ; these various impressions, some of which are stronger and others weaker, are retained by the memoiy as a whole, and a certain one of these impres- sions upon any one single sense ai-onses in the other cen- tres of perception and sensati.m the impressions usually m*ived in conjunction with it. In this way the charactx^r- istic fragrance of a summer morning in the country or in ■1 forest will rectill the whole scene of the summer inoruing to our memory, mid with it all the rest of the iininessions upon Uie senses which combined to form the ,;,s,..,l,lr: Ihns the sensation .,f c-oolness and freshness, the impivssum on the hetuing of the cock's crowing, the lark s s.mg. the dogs Uirking and the ringing <.f the l«lls. etc. Any exc.U- tion of any one sense, even v.-.y light, can thus exc.i*!, with PSYCHOLOalCAI. ANALYSIS Of THE PIANO PLAYER. 155 the rest, the centre of the sensation of musical sounds to activity, the character of this activity varying with the nature of the excitation that produced it. This sympa- thetic activity of the differoiit centres proceeds entirely autoniatieallv and cntirelv independent of the couscioii.s- iiess. The coiisciuusiiess is not even able to distinguish what sensation it is wliieh excites another centre to action, because it is not accustomed to analyze and determine in the phenomena observed Iiow much each sense has con- tributed to produce the general effect, but usually considers some one sensation, because it is the most intense, the only essentiid one, and entirely neglects all the rest, as they are weaker and subordinate. Not to digress too far from the real subject of my arguinent, I will only introduce one illustration. An impression upon the sense of smell, the odor of the oil paints, or of the varnish, forms one of the factois in the effect produced by an oil painting ; but it is so feel>le and of course so unessential in comparison with the impression upon the sense of sight, that we are scarcely aware of it, and overlook it entirely, so that we never con- sider that the centre of smell has anything whatever to do with the composition of the idea, "oil-painting," on our con- sciousness. Nevertheless, the mere impression upon the centre of the sense of smell of an odor similar tp that of oil paints or varnish, is sufficient to excite to action all the other centres that usually combine with it to produce the idea, "oil-painting"; and thus the idea of a painting will occur suddenly to our consciousness without our being able to explain to ourselves how this image happencHl to be recalled to our memory. This is one of the most imi)or- tint manifestations of the association of ideas ; it exi)lain.s the moods which creep over us we know not how ; it is also a plausible explanation of most of our dreams, that when tfee centre of consciousness is working feebly or not iHi • ■ 1111' 15f» THE FSYCHn-THYSIOUMlV r>F (SKNirS AND TALENT. at all, the seoMlioii ceiitivs iwcivc eveii very slight ^im- pressioiis from without, aiKl aiitoBiatiealb- work them lutt, the idi'us of wliich they form a constituent part. To he a Ihie performer on the puiiio forte an iudividual has there- fore to f iiltiU tlie following conditions : he must [xissess a very sensitive nervous s3-sti>ra, that is, one exceptionally perfeet in transmitting impulses, his centre of sound sensa- tions must he readily incited to impart impulses hy ex^ ternal impressions, not merely those on liis sense of hearing, but on all his other senses, acecnding to the mech- anism explained iilwve, and his centre of co^>rdniation must he esiM-eiallv perfect, so that it can ci.nibine the most delicate, aeeiirate ansition. It is the siiecial characteristic of a Beethoven. A centre of sound sensations develoiied to this extent, combined with an equally well developed centre of co-onlination, pro- duces an individual who is not only a genius as a com- poser, but also notable as a performer, like ti Mozart for THE IXDlVinUALITY OV A PIANIST. 157 instance. If the former centre is exceptionally complete, while yet the latter centre surpasses it, the result is one of those composers whose music never produces its full etfect unless it is played by himself, or strictly according to his si>ecial style, that is, according to the peculiarities of his centre of co-ordination. Chopin is an example of this latter class. An exceedingly well developed centre of co- ordination in combination with a centre of sound sensa- tions somewhat but not much above the average, produces a wonderful performer, grand in the rendering of the music of others, but almost below mediocrity in composi- ti.>n, like Liszt, who is called a genius by a mistaken application of the term. His genius would be due to an exceptional development v)f the centre of co-ordination, as our analysis has just shown, and be thus a co-ordinating genius. But the centre of co-ordination is one of the Fower centres, and is not exclusively human. Its excep- tional development gives the possessor of it no right to the :ipi)ellation of a genius, which must be reserved for the periection of the exclusively human centres. Some animals disphiy an especially fine power of co-ordination, such as the monkeys, whose feats in climbing and balancing not many human beings are al)le to imitate. Even in man, :uiy especial inoficiency in comparatively low •forms of activity, presupposes very perfect centres of co-ordination. For instance, it requires a very highly developed centre of co-ordination in the lower limbs to be a fine skater. The stune state of i>erfection combined with a well developed eentre of sound sensations produces a surpassing dancer ; on the other hand, combined with well developed centres of will— that most essential element of courage, and of judgment— instead of a remarkable centre of sound sensa- tioiis, it forms the psycho-physi(jal groundwork of an exceptionally fine horseman. A high development of the I 158 THE l''SYCIItl-PHYSIOL TALENT. ceiitiT of oo-ordiiiatioii in the iipi>er Hoibs is the cause of a long list of faculties, vaiying with the higher centres, as the latter are developed and communicate their impulses to the co-ordinating centre. The combination of tlie centre of co-ordination with that of sound sensations will prwlwce, as we have seen, a finished pianist; the former centre combined with the centres of will and of judgment, will produce an excellent fencer. A curious parallelism exists thus between the dancer and the pianist on one hand, and between the horseman and the fencer on the other. Hence to siMjak of a pianist as a genius is no more appropriate than to apply the term to a dancer, a liorsemau or a fencer. This topic is of vast extent and interest. An adequate discussion of it would fill volumes instead of chapters. We could combine almost infinitely the dillerent centres, and see what especial skill would re- sult from these combinations. But tliis must be left to the reader, who may be stimulated to attempt it by the preceding examples. One other question I will touch ii|)ou, without discussing it in detail. What would become of a man with the organic qualifications of a Liszt, if he had been born before the piano or any other instrument that could be made to produce sounds by the motion of the hands, had been invented? In that case there would not l>e the characteristic combination of the two centres, of which one is exceptionally and the other fairly developed. Each centre would work for itself alone, and the result would be that instead of a Liszt, there would be an indi- vidual distinguished by great proficiency in all manual tosks__such as tying or braiding knots; he might even prove an expert sleight of hand performer— with musical inclinations which might manifest themselves merely as a general love of song, or in attempts to sing or whistle. Kvea the activity of the noblest of the centres that com- IH ANALYSIS OF THE PAINTER'S ART. 159 hine to form the pianist, whose most advanced stute of de- velopment actually docs produce a genius, like Beetliovcn, thill is, tlie centre of sound sensations, is still nothing but a purely automatic, purely emotional, centre, and falls below every cogitational form of activity. The work of the less noble centre of co-ordination is not altogether an iiilellectual, nor exclusively human form of activity, but is found in many organisms outside of the human race and even in an extreme state of perfection. Let us now apply the same method of analysis to the artist, to a Makart, for example. A work of art, a paint- ing, is also something very complicated, whose simple cle- ments play the most varied parts in the production of the general effect. What wc have to consider in a painting is first, the effect of coloring, next, the form, and lastly, the meaning conveyed to the mind, called eith3r the subject or the composition. Our centre of light-sensations is so consti- tuted that it experiences the impressions of certain colors and combinations of colors as agTeeable, and those of others as disagreeable. 1 am not able to explain with cer- tainty the cause of these differences in these subjective sensations. Helmholtz and Bruecke have published the results of their glorious investigations on this subject, and have made it seem, at the least, very probable that the sub- jective effect of the combination of certain colors as well as of certain tones, depends upon the proportion which the number, extent and form of the vibrations or wavt;s bear to each other, these vibrations })eing prol)ably the cause of the changes in our organs of sense which we recognize as colors or tones. And thus, according to these great scientists, all our agreeal)le and disagreeable sensations in regard to colors and tones, have their origin in the uncon- scious determination of the simple or com|)lex arithmetical and geometrical proportions between the movements of the lliO THE PSYrlKhlMIYSloLiHiY i>V (lENirS AND TALENT. ether or iiiiitter. But Im this tis it iiiiiy, it is enough tor our purpose that we kuow by exiierieuce that there are agi-eeable and disagreeable colors and coml)inations of colors. An especially finely develoiied centre of light-sen- sations will not ooly enal)U' :i niiin to perceive the impres- sions of colore with especial intensity, and thus to Uikc especial delight in certain combinations of colors, and U> he especially reiMslletl by discordant ones, but it also ena- bles him to discover the colors and the combinations of colore that will produce an extraoixlinarily agreeable etlect. The centre to which we are now referring is one of the lower cerebral centres, like all the centres of sense. It is by no means an essential attribute of humanity, but is distributed tlut>ughout the animal kingdom to its very lowest oitlere. We surely have a right to assume that many kinds of birils, and even I >utterflies, Ijcetles and molluscs possess it, m the brilliant coloring of tlicse creatures would l»c otherwise perfectly inconii)reliensiblc ; but since Darwin, it has Ijeen generally conceded that the; Iieautif ul coloring of animals is the result of natural selec- tion, and is thus due to tlie fact that the individual adorned with it was singled ont from preference by the individuals of tlie opposite sex, which would \m inconceivable ifit did not presuppose in these individuals a sense to pereeiM! tlu; eiect of coloring, a ilelight in beautiful colors. As regards his color-sense alone, that is, his delight in beautiful colors, man is no more than on a par with the magpie, the pea- cock's eye bnttertly, and tlie sea anemone. The ciiltivalion of the centre of light M*nsations is a practice in art, and is sufficient to enable him to produce works of ail with agree- ably diversifietl and brilliant^hued flat surfaces, such as carpets, tapestry and frescoes, with harmonious blendings of colore. In tact, those paintings tliat owe their origin to the impulse of this centre will pmbalily produce the same now WE INTKRPRET WHAT Wll SEE. Ul effect as a handsome oriental rug, although as works of art they rank much lower, not being as perfect in their way as the rug. The second element in the effect produced by a paint- ing is the form. The picture is an effort to deceive by means of the external appearance of certain objects. The means employed by the artist to accomplish this deception are drawing and coloring. (Of course T only make this distinction for the sake of convenience, as at bottom, what we call drawing is only one form of the effect of color; drawing deceives us in regard to things also, by the use of different degrees of light in opposition, that is, colors, usually black and white.) In reality we see things accord- ing to their situation in space, according to their distance from us and from each other, and in form, size and lights, as they are situated above or beneath us or to one side. The same l)all looks large to us when it is near, it looks small when it is at a distance from us ; sometimes, if it catches the light properly, w^^ see a full half of it. in otlu^r cases merel}' a larger or smaller portion of it ; we do not l>ecome directlv coi^nizant of the fact that it is round ; we only know that the rounded side lying nearest us catches the light in a diflerent way, and shows an entirel>' different tint from the parts more remote. Notwithstanding the fact that the reflection of this ball upon the retina varies with every change in its position, we trace it to one and the same cause or object, that is, w^e recognize that it is the same ball, whether we see it large, close at hand, or small, in the distance, or only a half of it, or a still smaller portion, or lighted from in front, lightest in the centre and shading off to the edge of the circular reflection, or, lighted from the rear, darkest at the centre and growing lighter towards the edges. What we have h^arned to understand from these reflections or images upon the retina, is the 1fi2 THE PSYrilO-PHYSlOl-rx.V OF flENIlIS AND TALENT. kiiowlediie obtaiiie*! h}- the (!*M>iM;niti<»n of tlie other senses and of t lie judgment. In reulity we see nothing bnt flat iinaigc^s, nil in the same pkiiie. the ditlerent parts of which have different sizes, different colors find different degrees of lirightness. Tlint these tlitfereiiccs in coloring, size and llgliting corres[K>nd with differencs in the ilist:incc. tliat the ol)jects wh it'll fippear to he all in the same plane, arc in reality in difftjrent planes — we have learned l»y experience. To know that a flat image of a circnlar shajjc \vhosc centre catches the light differently from the edges, represents :» hall, \vt? mnst at some time lia\c felt of the ol)jcct tlins re- flected, we nuist remember the motions which onr liand had to make to enclose the snrfacc of this object: tlu' sonsc of feeling has to come to the assistance of the siMise of sight t\m] complete its work.. In tla» sam** way, in cn*der to know that a house appearing to ns small and indistinct, is in fact hirm\ bnt far a.wav. we must at some time have traversed the distanee between ns and some such small ami indis- tinct olijcct, and rcnuMiiber the motions that our limbs were obliged to make bcforti the snuUl and indistinct ol»- ject became lai'ge and clearly dt»fineil. The artist copies objects, not as tiiey really are, but as they are habitually retlcclcd upon the retina, that is, in their apparent rela- tions as to size, color and light, and if lie portrays them accurately, we act according to acquired habit, and inter- pret this plane painting as we are aceiistl:uie images on our retina, that is. we see in some little dot, painted with indistinct outlines, in spite of its small size, a large house, in spite of ihe fact tliat it is there on the canvas,, onl}* a few feet from our (»ycs. a house in the distance, and in spite of the fact that it is there upon the same expanse of cam as with many otlier olijects, a house sitiuited in a far more tlistant jjlaiu^ than the trees or otlier objects in the foregrouiHl The work of interpret- WHAT WE SEE AND WHAT WE THINK WE SEE. 163 ing is not carried on in the eye, of course, but in the higher centres, the centres of memory and judgment; it is only commenced by the impression on the sight. To pro- (Uice an image in our consciousness the painter has there- fore only to bring some single characteristic of the object in question before our eyes, the outline, for instance, or the contrast of light and shade produced by it. Memory automatically adds to this all the remaining charactei-istics, because it is accustomed to see this characteristic ahvnys appear in conjunction with the rest. Thus we often believe we see things with our eyes in a painting which in reality are not at all upon the canxas, which therefore our eye can not see at all, but which are added by our brain centres, which complete automatically the idea merely suggested by the artist in his i)ainting. I will illustrate this by merely one example. We think we see in a painting the single hairs in a man's beard, the single leaves on a tree. Bnt the artist has not painted either hairs or leaves, but merely a certain effect of the light on an irregular brown- ish or greenish surface ; but as we have often ol)servcd this light effect on beards and foliage, and have learned by experrence that it presupposes hairs or leaves, our memory supplies the hairs or leaves where they are lacking in the picture, and in our brain centres we see something that our eyes do not see at all. The art of the painter consists therefore in finding and imitating the special characteris- tics of objects just as they are reflected upon our retina in reality. He can represent all the characteristics or only a few of the more essential ones. The outline alone reminds us of a single characteristic— the boundaries of the object, and thus requires extensive assistance from the brain centres, if it alone is to suggest the idea of the object. The perspective outline gives us at once an idea of the relations existing between the objects in space, as we 111 Ik lfi4 TriE PSYCHO-FHTSIOLOaV OP llEXIt'S AND TALENT. iuc] JLigaiii ill it the fipp:iretit cliffereiiees in size that we observe in reality*. A shaded drawing supplies another cliaraeteristic to tlie olijeets, tlie differences in the effects of light and shade, which in realitj- assists us in esti- mating the size and distance, and thus tlic construc- tion of the ol»ject. Ami color, finally, supplies tlie last characteristic which the sense of sight is capable of per- ceiving,- and a painting correct in outline, perspective, effects of light anetween the workings of his highei- centres and of his sense of sight To retain tlie illustration cited above: when he sees foliage, he has to ilissect this sight and come to the conclusion that lie does not see leaves with his C3-e8, lint only a peculiar effect of light and shade on an iiregular greenish surface, wliicli his memoiy has to resolve first into the images of single leaves ; he must tlierefore represent in his painting not the leaves, whicli he imagines he sees, and doc^s not really see, Init the peculiar effect of light and shade on the irregular green surface, whicli is all that his eye perceives in fact. The uninitiated have not the least idea, what a difference there is between what our eye rcidly sees and what we imagine we see, when we arc I'ccciving any given impression n|xm tiie sense of sight. IJiit the painter has to ignore the idea completely, and confine himself exclusive- ly to the impression tliat pi-oduced it. Tliis analysis pro- ceeds unconsciously. It is founded on a faculty |iossessed by the centres of llght^sensations to inncnvato the muscles DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PAINTING AND A PHOTOGRAPH. 165 employed in the acts of drawing and painting, without any intervention on the part of the higher centres of memory and judgment. The hand can thus draw and paint only what the centre of light-sensations is actually perceiving, that is, sees, and not what the higher centres add to com- plete or alter it. This direct connection between the centres of light- sensations and those of m(>tion, which is tlie organic foundation of the special artistic talent, does not entirely exclude the intervention of the higher centres however. These latter select from among the constituent parts of the impression received by the centre of light- sensations from some object, those few that are most essential, which they retain, and imitate by muscular move- ments; while those that are unessential are entirely or [lartially neglected. The feeling, in many cases uncon- scious, that a certain characteristic, an outlire, or an effect of light, ought to produce the idea of one special object ratlicr than another characteristic, is what raises the work of tiie artist from a mere activity of the senses and muscles to be an intellectual activity, and causes a painting to be something different from a photograph. But after all, this activity is yet of a low standard; it proceeds but to a very limited extent from the highest centres and does not appeal to the highest centres. Its result is a woFk of art the sole merit of which is truth ; but an uninteresting, in no way stimulating truth. An individual who iwssesses the gift of portraying the impressions received by his organ of sight alone, without any admixture of what mem- ory and judgment have supplied to complete them, will be able to dmw still life exceedingly well, and if he has a sense for colors, also to paint. He will become one of the classics in so far as his treatment of asparagus and oysters is concerned, and become fixmous in the portrayal of kettles and glassware. But beyond this he will not attain success. 166 THE FSYCnfl-PIIYSIOLOOT OP CIENIL'S AND TALENT. And now we come to the third element to be taken into consideration in studying a painting, to its intellectual imiwrt, that is, to what it represents, its substance or idea. The same talent of analysis that enables the painter to separate the really optical appearance of objects from their psychical image, and to seize and reproduce tlie most essential elements of tliis npijearance, in an advanced state of cnlilvation makes it ix)ssible for liim to determine and portray the really optical api>earance of events. We are fdike unable t«) see the roundness of a ball in actual reality, IIS we are to see a iiio\ enient, or a state of emotion. In the former case, what we actually see is a certain charac- teristic play of light on a flat circular surlaee. in the lattei*, a succession of images or a certain position of the muscles of tlie fare, t!i(» limbs and the l>ody. But expi-rience has demonstnited to us tliat tlie fiat ch*cidar surface when it has a certain effect of liglit uiion it, represents a liall, and in the same way we know by experience that a succession of identical images, appearing in turn upon our retina, and requiring movements of tlie muscles of our eyes and necks to continue to see them distinctly, signif}' movement on the paii of the object seen, and that a frowning brow and clenched fist indicate anger. The painter now seizes the optical characteristic which Is peculiar to anger, joy or soiTOW, for instance, and as he faithfully reproduces it, it arouses in onr minds the idea tliat he has acttually por- trayed on his canvas tlie cjoiTCSiKinding frame of mind which, in reality, it is irai30ssil>le to portray. The limita- tions of the painter's art can l)e readil}" deduced from the foregoing. In the firet place his art is purely historical; that is, it can only reproduce events identical or similar to those we have already seen, with whose optical character- istics we are already familiar. If the painter were to rep- resent ©vents of which we know al>soliitely notliing, we LIMITATIONS OF THE ART OF FAINTING. 167 would be looking upon an optical appearance which we would not know how to interpret ; the retina would receive impressions, but the memory and the judgment would not be able to add anything to complete them, and the painting would merely produce an impression upon the sense of siLdit without evolving any idea, which the painter, with the means at his command in his art, is not able to give, but only to suggest, and which our own mind has to con- struct upon the foundation of the suggestion supplied by the painter. In the next place the painter's art is not able to represent any very specific mental processes, but must restrict itself to broad, ccmiprehensive generalities. It is beyond the power of this ai-t to exi)ress the special thought : ''I am dissatisfied with the way I have spent the last ten years, and particularly with the career I have chosen ; " at best it is able to express in general terms the sentiment: "1 am dissatisfied." Why? Because dissatisfaction in general has a visible characteristic, namely, a certain ex- pression and pose, while dissatisfaction with one's career or with a certain portion of one's life, has no special optical characteristic, peculiar to it alone, to distinguish it from dissatisfiiction in general. These limitations to the art of painting cause it to be a purely emotional and not at all a cogitational art. All that is entirely novel, aH that is purely personal, all that is not associated with familiar ideas, is l)eyond its reach. But the genius of tlie painter must consist in the first place, in his al)ility to discover in even very complex phenomena, certain optical characteris- tics peculiar to them and to them alone, which yet would escape all but the closest and most searching analysis, in the second place, in his reproducing with extreme fidelity to nature, the characteristics which he has perceived, and, in the third place, in his selecting momentous events as the subject of his representation. The mere possession of 168 THE P8YCH0.PHY810LCKJY OP GENIUS AND TALENT. . talent, and of mmm, the laek of it, woeM never enable a painter to compete with the genius, at least on the first and second pohits, as it wonld be beyond Ms power to analyze jipi^eaninces into theu* essential optical character- istics and portray these clmnicU^ri sties with fidelity; all that snc'h a jKiinter can do is to iinitote the artistic analysis of the appearances of objects alreaily provided him by the genius. We have thns the simple elements which combined, produce a genius in painting : the sense of color, the alnl- ity to distinguish belween what is really seen by the eye, and what is added to tliis by tlie mind to complete it, and lastly, the iwwerof tracing componnd events to the optical clianicteristics peculiar to tlieni alone, which at once aflbnl a clue to their meaning. Tlie two former faculties are low and automatic; tlie possession of tliem tlineF OEXIUH AND TALENT. ing fxcepteci—while in a Courbet a higher ceatre dekiins the image on its uiieoiiscioiis journey from the retina to the painting liand, suppresses some unessential element, and allows only the specially diaraeteristic ones to pass. And lastly, a sense of eolor alone produces a Makart, who unde^ stands the art of combining agreeable colors, like that Aus- tralian harlequin bin! in its artificial bower, but does not see nor reproduce the ol)jects with optical fidelity to nature, nor have the power of representing significant events or sights by their essential visible characteristics, so that others can understand thein and receive tlie emotions from them, whicli the events or sights tliemsclves would be able to arouse. It would therefore not lie allowable to call a Makurt a genius, unless this title were applied also to the bird mentioned aliove. We can disi)ose of the actor much more rapidly. His peculiar faculty cwnsists in the development— obtained by special cultivation— of those organic attributes which arc the most uuivci-sal, not only among human beings but also among the higher animals, viz., the faculty of imitation, and the alternate operation of ideas upon movements and of movements upon ideas. There is no need to waste any words upon the feculty of mimicry. Everj' one knows what it is, and it will be the task of one of the ensuing chapters to show upon what organic grounds it is founded. The alternate operation of ideas and movements, on the contrary, may require a few words of explanation. All impressions from without which are transmitted by the sensor}' nerves to the centres in the spinal cord or brain, arouse a ceitain activity in these centres, which is appre- hended by our senses as an impulse to movement, (It may be just mentioned here, without entering into details, that even when the impression from without apparently incites merely to conscious mental activity— cogitation— or 'o. ANALYSIS OF THE ACTOB S ART. 171 to the unconscious, automatic lu'iivity of the higher cen- tres— emotion— and yet not to any pereeptil)le niovenii'iit. an impulse to movement, even if only very feeble, is im- parted by it, which especially sensitive persons, as the well-known "mind readers," are just able as yet to perceive in some cases.) Let us take a coarse and therefore easily understood example. The sensory nerves in the point of a finger which heedlessly has come too near a hot stove lid, will transmit an impression to the spinal cord and the brain which will be perceived in the lower centres in tiie spinal cord as indefinite danger, and more definitely in the hi^dier centre in the brain as pain, that is, as the pain of a burn. The centre in the spinal cord replies to this intima- tion by an impulse imparted to the muscles of the arm, which produces a rapid withdrawal of the hand, and the brain centre, by an impulse imparted to tlie muscles of the face, lungs and throat, which is followed by a pninful contortion of the features, and the utterance of a cry. The sensation or conception of the pain of al)urn has thus produced certain impulses to movement. Vice versa, the same movements,— that is, the abrui)t withdrawal of the hand, the characteristic contortion of the lacial muscles, and the utterance of a cry produced by violently contract- ing the intercostal muscles and the diaphragm, while the muscles of the larynx are held in a position to correspond will arouse in the higher brain centres the sensation or idea of a sudden pain in the hand. Any one can try the following experiment: let hiin lirst determine in what movements the moral condition of in-ofound sorrow attains to visible expression with him— be it the head bowed down, a characteristic expression, a certain tone of the voice, sobs, etc.— let him begin now to imitate accurately all these muscular movements and very soon he will notice, perhaps to his astonishment, that his frame of mind has 1,72 THE MYCHO-PHYSIOLOGY OP UKNIU8 AND TALENT. Iiecoiiie n pioloiiiidly sorrowful one. He will tlieii even perceive lliati even those pIienoineiMi attendant iiix)n this emotional state, which can not be produced by an effort of the will, as tliey are not caused by the movements of the transverse muscles, such as the shedding of tears, gloomy associations of ideas, pictures of the imagination, etc., will make their appearance. We must constantly bear in mind that the nerves which run from the extremities of the l>ody to the centres, these centres and the nerves which run from them to other centres or to muscles— form one single appa- mtns, in which the connection of the separate parts has be- come organic and automatic, and that the apparatus goes tln-ough the whole round of its automatic work, no matter at what point it is set in motion, nor whether it is started in the correct direction or reversed— whether from ideas to move- ments or from movements to ideas. This is tlie mechanism with which the actor perfoms his special work ; it enables him to make the given moral conditions, viz., those of the person he is representing, i^erceptlble to the senses. He can perform this task in two ways, with and without the aid of the consciousness. In the former case he can observe ac;cu- rately and keenly, the muscular movements, that is, the gestures, mien, fluctuations in the voice, etc., by which persons oi^anized in certain ways, the tranquil, the nervous, the well-bred, the vulgar, etc., are in the habit of visibly and audibly manifesting certain given frames of mind, such as cheerfulness, distrust, reveries, etc., and then endeavor to imitiite these combinations of movements by sheer will power. Or he can imagine tlie mental state he wishes to i)or- tray, and assist this conception by a few of tlie movements by which it is usually followed, and then leave to these the taak of arousing the conception to increased vitality by their reflex operation upon it, until it proceeds unconscious- ly and automatically to impart all the impulses to movement THE ACTOR IS LIKE A CHILD OR A SAVAGE. 173 which pertaiu to its sphere, the \'ohintary as well as the involuntary ones. The former method is the more difficult and it is always extremely iiucertaiu. It requires the same faculty of eluse ol)servalion and analysis of appear- anc-es that we have seen to l)e necessary to the artist The actor iiiiititiiig with the aid of the consciousness, must have studied the frame of mind he wishes to represent; not a single one of its perceptiljle forms of expression must have*cscaped him, tuul he can not restrict himself, like the painter, to the optical characteristics of the phenomenon, but must also take the phonetic into account. If he can not find in his memory the type he wishes to imitate, or if he has not studied it sufficiently closely, his imitation of it will ]>e awkward and incomplete, and will be unable to im- press auy one as true to nature. The second method, on the other hand, is easy and certain. As the same mental conditions are manifested in the same way by all human beings, with very slight individual variations, and as the actor is also a human l)eing, as one might say, he has only to let it quietly take its own course, after he has once evolved the mental state he wishes to represent; the visi- ble manifestations distinguishing it, all of them without exception, the voluntary as well as the involuntary ones, even tears, the expression of the eyes, etc., wilLmake their appearance in turn without fail, and a perfect fidelity to human nature will be attained. The only thing needed to carry tliis method into execution is a very mobile and un- settled state of Ijalance among the brain centres. The actor must not have any fixed dispositions, a ijowerful consciousness or an original personality. The cogitational activity of the highest centres must not predominate over their emotional activity, and neither pre^-ent nor interfere with their automatic work. A distinguished actor must be like a gun whose trigger works with exceptional ease and 1;74 THM P8YCMO-PHY810LOGY OF GENIUS ANB TALENT, raiiiditf. As the slightest touch will discharge the gun, so the slightest external impressiou protiuces in the actor that mental condition he wishes to depict, which then automatically pi-oceeds to make itself dul}* manifest. This, It is evident, can only \m expected of a brain whose highest centres are unoecupieci, as a general thing, that is, have no mental labor of their own to perform, and are consequently alwa3's ready to respond to an}' sense-impressions with the eorresponding dispositions and conceptions. Where is there any room left for a genius here? The possession of eogitational talent of observation and of a conscious repro- duction, onl}' creates a second-rate actor. Those very actors who are the most distinguished, the truest to nature and the most effective, must be men of inferior mental capacity, with a vacant consciousness and a dwarfed per- sonality, and their centres must be eai)al)le of being ex- cited to automatic activity with an almost morbid facility. Is it not characteristic of this art that physical beauty and a finely modulated voice, which are among the lower organic forms of perfection, are two of the most essential requisites in the production of an effective delineator of mankind ! The distinguished actor has thus very properly the psycho- logicid constitution of the child and the savage : the check- ing (inhibiting) activity of the centres of consciousness has with him no influence upon the automatic workings of the centos of nK,vement it is the task of cducatio; in our civilization to practice and strengthen this very inhibiting activity; we are trained not to tdlow our emotions lo manifest themselves in movement impulses, in cries, facial cntortions and gest.„^, and w re^L this ideal in fact U, such an extent as to entirely suppross the automatic work- ings of these centres, so Lt we avoid every or almost even* perceptible outward manifestation of our emotions, »»} do not betray by any external mdication what is JUDGMENT AND WILL. 175 / taking place in our consciousness. The actor who should attain to this ideal of education, would no longer be able to practice his art. Thus as we have seen, it is a mistaken use of the word genius, to apply it to an instrumentalist, in music, :i combiner of agreeable colors, in painting, and an actor. The exceptional development of such low centres as the centres of co-ordination or of light-sensation, or the exceptionally animated reciprocal action of move- ments and the mental conditions that usually produce them, do not give any more claim to the title of genius than an exceptionally perfect muscular development or :ui exceptionally far-seeing eye. Genius is founded ex- clusively on the exceptional perfection of the highest and therefore purely human brain centres, whose activity we recognize as the judgment and the will. The judgment and the will, these arc finally the faculties whose combined operation raises the human being above the animal, and whose exceptional development raises the genius aboAC the average man. By his judgment and will alone, and by noth- ing else, is the genius a genius. What is the judgment? It is*an activity which independently evolves new ideas out of conceptions imparted to it by impressions on the senses or V»y some preceding activity on the part of tlie judgment. The matter manipulated by the judgment is supplied by the memory, which derives its contents from the impressions on the senses, and by the reason, which interprets these im- pressions on the senses. The laws, according to which the judgment works, form collectively what we call logic. Thus the impressiou on the senses is received by the centres of sensation, it is interpreted by the reason, re- tained b>' the memor}^ and finally worked over by the judg. ment in accordance with settled laws, the laws of logic, into new conceptions which no longer depend on any direct 17fi' THE PSYCHO-PllYSloHH.Y f'F (IKXITS AND TALENT. peiveptioii by tlu« senses. An extremely simple illustrii- tioii will make tliis eletir I'veii tu Uiose readers who Iiiire never lietird of siieli :i tiling us the science of psycliolojry. Mj senses, feeling and siglit, informed me once when <>ii! of doors that water was falling n|)on me and that the sky was black. 3Iy reason coraliined these two impressions rilion my senses and interpreted them into the idea : it is raining from tlie clouds. My memory retained tliesc im- pressions and the interpretation of tliem. If 1 now see heavy clonds gathering and the other conditions (lempeni- ture, stiite of the barometer, direction of the wind, etc..) whicli usually accompany rain, occur again, my judgment will produce from the conception of rainfalls in the i)ast, supplied liy the memory, a new conception,— the reason having determined the conditions of rainfalls on the basis of tlie logical law demonstrated l)y experience, viz., th:tt the same causes under the same circumstances will pro- duce the same effects : it is gciing to rain immediately, a conception that does not proceed from any sense-imi>res- sion, as of course an event still in the future can not pi«^ dnce any impression uiM>n the senses. That jutlgment also proceeds from the activity of some one oi-gan, some Inaiu centre, and can not l>e a phenomenon occnmng ontside ol* matter, as is assumed by Wnndt— so great and profound u thinker in other respects— is proved by the feet that it be- comes organic, that is, automatic, like ever}- other form y inheritance in the race. To retain my simple illustration, we fmd that even very low classes of animals, even W(»rms. arc capable of forming a judgment, from the occniTeiiec of certain phenomena, for instance, that it is going to rain, as they take the precau- tions nsnal among tliem when it is threatening rain, crawl- ing a.way. boring into the groiuid. etc. But tlie more „ THE PYRAMID OF AN AVKRAOK MAN's JUDGMENT. 177 perfect a centre of judgment the easier it is for it to form new conceptions out of the matter supplied to it by the senses, the memory and the reason, and the more remote will these concc^plion?; be in time, space and nature, from the sense-impressions which su[)pried the first im- pulse towards their formation. What distinguishes it, therefore, from the less perfcc^t centre of judgment is the fact that the latter does not v>^aii(ler far from its secure foundations— the sense-impressions and the memories— in the formation of its nev/ conceptions, that is, judgments, while the former evolves a judgment out of the sense- impressions and memories with a marvellous audacitj', and tre:tts this fruit of its own labors as a production equal in value to the material provided by the senses, memory and reason, and deduces other judgments from it by the laws of h)gic; and this deduction of judgments from eaeh other, this accumulation of new conceptions on the frequently very limited foundation of some sense-impression, it carries on fieely and easily to limits that seem unattainable to the average man. We can illustrate these relations between the impression on the sense and the judgment l)y compar- ii!g the faculty of judgment in an average man to a pyra- mid, whose base is the sense-impression, while the judg- ment forms the pointed apex ; the same faculty in a genius, liowever, to a pyramid in a reversed position, the point be- low representing the sense-impression, which spreads out into the vast square of judgment. Thus the possession of a powerful centre of judgment enables one to surmise the most complex relations between things, from a single im- pression, a glance, a sound ; to foresee the future from the present, and often the ftu'-distant future ; to discover from a phenomenon the laws controlling it ; to know beforehand the result of the operation of ditlerent phenomena upon eaeh other, before even a chance for observation has been aflbrd- 178 THE pSYCllO-FHTSlO'LOaY OF OE^JHTS ANB TALENt. eel. Such a centre of jii(lgiin-iit proaiuc^ n knowledge of hu- man nature, to use the popuUir term, a iniistery of eireum- staoee^s, the most eoniident guidance of self and of others, wis4lom, sagacity and inventive powei-s. The judgment 1 have heen defining thus for implies the acceptation of causality ; by tliis I mean that it takes it for granted that eveiy phenoinenon has some cause, that tlie same causes onder tlie same conditions pitxluce the same effects, and that the extent of the cause is in exact proiKJrtion to the extent of the effect. Nt»t unless this is assumed doc« the material supplied it Iiy the memory become of value to the iod«rment which then can fonn new conceptions out of the pictures held up to view l)y the memory, and draw con- elusions from the past in regard to the future, from what is near, in rt^gai-d to what is far away, and from what can be perceived by the senses, in regaitl to wliat lies lieyond the immediate sphere of the senses. 1 can imagine, how- ever, a centre of judgment so powerful tliat it would not require any material to be supplied by the memory, that is. it could dispense with causality altogether and would be able to transform the sense-impression at once into new conceptions, based upon the recognition of a new individ- ual law in every new phenomenon— conceptions that would not be mere projections of pictures of the memory into the future, but conditions of the consciousness, indi- vidual in the fullest meaning of the word, and repeating nothing that was known liefore. However, I will not spin out this idea any further, but confine myself to the limits of eontemiKiraneous humanity. We mentioned that next to the judgment the will is the most essential element of genius. What is the will? In my reply to this iiidical question I have the audacity to differ not only from Kant, to whose surpassing greatness I how in humility, but also from Rilwt, whose keen pene- DEPINTTTON OF THE WILL. 179 V' .11, ti-ation and thoroughness as an investigator I acknowledge with pleasure. Kant explains the will as the commander, the law, and the obeyor all in one. This is a transcenden- tal definition which is hardly more comprehensible and lucid than the theological explanation of the unity of the three natures in Ood. Ribot's definition, according to which the will is the reaction of the Ego upon the influ- ences of the external world, is much too comprehensive and includes in ftxct the entire consciousness, which, as far as it is founded upon sense-impressions and depends upon sense-impressions for its very being and significance, (I will pass over the query as to whether we need accept ti priori conceptions), is likewise nothing but a reaction of the Ego upon external influences. But a definition which leads inevitably to the assumption that the consciousness and the will are identical, can not be correct. Those per- sons who regard the universe from the standpoint of the natural sciences, must agree with my assertion : the will is the activity of a certain nerve-centre, whose sole function in the organism is to produce contractions in the muscles, or, in other words, to impart movement-impulses. Philo- sophically this definition of the will approaches that of Schopenhauer; as Schopenhauer calls what produces move- ment, the will, not only in organic but in inorganic objects as well, and as, in its ultimate analysis, every phenomenon is a movement or a resistance to some movement, and thus a passive movement, we might define the will as the essence of all phenomena and thus of the universe. I do not go so far as this. Notwithstanding the theoretical similarity or, if you like, even identity between the fall of a stone and the step of a man, we are justified in distin- guishing between these two forms of movement in practice, and refusing to apply the same term to what produces the fall of the stone and what produces the step of the man. [■•• 180 THE PSYCHO-PHySIOLOGY OF flEXH'S ANB TALENT. We will tliiis call the cause of movement-impulses, will, in the organism alone, and consider the will as an attendant phenomenon of life alone. That it is possible to produce mttscular contraction not merely by the will but by other agents, for example, a galvanic battery, is not an argument against the correctness of my definition, as, in the first place, it does not exclude the possibility that the same phenomenon may be produced by various causes, and, in the second placed it does not prove that the will itself is not a kind of electric phenomenon, as we speak of the ** nerve-current," the *' nerve-ijower " and the " nerve-fluid "' — terms that owe their origin to the idea that tlie will-centre is a kind of electric battery, and the movement-impulse transmitted to the muscles, a kind of electric current. It may perhaps lie urged in objection that the will can also produce phenomena which can not strictly be called muscu- lar movements ; for instance, it is undeniable that we make an effort of the will to recall a thing to our memor}^ ; but memory is not a muscular activity. To this I reply that in fact the memory oteys the will very imperfectly, and that it is my opinion that the will only acts very indirectly upon tlie centre of memory, in such a manner that it causes con- traction and expansion, that is, movements of the muscles In the vessels that carry blood to the centre of memory. The organ is excited to increased activity by this rush of blood, and it then may at times supply to the conscious- ness the wished-for image, which could not l)e obtained from it as long as it contained less blood and was working less vigorously. So I shall continue to maintain that not a single psychological fact contradicts my assertion that the will is the activity of an organ which imparts move- ment-impulses. The next questions to be answered are, how the simple movementimpulses imparted by the will can produce movements adapted to the end in view, and MECHANISM OF TllK WILL. 181 I J how the will itself can be aroused to its specific form of activity. We can find the reply to these questions if we will l)oiir in mind that lite is in every respect ti very complex phe- nr)menon, and especially, that all the higher foi-nis of vital activity are the result of the interlocking combined action of different organs. The will merely impels the muscles to con- tract ; nothing else. The centres of co-ordination, however, receive this impulse and transmit it to those muscles that are to be contracted, to produce the intended, appropriate movements, and not merely to produce them in the it appropriate under given circumstances; if tlie organism is sound, normally developed and well- lialanced, then this idea is sufficient to induce the will to issue a movement-impulse. That the movement is com- pleted is then coinmnnicated to the consciousness by the impressions received through the muscle-sense. The pi-o- cess thus is like this : the juowerful development of tiic centres of judgment and of will forms thus the organic foundation of the phe- nomenon which we call genius. A one-sided development of the will-centre is not sufficient to produce a genius. Giants in will-power may be able to overcome all the obstacles that interi^se to prevent the execution of their ideas of movement, whether they api)ear in the form <.f objects or of men, of laws or of customs ; but they will not be able to work out indeijendently any importiuit and aiipropriate ideas of movement. Hercules performs his iv-,:- :• \v^^'- ^ but it is at Eu,r}-stheus' bidding. A man ONE-SIDED DEVEL0P3IENT OF WILL. 187 endowed with will alone becomes, at tli-* very best, a general under Alexander the (Ircat, a Seleueus, a Ptole- mmis or one of Napoleon's marshals; he liecomes the famous minister of some monarch with genius, or, as hap- pens far more fre(iuently, the immortal sovereign of some minister with genius ; sucli a man, at the worst, becomes a sensualist, with whose orgies the country and history resound, or a criminal who inspires all his contemporaries with horror— a Ciesar Borgia, or a Schinderhannes. In the former case, he executes the ideas of movement con- ceived by the centre of judgment of some genius; in the latter, the partially or entirely unconscious designs evolved by his own centres. A one-sided development of the centre of judgment, on the other hand, will produce in itself, a genius, only the character of this genius will vary according as the will-centre is more or less developed in coiuiection with the judgment-centre. A genius in judg- ment, without any especial will-power, produces a great thinker, a philosopher, a mathematician, perhaps even a scientific "in v(;sti gator. In these occupations there are none but tiie slightest dynamic obstacles to be overcome, none but the feeblest contracting impulses to Impart to the muscles; the judgment is not required to evolve coarse ideas of movement, but reveals its extent and power in another way, by deducing endless, novel, abstract ideas out of the sense-impressions— from a simple contemplation of certain numbers, the Pythagorean principle, the theory of numbers, integral and differential calculus ; from the fall of an apple, the laws of gravitation; from the perceptions of the consciousness, a system of philosophy ; from the established facts of the doctrine of development and paleontology, the theory of evolution of Dai*win. I can not agree with Bain in his classification of genius, when he yanks the philosophical genius above all the rest. My 188 THE FSYrilf»-I'llYSl!ienomenii aijparent to the senses. Even to express or write them out, Ji certiiiu uetivity on the part of some muscles, thus, an imi.ulse of the will, is required. If tlie will of some genius in judgment should happen to hick even the power of eausing the muscular activity of writing or speaking, his siiblimest conceptions would be nothing but purelv sulyective conditions of his eonscionsucss, of which no *one Init himself would ever have the slightest suspicitm. Thcv would be molecular processes occurring hi his br:iin. and would only lie perceptible to others to the degree in which tlun' might l»e lelt liy unoUier brain thniu'di spac-e, and tlius tind expression jit last, if any one eoidd'ciHiceive of sueli a kind of perception, which would be a miud-reading of the highest order. When a will-centre of good, average formation appears hi comliination with a judgment-centre of superb develoi>- inent, the world obtiiins the great min«ls engaged in iiirther- iiig the cause of experimental science and in inventing. The nature of the endowments and activity of these twc» classes is praetieally iilciilical. The exiK^rimentalist as well as the inventor deduces laws from their observation of phenomena, and imagines the material conditions which would enable him to make these laws he has discoveml oiMjratc according to his own arbitrary will. The difler- cnce lietween them is not a theoretical, only a practical one The former is content to combine such circumstances and conditions as will show him whether the processes apparent to liis senses coincide with the ideas evolved m his judgment : wlietlier t\ law discovered by his brain- WIIO WOULD NOT HAVE INVENTED Or'N-rOAVDER. 18f> centres really does operate in the material world ; the lat- ter, on the other hand, tries to create such combinations of conditions as have for their sole purpose the promotion of the comfort of mankind, using the word in its most com- prehensive sense. But we must be careful to avoid an error here. A disco^'ery. an invention need not be necessa- rily the production of a judgment-genius combined with a sufficient amount of will-power. Chance may have had something to do with it. The monk, Schwarz, was not looking for gun-powder when his mixture of sulphur, salt- peter and charcoal exploded in his mortar, and Professor Galvani had not the least idea of discovering a hitherto unknown force in nature, when he hung the leg he had just cut from his frog on a copper hook. But on the whole, I am not inclined to concede to chance more than a very limited share in the great discoveries and inventions. An extraordinary power of judgment is after all required to observe an unaimiliar phenomenon with accuracy, to recog- nize at once that it can not be explained satisfactorily by any facts known at the time, to discover its causes and con- ditiijus and deduce new ideas from it. Chance thus is only then the starting point of a discovery or invention, when it has some great cogitational mind for its witness. The emo- tional average man with his automatically working brain, is deaf and blind to all phenomena which are not covered by his inherited and organic ideas. If the mortar had ex- ploded before the eyes of some average man instead of Schwarz, he would have crossed himself and believed in a diabolical apparition, and at the utmost, have learned from his observation that he must beware of meddling with sulphur again. He w^ould never have invented gunpowder. Accidents pregnant with significance and results are con- stantly occurring before the eyes of men, and have been always thus occurring. But some extraordinarily power- 190 THE PSYCHI>PliYSK>LOOY OF OENIl'S AND TALENT. ftil jiulgiiieiit lias firat to witness tkem before they eiiu be comprdKiided, and their laws and inferences discovered. The entire substtince of all phenomena, the foundation of nil liiologieal, chemical and physical science, and of all the inventions in the domains of steam, electricity and me- chsmies, has existed nnchiinged for all eternity, and it was all there for the human beings of the Age of Stone just as much as for us, today. But before it could be understood :uid mastered the judgment had to be developed to an ex- tent fur Iwyond that attained by primitive man and even by ihc uncieiits. There is no doubt, either, but that at the present day we are suiTOunded by phenomena of the most womli-rfiil kinds in just the same way, which we pass unno- ticed, which we fail to interpret and whose laws we do not altiiiiiit to discover, simply because there is no one living at the present time with a faculty of judgment sufficiently powerful to enable him to evolve any conception as to their causes and possible effects from what is apparent to the senses in them. But it is extre-mely probable that there will be men of genius some day to whom this will lie possible, and even easy, and our descendants on the face of the earth will not be able to comprehend how we could have passed by these most striking phenomena, deaf and blind to them, just as we can not understimd why men had not discovered thousands of years ago our modem explo- sives, steam engines and applications of electricity. If we now dismiss the co-oi^eration of chance, which as 1 have en- deavored to prove, has contributed but very little to the success of great discoveries and inventions, the fact re- mains that attempts to '*ask nature reasonable questions," as Bacon expresses it, which are framed with conscious purpose and intention, and to which we expect an answer already more tban half divined— that is, the systematic labors of a IU*ert Meyer, a Helmholtz, a Koch-presup- THE OENIUS IS NOT SENT131ENTAL, 191 pose a genius in judgment, and a well organized will-centre. The co-operatiou of tlie will-centre is necessary because it is a very important matter in experimenting and inventing tornnterializcthe ideas conceived by the judgment-centre, which materialization, however, can only be realized by muscular activity, which agtun is only to be produced by im[)ulses imparted by the will. When finally the will-centre is developed to the same extraordinary degree as the j udgmentrcentre, when a man appears, a genius in both judgment and will, we salute one of those phenomenal beings who change the course of the history of the world. Such a genius does not find expression in thoughts and words, but in deeds. His judgment pro- duces new and individual ideas, and his will is energetic and powerful enough to convert them intc* actions in spite of all obstacles. He scorns the more convenient wa^s of making his ideas apparent to the senses, viz.. by sounds and signs, and attempts those in which there is the great- est amount of resistance to be overcome. He thus does not talk or write, but he acts, that is, he disposes of men and of the forces of nature as his ideas suggest. This kind of a genius becomes whatever he wills, and does whatever he wills. He discovers continents. He con- quers countries. He rules nations. His career is that of an Alexander, a Mahomet, a Cromwell, a Napoleon. There is no limit to his sway as far as humanity is concerned, unless there happens to l)e some genius with equal or superior powers of judgment and will among his contemporaries. He can only l)e defeated by some force of nature stwnger than the foice of his will. A hurricane might have annihilated GoUnnbus; sickness cut off x\lexander in his prime; a Russian winter brought disaster upon Napoleon. The judgment-centre can van- quish even nature itself in its conceptions. The will-centre W2 THE rsYriio-piivsioLOfjT of cienius and talent. is only able if) overiM'jwer Uiiisc forces that iirc weaker than its own energy. The organiz:ili(»ii of sncli a genius of jiulginent and will entails iipon him a partial and in extreme eases an entire lack of all that we call sentiment and ai)i)reeiation of art and the eraving ftjr beanty and lo\'e. Ilia powerful centres transform all impressions into clear ideas, and evolve perfectly eooscions judgments out of them. There is no automatic activity, witli the possiljlc exception of the lower centres of ci>-ordination and nutrition; the higher centres work in an original way, and not according to the inherited pattiirns. There is an almost entire absence of dim, partially or entirely unconscious emotions. The genius is not sentimental in the slightest tlegrec. He tliercfm-e produces the impression of severity and coldness. These tciins, however, do not express anything excciit that he is fiurely cogitational and not emotional. It is also an itlio- syncrasy of this kind of an organization that the genius is \ery inaccessible to the !inishc , and not in imitation of any precedent They must have tlie raw material of sense-perceptions to transfoi-m it into new ideas accowiing to their own peculiar proc!ess. They can not endure the productions of previous digestion on the part of the judgment of othei-s, that is, raw material of sense- perception already converted into ideas in some otlier brain-centres, thus just these intellectual peptone, as it were, which form the onl\' food the average man is able to assimilate. At this point of my coesiderations, a menacing ques- tion arises. If genius is the exceptional perfection of the judgment and the will, if its activity consists in the crea- tion of new, alistract conceptions, and in their concrete realization, what Is to be done with tlie emotional genius, T ,. POETS AXr> ARTISTS NOT PROPEBLY GENIUSES. 193 the poet and the artist? Have I any right to concede that the poet or the artist can be a genius? No, this right is in fact extremely dubious, to say the least. Let us recall what it is that really constitutes emotion. The sense- impressions are transmitted to the proper sense-centres; these sense-centres incite other sense-centres to activity, viz, those that are accustomed to receive impressions conjointly with the otiiers ; they arouse the centres of will and of co- ordination and produce some action on the part of the organ- ism — if no more than some expression in the eyes, some change in the rhythm of the heart's palpitations, or some cr\', in repl}^ ; all this automatically, according to inherited lial)its that have become organic, without the intervention of the judgment, which has only an obscure, partial knowl- edge, an undefined suspicion of the processes that are occur- ring in the lower centres. These processes, talcing place out- side of the consciousness are just the emotions. The sole task of poetr}', music, and the plastic arts is to produce emo- tions. The}' all try to start those processes in our organism, by the means at their command, which are caused in a nat- ural wa}' by a certain series of sense-impressions, which we perceive as emotions. The lyric poet with words, the mu- sician with tones, and the painter with colors, endeavor to induce our brain-centres to enter upon that form of activity which they usually perform when incited thereto by the senses conveying to them the impressions which may l)e produced by a beautiful and love-inspiring being of the opix>site sex, of an enemy, a destructive element, a suffer- ing fellow-being, or a certain season. The more accurately' they apprehend and reproduce the special characteristics of events, representable by their art, viz., the intellectual, expressed in words, the optical, and tiie acoustic, the more closely will the emotions excited by them resemble the emotions which the events themselves would have pro- 194 THE PSYCHO-FHTSIOLOOT OF 01NTUB AN1> TALENT. (luced. Any production of the arts of poetn', painting, etc., which does not arouse any emotion in us, is not recognized by us as a work of art, no matter how much our judgment may be convinced that it is intelligently conceived, and executed with vast expenditure of energy and skill and tlie surmounting of great obstacles. The effect of a work of art tlnis depends upon the automatic activity of our centres ; but this activity is only caused by impressions which the organism and the whole long line of its progeu- itors have been accustomed to receive ; this excludes all crenuine noveltv from a work of art ; it must have, in order to produce any effect, old, accustomed, fii-ganut impressions for its main imi»rt But that which we liave learned to recognize as peculiar to the genius, is his ability to form new conceptious differing from all tliose known hitherto, and to convert them int4> phenomena apparent to the senses. But how does this harmonize with the art which is exclusively occupied in repeating impressions that are oleen already stated. The de- \i'lopment of bone-tissue can not produce a genius, as large lM>ues are not peculiar to the liuman race, l)ut are foiuid in whales and elephants as well ; no more can tlie dexelop- meut of muscular tissue, which distinguishes a ^lilo of Ci-o- ton, but does not niise him above the rank of the stronger animals; neither are tlie sense-centres adapted to form the oi-ganic foundation of Ji genius, as the condor will always surpass even the most perfect human eye and its centre of lightsensations, while in acuteness and delicacy of hearing man will never be al)le to compete with certain kinds of antelopes, etc. Even tlie highest centres are not purely lunnan as long as their perfection does not reach beyond automatism. For the lilgher animals are also capable of automatic reactions of the organism, when impressions lire received from without, and these reactions are unmis- takably apprehended by their consciousness as emotions. Actions and the psychical excitations of love, hatred, revenge, fear, and affection, which accompany them, can be observed in the dog or the elephant just as well as in man, and the only difference between animals and men in this resixjct is that the emotions can lie aroused in man by tlie artificial imitation or 8ymbolizati the senses, remote both in time and place, they give eviitence of being legitimate nieml)ers of the same family of geniuses as tlie founders of states and discoverers. But tliey are incomplete in so far as the ideas, conceived by tlieir judgment in magnificent per- lection, remain in tlieir brain, or at the most only liecome apparent to tlie senses in tlie guise of written or 8i>oken words. They have no direct influence upon men or inani- raale objects. They do not cause any phenomena of move- ment. Another's will has first to \m incited to action by their ideas before the processes taking place in their centre of judgment can cause any processes outside of their oi^anism. Next to these three chisscs of genius in ita cogitational form, next to the subduers of men, the sub- duefs of matter and the mere thinkers, come last of all, the emotional geniuses, who are distinguislied from average humanity by the greater force of the automatic action of their centres, but not by any special original development, and who can only arouse partially or entirely unconscious .1 RANK OF THE POET. 199 emotions in other people, without being able to impart any new, conscious ideas to them, nor any conscious impulses to movement. Among these emotional geniuses then, the poets rank highest, for in the first place, their judgment plays an important piirt in their work, and in the second place, they produce their effects through a medium, which of all those inediums apparent to the senses is by all means the best adapted to portray the conditions of the conscious- ness, this supreme substance of all art, and this medium is lauiruaoe. While artists and musicians are restricted to the €r criterion of the rank of the genius is thus not the eflbct of one personality upon another, as this effect varies according to the higher or lower development of the fieople upon whom it operates, and the gi-eater or less degree of their cogitational i)ower,— it is the more or less exclusive- ly human character of the brain-centres, whose exceptional development is the psycho-physical foundation of their personality. And as the highest and uKisi human brain- centre is the judgment-centre, the development of the judg- ment is the sole recpiisite to a genuine genius, although it requires a corresponding development of the will to make the creations of its judgment-centre apparent to others. The judgraent^genius, up to the present time, is the most consummate t} pe of human perfection. Whether the organic development of mankind is to proceed farther, and what direction it will take, this none but a great judgment- genius could divine, by means of his faculty for drawing conclusions from given conditions in regard to what is most remote in time and space. SUGGESTION. The reader has now learned my ideas in regard to the way human progress is accomplished. It does not move Ibrward with a broad front to the battalion, with officers for the rank and file. A very small minority of path-find- ers go singly in advance ; they force their way through the thicket, they blaze the trees, erect sign-boards, and lead the way ; the masses then follow, first in small groups, then in dense crowds. Each advancement of humanity is the work of some genius, which performs the same functions in the race as the highest brain-centres in the individual. Tlie genius thinks, judges, wills and acts for mankind ; he converts impressions into ideas, he divines the laws of which phenomena are the expression, he responds to all incitation from without with appropriate movements, and is perpetually enlarging the horizon of the consciousness. Humanity at large does nothing but imitate the genius; it repeats what the genius has done before. Those individuals who are normally constituted, well and evenly developed, do it at once, and almost equal the pattern. We speak of them as talented. Those individuals who fall below the average standard of the contemporaneous types of human- ity in one or more respects, only accomplish it later and after strenuous exertions ; their imitation is neither skill- ful nor faithful. These are the Philistines. In what way now does the genius produce his effect upon the masses? How can he induce them to think his 204 gUGOESTIO'N. thoiiglits after him, to imitate liis actions? Sni)erfieiality is ready wit li tlie obvious reply : *' Example ! Imitation 1 " Witli tliis rcadv answer we tliink we have said everj^- thing. But ill reality it explains nothing ; it neither gives OS to understeni! why men and especially animals have that instinct to imitate, nor by what means one l)eing in- duces another to let his brain-eentres and muscles work in the same way as those of the former. Here is a man who thinks or does something. Here is another man who inwajdly thinks the same thoughts, outwardly repeats the same action. I can not help considering the thought or the action of the one as the cause, the thought or the action of the other as the effect I see the example and the imitation. But a chasm yawns between them. I can not see the tie that connects them. I do not know yet how the abyss between the cause and the effect is bridged over. We stand here tefore a similar difficulty to that confronting cinematics or the science of moving forces, which, it is true, establishes the fact that there is such a thing as motion, and determines its laws with greater or less certainty, but yet has never made the slightest attempt to explain how the motion of one Ixxly is communicated to another, how force leaps through the intermediate space not mied with matter, from one atom to another, and oper- ates upon it. The inability of the human intellect U> imag- ine how force or motion, which in itself is not material, but merely a condition of matter, could cross a substanceless space, a vacuum, between atoms, is in fact the strongest intional objection against the doctrine of atoms which has governed philosophy since the days of Anaxagoras, and up- on which onr present science of mechanics and chemistry is founded ; it is this inability which necessitated the accept- ance of thai utterly incomprehensible ether, which is sup- posed to surround the atoms, and which has induced some HYPNOTISM. 205 of the most profound miuds of till ages and even of the present day, to prefer the theory of the unity and continuity of matter tliroughout all space to atomical philosophy, as it is called. Psychology can overcome this difficulty I believe, far easier tliuu the science of motion. It can appeal to a phe- nomenon, only recently observed and studied, which is in itself quite a satisfactory explanation of the fact, proved by experience, that human beings influence each other mentelly, that human beings imitate others. This phe- nomenon is suggestion. One word of explanation for those who mny not hap- pen to know what is understood by suggestion in psychol- ogy. AVe learned in the preceding chapter that all motion is caused l>y the will, and that the will is induced to impart its impulse to movement upon conscious excitation from the judgment, or upon unconscious automatic excitations of an emotional nature. If now these excitations which impel the will to aclivit}* do not proceed from an indi- vidual's own brain but from the brain of another, if an individual's will becomes the servant of another's judgment or of another's emotions, and canies into exe- cution ideas of movement which originated in another cen- tral nervous system, then we say that the actions of this individual are "suggested" to him, and that he is under the influence of "suggestion." Suggestion can be best studied, of coui-se, when it is morbidly exaggerated. This is the case in hypnotism. An individual susceptible of being hypnotized, and thus, as a general thing, of an hys- terical organization, is put into this extraordinary- state of the nervous system, which has not been satisfactorily ex- plained as yet. The one who has hypnotized him then tells him: "Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock you will go to X street, No. so and so, ask for Mr. Mayer, and stab 206 SUOGE8TI0N. Mm with a kitchen kiiife which you will take with you." The hj-pnotized individual is then awakened and allowetl to depart. He has not the slightest remembrance of what happened to him in his unconscious state. He does not know Mr. Mayer, perhaps has never Ijeen in X street, and besides all this, has never injured even a fly voluntarily. But the next morning he takes a kitchen knife, stealing it somewhere if there is no other way of obtaining it, goes to X street, rings Mr. Mayer's bell on the stroke of eight, and would certainly proceed to stiib him, if Mr. Mayer had not been informed of the experiment and token the necessary precautions. The individual is then seized, disai-med and interrogated as to his intentions. As a rule, he at once admits his criminal intent; sometimes he commences deny- ing the whole matter, and only confesses upon some pressure. If he is asked why he wanted to commit mur- der, he says, if he is a simpleton, eitiier : " It had to be," or else he maintains an obstinsite silence ; but if he is a clever or prudent fellow, he invents the most astonishing stories to explain to himself and the rest, what he was about to do. In this case, Mr. Mayer is usually an old friend of the family. He has been conspiring in secret against the individual. He has slandered him, injured him in his profession, etc. The hypnotized individual never has the slightest suspicion that his action has been imposed upon him, "suggestecr' to him by the judgment of another. But suggestion will not only oi)erate from one day to another, it has been known to have retained its |)ower for six months. A certain act, suggested in the hypnotized state, was jjerf ormed half a year af terwartls on the day previously decided, in all its slightest details, with- out the individual in question having the faintest suspicion of the suggestion imposed upon him throughout the whole of the intervening period. It is not necessary for a sugges- MECHAN1S3I OF SITOGESTION. 207 tion to take the form of an express command. A hint is sufficient. If the hypnotizer assumes a sad expression and says a few words, no matter what their pur^wrt, in a mournful tone to his subject, the latter at once becomes very sad, and speaks and acts as people are accustomed to act at times of the most profound depression. If he is asked, '*Do you like being a soldier? " he becomes imme- diately convinced that he is one, and begins to command, to drill, and perhaps even to swear, in short, to do every- thing that he considers essential for a soldier, and this even when the individual is a woman. If a glass of water is handed him with the question, "How do you like this wine? " he tastes the wine and is able, if he is a connois- seur, to distinguish the kind and the year of its vintage ; if he is allowed to drink much of it he will even become completely intoxicated. I could mention a hundred simi- lar examples of suggestion, whicii is already the subject of a whole literature in France, where such pre-eminent ob- servers and experimentalists as Charcot, Bernheim, Du- montpallier and Magnin have paid much attention to it In all these cases the matter is simply a state of mor- bid sensil)ility. Suggestion can not operate so violently upon a healthy human being. It is impossible to make him believe that water is wine, or that he is* a cardinal, when he is simply a law student, and it will be a difficult matter to induce him to make over his property with due legal formalities to some stranger, wliose name even he does not know. But that suggestion does have some effect ui)on him also, although in a far more limited degree, and tliat his ideas and his actions are also under the influence of suggestion, are facts established almost beyond a doubt I wished to explain how one person works upon unother, how a man happens to imitate the thoughts and 208 SUGQESTIOlf. acts of juiotlier, but so far, I liiive only siibstituted one won! for aootlier, in saying -Suggestion," instead of '-Kx- ample and Imitation." But what now is the esseni'e of suggestion, and how is it prwlyefd? The reply which I sliall make to this qnestion is of eourse only a liyixjtliesis. but it seems to me to eo\ er the gronnti, and it is not con- tradicted l»y any fact olisened up to date. Suggestion is the transmission of the niovementa of the molecules of one brain to those of another, in the same way as one string coni- municates its vibrations to some neighlxiring string, or as a hot iron rod held against a cold one, will eonnuunicate to the latter its own molecnlar motion. As all ideas, judgments and emotions are processes of motion of the l)rain mole- cules, It follows of couwe that the transmission of this molecular motion to another brain, communicates at the same time the judgments, ideas and emotions, the meciian- ical foimdation of which is tliis very nioleculur motion. To make this perfectly clear, 1 have only to add v. few brief details. As we dem- >nstralcd in the preceding chap- ter, our organism has but one single iiitniiis of nuikiug the state of its ccmsciousncss— that is. judgments, ideas am.l emotions — niiparent to the sensis <»r others also, and tins is, by movements. Certain slates (»f the consciousness ai-e the cause of ct»rtaln movements, which ai-e thus the cx- |)ression of them. AVe become accustomed to associate the movements with the states of the consciousness that occa^ sion them, and from them txi form conclusions in regard to tlie latter. A movement is either a direct or a symljolical expression of some state of the consciousness. When one man liits another a l)Iow with his list, this muscular action is the direct expriission of a state of the consciouwness which reprcssents the idea, "I will strike." On the other hand, if a man droops his head and sighs, this movement of the muscles of tlic neck and chest m the symliolical ex- NATURAL AND CONVENTION AT. SYMBOLS. 20^ pression of a state of the consciousness, which we may call depression or melancholy. The symbols of the states of the consciousness can be separated into two groups, the natural and the conventional. The natural symbols are those that are or«:anicallv associated witli certain states of the consciousness. The latter can not occur without prmbicing the former. Yawning and laughing are the natural symbols of fatigue and merriment. The constitu- tion of our organism is such, that in a state of fatigue, that is, l)y an accumulation of the results of decomposition occasioned by work (of hwXk' acid, for instance), in the tis- sues, tlie nerves that innervate the respiratory muscles be- come incited to actioji, and thus produce a cramp in these muscles, which we designate by the term yawn. As the prominent features of the organism are the same in all men and to some extent in all living beings, the natural symbols are the same throughout all humanity; they are un- derstood by all nmn and even partially by the higher ani- mals, and the experience obtained l\y mere observation of self is all that is nei*ded to interpret their significance and to divine the sUite of the consciousness which the symlx)ls in question are meant to express. The conventional sym- bols, on the other hand, are those that are not organically associated with the state of the consciousness they are supposed to represent, and are not necessaril}' produced by them, but have obtained their significance by a conven- tional acceptance of them by mankind. Nodding the heaxl and beckoning with the Ibretlnger are conventional sym- Ik)1s of those states of the consciousness which comprise the ideas: "I agree with you," or "Come here." Our giving these interpretations to these movements is an arbi- trary procedure on our part (and yet not entirely arbitrarj- after all, the conventional symbols having their origin rather in the natural symbols as well ; however, this is not 210 BIIGOKSTION. the place to develope this idea), iind they do not have the same interpretation among all peoples. The Orientals, for example, do not mofe their head up and down in token of assent^ as we do, hut from the right to the left and hack again. The test and most important example of a conven- tional sjniMical movement is language, this result of the vital activity of onr organs of respiration and speech. To divine tlie state of the consciousness of which any word is tlie exponent, we must have learned to associate the two together, and the experience gained by observation of self is not sufficient for this. The wisest man in the worid would never guess that "Fu" meant bliss, unless lie under- stood Chinese. The molecular movements in the brain which produce states of the consciousntss, thus pixxluee muscular move- ments. These movements are apprehended by the brain of another pei-son by means of his senses ; that is, with the aid of some or of all his senses. Some movements and the traces they leave iMjhiiid them, such as written chanic- tei-8, for instiuice, appeal to the sense of sight, othei-s to the sense of hearing, still others to the touch. Tiie sense re- ceives tlie impression and hands it on, and starts the pro- cess of interpreting it, that is, it induces some centre to convert the impression into an idea, and places the con- sciousness in that same state, of which the muscular move- ment, appi-cliended l)y tlie sense, was the outward maiiifest- atlon. Asscxjiating tills process witli mechanical principles we can describe it in some such way as this : The changes in the sensor}' nen^cs produced by phenomena of movement, occasion in their turn changes in the sense-perceptive organs of the brain, which in turn induce molecular motion in the centres of consciousness, the chniacter and strength of which depend ui>on the nature of tlie excitation, that is, upon the characlcr and strength of the molecular motion ♦ RESISTANCE TO SIKKJESTION. 211 in the other brain, which was the primal cause of the mus- cular movement. Thus by means of the muscles on one side, and the senses on the other, the state of one brain is mechanically communicated to another, and this is what is meant by suggestion. For one brain to accept the molecular motion of another in the manner just described, that is, to repeat the judgments, ideas, emotions and will-impulses of the latter, it should not be the scene of any molecular motion of its own of a different kind, and of equal or gi-eater strength. In other words : it must not be able to perfonn vigorous mental labor for itself, just as a vibrating string can onl}- move another that is at rest or nearly so, and cannot incite a larger string or one vibrating in a different way, to pro- duce its own tone. The more organically insignificant a brain, therefore, the more readily it will obey the impulse to movement proceeding from some other brain ; the more complete and powerful the brain, the more energetic its own processes of movements, the greater the resistance it offers to the other brain. Thus, under normal conditions, the individual of greater perfection exercises a suggestion upon the individual of less perfection, but the reverse is not the case. It is true that the processes of movjements of even less complete brains can, by combining, attain such a degree of strength, that they can overcome the processes of movement of even an extremely perfect brain. When large numbers of men are feeling and expressing the same emotions, even very strong-minded and original individuals can not escape their influence. They are compelled to participate in these emotions, no matter how much they may try to prevent the evolution of this particular state of the consciousness by diverting ideas and judgments. The explanation of the fact that suggestion can be practiced most easily and successfully upon hypnotic individuals is. Ml JLai 8llO«E8TIOIf. that ill this coiidition of the iien'Oiis system, the molecules ofthebraio have the leiist possilile motion of their own and are in an esi>eeially unstable stJite of equilibrium, so that the slightest impulse will set them in motion, the character and strength of which is determined by the nature of the excitation. The impressions on the senses by which the sugges- tion is effected may Ije perceived by the consciousness, but it is possible and even probable that tliere is perpetual molecular motion in the brain caused by similar sense- impressions, of which we are not conscious in the least. The London Society of Psychological Investigation has published rei^ort after report which have estol)lished this fact beyond a doubt One individual, in a room with another, draws on a slate figures which the latter has thought in his mind. Of couree the person drawing the igures has his back turned to the one that is thinking ; the latter does not utter a word, and there is not the slightest possible intercourse, apparent to the senses, between them. In other tests, one pereon wrote words, figures and letters which another thought. Some times these ex'iKiriments were sMccessftd, aiul at other times they were failures. However, they sueeceded so frequently, that the idea of chance has to be excluded. Tlie society is a serious one and consists of men of acknowledged integrity, some of whom have the reputation of Iciuiiiug. It has nothing to do with spiritualistic frauds, and although it has laid itself open to unfavorable criticism to some extent by its inquiries into the subject of ghosts, yet we have no right to depreciate the rest of its work on this account. The possibility of unconscious suggestion can tlie more read- ily lie conceded, as it is capalile of being satisfiictorily ex- plained l»y fiicts already firmly established. H\'ery idea that includes a uiovement, (and tliere ;u-e no otlun- kinds EVERY IDEA FOl.LOWED BY MOVEMENT. 213 of ideas, as even those apparently the most abstract of all. are still composed ultimately of images of nioveuient), actually produces this movement, although perhaps in the slightest degree imaginable. The muscles which are to perform the movement in question receive a very feeble impulse, and the higher centres become aware of it through the muscle-sense, whieh announces the receipt of the im- pulse. We must imagine the process to l)e like this : that the memory, the reason and the judgment in composing any idea occasion an innervation of the nniscles which are to take part in its execution, and that the idea does not attain to its fullest intensity until the judgment i-eceives informa- tion of the completed iimervation. Strieker of Viemia, was the tirst to observe and demonstrate this fact, although at fnst only in resi)ect to the development of ideas of sound. If we thiidv — according to the learned experimentalist in pathology — for example, the letter B, this idea causes an innerv.ation of the muscles of the li[)S which co-operate in the production of the letter B. The idea •" V> " is therefore in fact an image of that movenK'ut of the lips by whieh the B is produced, and the movement is also perceptible in the lips, although of course it is very faint. What Strieker says f>f the movemeuls of the muscles of the apparatus of speech, probably applies as well to those of all the other muscles. When the idea of running occurs to the consciousness, there is a sensation of movement in the muscles of the lower limbs, etc. Tlic reason why every idea of movement is not followed at once by the movement itself, is owing to the fact that, in the first place, the im- pulse which is imparted to the proper muscles by the mere ima^'-e of movement, is too feeble to produce an effective contraction in them, and, in the second place, that the consciousness opposes all images of movements whieh it is not intende•> ^" '^ •'»" vice, while another is insij,miUc:tut in g..Hl "«"«"»«»» evil ; the one people places great, the 'f "•^'"f /JX"^;! the disposal of its men of gemus. But "-* j'^^'' ^ determines the way in which th.s o.-gauu- iK>we. .s to .k. ;.p„lie"^^■ ert u,K.n the masses. Consequently let us not s,)euk ol a foSul but. at the utmost, of a folk-bo.Iy. u folk-hs , 1 folk-Stomach. On the other hand 1 behcve ^ that it is organically inhe.-ent m a P^'*;. ««,,,r^ r. mcn of genius with greater or less ftequencj , «"«' '•"^ Ter, is a subject which I will discuss m one of the following uliapters. The uniformity in ideas and sentiments p.-evad.ng ni „ people, is thus not U> be explaine.1 by ^ "'^=^';;;;."" J^-J^ ity, but by the suggestion exe.ted u,K,n all ^J-'" - '-^"J a people by the same historical examples, the same lumg chiefs of the nation, and the same literature. In this way the citizens of large towns come to have the same mental physiognomy, although as a rule they have the most van^ ous origins, and arc of the most d.vei-se races. A citizen of BerL, ;f Paris, of London, has cerUiin psyeholc^ical nualilies that distinguish him from all other individuals Li-n to his city. Can these qualities be founde.1 upon rig organic in him? Impossible! For the popula. S of Lh of these cities is a mixture of «- most v^ed ethnological elements. But they are all under he .nBuence of Uie same suggestion, and therefore necessanly rcn ea the uniformity in thought and action which ^"racts the »tu,»- tion of all observers. Aberrations in taste and manner moral epidemics, tides of hatred or in^P'"**'"- "'»'='» * certain times sweep whole nations along with them, first "hi. NEW WINE IN OLD BOTTLES. 219 become comprehensible by the knowledge of the facts of suggestion. We have seen that the principal means for the trans- mission of ideas from one consciousness to another is language. But words are only con\'entional s3'mbols of states of the consciousness, and herein lies a great and sometimes insuperable difRculty to the promulgation of entirely novel ideas. A genius evolves some idea in his consciousness which has never been evolved in any other brain before. How will he endeavor to express this new and original state of his consciousness so as to make it cognizaljle by the senses of others. Of course l)y words. But the meaning of words has been established by agree- ment. They represent stutes of the consciousness, which have been known before. They arouse in the hearer merely the old idea always associated with them. If the hearer or the reader is to accept a word as the symbol, not of the idea of which it has hitherto been the exjionent, but of another idea, altogether unknown as yet, a new con- ventional agreement has to be made for it, the genius must endeavor to explain his new conception in other ways, by referring to the similarities and the differences which ex- ist between the new idea and the one to which it has been applied hitherto. This can only be done approximately, seldom or never completely. Our language bears tlie traces of these efforts on the part of the exceptional men of orig- inal thought to transfer novel ideas to the brains of the masses by means of the old S3mbols, in almost every word. in almost every turn of expression. All figurative languiigc is due to this cause. When the same word — like the Ger- man Muiiie — first signifies remembrance and then love, it reveals the mental labor of some original genius, who in order to express a new idea, the idea of self-sacrificing, loyal tenderness, had to make use of some term which u^j Si:(,i(,JEST10'N. to that time had l«en used .nc.cly to express some other less subtle, but at the same time sui-erlicially relate,! ul.n. the i.lea <.f simple remembranee. Each genius by r.ght shoul.l have a new and individual language to convey his „. , vel ideas con-ectly to others. He is obliged howe^•er, to make use of the language already existent, tluit .s the smbols of previous states of the c.nse.ousuess of othci u- dividuals, and hence eonfusiou often arises as 1»« ™^'""^ ""^^ wonls to have another significance than that attnbule'•''"'• to whom the bottle is delivered has to ]udge of the wme merely from the looks of the bottle, being luiable to open it ami taste of its contents. „ ,♦ ;t i» The nature of all languag.% the e.rcumstanee that .t is formed of symbols of old and oldest i.leas, and that it has ,„ .,ive a figurative significance to its word-roots, to enable ihJJn to serve, as Ix^st they may, for designations .lcscr>i.^ live of new states of the consciousness, is a i)owcrtul obstacle in the way of the genius when he tries to comnuv- nieate his thoughts to the brains of the masses. The latter are inclined of necessity to conf..und the noNtl figurative significance of the wortl-deepened in sense and am,licd in an original way, as it is by the gcmus-w.th its „li and literal meaning. The old and oldest ideas live on in the midst of the new ones, to disturb and contuse them the masses, when the axis of the earth is i-efen-ed to, think of something somewhat after the fashion of the axe-tree in a cart, and when the electric current is mentioned, of a fluid running through the "^-^'^ -' '^/''^^ 'J^^^'Z though a lead pipe, and often when the g-' - J'- meant to iUustrate an idea by a word, it kis only served to THE IDEA AND THE WORD. 221 render it still more obscure, tuid instead of arousing his own ideas in the other mind, he has only succeeded in arous- ing some diametrically opposed to them. But this is all nothing but one more of the limitations of humanity which it is beyond our power to alter. Perhaps in time our organ- ism may develope onward so far that the states of the con- sciousness may not require conventional symbols to ex- press them, but will be able to manifest themselves directly. In this case the original brain will no longer require words to communicate its molecular motion to other brains ; merely to think an idea clearly and definitely may possibly be all that is necessary to cause it to lie diffused through space like light or electricity and "suggest" it in others, and we will no longer be obliged to clothe it in the old patched rags of a language, which compels us, for ex- ample, to express the idea of an All of which we are a part, by the word nature, which meant originally one that bears young, and thus arouses in our minds the idea of a mother, with all the attributes of the female of the mam- malian type. But until we shall have attained to this mythical perfc^ction, we must content ourselves with lan- guage, and only strive honestly to comprehend each other's ideas as far as this may be possible. GRATITUDE- The English satirist defined gratitude as ^'a lively sense of future favors." He merely meant to be facetious, and gave in reality an exhaustive definition of the essence of this sentiment. In all nomal and naturally feeling indi- viduals gratitude is based upon a distinct or vague expec- tation of further agreeable actions. If it is positively impossible to hope for any continuation or repetition of llie benefit, then all sense of obligation to the benefoctor ceases entirely, or if it does still feebly survive, it is only in consequence of organic habit or, in accordance with our code of morals, of the artificial repression of the natural processes occuring within us for the gradual re-establish- ment of a normal state of sentiment I believe with the evolutionists, with Darwin, Spencer and Bain, that all hu- man sentiments had their origin in their necessity or their usefulness in the preservation of the individual and of the race. We experience love, for instance, at the present day as agreeable, disapproval of our actions by public opinion, as disagreeable. This is easily ex- plained by the theory of evolution. If one primitive man experienced agreeable sensations through love, while it aroused no sensations of the kind in the organism of another man, his companion, the former would make every effort to obtain these sensations, while the latter would hardly have taken any trouble to procure tliem. The former would leave many, the latter few or no de- GRATITUDE NOT A NATURAL SENTLMENT. 223 scendants behind him. Tlie organic characteristics of the fal hers are repeated in the offspring ; those who long for love become more and more numerous, those indifferent to love, less and less in numl)er, and finally become entirely extinct, so that in time none survive but those in whom love is associated with agreeable sensations. In the same way, of two primitive men, tlie one who was indifferent to the opinion of his companions in the tribe would easily eonnnit actions which might annoy or injure the rest; they would not endure this very long and would speedily procure less favorable conditions of existence for him by ex- pelling him from their number, or cut the matter short by killing him ; the other man, on the contrary, wiio was con- tinually observant of the effect of his actions upon his neighbors, would get along well in the tribe, receive assist- ance and protection from tlie rest, and tlus be able to live more comfortably and securely, and rear more offspring, to whom he would bequeathe his organic characteristics, until among the human beings of the present day we find no one in whom the idea of being at variance with public opinion does not arouse a feeling of uneasiness sutRciently strong to cause them to refrain from actions which might arouse the hoslility of public opinion. But is gratitude an instinct which is susceptible of being explained by the prin- ciples of evolution? By no means. Gratitude is s(jmething that could never have been useful to primitive man; it could never have obtained any more favorable conditions of existence for him. He was not benefited by this senti- ment in any way, and the lack of it could not have entailed any disadvantages upon him. If we examine the subject closely we will even find that an individual endowed with a disposition to gratitude would be worse off tlian those who were free from it ; for while the former was wasting his time with attentions and his strength with actions which could 224 GRATITUDE. not Iw of any coiit'eivahlc iuhiuitagcj tx) him, the latter was employing his time luitl strength for his own profit. Hence gratitude is not and never was necessary to the preserva- tion of the individnal and of the raee in any case, except when the sentiment is prompted by selfishness and self- interest and has for its object to persnadt.' I lie bene (actor, by deference and flattery, to bestow still further benefits, and for this reason it could never have become an in- stinct in man. How then do we explain the fact tliat gratitude is nevertheless the foundation of all our human ideas of religion, that man iirnised the gods for the gifts tliey showered npon mankind, that he manifested liis appreciation of them with sacrifices, and that he held the dead in grateful reverence, his own progenitors as well as the heroes of the tribe? Simply by the gross eiTors of an ignorant mind. Men considered the gods, the dead ances- tors and the heroes, living beings who had still the ^Mjwer to benefit them, and their sentiments of tender devotion, their sacrifices and forms of worsliip were not manifes- tations of gratitude for past favors but urgent invitations to bestow still further ones in the future. Even at the present day the superstitious fundamental principle of the existence of a personal God, endowed with the attriliutcs of humanity, and of the continuance of the individual after death, still prevails in many minds, and is the cause; now and then— not very frwpiently, it is true— of manifestations of gratitude for past benefits. In tlie far distant future when this snpei-stition which lias liecome organic in the habits of thonglit which have prevailed for hundred thousands of years, has vanished, the very last trace of hero-worship in its present tbrm will have vanished also. Perhaps even then monuments will be erectei! to the mem- ory of great men, their graves may he kept sacred and their birthdays celebrated, but no longer with the idea of THE MOOR HAS DONE HIS DUTY. 225 doing them a favor, of acquitting a debt to them, of doing an3-thing in acknowledgment of benefits received, but ex- clusivel}' with the object of training the people, with the purpose of causing the figure of the hero thus honored to operate as a suggestion upon the masses and to stimulate an imitation of his virtues, and because society will always experience tlie need of promulgating in ideal figures those qualities which it must exact of its members in the interests of its own self-preservation. For there to be any sense or object in gratitude for any act, it should be manifested before the completion of the act. Then it might have some influence on the act itself, its nature and scope. But of what possible use is it when the act is once performed? What can it change in it then, how can it make it anv better or worse? When the Moor has done his duty there is nothing left for him to do but to go, and if he complains, an}' one who has time for such a superfluous task, can give him a lecture on the subject of the laws of nature and explain to him that tlie present and the future have no influence upon the past, and tiiat an objective act remains to all eternity just what it is, whether the Moor who performed the act makes a wry face or wears a pleased expression afterwards. There is no need to urge that the example of gratitude or of in- gratitude, although it may not be able to have an}' influ- ence over the action of which it is the cause, may yet aflect decisively future actions ; that the reward of veneration paid to some predecessor may incite his successor to fol- low in his footsteps, that the spectacle of ingratitude to the dead may cause their descendants to refrain from making efforts of an altruistic nature, which otherwise they might have attempted. This is not the case at all. The genius performs his benefits for mankind because he is obliged to do so and can not do otherwise. It is an instinct aS2Sl# OEATITUBl. organically inherent in him, which he is obeying. He would suffer if he did not obey its impulse. That the average masses will lienefit by it, does not decide the mat- ter for him. The stream dashes on its way because the laws of liydraulics require it thus. But it is l\v no means essential to the streaui whether there arc or are not any mills along its banks, which obtain their motive power from it. Tlie picture of Seipio seated araid the ruins of Carthage has never evolved an Ephialtes out of any possi- ble sinior of his country in embryo, tliough the idea of an old man cowering in a draught between some l»rokeii stones with sharp angles, who would i>roliably stumlile over piles of rubbish or fall down some eelhu'-way, if he attempted to go forward, will always have a deterring effect upon any om, unless it might be some member of a voluntary fire alarm company. And T call upon the publishers of Ger- many to witness whether tlie remembnuice of Camoens, whom his ungrateful countrymen allowed to perish of privation aiid want, has dimieisheil to any appreciable ex- tent tlie pnMluctiou of poetij ! Tlie reader has already discerned that the gratitude of one individual to another is excluded from the present dis- cussion because it can not he considered as an instance of ^uiselfisli sentiment, hoping for no t\u'ther reward, and of no possilile advantage to the grateful being but only to the recipient of it; we must consider it as a more or less wise investment of capital from which the investor hopes to re- ceive fair returns, and hence, as something not pertaining to the domain of moral philosophy, but to tliat of business. The gratitude of the i^eople in genend to some one individ- ual wliom they do not know pereonally, from whom they per- sonally have* nothing to expect, who may lie already num- Ijered among the dead, this alone would lie an instance of giich grutitude. But we would seek in vain through the POSTHUMOUS FAME. 227 whole history of mankind for even one such example sus- ceptible of proof as a perfect example of this, which could not be traced to national vanity or superstition or to some other interested motive. No, there is no such thing as gratitude of the masses, of the people, or of mankind in general, and can not be, because it has no anthropological foundation. The men of genius, the work of whose brain supports the race, who accomplish in themseh'es all the progress the race make, who represent the impetus to all new develop- ment, should abandon all idea of thanks. They must find their sole reward in the fact that, thinking, acting, originating, they live out their higher qualities, and thus become conscious of their originality, to the accompani- ment of powerful sensations of pleasure. There is no other satisfaction for the most sublime genius, as wt-ll as the lowest living being swimming in its nourishing fluid, than the sensation, as intensive as possible, of its own Ego. The genius sometimes flatters himself with visions of im- mortality. He is wrong. Immortality, which Klopstock calls a "beautiful thought," is even something less than a beautiful thought, it is a fantastic picture of the imagina- tion, a shadow of one's own individuality projected into the future, resembling the shadow of a tree cast far across the plain by the setting sun. The moment the tree is felled, its shadow vanishes also. The idea of the perpetuation of one's name, the effort to secure posthumous fiime, proceed from the same source in which the superstitious belief in a personal existence after death had its rise. It is another manifestation of the resistance of the living indi- vidual to the cessation of his consciousness, one foi-m of the impotent struggle against the universal law of the finiteness of individual existence, one more proof of the inability of the thinking, and consciously perceiving Ego 99Q iHimI md ^J^ QRATITUBl. to imagine Itself as no longer thinking, no longer per- ceiving its own existence. The man who has created something grand, who has benefitetl his people, or all humanit3% might surely connt npon that feeblest and cheaixist form of gratitude wliicli consists iu the perpetua- tion of his memoiy. A' ain wish and vain efforts 1 The memorj' of the human race is unwilling to retain the name and the appearance of individuals, and even to prolong the faint reflection of their i)ereonal exist- ence lieyond the naturtd limits of human life. How long do even the most famous names last? Up to the present time mankind has no reeoitl of any that are more than ten tlionsand years old, and what are ten thousand years iu the life of mankind, to say nothing of the life of our planet or of our solar system ! Only when living human beings expect to realize some material advantage in not allowing the memory of certain persons to decay, do the masses retain a clear remembrance of them ; as in the case of the founders of religions or of a reigning family ; for here the priests and the monarehs have an interest in artificially restraining the people from obeying their deeply seated, and in the long run irresistible instinct of ungrateful for- getf ulness. But where there Is no such interest at work, mankind hastens to forget the dead, even when they hiU'(^ been its greatest benefactors. It is truly pathetic to ol>- ser^e the despairing efforts made by the individual to with- draw his individual form from tlie operation of the law of annihilation. He piles enormous stoues into gigantic monu- mental edifices, he compels bronze to retain his lineaments, he writes his name on every page in books, he engraves it in marble and bronze, he associates it with endowments, streets and cities. The palaces and the statues, the liooks and the inscriptions are to proclaim this one name in the ears of the hnman beings of the remotest ages, and remind MONUMENTS FAIL TO PERFORM THEIR TUTTY. 229 them that once it was borne by a great man and that this trreat man has won the right to tlie grateful reverence of nil posterity. The inanimate objects to which the individ- ual confides the task of perpetuating his memory do not per- form this duty long. Even when they escape destruction, they lose their voice and soon cease to proclaim the name which they were to have repeated to the latest generations. The palace serves men who invent some arbitrary legend to account for its origin ; they apply to the statue any name they choose ; even in the name of the city, the name of its founder is obscured, as when Constantinople is trans- formed into Stamboul, and they erase unconcernedly the traces of the gi'eat man, as an unconscious child erases the letters on a slate with its finger in its play. And who would rebuke them for doing so? Only those who have no realization of the plainest phenomena itud conditions of organic life. The individual is of no value except to him- self; he is of no value to nature, of none to the totality, in the eves of nature he is merely a mould In which mat- ler receives its organic shape; a way-station on tlie great litieof development of matter from the inanimate to the animate. When the casting is finished the mould is de- stroyed. When the way-station is once passed, it is speed- ily forgotten. That which is enduring in the" individual and which is destined to an existence without any apparent end, his propagating principle, extricates itself from him and enters upon another new and independent life which has no longer any need of further connection with the organism in which it was evolved ; the parental organism then decays like the blossom from which the fruit has been developed. The same process occurs in the mental functions of the individual. They detach themselves from the phys- ical being, become objective and form phenomena on tlieir own account, and it is by no means necessary for the im GRATITUDE. perfection of tliese plienoiBeoa tliat tliey suggest in ,iiy way the individual wlio originally produced them ; they are what is destined to endure in the mental indi- viduality like the propagating principle in the physical, ;md when the mind has impaited its best, when it has prmluced living thoughts and aetions which continue to operate independently and are able to evolve new life, it is not unjust that the mind shares the fate of all living and life-giving things and vanishes. The old myth of Saturn devouring his own children is founded upon a mis- token conception of nature. It is not the father who eats up his offspring, but the children who devour tlicir parents. This instiince of intense, utterly regardless selfishness is not shocking. On the contrary. It is terrible and beauti- fol at the same time like all tlic grand phenomena of nature. The offspring in rec^eiving the germ of life from the parent and carrying it on farther into the future, thus renews the youth of the parental orgauism in so far as what is really essentia! in It is concerned. This labor of preserving the essential taxes tlie energies of the new organism to such an extent that it lias none left for the preser\'ation of what is unessential, that is, the accidental individual foim of life of the parent. The law which I might designate as the revereed Saturnlau law, by virtue of which the parent sinks Into obscurity in exact pTO|)ortion as tlic offspring advances into the light, admits of no exceptions. As no human being exists who has presen-ed his remote ancestor alive In himself, in the same way there is no prcxluct of the human intellect that has ran its entire course accompanied by the one that originated it. How much do we know (»f the persons to whose mentol efforts we owe our entire civ- ilization and culture? How great was tlic man who tii-st cave us fire? Who has retoinet! any remembrance of him? 'UUP THE REVERSED SATURNIAN LAW. 231 Who ever thinks of remembering him with gratitude when he is basking in the heat of his stove in winter? What a o-enius the man must have been who first conceived the idea of something beyond the accident of happening to find plants, and of systematically exacting the necessary grain from the soil ! Do we ever invoke a blessing upon his niune when we arc enjoying our daily bread? At the present day we still know wlio invented the telegraph, tlie steam cnoine, the railroad. But these inventions are of vesterchn-. Some of the Innnan beings before whose eyes they were evolved are still alive. How long will it be l>eforo the (Jrahani Bells and the Edisons, the Papins, Watts and Stephensons, are forgotten like the equally great or greater inv(»ntors of the artificial production of fire or of agriculture, who are now unknown ; and how long will it be before mankind will use its telephones and express trains like its fire and its bread, without tlie sliglitest trilv ute of orateful remembrance to its benefactors? And the inventors are no worse off than the thinkers, the conquer- ors, the statesmen, the artists. A truth is discovered, it is and remains to all eternity the possession of mankind, but after a few generations no one ever devotes a single thought to the one who discovered it. The specialists still know to whom the world owes the separate advances made in mathematics, in the physical sciences and astron- omy. But how many are there even among the educated and highly educated who would be able to define the per- sonal share that Pythagoras and Euclid, Hero of Alex- andria, and Descartes, Aristotle and Harvey, and even such recent fiiirures as Lamarck and Schwann have had in the formation of our knowle OBATlfUBl. the present day? Who knows the names of those lawgivers, (not the compilers,) who originated the decisions m the R<> man Code of laws, which still govern our legal procedures? The work still stands, but the originator is sunk "^ o"^*!*^" km or lost in legend, f he Iliad is still read, although it is true chiefly hv wll«ger- ish-^they are there ! " Faust persuades himself with consol- i„. complacency. He is right, literally. His traces, that is what lie accomplishes, will not soon perish, if it is valua- ble But he is wrong, if he associates with the i)erpetua- tion of his traces, the idea of the perpetuation of his individuality. He rescued a country from the ocean? Very well. * A gay and busy people dwell upon it and INDISPENSABILITY NO TEST OF VALUE. 233 rejoice in life and sunshine. But as to any gnitiUi(k' U> tlie man who constructed the dike and procured them their fertile fields, there is none of it. Gratitude does not make the harvest any more abundant nor the country any more nourishing ; the people are not compelled to feel grateful, and therefore they do not feel so. The science of political economy has established the fact that the value of things to man depends upon the greater or less facility with which he can ol)tain them, and not upon tlie degree in which they are indispensable to Mm. Of all things air is the most necessary to human beings; but it has no value because he can procure it at all times without effort, because lie has no labor to per- form to obtain the amount of air he requires for breathing. We can compare the productions of the genius in this sense to those things which have no valu2. Once com- l)leted, once I)ecome objective, they become a part of nature itself, and are like the air we breathe, the water we can procure without effort, without requital, without thanks. The truth that some one man has discovered and littered, is accessible to all human beings ; in the poetical work of art created by some one man all human beings can find emotions for tliemselves when they thirst for them ; the invention, the political and social institutioir devised by some human brain and realized by some human will, all men find already existing, like the earth upon which they live and move, and the seasons whose changes vary the uniformity of time. What the individual needs and applies to his own use out of these truths and beauties, these in- ventions and institutions, does not diminish the totid amount in the least, it does not injure them nor deprive another of them. He is right therefore in appropriating them without thanks or compensation. And the man who toils for the masses has no cause ORATITUBE. to eomplaio Of their ingratitude, when they forget Mm in what ll has aeeomplished, when his contempora^ a posterity emigrate to the America he ^^^^'^J^;^^ do not ;etain even the remembrance of the Cohimbi s ot the new fostering soil. His organism produced ;ts c^^^^^^^ lie ti mother gives birth to a child : because it could not retain them, was obliged to thrust them forth whent^ had eome to maturity. Besides this, each genius real > finds his recompense in what he accomplishes ; in f^^^^^^^^ is paid in advance for his toil For he has tlie benefit c^ all preceding genius, of all those nameless beings who Lrthe originators of all our civilization and knowledge-, of all our conveniences and triumphs over nature. I e steps upon the shoulders of his pmlecessors. and M isoni> fair that his successors should step upon his shoulders He feels no other gratitude to the forgotten guid^ a.d benefactors of humanity than to appropriate to Ms om nse the treasures they left V^ehind them, and he ought not ! f f I. .t Ins inheritors will be grateful to him in any to exiject that Ills inucuioib >^ lit » ... , «„,ia nf other wax- The intellectual treasures which he finds at his disposal and ft-om which he can draw, have long since ceased to bear the personal signature of their ongmaU,i .nd why should he not console himself with the idea that the treiures he is producing himself, will .dso l,ecomc. m time, without any tokens of their origin, the inherited pro v erty of mankind in general, and increase the general wealth . THE IMPORT OF FICTION What are the reciprocal rel:itions between life and fic- tion? Is our light literature the result of obserxation of ri'al life? Or does not real lite raUier take fiction t'ov its model and endeavor to become like it? Which is the original? AVhich is the imitation? Do novels and plays take their eharaeters from the streets? Do the masses form them- selves after the types portrayed in no\els and plays? I can reply to these (piestions without a moment's hesitation. The effect of fiction upon life is incomparably greater than the reverse. The romancer frequently detaches himself en- tirely from actual tacts and devotes his iittention exclu- sively to the arbitrary play of his imagination. And even when he takes his subject from real lite, he does not con- fine himself to the average facts and truths, which a con- scientious observer would deduce from the usual course of every-day life, but selects some exceptional case wHiich may have accidentally IVillen under his eyes, or have made an es- pecial impression upon him, owing to some personal, organic cause, and. finally, he does not portray even this exceptional case with fidelity to nature, but transtbrms it to suit his own characteristics. This is therefore the sole and entire point of conta{!t between real life and fiction. It is less in width than the back of a knife. A flake of foam carried away by some frolicsome gust of wind, shimmering in strange colors, is all that represents the vast and deep ocean of life in romance. If, therefore, life has really enough — ■■"" ..-ia.lMlfcM.JdaL-uy .LdlULJI iiUtjO THE 13IP0BT OF FICTION. iiifliient* upon romaiiee to even deserve mention, it is no more tliim tliiit exerted iiiJon t)ur di-eaiiis by realities, whieh are likewise partially due to some very feeble im- pressions on the senses, wliieli they transform arbitrarily and immeasurably into ideas the most foreign to the tnitli. On tlie oilier hand, the influence of fiction upon life is enormous. It exerts a powerful and incessant sugges- tion ui»n the reader to which the whole of his mental iwrsonality and all his tliouglits and actions succumb. Let us consider the conditions of existence among the average masses. The average individual passes his life in the most circiunscrilied conditions. He does not become lUMiuainted with many im'sons outside of his own family circle, and seldom or never has he an opijortunity to cast a glance into the inner life of another's mind. He knows nothing of the gi'cat passions and sentiments, the perplexities and dissensions of mankind, and, frem his own intuition, and if restricted to his own personal exi)eri- ence, would hardly surmise that outside of his dining room and his shop, there was another world beyond the church, the market and the city hall But he reads novels, he attends the theatre, and he sees figures such as have never entered into liis actual life : fairy princes and ele- gant ladies witli diamond stare in their hair, adventurers and villains, angelic beings of light and unscrupulous m- trio'uers; he sees strange situations such as liave never oceuiTed t*> him, and learns how the romancer s imaguiary figures think, feel and act in these situations. It is inevit. able, according to all the laws of psychology, that the individual who is unable to limit or correct the romancer s assertions, which come to him in the form of iK)sitive affirmations, will believe them without a shade of distrust, and obtain his ideas of life from the romancer's works, take the latter's fictionary beings for his models, and adopt THE ORIGIN OF FEMALE TYPES. 237 his judgments, his likes and disliivcs. Like all kinds of suggestion, that exerted by novels and plays has more effect upon those individuals who are mentally less devel- oped or less healthy, than upon those who are more power- All, original or entirely normal in every respect; above all, upon the stereotyped natures, young people, women, hysterical persons and those with weak minds or nerves. This has come under my direct observation in Paris for many years. The Pansiritue is completely the wxjrk of the French journalists and novelists. They make her literally just what they want her to.be, both physically and men- tally. She talks, she thinks, she feels, she acts, she even dresses, carries lierself, walks and stands just as the fashionable writers of the da}' decree that she should. She is a puppet in their hands and involuntarily obeys all their directions. Some depraved fellow with a repulsively cor- rupt taste describes his ideal of woman in some newspaper or book, just as he has hatched it in the foul atmosphere of his degenerate imagination: with tripping gait, her voice a falsetto like a childs, her eyes wide open, and her little finger crooked while she is eating, so that it rises in the air above the rest. All his feminine readers begin at once to realize this ideal and we see only little mimics around us, tripping along with tiny steps, piping in a shrill little voice, drawing up their eyebrows to the middle of their foreheads, spreading their little finger away from the rest of their hand as it* it had the cramp, and making themselves unspeakably disgusting to every healthy taste with all this imitation of childlike artlessness. At the same time this is not even conscious and intentional affecta- tion, but automatic habit that has become second nature. Some other satyr of the pen whose dull senses are tickled into wakefulness by some other idea than that of a female creature in infancy, revels in the description of the small Zoo THB IM,PORT OF FICTION. locks of liiilr that cjiiii at tlie back of the neck in many women ; he speaks of them in the insolently caressing terms that are used to designate the iileasures of the senses, and snrrounds them with snbtly flattering expressions that are as shameless m certain looks and touches. Without a mo- ment's delay his fair readers comb their hair liigh on the back of their head, and arrange it in bangs and stiff little corkscrews, and parade with a collar very low in the back, ifhich gives them a deceptive reseuililance to a condor or a vnlture, and all for the sole purpose of looking like the woman whom the poet lias portrayed to them as being especially adapted to erotically excite a man, who, by the way, is steeped in vice through and through— which fact, however, he does not mention. The case is the same with us in Germany. Every one who does not lose his senses in the presence of woman to such an extent that his judg- ment is paralyzed and his contemplation becomes a worship, knows how whole generations of Oerman girls and women have formed themselves upon the mwlel of Claurens' female figures, as now uiwn the Gold Elsie's and Geier- wally's of recent fiction. Fortunately the creators of Gold Elsies and Geierwally's are not corrupt poisoners of the popular mind, and the figures which they hold np as mod- els to their readers are at least morally free from reproach even if they are false to nature, untrue and contrary to good taste. Blan is less attected than woman by the opera- tion of this novellsticand theatrical suggestion, principally for the reason, that he does not read so much light litera- ture as the latter, but at the same time he does not entirely escape it. When the ^^Sorrows of Wertlier*' fii-st appeared, Germany was soon swarming with Werthers who did not merely pretend to think and feel like their model, but really acted like him, and proved their sincerity in many eases by committing suicide, which is a point that mere 1/ PATHOLiKUCAL CHARACTER OF LITERATURE. 239 affectation surely would not have attained. In France, Antony, the victim of love and fate, produced a whole tribe of Antony's, and Byron is responsible for the fact that in the thirties the whole civilized world was alive with demoniacal }Oung men with pale cheeks, long hair, wide collars, lowering brows and terrifically mysterious glances. Thus the poets and novelists stand like the Jacob of the' Bible before the watering-trough and set their "rods of green poplar and of the hazel and chestnut tree," in which they have "pilled white strakes" in the gutters, and cause "ringstraked, speckled and spotted" generations to be brought forth as they may choose. There would be no further misfortune in this if our hUm-lettres held up none but normal and correct models before the masses. But they do not do this. The literature of fiction contains nothing but impossibilities, improba- bilities and anomalies, with so few exceptions that they can not be taken into account. The cases which it de- scribes are exceptional cases, such as never or exceedingly rarely occur; the beings it portrays belong to an infinites- imalminority, if it is at all possible to imagine them as actually existing in flesh and blood ; the ideas, the senti- ments, the actions it depicts, are morbidly exaggerated in one direction or the other, and very different from those of the typical average human being, well-balanced both men- tally and morally. The literature of fiction is an enormous collection of tales of disease, of which some have been conscientiously observed, while by far the largest majority have been begotten by a hideous or ignorant imagination, an endless catalogue of all the ills that flesh is heir to, from the slight obscuration of the judgment by some unreasoning passion, to the most monstrous moral degen- eracy. Even the newspapers have this character of seeking Hi II THE DIPOET OF FICTION. after the exceptional iiiiil the iiioi-l»id. Tlie news wliich tliey rekite to tlieir reiiilers are about muwlers iiml hoiiii- cicles, fires, niilroud iieddenls, imiinlatioiis, earlli(iiuiki;s. all ©vents whieli liardlj one iiuui in a Imndred in civilized coiiiitries ever sees with his own eyes in the whole eourse of liis life. And this is niitural, too. A normal life does "iiot aeein to contain iinytliing worth relating, accord- ing to our inherited imnt of view. That Uucle Hinz sU-i>t well, enjoyed his cup of coffee at Ijreakfast, waited on his customers all the morning and ale his dinner witii a good appetite, all as usual, does not seem to otter any topic for the news of the day. That alone is chronicled which differs from the usual standard, and this is precisely the exception, the niorliid case.. If, therefore, some wise citi- zen of Thebes to whom the ncwsiKipcr would be a liitherto nnknown institution, were to tii)i)ear among us, and i)ick up a daily iKii>er, he would certainly in(|uire: "My noble host, has the world and luimauity grown so wicked that nothing oecni-s now but crimes? Arc the gods so angry with men that tiiey inflict all misfortunes upon them? \m all peoijles clamoring to make war uiwn all others? " The exchange and market reiwrts and the advertisements would be all that would calm liis perturbed mind to any degree, and re\e:d to kim that besides the lioiTors and excitements there was an c very-day life calmly peaceful and regular going on all tlie wliile. Novels and plays in their higlier forms liave llie same proi)eusity as the newspapers. They devote themselves exclusively to exceptions tuid exaggerations. The offal of fiction crudel} portrays external incidents of an unusutil character, such as adventures, remarkable accidents and crimes, while the more pietentious literature descrilxis extraordinaiT human lieiugs, and soul-conditions of an exceptional nutnre, The author writing for the render of PArST ANT) OTHELLO IN REAL LIFE. 241 a less cultivated mind, gives him at best voyages of dis- coverv, marvellous ad\entures auiouiij robbers and pirates, wai-s and shipwrecks, in his ]>lood and thunder stories of the sensational style ; the one writing for the reader of a more cultivated taste serves up all kinds of passions and inward eonfliets, such as we are not accustomed to en- counter on the street ; but it is always something differing from the usual human lot that forms the subject of the work of fiction. It is true there is this difference, that the original romancers only digress from the truth in so fiir as tlu^y exaggerate or are arbitrary in the selection of their premises, from which, however, they deduce correct con- clusions, wliile the mediocre or imitators, in tlieir efforts to represent nature do not put more expression into the lines as tluiy draw them, nor more intensity into the coloring, but sketch imperfectly and apply the paii t without taste or discrimination. However, the romancer has never the riglit to say to the majority of his readers, and not even to one lalioriously searc^hed for with Diogenes' lantern, the sig- nificant "Tat twain asi I" "This is thou ! " of the Indian sajre. How manv books are there which could say with the Roman of old to any healthy, normally developed being : "Of thee is the story told." Let us examine into this matter together,— Kveiy German, perhaps every' man who has attained to any of the higher grades of culture, has something of Faust in him, his craving for truth and knowledge, his gnawing sense of his finiteness, but how many of us feel this craving to that tormenting extent that we .seek to appease it with the contents of the "clear, crys- tal cup?" Most girls feel like Juliet during a certain portion of their lives ; but only very few carry the eecen- tricitv of their love for Romeo to such an extent that the}' 1-epair to the old Crypt and seek a tomb in the vault. There are plenty of jealous men, and unfortunately man^' 242 THE BIFORT *'">F PIf'TION. ■11 li of ilieiii liave mova ciiiise for their torments iind suspicions lliiMi Othello. But yet they clo not sraotlier their Desde- monas, not even when they belong to the vanishing minor- ity of generals and governors. As far as my experience goes, I have never known but one man in actual life, who even made the attempt to carry Shakespeare's suggestion into execution. But the whole story was lamentiil>ly spoiled by tlie fact that the Othello was a porter in a wholesale coffee house, and found his courage for the act in a £?lass of whiskey, and then upon his arrest when tlie deed'' was only half (completed, pretended to remember nothing about it. At the same time, the i^>etic creations mentioned as illustrations alwve, are the most universally true and the most universally human of all in the litera- ture «)f tlie world. If we descend to a lower grade, the matter liwomes far woree. The three gay musketeei-s never did live, and they could not lead their existence of nnbridled love, gambling and fighting even for a single week in our present civilization, without having all the policemen of the district at their heels. Not one out of a million readere will ever be ex|)09ed to the possibility of beccmiing a Robinsim eruso(^ and the honest Friday is in- comparably less to us than HecuVwi to the actors. But is there no such thing as a fiction that is the mirror of reality, perfectly true to human nature in general? I n'ply in good faith • T see nothing of the kind. Kven ; Hermann and Dorothea." that simple, faithful picture of every-day life in a little German town, is not true to nature, in so far as it is based ui>on premises which are only verified in the course of centuries. Seldom or never do we see whole communities forsake their homes with kith and kin, bag and Imggage, and go wandering around through the coun- try. ilMis "affording Hermann the opi)Oitunity to find Don»thea at the well, as in the days of the patriarchs, and THE FRAUD "NATURALISM. 243 V to conduct his bride as a servant to his father's house. All the beings who ramble about in the novels and on the stage, are people from the moon, side-show marvels, with a horn in their forehead, bearded women, wizards, giants and dwarfs, they drag along a peculiar fate, which is worth being exhibited to the gaping crowd at ten cents admis- sion fee ; they have some valuable secret basted into the lining of their coats, they are a whole yard deeper inside than outside ; the ordinary, tranquil, peaceable crowds of human beings who are neither especially good nor es- pecially bad, who support themselves honestly and leave a will when they die, if they have anything to bequeathe, and upon whose busy life the sun shines all over the broad earth, these human beings are not the ones that fiction portrays. I hope no one will cast "naturalism" in my teeth, claimed by a few modern French writers as their brand-new invention, I know of course that it vaunts itself ui>on portraying only the naked truth in regard to life, and to be working from -'human documents" alone, that is, from facts observed. But it is all a contemptible fraud, and the rankest kind of a device to deceive the unsophisticated. Those authors who speculate in natiu-alism, do exactly the same thing as I once saw a local photograplier do in a little town in Hesse. He had in his possession a large col- lection of old card photographs which he had once bought at an auction at Frankfort for a trifle. Whenever any person was brought into prominence by any of the events of the day, he would select some picture from his stock which corresponded to his idea of the new celebrity, and offer it for sale as the portrait of the person in question. He thus sold in 1878 a Disraeli with a bottle nose that proclaimed strong alcoholic propensities, and four years later, a Gambetta with a venerable, patriarchal beard and THE BIPOMT OF FICTION. a Riisslmi ftir cap on liis head. His way of doing business was not discovered until lie exhibited over the name of Garfield the photograph of a man, entirely unknown to him, l)ut known and recognized by the whole t^wn as the deceas«l tax collector. The authors of the naturalistic school have inherited the old methods from then- pretleces- sors of the last three thousand years ; but because the spirit of the times happens to be earnest, scientific, cogita- tional, at present, because the public pretends and perhaps even believes itself, that it is interested solely in estab- lished facts and scientific experiments, they give their methotls such ftishionable names as naturalism, expen- mental fiction, human docruments, etc. One of Zolas novels is exactly like one of Sue's novels, or Prevost's, or Scan-on's-an independently invented story which never occurred anywhere except in the imagination of the author. If one author likes to wade in the mire while another pre- fers some cleaner place, if one likes to portray drunkards, prostitutes and imbeciles, and the other rich, aristocratic and estimable model citizens, it is simply a matter of per- sonal peculiarity, and does not alter anything in the method. The natui-alistic school is therefore no more real life iio more actual nature, than the idealistic or conven- tional school, as all statistics prove the fact that even in the wicketlest cities there is hardly one Nana to a liundred iuhabitauts, and one Assommoir in fifty buildings, that the Nanas ami Assommoirs are unknown and exceptional cases to the vast majority, and hence are of no practical impor- tance, even if they do swtually exist, even if they are described without exaggeration and arbitrary adaptation— which fact, by the way, it is imix)ssible to concede, and con- sequently, thev can not he considered valuable for anything more than to be a freak of nature in some pathological muse- um, and not ad:.pt..l 'ni iiuy way to ho a - lunnnii document ' WHY FICTION IS PATIIOLOGICAli. 245 i Wliy then is it that all fiction, the naturalistic as well as all other kinds, devotes itself exclusively to the por- trayal of exceptional and morbid cases? One reason, already indicated above, is in the reader. The public does not want to find what it knows already, reproduced in a book. It is on the lookout f(n' sensations, and these are only produced V»y the transition from an existent into a new state of tlie consciousness, the cessatit work as they oiiglit to. One will 1k» del >ili tilted and degenerate, another "excessivclv sosccptible and unnaturally pwNlomi- naot. They feel, they think and a(4 differently from healtliy and vigorous luiinaii lieings. Slight contacts arouse temi>ests in them ; their sensations hecome passions OYer which their judgment lias no contr<»l ; I hey are emo- tional and impulsive, morbidly exaggerated in both love and hatred, their ideas abouml in eccentricities, anr this kind must produce problems such as would never arise in the lives of normal human Ijeings. The conditions of attraction and repulsion, tlui inwani and external conflicts, the complications au«l the catastroplies are entirely diffend their lives tottering between the 3awning jaws of the insane asy- lum and the cnminal court, the poet of the great city loses his grasp of the truths of humanity, and at last ceases en- tirely to know how the world is reflected in a clear, unol)- scured eye and in a brain neither ultra excited nor degen- eimte. And thus these Zola stories of hereditary morbid mentiil conditions come to lie written, thus these Ihsen "ghosts," and all these crazy novels of love, jealousy and crime, which are as foreign and incomprehensible to a vigorous and sound constitution as the headaches and dys- pepsia of chlorotic invalids. And the picture of such unlovely passions, eccentrici- ties and unbalanced states of the reason and morals is exhibited to the reader, and works as suggestion upon him ; it serves him as an orhh phtus, from which he learns to know the world and humanity, and as a model, upon which he forms himself ! And, what is to lie done to prevent it? The authors of tlie light literature of foimer centuries, who did not live in cities, and who were not subject to nervous complaints, supplied their public with the stimulants they required, in the form of coarse absurd- ities, adventures of travel, hunting and war, or of acknowl- edged fairy tales, which none but a poor fool like Don Quixote could take in earnest. Our eor temporaries have become too precocious for such reading matter, and Indians, Africans and enchanted princesses now captivate none but children less than twelve years old. I can see no remedy for this contamination of the reader's imagination by the corrupt matter of our polite literature, unless the govern- ment decides to forbid a residence in cities to all autliors of novels and plays, and banishes them to peaceful villages and the society of sturdy country people, or miless we can persuade our professional autliors to portray to the people average facts established by statistics, instead of rare, exceptional cases, and to discuss mental physiology, instead of mental pathology, and to write a book about healthy instead of diseased persons. I am only afraid, I am very much afraid, that this use- ful book, so highly to be recommended in every respect, would never find either a publisher or a reader. LOVE AS A SUB.IKCT FOR l)lSCi:SSlON. 249 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF LOVE What has tlie suggestion exerted by the literature of fiction iniule of tliat sentiment, the most important of all to tlie preser^^ation of the race, what has it made of love? No other human instinct has l)een to such an extent so over- refined, so diverteil from its true course, and trained to sueli morbid, folse ideals, no other psyeliieal phenomenon has been so misinterpreted and so systematically rendered nnintelligilile, as love. This has been carried to such an extent that it re- quires serious consideration before one can proceed to the investigation of love, of the way in which it originates, its purpose, its course and the states of the consciousness witli which it is assm^iated, with sober earnestness and scientific impartiality. All the emotional giddy-pates of both sexes, wliose empty heads liave been turned by light literature, their only intellectual food, cry murder, and demand that the protane analyst be stoned to death. The indignation against him knows no bounds. He is a heartless cynic, a morally decrepit being, to whom nature has denied the sublimest of all sensations. He is a villain wlio Is sinning against the majesty of womanhood, and an infamous wretch who lias sacrilegiously forced his way iui o love's Holy of Holies. This has Ijeen said of Schopen- hauer, and his successor, E. v. Hartmann ; this is what . would 1)e said by the '• Vetlchcnfresser'' of Darwin, Spencer and Bai^i, if they ever read or could understand these great minds./ Love is not a subjpct for impartial discussion, but only for rapturous verse.. /One must not approach it as a critic, but as a lover only,/ By permission : it is a request that can not be granted. I can talk of hunger, without being hungry, of fear, without being afraid. I am allowed to dissect and describe these phenomena in cold blood, without giving any one the right to accuse me of being in- eai>al)le of doing justice to a well-spread tal)le, or of expe- riencing the excitement which is caused in man by the realization of a great danger, overwhelmingly superior to till his means of defence. Why should not the subject of love be also open to impartial criticism, without giving cause for the immediate assertion that the critic is incapa- l)le of experiencing love, and consecpiently of comprehend- hv^ it? The worst conditions iraaginabie for the investi- gallon of hunger or of fear, would l)e those very sensations. We can not expect a hungry man to determine with any accuracy or method the effect of the idea of a roast of beef ui)on his nervous system, especially when it is sending up its fragrance on the platter before him, and a man who is afraid acts like a person of discretion when his only thought is of running away, and not of self-analysis. In the same way a person in love is the very last one whom we ought to expect to enlighten us in regard to the mental processes occurring during the period of love. This can only be done by the dispassionate observer. And there is no cause for him to fall on his knees, cast up his eyes and delude himself into a poetic ecstasy or frenzy, when- ever he speaks of love. For the very reason that it is the most intense and the most important to humanity of all its sentiments, it ought to l)e considered with a brain all the clearer and everything like excitement and enthusiasm, 250 TEB NATUBA.L H1ST<»RY OF LOVE. the langii:ige of sigas and of flowers, most carefiiUy tivokled, as iioless this is done tlie actual facts can neither lie observed nor descrihed with luiy accuracy. For the whole substance of love is comiKised of i>er- lectly natural elements, even if those in love do not like to aekiiowledge this fact The human bniin contams a supreme sex centre, upon which some lower centres m the spinal cord are dependent, and which in return is iiitlu- enceil by the action of the latter. In the prime of life, during which the reproduchig system of the ludividiial is in complete maturity, and the seat of animated pimesses of growth, the sex centre in the brain is also iii a condi- tion of tension and susceptibility, which makes it vcit sensitive to all causes of excitement, lu emotional natures and in those in which the mind is unoccupied, it exerts a predominant and freciuently a sovereign control over the entire consciousness. It affects the judgment, the imagina- tion and the will, it awakens ideas of eictic origin, and turns all the energy of the brain into a certain channel, thus affecting the entire brain as a sex polarity, if such an expression is permissible. This state of the mind is ex- perienced subjectively by the individual as an impulse or a craving to love. All that is now necessary for this im- pulse and this craving to find an object and become trans- formed into actual love, is for the individual in this frame of mind, to meet another of the op{)08ite sex in the same condition. In tl^s case all the vital activity of the brain to which it is excited by the sex centre, revolves around the loved being, who is not regarded and judged according to what he or she really is, but accoi-ding to the way m which the one loved corresponds to the organic rcciuire- ments of the one loving. The former is merely a puppet whicli the latter dresses and drapes to suit his or her |)ersonal taste. WE LOVE OUR ORGANIC IDEAL, NOTHING ELSE I 251 Every normal human being has an iustiuclive, imcou- scious perception of the qualities which must be possessed by the individual of the opposite sex to ensure in a union with the latter the perpetuation and improvement of his own qualities in his offspring. The more highly cultivated, the more original, the more differentiated an individual, the more complex the qualities which he attributes to the longed-for and expected individual of the opposite sex. If he has his choice among a number of individuals, he selects with infallible certainty, the one that comes the nearest to the ideal, which attains organic perfection in him when he first comes to maturity. If he has no choice he accepts any individual as it happens, with perfect content, if the latter is not so entirely different from and oi)posed to his ideal, that his sex centre is not affected in the least, and experiences no more affinity nor emotion in the presence of the latter than if it were an individual of his own sex, an animal or an inanimate object. The closer the resemblance between one individual and tho t>rganic ideal of another, the more rapidly of course the work of identifying him with the organic ideal pro- ceeds; if the two exactly coincide, then the thunderbolt falls, the individual falls in love on the spot, in an instant, and has the feeling that he has always known -and loved the object of his choice ; if there are certain differences, the indiA'idual has first to perform the task of adapting, balancing and accustoming himself to the new conditions, and learning to disregard the discrepancies between the other individual and his ideal, and seek to connect the two in his mind as closely as possible; in such a case one falls in love gradually, more rapidly or more slowly accoixl- mg as the object of his love can be more rapidly or more slowly adapted to the prc-cxistent organic ideal. In all jcases the individual in love does not love another human 252 THE NATIBAL HISTORY *»F LOVE. t>eiiig, but an itkul, whidi luis l>em evolved by his own orgnnism ; tbc impulse to love is the seeking for an em- Imliment of this inwuid ideal in corporiito form ; love Uie pemiading of one's self that this embodiment has beeii fcund; the beloved being, the projection of the mwait ideal into the outer world. The love-life of an individna therefore begins when his sex centre comes to maturity, anil la.ste as long as the the latter is in its prime; the ideti is then orgmiicallv evolved and eontinnes vital throughout the whole period of pubescence; whether it is ever realised or not is another matter; it is existing and waiting for its opportiiniiy to make its ai>pc'anuice in an Incarnate form ; the individual is virtually, or potentially if not actual h^ m love auring all this time; he is in love .villi his ideal if not with auv particular person. The lower and simpler the ideal the easier is it for the individual to find the real- ization of it in corporate form. Hence common ami simple nature s full in love veiy easily, and find no dit leulty m replacing the olyeet of their love by another; while deli- cate and complex natures find it a long and tedious task to discover their ideal or anything approximating it, in real life, and in giving it a successor if they hapi^en to lose: it. , * Wooing affects the sex centre as a powerful cause or exeitemeiit, and the individual who is the object of it can easily fall into en-or and lose the assurance of his intuitive iKjrwption of what is organically necessary to him for the Ln^etuation and improvement of his qualities m his off- spring, misled by the influence of the excited state of his sex eenti*; but this misbiken idea does not survive the wooing which was the instigating cause of the excito meni The realization of the foet that he has made tliis mistake, produces in him a feeling of confusion und mortification, wliieli turns in tinu^ into hatred of tne LOVE THE REALIZATION OF INCOMPLETENESS. 253 individual who was the cause of it, and is one of the most acutely disagreeble sensations to which human beings are liable. Normal and natural love is always conscious of its purpose. It is the consciousness of incompleteness, the longing for the possession of what is needed to supple- ment the individual, physically, mondly and mentally, to fmm the perfect whole, the source of new life. In power- ful individuals, love issues will-impulses strong enough to conquer all opposing wills and overcome every obstacle. ^ In individuals of feeble wills it is not capable of this ; the emotion is and remains subjective, and does not convert itself into actions. We must therefore not measure the strength of the love of human l)eings by the efforts they make'to attain to the beloved being, as the intensity of these efforts depends upon the strength of their will and not upon the strength of their love. But. I must add in limitation of this idea that in all healthy and normal per- sons all the brain centres are developed about equally, so thai those individuals whose wills are weak, will hardly have very powerful sex centres, while those who are ctq)a- ble of experiencing violent love will also have powerful wills, as a general thing. The different importance of the two sexes in the pres- ervation of the race makes corresponding differences in their love life imperative. The role assigned to woman is incomparably more important; she is obliged to supply the entii-e substance for the formation of a new being, to form it complete in her own organism, and impress her own qualities upon it, as she inherited them from her ancestors ; man's share in this tedious and difficult, even lieroic task, is merely to supply the impulse ; the nature of the task, however, being directly dependent upon the nature of the impulse, to a certain degree, as, for example, 264 TUB NATURAL HISTORY OF LOVE. the same dyoamite will burn lianiilessly or Idiize up lirightly, or explode witli terriic force, according as it is set on fire with a li\'e coal, a liglited match, or some otlier explosive. Consequently tlie sex centre in woman is more highly developed, its iictivit) is more animated and more important in the total of the brain's activity ; woman has a more distinctly evolved ideal of the man she organically needs to complete her, and she is less easily induced to rclmquish this ideal, and resign herself to some other en- tirely different substitute ; when she has once found her ideal, it is almost impossible for her to renounce it, and the emotion in which the excited state of her sex centre manifests itself, crowds all its other contents out of her consciousness, so that she can do nothing but love, and place her will, her judgment and her imagination at the service of her love, to such an extent that she will not allow the slightest attempt on the part of her judgment to subdue this emotion with rational ideas. AVoman feels, instinctively, that she must not make a mistake, and is un- conscionsly aware of the fact that a mistake would entail irreparable consequences nixin her and upon the race, and that it would lead to an unreasonable amount of unprofit- able organic exertion, and is consequently extremely dis- trustful and afraid of the slightest possibility of a mistake ; on the other hand, she realizes the fact with corresponding certainty when she has found tlie right one, and, in this case, is more willing to give up lite itself than the man she loves. The circumstances are different where man is con- cerned. It is allowable for him to make a mistake, as a mistake does not entail any oi-ganic consequences upon him, as far as his share in the preservation of the race is concerned. Hence his ideal of the woman he oi-ganically needs to complete him is prefigured in his mind with less distinctness ; hence he is apt to fall in love more rapidly MORBID FORMS OF LOVE. 255 I and easily with the first woman he happens to meet; he is, for this reason, much less constant j hence also, he can love much oftener, renounce much easier and forget with much less difficulty; for this reason, also, the activity of the sex centre assumes by no means so large a proi)ortion in the total of his l)rains combined activity, and hence, his love can be proportionately more easily controlled, sub- dued and even entirely vanquished by his judgment. This is in hasty and general outlines, the natural history of love as it occurs in perfectl\' healthy and normal individuals of both sexes. But does this simple, true, harmonious love ever occur in those circles whose mental aliment is the light literature of the (la\? I doubt it very seriously. What is regarded as low and accepted as love, in those circles, are only imitations of morbid and false conditions, to the representation of which fiction and tiie stage devote their entire attention. Disorders and affections of the sex centre are oi the most freipient occurrence among highly civilized people. A race that is deteriorating is first affected in this source of future generations. The deliility, exhaustion and degen- eracy of the individual as well as of the people and the race, first manifest themselves in anomalies in the work- inirs of the sex centre, so that love becomes unnatural in its character, its energy and in the selection of its object. Whenever there is anv disorder in the nervous svstem it is echoed by the sex centre, which is constantly striving to rule supreme over the entire activity of the organism, even in a condition of perfect health, and to apply it to the furtherance of its own interests, but is withheld from this usurpation by the opposition of the other centres, while it has its own way unresisted in an enfeebled or unbalanced brain, and fills the consciousness exclusively with its own 256 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF LOVE. excited stotes, makiiig :i shue of tlie whole organism and planting its standaitl of victory on the ruins of the reason and jndgment, this stimdard being now a petticoat, now a fool's cap, and anon a banner of a procession or the scourge of the penitent sinner. Fiction, and especially the fiction of the day, portrays cxclusi\'ely these morbid forms of love. The reason for this tact was alluded to in the pre- ceding chapter. The authors have either ultra-sensitive nerves themselves, or else live in the midst of metropoli ton tyi>es, in whom they are unable to observe any other mani- festations than those of disturbed and unbalanced organ- isms. If all the characters in fiction are not precisely the victims of pronounced I()ve4n8anity, yet tliey are one imd all dwelling on that Iwrder-land between peifect health and mental unsoundness mentioned in the last chapter. The sijeclalist in brain diseases recognizes in the descrii*- tion of the mental states and actions of those in love, as fjortrayed in our polite literature, the indications of certain kinds of mental disorders with which lie is very familiar. As a usual thing, the graver symptoms are only equally indicated ; if however, they were but slightly increased, they would prove to be classical examples of erotic mania, oi ecstatic delirium, religious frenzy and other mental mala- dies to which we could not properly refer in tlie presence of the unprofessional. A reader of sound judgment and particularly one of professional education, imagines him- self in a clinical hospital wlien looking about himself in fiction. Nothing but patients and invalids ! Here is an individual who loses his senses at the sight of a woman, becomes deprived of his reason and does the most idiotitt tilings ; liere is another who is transported into a danger- ous condition of turbulent or silent ecstasy b}' u glo\c or a lower belonging to the beloved being ; in one case, love impels the lover to criminal actions, In another to melan- woman's idea of love. 257 eholy and moroseness ; at one time we see a suspicious alternation of capricious coldness and sudden tenderness, and again the bankruptcy of a whole character and mind, until the will is reduced to the most pitiable condition of impotency, under the influence of the passion. And all these freaks and oddities, these ecstasies and renunciations, these raptures and yearnings, tliese impotent longings and absurd violence, are exhibited as the regular and natural manifestations of love, without a word of warning, without the slightest notice to the effect that the subjects treated are morbid exceptions ! Reading matter like this produces a profound and extremely injurious efl'eet upon the average reader, and especially upon those inclined to nervousness, and whose minds are unbalanced to a greater or less extent, but above all, upon the city woman. Woman from her verj^ nature has a tendency to regard love as the chief and sole purpose and substance of human life, and she is com- pletely confirmed in this idea — in which she may be right as far as she herself is concerned, but which, however, does not apply to man — when she sees that the books from which she obtains all her knowledge of the w^orld and of life, turn upon nothing but love from the very first to the very last line. The portrayal of the contest for a woman and of the transports when the victory is won, exalts her natural appreciation of herself into a perfect insanity in regard to her powers of fascination, and she deifies herself until she actually believes that the gift of her heart is a super- terrestrial boon, which it is far beyond man's power to re- quite even with the renunciation of all the other tasks and aims of his existence. She learns to estimate man solely according to his capacity for loving ; the wretched weak- ling whose imbecile brain is unable to oppose any resist- ance to his emotions of love, tossed hither and yon without 258 THE NATURAL HISTORY OP LOVE. THE HARM DONE BY EROTIC LITERATURE. 259 mast or rudder on the sea of passion, slie considers touch- ing and love-inspiring ; the strong and healthy man, whose cogitation holds his emotion in check, who retains control of liis reason even in the excitement of love, and only yields to its promptings in so tar as they are apprfived by ills judgment, she detests as cold and heartless. She calls melting softness and whining ultra-sensitiveiiess, devotion; while nnyielding strength, versed in self-control, with a proud appreciation of the value of the affection ofTeiXHl as well as of the affection received, is in her eyes revolting nideness. The morbid state of degeneracy which renders a man woman's plaything and the victim of his own temiier- ament, is in her eyes tlie token of real manhood, and her imagination painte the true lover witli the external symp- toms of pale cheeks, languishing glanc458 and dreamy brow, all traits which are not among tlie attribute's of sound and perfect manhood. She imagines that love, to be deep and genuine, must assume an cxaggerattHl fcnin ; she cxi3ects mentel and physical gymnastic feats, uonseusical effusions in prose and verae, sighs, tears and clasped hands, incom- prehensible mysticism in words, ideas wliich would never occur to any rational human being, and deetis In imitation of Orlando Furioso or of Amadis de CJaul. To l>e recog- nized as genuine, love must prauce and parade ; a silent, self-contained sentiment that neither gushes nor gesticu- lates, that has no appreciable influence upon one's desire to eat and sleep, and is compatible witii the f idfdlmeut of tiie duties of one's vocation— this is not considered love. It is only recognized in the form of a tt^mimt ; it must appear with thunder and lightning; the lover nnist rush to his loved one as Zeus to Semele ; if he makes his appeanince in any other way he is not tiie expected god. And this is not all. Fiction disturlis also the natural course of the development of the sentiment of love in the ■■* .1/ youthful reader, and especially in the girl reader. The rule is for the sex centre to commence its activity as the organism attains its maturity, thus arousing ideas and emotions of an erotic nature in the consciousness. But among the youth of tiie upper classes, the reverse occurs. Erotic ideas and emotions are artificially forced upon the consciousness by what is read, and excite the sex centre to premature and therefore injurious activity. If the instinct to love is a result of the attaining to maturity of tiie indi- vidual, the organism has had the time and the strength to instinctively evolve the ideal of the mate it feels it requires to complete it, the sentiment becomes assured and reliable, the influence of fancy restricted and the danger of error in the decisive choice materially lessened. But, on the other hand, if erotic ideas are prematurely impressed upon the consciousness by what is read, then the organism is taken by surprise, before it is yet able to evolve its ideal of a mate; the foreign suggestion disturbs this delicate task; the organism ceases to listen to its own indistinct voices, and hears none but those of fiction ; the imagination does not receive the idea of the longed-for individual from tiie mysterious depths of the cells and tissues, but from tiie pages of novels; the individual does not attain to the true perception of the needed companion, and any chance encounter may prove fatal, owing to the lack of the inward standard. The fair novel-reader and theatre-goer does not know whether the man who interests her is the right one or not, because she has no organically evolved ideal, and only memories of heroes in romance and drama for her criterions. She substitutes her fancies for the real needs of her organism, and heedlessly commits tiiose fatal errors in her choice which wreck her life for ever after. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred among the cul- tivated classes, and especially among the inhabitants of 2150 THE NATURAL HISTORY OP LOVE. tlie larger cities, what is considerec! love or what is pre- tended to be love, is Bot ii love evolved in the organism, but merelj the effect of the suggestion exerted by fiction. If lovers of this cliiss had never read a novel nor seen a sentimental plaj, thej would probably not be in that state which they recognize as love in themselves, or if tliey were really in love, tfiis sentiment would manifest itself in entirely different thoughts, words and actions from what it now does. They do not love with their sex centre but with their memor}-. Consciously or unconsciously they are enacting a r51e in some society drama, and earnestly and zealously play the scenes which, as iwrtrayed in books or represented on the stage, have taken posses- sion of their imagination. It is a custom in Paris witli loving couples, in the honej-moon of their young love, to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of AMard and Heloise— that celebrated and unfortunate pair of olden times. There is a deep significance in this proceeding. For it is ex- tremely probable that the two lovers each owe the infatu- ation which they are experiencing, to the dead minstrels of love of the twelfth centur}', or, in other wonls, to the stories of love wliich have been sung to them l>y the poets of all ages to the accompaniment of the strains of the harp. The man with whom a woman who has read ranch is in love, need not pride himself upon this fact. What she really loves is not him personally nor her organic ideal, which he may resemble, but the figure in romance, invented by some antlior, for which she is seeking some one to represent it. Let ns lieat our breasts, my brethren ! However humili- ating this may te to our piide, we must still all acknowl- edge the fact that in our love affiiirs we have all been more or less the weaver with the ass's head in the Midsummer Night's Bream, of whom Titania was enamored because she was under the spell of the magic fiower. The Oberon THE ''CHIc"' OF THE PARTSIENNE. 261 i who has dropped the juice of the magic herb upon the eye- lids of our Titanias, is the romancer alone. It was simply our good fortune that we happened to cross the path of Titinia just when she was under this influence. But whether it is Bottom or Quince, Titania is most certainly not in love with either one or the other, but with some romantic figure suggested to her by some roguish Oberon, ivs Faust, after drinking the magic potion, saw an ideal Helen in every woman he met. A certain indescribable fascination, style or ctiic has been ascribed to the ParisirHue by several generations of authors of all nationalities, all writing in the same stereo- typed fashion. The consequences are tliat the mouth of every simpleton waters, and his eyes twinkle when the mere mime of a PurisintDf is mentioned, and especially when lie sees one in flesh and blood before him. If you ask the idiot what he sees in her, he is content to liellow forth the same single word: "chic! chic!" He sees in the Paris- icnip wiiat his books have convinced him is there for him to see. Our literature has been the trumpet of the praises of actresses and circus riders in the same way— no other teini will express it,— and consequently these persons are the objects, par ercrUence, of the frantic adoration of all <»iir cadets, students and esthetic counter jumpers." In the same way fiction has suggested the military oflTicer to woman, at least in Germany, as the object most worthy of love, and the brass buttons might well hang a votive wreath in the temple of the muses of fiction, as often as a feminine lieart succumbs to their fascination. If we study the love affairs of which we see the origin, the growth and the culmination in a happy marriage or in some obtrusively eclatant catastrophe in the society around us, we will find that as a rule, the affair proceeds accord- 2(12 THE NATURAL insTOIlV OF T.OVE. TITK AVRONd POXK TO LOVE. 263 iiicr to this general plan : a genlleuum pays particuhir attention to some one 3-onng lady, as is ol)ligatory upon hiin by sitting next to her at table or by the exigencies of the dance. The lady then experiences a certain sense of satis- faction at the effect— usnally very raucli exaggerated-- produced by her person, and her vanity thus flattered dis- poses her to an amiable and responsive frame of mind, which in turn is misinterpreted by the gentleman's self- love. At this point the work of chance comes to an end, and the suggestion of fiction begins to make itself felt. Both he and she have experienced a slight impulse of attraction, the imagination perfects it, the memory in^'okes all the images of famous lovers, all the poems, love-letters and confessions of love which they have read l)estir them- selves and start to the pen and to the lips, thc^N' become more and more inspired, more and more impassioiu^d in the erotic roles tliey liave commenced to play, and finally they appear before the altar, where invisible to all, a crowd of authors of fiction extend their hands in benediction upon the heads of the wedded pair, whom they alone have brought together. Afterwards it only too IVeciuently becomes evident that Thechi has entrusted the role of her Max to some one entirely incompetent to fill it or tlie re- verse, and then another drama is played, which is also the work of the suggestion of some poet>— perhaps one of crime and divorce, perliaps of separation or a convent lomance. But the whole matter is almost always a phonogi-apliic love, in which the male and female faithfully r(n)eat in their metallic Punch and Judy voices, the words spoken into them, as into Edison's ingenious instrument, by the romancers beforehand. Ye over-refiners of love, ye quintessencers of passion and pathologists of the human heart, ye flibricators of am- biguous situations, exceptional human beings with double- t barrelled souls, and of unheard-of incidents, what have ye made of the simplest, the truest and the most delightful human instinct? how terribly have ye sinned against us all ! f EVOLUTION IN AESTHETICS HerlMirt Spencer says in his "Principles of Biolog5%" (Vol II, page 253, English and American editions) : ''This seems as fit a phice as any for noting the fact, that the greater part of wliat we call beauty in tlie organic world, is in some way dependent on the sexual relation. It is not only so witli the colours and odours of flowei-s. It is so, too, with the brilliant plumage of birds, and with the songs of liirds, both of which, in Mr. Darwin's view, are due'to sexual selection ; and it is prol)able that the colours of the more conspicuous insects are in part similarly detennined. The remarkable circumstance is, that these characteristics, which have originated by furthering the production of the best offspring, while they are naturally those which render the organisms possessing them attract- ive to one another, directly or indirectly, should also be those which are so generally attractive to us— those witli- out which the fields and woods would lose half their charm. It is interesting, too, to ol)serve how the conception of human beauty is in a considerable degree thus originated. And tlie trite observ^ation that the element of beauty which grows out of the sexual relation is so predominant in aesthetic products—in music, in the drama, in fiction, in poetry— gains a new meaning when we see how deep down in organic nature this connexion extends." These few lines contain all three, and in fact, all nine THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS OF ESTHETICS. 265 1 I of the Sibylline books of natural aesthetics— the science which treats of the beautiful in nature and art. The human mind and even the mind of the masses will gradually become accustomed to thinking in accord- ance with the principles of evolution, that is, to recognize in each phenomenon an episode of development, incompre- hensible in itself, but which is made clear and intelligible by what has preceded it, and appears much less mysterious when viewed by the light of the past than when considered alone by itself. When the intellect of man has attained to this point of view, few things will seem so absurd to it, as the ideas and attempts at explanation which constitute the whole of the science of aisthetics as professionally taught at the present day. For mental philosophy, up to the present time, has, with few exceptions, consUmtly disregarded the principles of evo- lution. It accepted the psychical phenomena just as they appear now to our observation, and sought to comprehend them as they now exist, without inquiring how they origin- ated; nor from what simple beginnings they have been evolved into their present complex state, nor what elements in them are superannuated survivals or dead remains, and which arc A'ital impulses. Even Kant abandons his usual habit of keen and lucid thought, when he is speaking of the categories (the scientific term applied to the classified enumeration of all things capable of being named), and makes the mystical statement that the categories are forms of human thought which indicate something outside of and beyond humanity. In more intelligible language, this means simply that the forms of human thought, such as time, space and causality, are not the result of the experience of the individual, that is, of what his senses have perceived, and must therefore have attained to his consciousness in some other way than ^*w^^^^^ 2m IVOLUTIOH IN jESTHETICS. Hi by ineiiiis of his senses, that is, they must have been born in Mm. And he suid this long after Hume had discovered the explanation of at least one of these categories : caus- ality, which he asserted proceeded simply from the fact, that the human intellect had always seen one phenomenon succeed another, and gradually assumed the habit of be- lieving this sequence inevitable, and began to surmise dynamic relations between the phenomena. The cmceii- tion of space has been since described— and especially by Bain, Spencer and Mill-as a result of the perception of the individuaFs own movements transmitted to the con- sciousness l»y the muscle-sense ; and quite recently etymol- ogy has been quite successful in deriving evidence from the meaning of the roots of the words now used to express ideas of time, that man originally meant to signify by time, the day, the interval of sunlight, and not anything abso- lute, aprimi, which consisted of something beyond the solar system, bevond the alternation of days and seasons, teyond a nature, which exhibits nothing but a succession of changes. The case has been the same in regard to ethics. One day it was found existent : the fact was recognized that human beings had a conception of good and evil, of virtue and vice, and no one thought of inquiring whether this conception had been naturally evolved, but all leai^ed at once to the conclusion that just so, just as it then lived, moved and had ite being, it must have been revealed to mankind by some divine being. We know now, U> be sure, that there is no such thing as gooil and evil, but that the necessity of a life in common has gradually induced human beings to designate those actions which are preju- dicial to the interests of the community as a whole, as bad and vicious, and those advantageous and conducive to these interests, as good and virtuous. THE METAPHYSICS Oi^ THE APPLE DUMPLINGS. 267 ^Esthetics has not escaped this universiii hiw of hasty conclusions, which, strangely enough, claims to be pro- found penetration. As the conception of beauty, us man- kind now posssesses it, is not capable of a direct explana- tion by any pretensions to utility nor any other process apparent to the senses, from Plato to Fichte, Hegel, Vischer and Carriere, a lunidred pliilosophers have been ready with the obvious assertion that this conception is another one of those mysterious phenomena which indicate •d certain superhuman something in man, one way, in wliich the Unite human intellect can form an approximate con- ception of the iniinitc, a sublime presentiment of the non- material being who is the [)riinal cause of all material phenomena, and all the rest of* the like meaningless aggregations of words. The proverb says never to show a fool an unfinished house. But the proverb is entirely wrong. It ought to l»e the reverse, that a finished house should never be shown to a fool ; for when the house stands complete, the fool sUires at it with open eyes and mouth, and can not under- st^iiid how it ever came to be so tall and wide and magnifi- cent. If, on the other hand, it is shown to him unfinished, if he is allowed to watch as stone is laid upon stone, beam iq)on beam, it is no longer difficult for him to understand the growth and existence of what now so astonishes him, its construction and its purpose, the why and wherefore of its parts, and the how of the whole. A well-known anecdote of George III of England, states that he once fell into a re very over some apple dumplings which had been served up te him at a lurm table, when he was hunting one tlay, and after profound meditation he exclaimed : " How the devil did the apples ever get inside the dumplings? " The science of metaphysics stands before the psychic phenom- ena like George III before the dumplings. As it does not 268 EVOLUTION IN AESTHETICS. seem possible to conceive that the apple could have got in- side the njund dumpling in any natural way, it at once assumes that there must be some miraculous dnd super- natural war. Thus the ideas of time and space and causality must be innate, -a priori intuitions," thus our conception of morality must be a divine i^velation, thus our conception of beauty must be a perception of some- thing transcendental and infinite. Here the philosophy ol evolution steps in, and describes with the homely common sense of a cook, that the apple dumpling as it appears smoking on the table, is in fact something beyond our powers to comprehend and to explain ; but that it has not ^ways ten the symbol of eternity that it is now, in its roundness without end, and its solid whole without any opening, but that it was once pliant dough, which could be very naturally wrapiied around the apple, as is very easy to Understand, and the mystery ceases to be a mysterj'. Like our code of ethics, and our ideas of tune, space and causality, our conceptions of the beautiful ought not to bo considered as they exist in their present complete state, if we wish to understand them, but we must investigate how they have come to be what they now are. At the present day they are something very complex ; onginally they were something exceedingly simple. We apply at present the adjective, beautiful, to a long list of objects of Oie most varie.1 character, which appeal to the most varied senses : music and paintings ; a landscape and a waterfall ; a cathedral and a storm at sea ; a poem and an ornament set with jewels. In the same way we term a long list of sensations aesthetic, which are entirely dissimilar in almost every respect: the rapturous sense of awe we expenemc St the sight of the thundering spring-tide surf, as well as onr amused delight when we are contemplating one of Obei- Jiender's pictures in the Fliegende Blotter, oui- admiration I AGREEABLE AND DIS.4.GIIEEABLE SENSATIONS. 269 of the Vouii.s of Mile, as well as our appreciation of a grand and imposing building. MeUphysical aesthetics has strained every point to trace back this multiplicity to unity. But it has all been useless lal)or, with no tangible results. To make the difTeieiit objects resemlilc each other, tliey first had to be stripped of their most essential character- istics, adding to one what was taken from another, depriv- iu>' another of what the former lacked. And wlien this work of counterteiting and adjusting was not sufficient, some arl)itraiy addition was made to them, tlius produc- ing a sham simiUirity between them, due, not to the natu- ral features, but to the artificial disguises of the objects. We will make the same attempt, but by a more honest method ; instead of zealously stirring up the elements of the complex phenomena into confusion worse confounded, and making them still more difficult to l»e recognized and apparently more similar, by pouring some of tl:is meta- physical broth of infiniteness over them, we will, on the contrary, separate them one from the other and return to each its original appearance. One (piality is common to all aesthetic sensations: that they are the reverse of disagrceal)le sensations. But the feelings of pleasure which the different manifestations of the beautiful inspire in us, proceed from entirely differ- ent organic sources. Before we begin to dig for these sources one word in regard to the agreeable and disagreeable sensations themselves. Agreeable sensations are those aroused by impressions or ideas of impressions, which are in some way conducive to the preservation of the indi- vidual or of the race ; disagreeable sensations are all those the reverse of this. The fact that this is the case is based upon a natural and spontaneous foundation. A being in whom the impressions upon liis senses which menaced or in- jured his existence did not arouse any disagreeable sensa- 270 IVOLUTION IN ^ESTHETICS. tions, woeM not have hiid any cause to avoid these Impres- sions, and consequently would have succuml>ed to them in time, and would not leave any descendants to represent him in the organic world of the present day. The reverse would be the case with a being who experienced injurious or men- acing impressions as disagreeable sensations, and thus received from them an impulse sufficiently intense to in- duce him to avoid or ward them off, and thus protect him- self from injury and ensure a regular development for himself, which would have included the protluction of off- spring. So far we have referred only to the avoidance of what is deleterious. But this is not enough. To thrive especially well the organism must seek conditions which are not only not deleterious, not only neutral, but of pro- nounced benefit. It is obliged to experience favorable and necessary conditions as agreeable, and thus be induced to desire and strive for them. The more intense the pleasur- able sensations it experiences from beneficial impressions, the more energetically it will exert itself to obtain them, and the more favorable the effect they will produce upon its growth and development. Hence tlie organisms of the present day represent the chosen few among our predeces- sore who experienced with the most intensity those im- pressions deleterious to their existence as disagreeable, and those conducive to their existence, as agreeable sensa- tions. I wOl allow myself one single example to elucidate this fact Coosidered in themselves alone, all odors amount to the same thing, and there are neither agreeable nor disagreeable ones among them. The odor of putrefac- tion and the odor of a rose are no more different in them- selves than a blue and green light, for instance, or Uie notes of a trum|K!t and of a flute. If there were something teyond the sense of smell, some substance upon which odors mwle an impression, like that of light on chloride or ANALYSIS OF ODORS. 271 bromide of silver, so that some instrument could be devised, which would be to odors what the photographic apparatus is to light, then we could convince even the most unphilosophieal mind, with the greatest facility, that the odor of decaying matter is in itself an odor like any other, and only makes an unpleasant impression upon the human nose owing to its present construction. But it happens that the odor of decaying matter clings to certain fluid and gaseous substances, which originate in the vital activity of minute living beings who are very dangerous to the higher forms of animal life, while the odor of a rose proceeds from a flower which flourishes only in dry, sunny places, and blossoms in the fairest season of the year. A being to whom both odors were alike indifferent or who might even happen to prefer the odor of decay, would not avoid the places where putrefac- tion was taking place ; he would breathe poisonous- gases, perhaps even eat putrid matter, containing the cadaver- iwison, (the so-called "ptomaine"), and come into contact with the microbe organisms, which would produce danger- ous and even easily fatal diseases in him, and he would begin to dwindle and perish sooner or later. On the other hand, a being in whom the odor of putrid matter produced disagreeable, and the odor of a rose, agreeable sensation^, would avoid all those possibilities of hann which are associated with the former, and would prefer to seek out warm and sunny spots in the open air during the spring and summer, which would be very beneficial to his health as a matter of course. He would thrive and produce vig- orous offspring, who, being stronger and more prolific, would soon supplant the offspring of the being who was indifferent to or preferred the odor of putrid matter, until in time there would not be any beings with healthy nervous systems in whom the odor of decay would uot 272 1 VOLUTION IN ^ESTHETICS, iKiuse disii*,^reeaWc seiisatioos, ami the f ragcaiiee of a rose, agreeable ones. The effect of the two odors eaii also be increased by the ideas assoeiated with them, which thcy eatiirally arouse. For iustaiice, we associate with the od(ir of decaying matter tlie idea of certain phenomena con- nected with the death and annihilation of tlie organism, and with the rose, the idea of tliat season in which ibod liegins to become more abundant, when heat rcitnrns. and when life in general becomes easier and pUrasanter to innn. This rnle, that all our agreeable and disagreeal)le sen- sations were primarily due to the usefulness or the injii- riousness of the phenomena pioducing tlicm, tV)r the individual or the race, has no exceptions. The facts advanced to refute it are drawn from inexact observatiini or are superficially interi)reti'd. One example to prove this. Aleoholic intoxicating l>everages arouse decidedly agreealile sensations in tlic drinker, and j'ct they are ex- tremely injurious to his health and his life. This is true But why do alcoholic drinks affect one thus? Tor llic reason that, at first, before tliey paralyze and stui)efy tlu' organism, the\- excite the nervous system to increasi-d activity and produce an intensive feeling of vigor and dieerfulness, stronger will-impulses and a more copious iow of ideas in the judgment, a condition, that is, which can only be induced in a natural way by those circum- stiinees "which arc extremely beneficial to the health and life of the individual, such as suiMjrior alimentation, ample rest, perfect health, inhabiting a place where the air is rich in oxv<^en, association with friends whose society one en- iovs, vonth, the lack of all eauses ihv anxiety and care. etc. Primitive man learned to recognize this exhilarated frame of mind which precedes the actual state of intoxication, only ill eonjunction with these most llivorable cireum- stauces, and according to the law mentioned alwve, was THE EXHILARATION OP INTOXICATION. 273 obliged to apprehend it as an agreeable sensation. Not until long after, when the delight in this frame of mind had ])ecome an organic instinct within him, did he invent wine and brandy, and thus obtain tlie possibility of pro- ducing this exceedingly delightful increase in the vital activity of his brain and nenxs, by an artificial and in- jin-ious means. But this was only a few thousand years alimity. The idea upon whicli the sensation of sublimity is founded is the following : com- pared with this object, I am nothing. Against this object my strength is insignificant To struggle against it, to conquer it, is absolutely imixissible. If 1 were obliged to contend against it, I should l>e annihilated ! This sensa- tion is very nearly akin to mortal fear, and it is in reality only to be distinguished from the latter by the fact that there is a second idea associated with the idea of one's own im potency, to the effect that fortunately no such struggle with the mighty object is imi^ending, and that this overwhelming superiority is not in reality to be em- ployed to sulMlue and annihilate the being contemplating it The sijectacle of Rome burning, viewed from the ter- THE STJBLTME. 275 race of the imperial palace, might awaken the sensation of sublimity, as the imposing sight contains no element of dan- ser for the observer. But if he is surrounded by the con- flagration, on the other hand, it would not arouse a sensa- tion of the sublime but an agony of fear in him. The surf of the ocean, viewed from the beach, is sublime ; but it arouses an agony of fear in the mind of the shipwrecked person, who must pass througli it to reach the shore. The physical conditions which accompany the sensation of the sublime, are identical with those that attend the sensation of mortal fear. There is the same anxi- ety, the same cessation of the heart's palpitations, the same catching of the breath, all indications of the excited state of the so-called ^wr vagum ; there is the same chill passing down the spinal cord, the same immobility, which we might call a temporary paralysis. Sensitive natures become benumbed and as if turned to stone at the aspect of what is sublime as well as of what is really terrible and threatening to them. The sense of the sublime is thus most directly asso(;iated with the instinct of self-preserva- tion in the individual, that is, it is due to his habit of feel- ing himself in a perpetual state of opposition to the external world, which lie regards as a possible enemy, and to his habit of realizing tlie probable results of victory pr of defeat in case of a conflict The charming is the sensation aroused by those phe- nomena which produce simultaneously a large number of impressions on the senses in a given interval of time, and excite the centres of perception, reason and judgment to an animated vital activity. The effect of a bare wall is tiresome, because it produces only one single impression upon the sense of sight, and does not require any increased activity on the part of the brain to interpret it A wall profusely decorated, on the otlier hand, produces a charm- 27^ EVOLUTION' m ,iE8THETlC8. ing effect lieeause !i single gkiiice :it it causes a number of impressions on tlie sense of siglit, and excites the !>niin to aEimated aetivit}' to interpret these iin[)ressions. What is monotonous or uniform may produce tlie effect of sulilim- ity upon us when it appears us something of vast extent, but it never interests us, whieli effect can only 1»e prole in themselves. Hence a wall smirched with dirt spots of the most diverse sizes and shapes, will not lie interesting, notwithstanding the divei-sity of its aspect. To experience, therefore, anything as charm- ing, tlic individual must firet experience the consciousness of his own life as something agi-eeable. But this con- adousness consists in the perceiving of impressions on the senses, and whatever produces a number of simultaneous impressions, which can be perceived without effort, imparts an increased intensity to the consciousness and a richer apprehension of his vitality to the individual. What is adapted to its purpose or design, the appro- priate, does not protlnce the actual effect of beauty upon us, but rather of satisfaction, and as the latter is also an agreeable sensation, it is easily mistaken for beauty. What is adapted to its purpose or design is what is Intel- ligible, that is, it coincides with our human conceptions of tlie laws that govern phenomena. A stone iiyniinid stand- TIIK APPROPRIATE. 277 ing upon its apex appeals to us as something the reverse of binuitiful in every respect, because it does not seem n|>[>i'opriate, because its position contradicts our concep- tions of the laws of gravity and the laws of equilibrium deduced from the former. We would necessarily feel that it could not remain permanently in that position, that it nuist soon fall. The leaning tower of Pisa produces a simi- lar effect. It produces an effect the reverse of beautiful upon natural tastes, it causes distrust and a f (Haling of anxietv, and these are disnurceable sensations. A house, with massive stone upper stones resting upon thin iron rf)lninns, produces the same effect, the reverse of beautiful, because its construction seems inconsistent. If men had been accustouu'd for centuries to the sight of buildings in whlj'li ifou and stone had been employed in tiiis same way, then there would he a general impression that a small (pum- tily of iron possessed a vast supporting power, Wxiich far larger nuan titles of stone and wood are not alAe to over- come. Then th(^ sight of great masses of stone work up- held by slendcn- iron columns wonld no longer awaken ideas of incongruity i\nd inappropriateness, and houses with iron biisemeiits and stone upper stories would no longer i)roduce an unpleasant effect, as the effect produced 1>V a tree with wide spreading branches is not an unpleas- ant one, notwithstanding tlie fact that it differs from our fundamental conception of a solid .and firmly l)ased olyect, viz. a fio-ure resting on a broad foundation, and diminish- ing as it approaches the top, — because we know that the trunk is solid in spite of its small size, in i)roportiou U) the whole tree, and the spreading branches, in spite of their great circumference, very light. The eliect of appropriate- ness is connected with that instinct which impels man to comprehend phenomena and divine their laws, which are not apparent to the senses. He experiences what is un- 276 KYfiLI-TfOW IN iERTHtTICS. known ami wluil hi' does not iindtMstmitl m something in- iiEieal and njjslerious, poniething threatening, beyond liis powers to cope with, whihi wliatever is clear and rational in- spires hini with a sense of familiarity ancrpctnal opposition, that is. hostile relation to the external world, the Non-Ego, whicli all appeal to his Instinct of self-preservation. We will next proceed to show how his apprehension of what is iMantiful in a restricted sense, and what is pretty, is directly connt^cted with the instinct of race- preservation in him. Every impression on any sense that aronscs the highest sex centre in the brain to activity, citlier directly or by any association of ideas, prodnces the cflect of l^eauty upon us. The grand ty|>e of everything beauti- fol^in the eyes of man—is woman, at the period of sexual maturity, and capable <>f pn>pagating her kind; that is, a young and liealtliy woman. She excites his sex centre to the most intense activity, the sight of her and any idea connected with her, arouses in liim the most in- tensely agreeable sensations that it is within the ijower of any mere sight or idea to produce. The habit of associat- ing woman's api>earance with his conceptions of beauty and the agreeable sensations caused by the latter, whicli has finally tecome organic, induces the human intellect to ascribe the feminine form to all abstract ideas which are ejtperienced as agreeable or beautifiiL For this reason we wcman's idea of esthetics. 279 represent our conception of our native land, of fame, friendship, sympathy, wisdom, etc., in a feminine form. This ought not to influence woman's ideas. The sight or the idea of a person of her own sex has no power to excite her sex centre to any form of activity, and hence man must be her ideal of beauty. That her ideas as to what is l)eautiful are about the same as those of man, is owing to 'the fact that man, being the stronger organism, has im- pressed his own ideas upon her by suggestion, and ban- ished her own contradictory ideas. It must be stated here, however, that the ideas of the two sexes in regard to what is beautiful are only approximately and not identically the same, and if woman had any aptitude for and skill in the critical observation of herself, and in analyzing and describ- ing the states of her consciousness, she would long since have estal)lished the fact that her system of aesthetics differs most essentially in many respects from that of man. We consider those objects pretty which awaken the idea of childhood, either directly or by some association of ideas, and thus excite the instinct of love of children upon which the preservation of the race is dependent. We experience therefore as pretty everything small, dainty, and helpless, but especially the diminished copy of some familiar object which is much larger and more imposing in reality. These diminutive copies produce the effect of lieing in the same proportion to their originals as children to adults. Unmistakable traces of this way of thinking are found among uncivilized peoples and in less developed languages. The Indian actually believes that the wheel- barrow is the son of the dray, and in the Magyar or Hun- garian language, the pistol is called the "gun's baby," (kdlyok-puska.) The physical phenomena and counter- effects produced l)y what is pretty, have the greatest resemblance to t he etfect produced by the sight of a child. 28§ EVfJl.'CTlON IN JSSTHETICS. Women feel like kissing what prmliices the effect of pret. tiness ii|X>ii them, and experience in netual fact an almost irresistible impulse to caress it in the characteristic mater- nal way, that is, to stroke it, take it in their arms and carry it to their lips. Many objects, in consequence of the extended and diversiaed associations of thought awakened by them, appcid simultaneously to the instinct of self-prescn%ition, and also to that of race-i)reservation, and to the different suliordinate forms of these instincts, and are experi- enced as beautiful in different ways. For instance, spring in nature is lieantiful, charming, and adapted to the end in view. It excites the sex centre to activity, l)e- canse to primitive man and the lower forms of organic life that preceded him, it was tlie season of love, as it brought a more abundant supply of food to all living beings, and thus ensured tliem a more vigorous vital activity. It is furthennore charming, l»ecause it includes a vast and yet not a iMJwildering array of agreeable details, and conse- quently proscrver feels himself as smal and iee!)le in comparison with them as with the primeval forest or the everlasting hills. A work of art produces the effect of appropriateness when it prochmns its purpose and its laws of being in its visible form, wliich it only does when it recalls familiar natural objects to our remem- brance, whose purpose long exiierience has made tannhar to us, and whose laws of being-always with the exception of the ultimate cause-^we are able to divine. The forms of organic animal and plant life, the outlines of crystals, and the groupings of the larger accumulations ot matter as controlled l>y the laws of mechanics, are the familiar and comprehensible natural pheiiimiena, which the pro- ductions of art must resemble in order to be recognized as appropriate and enjoyed as beautiful. It is not withm the iK)wer of each separate art to impart all the esthetic im- pressions, but only those which are associated with the objects it is able to imitate or recall to the spectator s remembrance. For instance, architecture is not able to produce the impression of beauty in its narrower sense, that is, to incite the sex centre to activity, except by resort- ing to sculpturesque ornament, when it is no longer archi- tecture Music can not produce the effect of prettiness, because it is not able to imitate the essential characteris- tics of the sight of childhood, nor to suggest them by any association of ideas. , .|. -. I have thus defined aesthetics in general outlmes as it is found in nature and evolution, and shown the needless- ness of introducing any transcendental element to explani the sensation of the teautiful. And if now some patient commentator chooses to spin out these leading thoughts into a three volume compeadinm, lie has my best wishes for his 8uooes9« SYMMETRY. We will begin by establishing the fact that there is not a single example of perfect symmetry in all nature, that is, of a form, which repeats with absolute regularity the same disposition of parts on both sides of an imaginary line through the middle. Even those natural objects to which with Lhe least constraint we are able to ascri]>e a law of symmetry, such as crystals, flowers, leaves set in two rows, and those animals that develope to the right and left from a longitudinal axis, are not really symmetrical, and in fact, c:ui not be cut into two or more parts that would exacll\- cover each other. Everything which we are able to perceive with our senses, is irregular. It differs in some unprecedented manner to a more or less degree, from the design which the human mind imputes to it ; it is perpetu- ally rebelling with greater or less violence against the law by wliicli we like to believe it is governed. Not a single heavenly body is mathematicall}' round, not a single orbit conforms precisely to the scientific formula we have laid down for it. Not a single human face appears exactly the same on the right side as on the left, no bird has two wings entirely alike. And this universal lack of symme- try, or asymmetry, prevails not only in those objects wiiieh we can perceive with the naked eye, but in the inmost and most secret dispositions of matter, especially in its organic; combinations. The fact that a ray of light on its way is diverted in the most diverse angles, in netting free 284 STJBIKTUV. BEAUTY A LACK OF SYM3IETRV. 285 different kinds of organic matter, mid deflected to the riglit and aguin U. the ld1 by a body that is .ppareiilly the same in its ehemieal eompositiou, i. chumetl by Pasteur as a proof of the foet that atoms are disposed in the molecules with a hiek of symmetry in the design, and he announces as the cause of this, that the natural forces which produce the amingement of the atoms and .nolecules-heat, liglit, elee- tricitv. attraction, etc.-are also asymmetrical He devcrl- opes'this idea further, and even ventures to assert that lile is ultimatelv asvmmetry, and that we shall be al»le to con- tmi life in our retorts out of simple primeval matter when we shall havtj learned to emi>loy :isyrametrical torccs. 1 must rontess lluvt these ideas seem to me to pertam -- • 41.,.. 11. ..II i,i clifiiiiisli-v moi'haiiifs and to rayslici? it does Bot appeal to us as beauty, we are led to inquire how tlie Iiuiuao mind happened to conceive tliB idea of it, and to which of its necessities it corresponds. The reph' to this inquiry is found in the fundamental peculiarities of man's intellectual activity. In the first place, we have the habit of causal thought. Back of the phenomenon apparent to our senses we sur- mise some immaterial element, entirely beyond all direct obseiTation, which we designate the cause, the sufficient reason, or the law, as we choose, and to which the different philosophers have applied other terms, as for instance, when Schopenhauer calls it will, Frohscharamer, imagina- tion, etc. No one has ever actually recognized a cause as sucli. We have only observed phenomena succeeding each otlier without any real dependence between them. Their connection by means of some tie not manifest to the senses, of cause and effect, is exclusively the result of our habits of thought. We see the lightning and we hear the thunder. AVe also notice that as a rule they appear one after the other. But that a chain issues from the light- ning which drags the thunder along after it, this we neither see nor hear, we are not informed of it by any of the senses which convey the phenomena of the lightning and the thunder themselves to our consciousness ; it is added by our brain, entirely on its own account, to these phenomena. This habit of causality has caused us to attribute to the immaterial element of the phenomenon, the element not apparent to the senses in any way, the supposed or imaginary cause, an importance greater than that we attril>- ute to the phenomenon itself. This is natural. The de- sign which we ascribe to the phenomenon is a production of our own brain and can be perceived directly by the con- sciousness without the intervention of the senses, while the phenomenon itself proceeds outside of our consciousness, and is only transmitted to the consciousness by tlie senses ; but what we create in ourselves, what is evolved before the eyes of the thinking Ego, as it were, what is per- ceived without any intervention on the part of the senses, must seem of necessity more real, more essential and more vivid to this Ego, than the phenomenon which occurs out- side of tlie Ego and is never thoroughly perceived in all its details. When, therefore, the phenomenon, as it is per- ceived by our senses, and transmitted to our consciousness, does not exactly coincide with its plan or law, as our brain has contrived it, we calmly sacrifice the phenomenon to the law, we falsify the former to save the latter, we give more credence to the inward workings of our l)rain than to our senses, and compel our perception to accom- modate itself to what we have invented. We see, for instance, a crystal, a cube, one of the simplest forms of crystallization. Three sides of the crystal are regular, the three others are not. \\c have, however, evolved a plan in our minds for this phenomenon, which requires six equal square planes, twelve edges of equal length, and eight right-angled corners with three plane surfaces each. The crystal we see before us does not correspond with this plan we invented for it. AVe do not hesitate an instant in our assumption that the phenomenon is wrong and our invention right, and say to ourselves : '' This crystal was intended to become a cube. But the material has not carried out the idea. It is our part, therefore, to help out the material and to give it the shape which it strove to but could not assume," and so placidly and self-satisfied, we see in the form — which is a phenomenon in itself and differs entirely from a cube— a cube. We are now in the most secret work-room of human thought, and I beg the reader to Lave a little patience while we look around us more attentively. Attention is QQQ SYMMETRY. an iiidispeiisfil>l« prereqnisite of all labor on the part of the eonscioiisness. In this we have to imagine the most ani- mated activity of certjiin nerve fibres and cells in the brain, owing to a more copious suppl.y of blood, while all the other cells and fibres receive less blood, and are therefore more feebly nourished, and hence are completely at rest or do their work languidly. A stronger impression on the senscb imparts a stronger stimulus to the brain fibres and cells appointed to rewive it and rouses them from their ipiiescent state, as it were, while a feebler impression allows tliem to remain torpid. The stronger impression therefore attracts our attention and reaches our conscious- ness, whicli the feeliler does not We have already seen in the chapter on genius and talent, that we perceive with onr consciousness only tliose elements in a phenomenon which produce the strongest impression upon our senses, and thus attract our attention. The example I mentioned to illustrate this fact was an oil painting. It is the optical element in this obviously very complex phenomenon which produces the strongest impression upon our sense of sight, and attracts our attention and is thus consciously per- ceived ; the other elements, such as the otior of the oil, are weaker; they do not produce enough of an impression on the appropriate senses, on ll.c sense of smell for instance, the corresponding perceiving centres are not excited to action to a sufficient degree to arouse our attention, and hence the consciousoess does not learn anything in regard to those other elements in the phenomenon -oil painting, " antl consequently when it is evolving the idea of the painting, it merely recalls the impression on the sight, while it over- looks entirely tlie perceptions of the other senses occa- sioned by the oil painting, which were not sufficiently strong to arouse our attention. This process which we have observed in the perceiving and evolution of the idea THE ORIGIN OF "SCHEMA. 1» 289 of an oil painting is repeated in the perceiving and evolu- tion of the ideas of all other phenomena. Some one ele- ment predominates in each one of them, while the remaining elements produce a much weaker effect, that is, attract our attention proportionate!}- less. Thus we are accustomed — and in the same arbitrary manner as when we are imputing some cause not apparent to the senses to all phenomena — to make the predominating element of the phenomenon its one essential element, and in our perception of it and our idea of it, we overlook all the remaining elements. In the defective cube of a natural crystal, as a cr^^stal of rock salt for instance, the element of the cubical formation pre- dominates. A few plane surfaces, edges and corners of a more or less regular shape, attract oar attention and w^e have no attention left to bestow upon the imperfect planes, the defective edges and the missing corners. The conse- qnence of this is that we only perceive its predominating element — ^its cul)ical formation — in the phenomenon of an irregular crystal of rock salt, and reproduce this element alone in our evolution of the idea of such a crystal, al- though its less striking elements, its irregularities for instance, have their own importance and appropriateness, and. are quite as essential to the individual crystal of rock salt we have before us, as those parts of the crystal which are formed iii aeeordance with the assumed design of a cube. The fact is, the human brain is an imperfect ma- chine. It is constructed in such a wav that blood can not be supplied simultaneously to all of its fibres and cells in sufficient quantities, they can not all be sufficiently rifiurished and stimulated to attain to that degree of activ- ity which our consciousness perceives as attention on their part. Only part of the brain has full play all the time ; the rest is more or less quiescent. It follows as an inevit>- aW<* result of this imperfectness that we are not able to 290 SYMMETRY. pay eqiitil attention to all tlie elements of a phenomenon, we are not able to ijerceive tliem all equally, iumI only remark tliose wliieli predominate, which produce the strongest impressions upon our senses, and summon the nourishing blood to tlie brain fibres and cells assoeiatcnl with the senses affected, thus arousing tliem to a sl:iti? of attentive- ness. The single element that proute one design, one srhnmt, to any phenomenon, but a hundred designs, a Irundied arhfwm, one for each element, a design tliat be- longs to each element alone and to none other. To retain ALL OUR "SCHEMAS' ARE ERRONEOUS. 291 the illustration of the crystal of rock salt given above. When we insist upon seeing a cube in the irregularly shaped object before us, we regard none but tliose parts which are disposed regularly, saying to ourselves : " The cause of the shape assumed by these parts is that tlie whole wished to become a cube. The schema, the design of this object is, therefore, the cube." But we have not the slightest riffht to overlook the deviations from our scJinna; we ought to assume a cause for theni also ; the cause which allowed certain planes and angles to be defective, is evidently a different cause from that which shaped the other planes and angles into the form of a cube ; in reality, therefore, the crystal before us did not wish to become a perfect cube, but something different from this, some- thing new, something departing from the cubic form, some- thing which is the individual object as we see it, and noth- ing else ; the schema of the cube, therefore, does not appl}' to it, and it is a mistake when we believe we recognize a cube in the form before us. But we make this mistake nevertheless, because it is not within our powers to liestow at the same time the same amount of attention on the irregularities — which do not strike us as much — as upon the regularly disposed parts, and lience do not feel com- pelled to invent an}^ schema or cause for them, as is tlie case with the latter. And thus all our classification, all our schenms are erroneous, all our labor of associating dif- ferent phenomena with each other, is arbitrary, all our reducing multiformity to uniformity, an acknowledgment of our inability to comprehend. Nature produces only indi- viduals ; we artificially combine them into species, because we are organically incapable of closely observing every single characteristic which is peculiar to any one individ- ual, to appreciate it fully and to trace it back to some individual cause. If there are such things as causes, then *ii 292 8YJIMETRY. every pbenomenoii has not merely one, but a hundred, a thousand different causes, which have combined in this wa}' for once onlj^, and will never so combine again ; then every plienomenon is the resulting effect of countless influ- ences, all of equal importance, as the phenomenon would have to be something different from what it is, if onl}' a single one of these influences liad been lacking or found expression in another way ; if on the t^tr hand, there arc no causes, then every phenomenon is an independent acci- dent, and can not be compared with au3' other phenome- non, but must be judged by itself alone, and regiiixled as strictl}' individual. This is a dilemma which it is impos- sible for us to escape ; the logical consequence of which is lliat in every single case the mkenm is a defect In our habit of thought, and prevents us from seeing and comprehend- ing phenomena as the}' reallj* exist ; for if there are causes, then the assumption of a sehfTiw, tliat is, of a shigle deter- mined cause, obstructs our view of all the otlier causes, of winch the individual phenomenon is the effect; if there are no causes, then the assumed schfftm is only a creation of our imagination and has nothing whateTer fn common with the phenomenon itself. However, this is a matter in which we can not alter anything, and if we are not willing to accept that the human brain is capal»le of attaining to a far higher degree of organic |}erfection, and that some diiy It will be able to woA throughout its whole extent with the same amount of attentiveness, then there is noth- ing left for us but to resign ourselves to the inevitable, and throughout all eternity perceive one trait with more dis- tinctness than the rest in all phenomena, and confound this one trait with the entire phenomenon, and sacrifice to it all the other characteristics, to elevate it to the rank of n-sekemcij and recognize in the phenomenon the realizatfon of this fekemn or design. THE IMAfiTNATTON A KALEIDOSCOPE. 293 One final peculiarity of the workings of the human mind yet remains to l)e considered. How does the mind go to work to invent this assumed preliminary ideal i)lan, of which the phenomenon is the supposed execution. It follows a very simple method in this task: it simply repeats tlie one trait which, as the most noticeable, attracted its attention and impressed itself upon tlie mem- oiy and the consciousness. It thus constructs the schemn of the cube for the crystal of rock salt, by repeating the especial outlines which it noticed, that is, the regular plane surfaces and edges, until they form a solid figure. In this way tlie mind corrects the imperfect, crooked lines, mak- ing regular complete circles out of them, and completes thi' defective outlines in the shapes of crystals, flowers and leaves, making schematic figures of them. The imagina- lion ai'ts like a kaleidoscope in its relations to the impres- sions on the senses ; it repeats the phenomena, irregular in themselves, to form a regular figure of them ; for regu- larity is in fact nothing but the repeated occurrence of the same phenomenon. The process in the brain is conse- (|ucntly the f<)l lowing : a phenomenon or material object is perceived by the intervention of the senses and im- pressed upon the memory ; some noticeable trait or one not especially striking in itself, but frequently rei)eated, is per- ceived and retained most distinctly, very much in the same way as in GalUm's family photographs,* so that those features whic4i are repeated in the different faces are mpre prominent than those which are individual peculiarities of * Gallon's family photographs, as is well known, are prochiced by expos! ni^ the photographs of the different memhers of a family in successi(.n "to the same sensitized plate— the photographs heing all of the same size and exposed for the same length of time. The features that are identical in several or all of the single photographs are repeated, and thus work longer on the sensitized plate than those B4 SYMMETRY. SYMMETRY IN ART. 295 the separfite faces, and tliiia appear but once before the sensitized plate. If the judgment now wishes to convey this phenomenon to the consciousness, to remember it, the memory supplies it to the judgment in the shape in which It had retained it ; that is to say, it only imparts to the con- seiousness the most prominent characteristic trait of the phe- nomenon, the one that has made a profounder impression ui)on it, owing to its repetition ; to make a complete phe- nomenon or object, liounded on all its sides, from these single isolated characteristics, the imagination completes them by multiplying the cliamcteristies supplied by the memory, and thus pixwluces a kaleidoscopic, and there- fore regular figure, which the judgment Iwcomes accus- tomwl to consider as the «chemn or plan— the foundation of the plienomeuou in question, owing to its tendency to assume some immaterial antecedent to the material phenomenon. The conditions of our intellectual activity as detailed alK>ve, make it easy for us to underetand how man hai)- pcned to evolve the idea of symmetry. Unable to be attentive with all paits of his brain at once, lie has only lierc'cived and retained iscjlated characteristics of different phenomena or olijects. To recall these phenomena after- wanls to his mind, he completed them by multiplying these isolated characteristics and thus filled up the gaps which resulted from the absence of the rest of the cliarao- teristics which were not perceived, and therefore not re- tained. Whera he represented it in art, he did not copy that recur less freciuently or only once, and hence they are especially jwominent in the composite photograph. In this way an average portrait is produced, which shows those features peculiar to all or most of the members of the family with the utmosi disiiuctness, while those recurring rarely or but once, are given wiiU a lack of distinct- ness corresponding to the lack of frequency in their repetition. the real phenomenon, but the kaleidoscopically regular image, consisting of repetitions of the one characteristic observed, which was the conception of it in his conscious- ness. Every symmetrical human production is thus the embodiment of some reflection in the memory, schematic- ally elaborated by the imagination, of some natural phe- nomenon imperfectly observed. It sliould be classed with man's first attempts in the line of art. In proportion as man (levelo[)es, his brain is capable of more comprehensive attention ; he perceives more elements in a phenomenon, more factors in the effect produced by a material object; he prints a completer picture of them upon his memory ; his imagination is less frequently called upon to substitute the missing parts by a repetition of those already existing. Thus he sees things more coirectl}' and more exactly, and when he desires to portray them in art, he represents them less sehematicall}' and more individually. The hastier and the more superficial the observation of any object, the more symmetrical the idea retained of it l)y the memory. This is true of individuals as well as of peoples and of races. Symmetry never appears in art except in retro- grading nations and in periods of decline. Flourishing epochs and progressing peoples are not satisfied with the schf'mti and the kaleidoscopic multiplication of single char- acteristics, but endeavor to reproduce the individual pecu- liarities of phenomena as far as possible. This same tendency experienced by the human intel- lect to complete its unfinished ideas by the repetition of tlie elements of them it already possesses, impels it also to other psychic phenomena than tlie idea of symmetry, or to be more exact, it is inductive to a non-material application of symmetry. Tlie legends of Frederick Barbarossa, of the Portuguese Dom Sebastiano, are l)ased upon this fondness of the human mind for syrametr}'. A part of the life of M 296 SYMMETRY. these heroes is known tx> the people, and is engraved upon their memorj' ; the other part, the end, they never hap- pened to know, or else they have forgotten ; so in order not to have an unfinished eonccption of their life, they complete what is lacking by repeating what they already know aiid invent a continuation of the destiny of these heroes, wliich is maintained in the same character as the beginning, with which they arc uhvndv familiar. These legends are therefore symmetrical formations; the}' are pi-oof s of the (act that man docs not confine his schemas to visi!»le forms alone. Symmetry produces a tiresome and disagreeable effect upon cultivated and healthy minds, l)ccause it does not stimulate them to more animated intellectual activity. The judgment, as often as it perceives a phenomenon or object, longs to compose some law of formation for it, to invent some $eh(mui to apply to it; this is a defect in the judg- ment, it is true, but it is a defect to which the judg- ment has become accustomed, and which it will not relin- quish without resistance, A symmetrical phenomenon does not leave room for any efibrt of this nature. There is notliing to be divined in it, nothing to be invented to apply to it. Its law of formation? It procUiims it ver- l)osely and pedantically. Its Hchnna? This is identical with it and never diflers from it in any respectt. There are no prominent characteristics which can be retained and reijeated to complete the imperfect picture. The sym- metrical phenomenon has done this for us already itself It is the materialized work of our imagination in a state of perplexity, and therefore a cause of shame for it. But of course the same reasons which make it a source of distress to active minds, render it a delight to obtuse and indolent brains. Any one who has never observed a phenomenon or object. IV ill I. sufficient attentivcness to perceive all or SV.MMETKV THK PHILISTINE S IDEAL. 20: several of its features, and to realize that tlicy arc entirely individual, and not exactly like anything else, will recog- nize precisely what he was able to see in nature in the symmetrical work produced by human hands. The im- ages in liis memory are patched up from repetitions of single crude characteristics ; the world is reflected in his mind symmetrical and schematic. It gratifies him to see his superficial perception confirmed by the symmetrical work of art, and he considers the latter a compliment to his shallowness. Symmetry will therefore forever remain the ideal of bcautv of the Philistines who are always asleei) whether their eyes are open or not, and have a horror of any- thing tending to disturb the perpetual siesta of their l)rain. But any one who is not a mental Seven Sleeper, (the German Rip van Winkle), will consider everything symmetrical as a caricature of his own defective habits of thought, and will banish it from the realm of his perception as much as possible. WHAT IS GENERALIZATION? 299 ^11! I ^^ GENERALIZATION- We hiid been discussing a certain nation over our glasses of beer, and had got so far as to pronounce a sweep- ing judgment upon tlie character and the pliysical and mental ijecnliarities of this nation, when one of us inter- rupted the conversation with tlie warning : '- Let us take care not to generalize." The caution was unanimously accepted as proper. I was not inclined to criticise it. But generalization, which nia} be out of place around the social board, is permissilile in the silence of the study. Let us take care not to generalize ! The warning is unassailable in tlieory. It proceeds from tlie realization, or at least due recognition of the fact, that one phenome- non or olyect can not give iis any real, but only apparent information in regard to another, that the knowledge derived from one phenomenon will never apply at any time to another in every particular. Every phenomenon in reality exists for itself alone ; it has in ftict no connec- tion, iMjrceivable by the senses, with any other phenome- non, and if there seems to be anything of the kind, it is -iMJcause we have artificially created it in our mind. To com- prehend a phenomenon as it really is, that is, as it is cognizable by the senses, to do it full justice, to be cer- tain that we only perceive what is actually occun-ing before our senses, we would have to face the phenomenon totally unbiassed, totally ignorant in regard to it, and without any prejudices, that is, wc would have to forget everything that we have learned from previous phenomena, and be careful not to confound any image we have previously re- ceived with the new one, or impute to the phenomenon any characteristics or associations which it does not really pos- sess and which we transfer to it from other phenomena. These would be the indispensable preliminary conditions to approximate the truth as closely as is possible to our organization. This would be the way to ol)tain fairly accurate information in regard to the events occurring out- side of our Ego, and to allow realities to produce their duo effect u[)on us, instead of transferring the events occurring within our Ego into the realities without, and peopling them with the gay pictures of the magic lantern of our thought, thus causing us to lose s'ght of their ac^;ual significance, wholly or in part. This, as before stated, is the theoretical presupposition. But it can not be realized in practice. The circumstances in which alone our imperfect organ of thought is able to per- form its work, are directly opposed to it. In the preceding chapter we analyzed the exceedingly complic;ated frame- work of the habit of thought which led man to the iuA en- tion of symmetr}. We have seen how our mind, as it perceives that phenomena always succeed one another, has been induced to imagine some connection between them, and thus sees in each one the cause of the one that follows and the effect of the one that preceded it, and how the mind has finally come to imagine the cause as something actually existent, something essential and distinct from the phenomenon itself, which is realized only partially and imperfectly by the phenomenon. We have also seen that the judgment constructs the non-material cause, which it imagines is the necessary preliminary condition of the phenomenon, out of the images of previously apprehended phenomena supplied by the memory, and that these images GENERALIZATION. are protiiiced liy multiplying the single charaeteristies which attracted attention. This verj' same habit of thonght leads lis inevitably to generalize. What do we mean b}- generalizing? To generalize is to deduce the future from the past and present, the unknown from the known, and thali of which we as yet have had no experience from what we hav^s already learned by experi- ence. All of this activity on the part of our organ of thought is arbitrary and wrong. We have no right in fact to assume that new phenomena are going to happen, or that they will resemlile the previous ones, if they do happen. The future is inaccessible to our knowledge. We have not the least evidence that there ever will be any future, that new impressious on onr senses will succeed our pres- ent impressions. And yet we do not hesitate a moment to assert that tomorrow is also a daj', and that it will be something like a repetition of the day of today. In what way have we obtained this certainty? Exclusively by our habit of thought. Owing to the fact that up to the present time a new i^erception has alwaj's succeeded every perception, our mind has become accustomed to the idea, that this will always and most always lie the case, and when it seeks to fill the empt\- space of the unknown and unknowable future, it jjeoples it with figures from the memorj', that is to say, with repetitions of events previouslv apprehended, **CalI on the present clay and night for nought, Save what by yesterday was brought." Gffithe remarks in his West-Eastern Divan, The wai'uing shows thought, but is superfluous after all. For even if we were longing to, we could not demand anything of today or even of tomorrow, except what ^^esterday brought us ; we do not know anything except what we have already learned by experience; and what we call the future, is nothing but the reflection of the past, which, in oonse- THE LAWS OF NATURE SELF-DECEPTIONS. 301 quence of tlie defective vision of our thought, we imagine is facing us, while in reality it lies behind us. It is true, our arbitrary and mistaken assumptions have always been realized up to the present time. When our ancestors felt iissured that there would be a future, they were not disappointed, as a part of this future has since become the past and the present, and a long list of their prophecies— founded upon no actual perceptious — ha' 2 since been experienced l)y the senses. The events appear in the manner we surmise beforehand, and the re- flection of what has already happened, projected into the future, becomes an actuality. But this does not prove that we are right. It is and has always been merely wild guess- work on our part, which happened to l)e correct. We are unable to produce a single conviiicing and thoroughly reliable direct proof that this will continue to be the case, or that it will always be the case. This hal)itual disposition of our mind to generalize, which is due to the organic defectiveness of our thinking apparatus, is the source of all our formulated knowledge in regard to the cosmic phenomena, of all the laws of nature. They are therefore nothing Init self-deceptions. As, in actual fact, we have not the slightest knowledge of the real essence of the cosmic phenomena, and really do not understand a single one of the so-called laws of nature. Or can we speak of comprehending when we are not even able to establish the lacts as to the existence of any cause of the phenomena? If there is no such thing as a cause, then tiicre can not be any laws, but merely accidents that repeat themselves, we know not how. But if we assume that there is such a thing as a cause, and that we can give it expression in the form of a law, what is this cause, and how reads the law which is the name for it, and which rep- resents its operations. The man is not living who could i 302 GENBRALIZATIOII. give ii nitional reply to this (|ue8tioii. When we speak of. natiiral hiws, nevertheless, it is merely a pleasant playing with words which we have devised to help ws across the insufferable, tiresome desert of our ignorance. What we call a law of nature is simply the establishment of the fact tliat certain phenonieua have always occurred; but it neither explains how this came to pass, nor does it include any proof that the same phenomena will always occur. We say that it is a law of nature that bodies have an attraction for each other, and that the force of the attrac- tion is ill direct proj^rtion to the mass of the bodies, and inversely to the square of the distance between them. This is iucon-ect. It would l>e correct to 8a>' that up to the present time we have always observed tliat IxKlies had ail attraction for each other, in direct proportion to the mass of the kxlies and inversely to the square of the distance Ijetween them. This assumed law does not attempt to explain the facts obser\'ed ; it is only a pre- tentious way of expressing them. Neither are mathematical formulas the explanation of mechanical phenomena ; they are merely the latter expressed in different terms in a technical langnage. Thus Molidre's facetious physician infonns Geronte, who asks him why his daughter has be- come dumb : •' Her language has been stolen from her, and that is the reason why your daughter is dumb." A law is a command wliicli dictiites some action or refraining fre extremely astonished if they wefe to cease occurring, and be replaced by others differ EACH niENoMENON NKW AND ORKHNAL. 303 ing from them in kind. This is another proof of the lack of consistency in our habits of thought. If we were log- ical, we should be astonished at each repetition of them, and consider the deviations matters of course ; we should wonder at the regularity of the occurrence of the phenom- ena, and only regard the lack of regularity with passive indifference. For our senses teach us that each phenome- non is independent, and confined to itself alone, with no perceival)le connection with any other phenomenon ; it is then much more natural and reasonable for each phenome- non to be apprehended by the senses as new and original, instead of renewing and impressing afresh up(ni them what had been previously apprehended. As every phenomenon is something individual in itself, how docs it happen that it l»eai*s a certain resemblance to certain others? The law of nature— that is, the pretentious determination of the fact that phenomena are repeated, is not the explanation of this fact, but the mystery of it. When I was a small boy I used to know and play a game that seemed very fascinating to me then. It consisted in the dotting of arbitrary points on a white sheet of paper by myself or one of my playmates, which the other would then unite with lines drawn in such a way that a rational figure was produced. One of my small comrades showed csi^ecial proficiency in this game. However maliciously and wildly I placed the points— a whole crowd of them in one corner and none at all in another, or a whirlpool of them, or a number of them at regular intervals— he always succeeded in producing something with his connecting lines that had some meaning, a lion, lor instance, another time a house or a whole battle scene with the most remark- able incidents depicted in it. He even carried his art so far as to connect the points with different colored inks in Y^}ou8 ways, so that the same points formed red dogs, GENERALIZATION. liiiic swiillows, green brooms :iiul ytjllow Alpine Iiiiitlst^npes. Our theories in regiiiti to tlie universe :irc iiotliing but this game, earrieci on on a large scale and with tragic earufsl- ness. The phenomena of which our senses ajiprise us an* the gi\'en points. The\ do not represent anything rational, and thcii; is nothing to show an\' comprehensible connec- tion lictween tliem. They are Chaos and Tumiill But. patient !\- and artistically, we proceed to draw lines from one iioint to the other, and behold ! certain figures are tiie result, which resemble in apjKJarance something already known. Tliose wlio do not know how it was done miiilit lielieve thiit the figures had been drawn on the paper from designs j>reviously outlined liy tlie points. They must then be shown how that which first matle figures out of tlie points was ad tied b^' liuman hands, and that the point as it stood alone on the paper, was mysteriows and unintt;!- ligible, sole!}' its own aim and purpose, until the line was drawn to connect it with the next i»oint, and include it in the slvetch of the figure evolved in tlie brain of the hoy ph.y- ing the game. Pliilosophy is always doing what my pluy- mate used to ilo : it connects the stinie given points, with inks ofihtlerent colors, so as to form the most divei-se fig- ures, and every theory in regard to the universe, ever}* system of pliilosophy, prcxluces a diflerent picture in the connecting lines it draws lietwcen the same mysterious and niiintelligiblc facts which Iia\e been observed, and if I am conii>ellcd to do so, then I will frankly admit that each s}'stem iind each theory is eiinally legitimate, that is, ctpially arbitrary and subje€ti\'e, oul}' more or less pretty or artistic. The names we have invented for our arliitrary gi'ueral- iziitions sound well and they make their at)|>earance in si manner to inspire confidence. We speak of hypotheses, of IftWB of nature. What is a hypothesis? It is » line A CHILI > S GAME. 305 we draw from some given point in any direction we choose. What is a law of nature? It is a line that connects two given points and is extended further in the same directitm, into the unknown, into the infinite. One single fact observed is all that we i'C(inire to generalize it into a hypothesis, which can not be proved and which can not be refuted, and which can extend from the fixed central point to an}- or all of the points of the compass, as may suit the fancy of the generalizer; two observed fads, between which a similarity can be (letected, arc all that we need to formulate them as a law, vrhich we assume will deter- mine the conditions of sur'ceeding phenomena into all infinity. It is all the game of my childhood's days — draw- ing coherent figures by connecting iiVvlcpcndent points! And yet — it does no good, we can not do without generalizing. We know that it is arliitrary and we know that it is deceiving us, that it pahns off on ns what is really the past, claiming that it is the future, what is remem- l>rance, as divination, that it proclaims as experience what is merely the imagination's patchwork. AVe know all this, and yet our organic incompleteness compels ns to use it constantly, and we must even concede tliat it is, perhai3S, the fundamental prerequisite of all our knowledge, and cer- tainly makes it much easier to acquire. Every perception is more distinct in the consciousness if it is associated with a recollection which it revives. AVhen we have seen an ol)- ject frequently and thus engraved it npon our memory, so that we can picture it in our imagination with our eyes shut, a brief and fleeting glance at it is all that is necessaiy for ns to perceive it witli the utmost distinctness, while we wouhl be obliged to Icmk much sharper and closer at another object, entirely unfamiliar to us, and observe it much longer, to o!)tain an idcji of its appearance anywhere near as distinct as that we have of the first object. It is 306 flENERAWZATION. owing to this ciiiise tliat we reiul our own liinguage so iiiiirli more easily and rapidly than a foreign hmgiiage witli which we are unfamiliar, although it may he clothed in the siime letters, and lie under the same (?onditioiis of type, pa|)er. light and distance from the eye. For this reason we recognize a friend at a distnnee in whicli we would hanlly he able to distinguish the features of a stranger. Wundt is the one who has presenteil these tiicts in an'^exeelleut manner in his work on logic, and classed tliem among the conditions of the association of ideas. Very few phenonjena prmluce an impression Ujwn the senses the firet time we hapi^en to meet them, distinct enough to enable the consciousness to evolve a clearly out- linwndea of them. We must perceive thera repeatedly, and impress them upon the memory. What we see or hear of them after this is far less the phenomena them- selves, than the image of thera retained in the memory, wliich they conjure up liefore tlie mind. This is true to such an extent that our organ of thought frequently niis- oonccives ami confounds things. For instance, if we find some quotation or extract in some foreign tongue, with which we are thoroughly femiliar, iu the midst of tlie (lor- maii or English text we are reading, we feel impressed as if the quotation were also in our own language. " Smtt ih'iitqm'fiirs!'' standH there, and T read it in my mind as: ** There is a limit to everytliing." The glimpse I obtain of the Latin words is l)ut fleeting, and my consciousness does not peroeive their actual foim, but only the idea of their meaning, which is supplied forthwith by the memory aroused by the impression on the optic nerve. This mechanical process of the mind explains why generaliiBing sometimes facilitates the pereeption of phe- nomena. We have in our memoiy Ihc^ picture of a certain phenomenon we have previously observed ; we elaborate GENERALIZING FACILITATES OBSERVATION. 307 from this picture a scJifmn or law of formation for the ob- ject; if now merely the tip of a phenomenon, resembling it in any way, appears before our senses, we have all that is needed to call up the picture in our memory l>efore the consciousness, when w^e at once can apprehend the phe- nomenon in all its details. But while this process facili- tates our task, it is at the same time the source of many errors. For it leads us to believe that we see "There is a limit to everything,' before our eyes, while iu reality, ''sunt deniquf fima!'' is printed there; that we l)estow more attention upon the Inward schema than upon the external phenomenon. But, on the other hand, we would pass by untold numbers of phenomena— which in this way we perceive at least defectively and mistakenly— without noticing them at all, if we had not already a schematic outline sketch of them in our minds. We can assert without exaggeration that, ns a rule, we see nothing but what we have already seen, and what we expect to see. As soon as we have generalized any phe- nomenon, which has produced enough of an impression upon us to attract our attention, into a hypothesis or law, a whole multitude of facts force themselves suddenly upon our vision, which before this we had never noticed in the least. Davaine and Villemain observed that certain micro- scopical organisms make their appearance in the blood of animals affected with mortification of the spleen, and that tuberculosis can be transmitted from one animal to another by the bodily discharges. Ten years have not passed since this, and bacteria have been found in fifteen or six- teen different diseases in man and animals, and in about a dozen different forms of fermentation occurring outside of the organism, of which the bacteria are the cause. A physician observes a new disease which has never been seen nor described before him. In a few months a hun- GINBEALKATION. drecl cases of tlie new disease are reported by different physicians, who happened to run across them in that brief space of time. Heidenhain discovers that certain su8cei>- tible individaals can be thrown into a strange condition which he calls hypnotism. We know now, barely seven years afterwards, that about every fourth person is capable of king hypnotized, and we stumble against some hyp- notic phenomenon at almost ever}- step. Did they not exist, before this? Certainly they did. But we never ixjrceivetl them. Why? Simply because we had no previously drawn picture of them in our niemor}^ In this way generaliza- tion is valuable to us. As we deduce a conclusion in regard to some fact, of which as yet we know nothing by actual exijerience, from one already cognized by the senses, we summon up the latter in reality tefore us. Phenomena are constantly swarming all around us, but they wear magic caps which render them invisible to ns. We tear the magic cap from their heads witli our hypothesis. The law of nature is the hunting dog with which we track out the cunningly hidden plienomenon. The danger is only that the dog is apt to "set" some sleeping game-keeper, instead of the partridges we are stalking. This is a mis- hap that sometimes occurs even with the best English setters. The majority of human beings are inexact ob- servers because tlieir brains are not able to consider any- thing with sufficient attentiveness. Tliey see only, there- fore, what they desire to see. As soon, then, as some hypothesis dawns upon their vision they construct an image of phenomena, with its assistance, and apply this image to everything that eomcs before their eyes, to such an extent that they see nowhere any facts which do not seem to conform to their h^ypothesis. Here is a single ex- IMTiment which any one can try for himself Draw four lines of equal length and equal blackness, as far as this is INDITTION ANT) DEDtXTION THE SAME PROCESS. 301) ' .1 possible, upon a sheet of paper or a slate, in such a way that they all cut each other in the middle and at right angles, and form a Latin (an upright), and a St. Andrew's (an in- verted) cross. Look at the figure thus drawn, with the predetermination to see in it only one of the crosses, the upright or the inverted. You will find that the cross you are looking for, will stand out more prominently from the paper than the other, which although drawn with equal distinctness, will look subordinate, paler and more iiisig- nifiennt, streniing to be merely a modest api>eiida«ie of the former. Some false hypothesis wluch happens to be the fashion, will procure materials in enormous ipiantities to prove its eorreetness and. based on an apparently firm foundation of facts apprehended by the senses, will pre- vail f«)r IcMis and liundreds of years, until some stronger bi'ain comes along, eapal)le of greater attentiveness, and a1)le to (Observe phenomena with his senses rather tlian with the finished i)ictures his memory snpplie^> to his eon- seiousness, who discovers that the phenomena do not eon- form to the hyi)0thesis. 1 can not ima.i-ine any more amazing instance, relevant to the subject, than that philosophers could discuss and wrangle IVn- e(>nturies as to whether the inductive or the deductive method was the one to be preferred. Indue-, tion is the process of observing facts without prejudice, and drawing conclusions from them, which are after- wards combined into a general law; deduction is the process of inventing some general law in the mind, and applying it afterwards, hapliazard, to the facts. Bacon of Verulam, is recognized as the father of the inductive method ; the scholastic philosophers of the Middle Ages arc c(»nsidered the best examples of deductive reasoners. But at bottom, the whole matter is merely an idle playing with words which all mean the same thing. How does one pro- ! 310 QENERAIJZATIOIf. t*ee«l lo f'lnii n (le'liictioii, tlnit. in, n generalized eoiiceptioii of objects? Of course only hy receiving some impression 0n the senses of these olijects, even if it be bnt ji fleeting impression ; by olwervinjT tlie objects, even if very super- ficiiilly. The wildest id,esi» we can imagine in regard to phenomena can not be conceived until after we have fier- ceived tlie phenomena. Tliey are tlnis inductions, nothing bnt iiidnctions. And wiiat is inchiction? It is to draw a conchision from some inipn-ssion on the senses. It is the ehilwration of some fact actually perceived into aic/i^iio, a generalized law, a finished conception, with which the ininil is ready to receive all similar facts in future. This inished conception, wiiich we already possess before tlie new imprcssitm arrives, which is not deduced from the in- dividual phenomenon, liiit from some precetling one, witli which in reality it has notliing whatcjvcr in common, is declnctiou, nothing but deduction. So you will please spare me all your argumentation, for it does n*>t mean anvthing at all. AH our thought is always induction and deduction at the same time; it comnuMucs with impressions on the senses and perceptions, that is, with indnctlon, and it proceeds to generalize it, to elaliorate it into ideas preceding tlie impression ever after, that is, to deduction. Tlie astronomer, calculating the orbit of a planet in accordance with Newton's law of the attraction of gravitation, and the C'ongo negro, who believes that Europeans dwell in the depths of tlic sen, and rise to the surface when they wish to come to him, liecause he sees the tips of the roasts of an approaching vessel appear first aliove the horizon, followed gradually by tlie lower parts, and a clepartlEg vessel gradually vanish in an onler the reverse of the former, until the tips of the masts are last lust to sight, reason in identically the same inductive and. deductive way. Both observe phenomena and deduce a 1 THE CONOO NEGRO ANB THE ASTRONOMER. 311 hypothesis from them. Both add certain attributes to the facts apparent to the senses, which in reality do not belong to them, which they have not actually perceived in them, as they have no existence save in their own imagination. We say, to be sure, that the astronomer is right and the Congo negro, wrong. But what criterion have we for this? The hypothesis of whieli the astronomer avails himself agrees with all the facts of which we are cognizant, while that of the Congo negro does not. If the latter knew that the European is constituted as he is himself, and that it is impossible for him to live in the depths of the sea ; if he also knew that tlie earth is round, and that the curve of its surface is what gradually intervenes between him and the sight of the departing vessel ; or if he should go once to Europe himself, he would understand that he had been mistaken, and would find another hypothesis to account for the phenomenon of the sliip's gradual vanishing from below, and its gradual appearance from the top downwards. And wlio knows whether we do not content ourselves with the astronomer's hypothesis, for the simple reason, that we accept it as truth because we do not know the fiicts which contradict it ! Who knows whether we would not be obliged to abandon it altogether if our knowledge were increased by facts ! Who knows whether better informed men may not. some day smile as contemptuously at our present hypoth- eses, as we smile at that of the Congo negro, notwithstand- ing the fact that it is thought out by the same method as the attraction of gravitation, notwithstanding that it is founded in the same way upon the observation of phenom- ena apparent to the senses : the sinking into the sea of ships sailing away from the land, and the issuing forth from the sea of approaching vessels, notwithstanding the fact that it is thus actually inductive reasoning. All men follow the same method in their thought, the ll 312 OENKRALIZATION. THE IRISHMAN S INCOME. 313 Congo negm, even tfie Aiistniliaii diggers, tlie same as the erutllte professor of pliysiciil sciences. Thiit which alone constitutes the difference l)etween them, is the number of facts known to them and their ability to observe accu- rately, that is, the degree of attentiveness possible to them, which is, on the other hand, an evidence of the greater or less development of their brains. The more attentive we are capable of !>eing, the greater the accuracy with which we will apprehend phenomena ; the more facts we know, the easier it will be for us to avoid ascribing imaginary characteristics to them, the incoiroctness and impossibility of which is proved by other facts. But we have all this tendency to generalize tlie single phenomena appreliended by us, to associate them with others, without tliere being any connection apparent to the senses between them, and to attribute certain characteristics to them which they do not possess. This habit of thought — the consequence of our orgaeic imperfectness — is the source of all our errors. If we allowed phenomena to produce their due effect upon our senses without interfering with them in any way with the finished pictures, supplied by the memory, of other phenomena wliich iiave previously occurred, bearing a more or less supei'ficial resemblance to the former, we might not know much, but we would not fall into ermrs ; we might overlook or imperfectly apprehend certain facts, but we would not interpret them wrongly; we should have but few ideas in our consciousness, perhaps, but none of them would be erroneous ; for the error is never in the perceiv- ing, but in the interpreting, and it is the latter which does not pertain to the phenomenon, but which we add from our own resources, which the senses do not communicate to the brain, but with which the brain deludes the senses. We cling to our defective habits of thought, however, be- c»ause they inspire us with an agreeable sensation of intel- lectual wealth, by filling our consciousness witli ii cmwd of ideas, which do not allow us to divine, by any inherent characteristic, whether they are coiTect or incorrect, whether they arc achcnids, or realities. An Irishman well known as a beggar throughout the whole of his village, walked into a tavern one day and ordered some roast pork and a hirge glass of whiskey. When his host expressed his astonishment at this extrava- gance, Padd} proudly rejoined : "A man who has in the neighborhood of a hundred pounds a year for his income, can surely afford it." "What, have you an income of a hundred pounds a year? " '• Certainly, an English gentle- man whose valise 1 just carried to the depot, gave me five shillings ; and five shillings a day amounts to a hundred pounds a year." Ever}' time we geim-alize any perception, we are doing just what the Paddy of this story did, and it may be possi- ble that our wealth in knowledge is really no more suli- stantial than the hundred pounds income of this Irishman who reasoned according to both the inductive and deductive method. WHERE IS TRUTH? II It happened one eveninijj tit ii purty tlmt I found my- self seated beside ti Uidy belonging to whut is culled -Uie moneyed iiristoenicy.' As it was imperative upon me to entertain her in conversation, I was of course ol)ligcd to sijeak of those things in which she was interested. VA'e had S(K>n arrived at her last trip to the watering phices. and she was describing with enthusiasm how delightful hei* visit to Trouville had been, where she had exhibited startling toilettes during the day and played liaccarat in the Casino at night. i ventured the inciuiry as to whether she could not imagine some lietter way of occupying one's life. "No," she replied decidedly ^ " when we are doing what atfords us eomi)lete and i)erfect enjoyment, we are doing just what it is right for us to do.' J 'But do you not think," 1 incpiired further, "that those people are to be pitied who find their complete and perfect enjoyment in toilettes and nights spent in playing baccarat? " This remark on my part was undoubtedly impertinent. I received the sharp reply : ''Mint Dieu, we can not all of us write books ! " •'Very true. But is it not perliaps a nobler and more dignified way of employing one's time to write books than to exhibit toilettes and play baccarat? " •JJjr m ifle^ips, Om In m ^>«tter tbmi the other, ANTAGONISTIC POINTS OB' VIEW. 315 Writing books amuses some people^ doing the other amuses others. I see no difference l)etween them." "But surely the majority of people are not of your opinion? " "I do not know about that. And besides I do not care. In mt/ world every one thinks as I do, and I am perfectly indifferent to the opinion of those who are not m it. /'• But tlie best and the foremost people rank intellect- occupations higher than playing cards and gossiping, and the writer of books is ranked higher in the state and in societ} than the baccarat-players and those who display magnificent toilettes." , •■Do you think so? " she rejointHl in an indescribable tone. "I have never noticed that this was the case. Wherever I have been I have always found that those whom you call baccarat-players and toilette-displayers were regarded with more respect and consideration than the writers of books." I was as totally routed as it is possible for a man to be, and was obliged to acknowledge my defeat. Here were two antagonistic points of view, and each considered itself the only correct one, and neither could overthrow the other. The reasons upon which each were based had no power to alter the other, and not one of these reasons bore any unmistakable token of absolute correctness and superi- ority which could compel every single human mind to recognize it as truth and everything contradictory to it as error. I am ac(iuainted with a lady who is very ugly and even deformed, (she is lame,) and whose brain is below that of one of the more intelligent poodle dogs, by the lengths of several goose heads. But she enjoys the pociety of gentlemen, and of course knows how to provoke i I 316 WHERE IS TEt-TO? titteiiiioiis troni tliem by Ikt frank iiilvaiiees. They see at ouec thiit she enjoys eoiiii)linieiits. unci thai she emi liear any junomit uf thein, and as eompliments are now even €i:eaper than 1 ilackberries in Falsteff'e day, they give her ill she wants of them. She is now nearly forty years oM, and she has never spent an unhappy hour in her life. She is ftruily eonvinced that slie is tlie most beautiful, the wittiest and the most fascinating emlxMliment of femininity in the world ; that every man who looks upon iier falls desiMjrately in love with her ; that even her deformity en- lianees her irrresistible eharms. The gentlemen all tell lier so, l»ecause she insists iiimjii their telling her things of tills kind, and she believes what they say. She has never iuard a dissenting opinion. If other ladies do not sliarc the niplures and the admiration of the gentlemen for her, this d«)es not affeet her selt-appreeiation In the least; these c»i!ier ladies are her enemies because they envy her. NoImkIv will ever inform her that she has been a l>utt of ridlenle to the gentlemen all her Hie, and she will say to herself on her death bed : ** My life has been one long, en- tire, endless, incomparable triumiihant procession, and with me dies the woman whom all m}' male contemporaries pronounced the most beautiful, the wittiest and the most fascinating of her generation." This will seem the abso- lute and entire truth In her eyes, and nothing will ever ai-ouse the slightest suspicion in her mind that she may have iMjen the victim of a delusion. The idea occurred to some young men in Paris, eol- lalMinitore on an obscure penny sheet, in February, 1881, to make themselves conspicuous and notorious. They con- cluded to institute a ••National Aijotheosis '* for Victor Hugo. They began by forming themselves into a '- Victor lingo Celebration Committee," and appointed a large num- lier of really distinguiahecl pei-sonages— of course witUou* HOW HISTORY IS WRITTEN. 317 having previously consulted them — to l)e members of this committee. The imposing list of names was published in all the daily papers. The latter did not dare to refuse the advertising notices, which poured in upon them from the committee during the ensuing month ; for who wishes to have it said of him that he is not patriotic and has no sym- pathy for an illustrious national personage? The public was made to believe that the subject under discussion had originated spontaneously in a hundred thousand different minds ; the authorities were compelled to take a personal interest in the arrangements. The movement even carried along with it a number of naive and notorietj-seeking people in foreign countries, who utilized this opportunity to see their names in print in the Paris jouriials. The grand dem- onstration took i)lace on the day appointed. Some fifteen thousand people marched past Victor Hugo's residence ; of these alxnit two thousand were peddlers, who wanted to do a little business selling medals, badges, poems, etc. ; ten thousand were simply curious spectators who wanted to see the fun, less than half of whom perhaps, had ever read a single volume of Victor Hugo's Avorks ; and, finally, perhaps three thousand harmless, really sincere individuals who had allowed themselves to l)e wrought up into a gen- uine frenzy of enthusiasm. The next morning we read in all the Paris papers that five hundred thousand persons had saluted Victor Hugo with rapturous cheers, that Paris had had a celebration unprecedented in the history of the world, and that all civilized humanity had combined with France to ofler homage to the greatest poet of the century, such as had never been offered to mortal man before. The foreign papers reprinted this, the legend was distril)- uted all over the globe, and is now considered everywhere even in Paris itself — an unassailable fact. Future his- torians of our civilization will comment upon it, and seek i i\ iSlo WHEEB IS TKUTH? WHAT WE DO NOT KNOW. 319 in Yaiii in contemporaneous sources for anything implying that tlie affiiir did not proceed exactly as the press of both hemispheres described it. And In such a condition is truth, when it refers to an event that occuiTcd before the eyes of several thousand witnesses 1 But do we fare any better in events of a less transient character than the above? What do we know of the circum- stances of nature, in the midst of which we live? Those facts, apparently the simplest, and those laws, which we ionsider the firmest and the most securely founded, sway perilously beneiith tlie foot of the investigator ; the semi- efhicated alone, wiio receive tlieir scientific knowledge with confidence and ready belief from the hands of inexact com- l>ilers and popular lecturers, believe that they possess reliable and unassailable truths, while those who are really learned, who obtain their knowledge of facts from the fountiuo-head, know tliat there is perhaps not a single one that is established with such certainty that it can not Ije called into question. We discourse fluently — and often with vast self-satislactiou— of the distance of the earth from the sun, and even from Sirius, while in fact, we do not know even the leugthof the line between the Washing- ton and the Cai^e Town Observatory. There is a difference of more than a mile, or about one ten-thousandth of the whole distance, between the calculations made by the greatest astronomers of the age, with the aid of the most perfect instruments and most approved methods. The exact length of the astronomical day, that is, the actual time required by the earth to complete one revolution on its axis, is not yet definitely settled, neither the exact posi- tion of this axis, that is, the angle formed Ijy the axis of the earth with its orbit. The estimates of the heat of the sun vary by 200 to 20,000 degrees, and so distinguished an investigator as William Herschel could propound the theory that the surface of the sun's nucleus was solid and inhabited by living beings ! The natural sciences have thus so far not been suc- cessful in closely approximating truth, and certainly not in establishing it beyond a doubt. And this too, in regard to phenomena which are continually being repeated before our eyes, which do not change in any way perceptible to us, which are patiently waiting for man to pursue them, seize them, imprison thein in some invention, pinch them with tongs, feel them over with fingers and instruments, turn tliem around, empty them out, gaze at them inside and out, and do anything and everything with them that may seem necessary and useful to him. What is to be said then of the historical sciences wliich profess to discover the real meaning of such phenomena as have occurred ages ago, of which nothing is left in our hands and before our eyes but some half-effaced footprint on the deep sand, or an in- distinct echo, or even less than this. I will not be unjust to the science of history. Its position in the encyclopedia of science is remarkable and unique, as, contrary to all the rest, it does not work by generalizing, and knows neither hypotheses nor laws of nature. It is the only one which conforms to the condi- tions of knowledge detailed in the preceding chapter/ it endeavors to comprehend and portray phenomena as they really were perceived by the senses, and strenuously avoids adding any characteristics of an immaterial nature, which are not in them.\ As the phenomenon is only what actually did happen of exist, and the interpretation, the generalization of it, the association of it with other phe- nomena,— simultaneous, previous or succeeding— its deduc- tion from causes outside of it, the tracing of it back to some law or laws, is what is arbitrarily added, as the perception of 320 W1IB.E,E IS TRUTH? THE TESTIMONY OF EYE AVTTNESSES. 321 tlie plieiiomeiioii by tiie senses is nil thiit comniunieates any knowledge of it to us, wliile ever}' supiiositioii, everything we ascribe to it, etc., exiwses lis to a possibility of erixir — it slioulcl follow, that history which confines itself exclu- sively to retaining the phenomenon and avoids nscriliing anything to it, and abstains from all snpiK)sition8 of any kind, from principle, ought to be in reality the most relial»le of all the sciences, the one containing the largest number of truths and the fewest errors, and including the greatest quantity of material phenomena, and the least amount of subjective imaginative work. Contrary to the science of mathematies, which can easily be subjectively true, l>ecause it is nothing but one form of human thought, and has noth- ing to do with external events, apparent to the senses, de- voting itself exclusively to those that' occur in the conscious- ness itself and are apprehended without the intervention of the senses — contrary to mathematics, I say, which is sidijectively nearest to the truth, history should be objec- tively nearest to the truth, because it does not treat of what is possible or probable or what impresses us as necessaiy, but exclusively of what is real, that is, the event or phenomenon, because its subject is not sulijective assumptions, but ol»jective phenomena. Yea, it should be ! History would be all this, if the human organ of thought were not the defective apparatus that it is. On this defects iveness it is forever being shipwrecked ; all its endeavors to attain to the objective event are fruitless on this account. History stri\'es to portray occurrences just as the}- actually took place; but, when most successful, it can only [Kirti-ay them as they were perceived. But the conditions of all our intellectual work are such that the perceptions of the events c:ui not be identical with the e\ents themselves. For either tlic perceptions are so insignificant that they do not arouse us to a state of attentiveuess, and hence are not apprehended witli distinctness, do not reach the consciousness and do not engrave any clearly outlined picture of tlie event upon the meraor}' ; or they are im- portant, and in this case the incipient phases arouse the attention to such an extent that the nerve-force is ex- hausted at once, the brain loses its abilitv to perceive, and the succeeding phases of the event glide past the eyes of the witness as if in a confused dream. It is a conse- quence of this fact that no one who takes part in anv great event, a battle, a coup iV r^/^, an exciting parliamentary debate, for instance, ever retains in his memory an exact picture of the whole affair from beginning to end. A thousand witnesses of any event, taken at random, would descHbe it in a thousand different wa^ s, which would each contradict the rest in the most essential points in the most astounding manner. Nothing but a machine run by clock- work, which would expose a fresh sensitizcMl plate every second to the event as it was occurring, and thus obtain an uninterrupted series of instantaneous views, could at least record its optical aspect. Our organism is not a machine of this kind. We have not an endless series of continually fresh photogTaphic plates, but only a very limited supply of tliem. When these are usctl up we confront the event like a photographic apparatus, the plate-holder of which is empty, and we are obliged to rest before we can prepare any new plates. For this reason those who take part in an event are the most unreliable observers of it ; for this reason the testimony of eye-witnesses is onh^ true sul)- jectively; for this reason history is without means to reconstruct afterwards with the aid of human, subjective perceptions, the absolute and objective truth of the events. Of course I have been referring only to simple histor}' thus far, whicli only relates the event, without making any pretentions to explain it. It is the history written by the A "iSSfV 009 WHERl IS TllTTH? PSYCHOLOGY AND BIOGRAPHY IN HISTORY. 323 cliroiiiders wlio faitlifiilly record ihsit it rained on the first day of the month, tliat a battle ocenrred on the second and that a new popfi was elected on the third. The moclern historical investigator, however, has abandoned this primi- tive point of view, which made it at least theoretically pos- sililc to apprehend trnth and avoid error. The modem his- toriaii not only wishes to reoonl facts ; he wishes to explain Ihem cdso. Of course history as a science has n<»t l»een able citlier to escape that universal hal»it of thought which im- lM*ls ns to add transcendental characteristics to material lilicnomena, to impute laws and ascribe some antecedent cause to them, that is, in sliort, to play the game of draw- ing fi|?ures by uniting i)oints !t\- arbitrary lines, and the lioldest 8upiM>rters of this science arc almost willing to transftirm it into a system of philosophy l>y 8c4iematizing its subject, as natural [ihilosophy scliematizes the phenom- ena of nature. They would like to refer the operation of events of which liumauity has licen tlie stage, to the uni- versal laws of nature, to in\-ent liyiwtheses and formulas for tliein, and with the aid of these to proijhes}- tlie course of events in the future, as we now venture to pmphesy witli the aid of the formulas, hyi>otlieses and laws of our lihysical sciences, that the sun will rise tomorrow morning :ind that tlie trem will blossom in the spring. And they ai-e right, Iwsides. Tlicre is not a single reaiMin why human events should l>c treatal any differenlly from any other lilienomena occuning in the universe. Is not man, is not humanity in general, a part of this grand whole as ranch as the quartz rock, the meteor, the palm-tree? Ts not a human thought or action an organic process just tiie same as digestion or reproduction, as the migration of the Iiirds or the winter sleep of the rodent; is not human thought or action as inucli a dynamic process as the fall of a free pl^ect or the revolution of the moon aroond the earth? If we claim the right of not confining ourselves simply to describing these organic and dynamic processes, but of schematizing them, and uniting them by a transcendental tie of hypotheses and laws into comprehensible figures- why not apply this same metliod to human ideas and actions? And this is just what we do ; but in doing so we forsake the solid ground of actual occurrences and what is actually apparent to the senses, and launch forth into the transcendental and speculative. In this way history first becomes rational, that is, in this way it first comes into correspondence with our habits of thought, which we have leanied to recognize as the inevitable results of our organic imperfectness, but' in this way, it also becomes at the same time the scene of action of all the subjective errors of our organ of thought, as every event has but one form apparent to the senses, while, on the other hand, the number of the transcendental suppositions which the human mind ctm in- vent and ascribe to it, is actually unlimited, and actually unlimited, therefore, is the number of possible errors. A certain school of historiography explains events by the persons who took part in them. It attributes to external influences merely the role of an impulse, and locates the actual motives and motive powers of historical events in the minds of the leading personalities of the age. From this point of view the science of history becomes psychol- " ogy and the writing of history, biography. In this case mankind can be considered almost entirely independent of nature, and the historian may discard all ideas connected with any general laws of nature or any changes in their equilibrium, which may have had any influence upon other organisms, and thus also upon peoples and human beings. with this for his point of view the historian is correct in writing history by anecdotes and in allowing the decline of great empires to depend upon the state of some general's i\ WHEHK m TRUTH? digestion. Then Helenas teautiftil e3'es were the cause of the Siege of Tro}- ; the French were defeated at Sedan be- cause General Wimpffen had incurred the enraitv of Marshal MacMalion in 1869 in Algiers, hy escorting a woman of doubtful reputation to a charit}' fair presided over by the wife of the latter; and Scrilw's comedy, "A Glass of Water," contains the rcid explanation of the reasons wliy the War of the Spaiiisli Succession proceeded as it did and not otherwise. If we go a step farther, and agree with Wimortion to the strength of this impulse, tlien the last connecting link Itetween man and the forces which operate outside of him is broken, and a Iiistor}' which confines itself exclusivelj' to psychology, accepting Wnndt's tlieory, can represent each event as the outward manifestation — not traceable to anv cause nor dependent ufjon an3'thing external — of some accidental and arbitrary pi-ocess in the mind or heart of some iniuential individual Another school of historians sees in events the opera- tion of the general laws of nature. I will call this scIkmiI the natural philosophical one, to distinguish it from the ps3'chological described above. From their point of view one iieople makes war upon another because it is hungry, and not on account of some whim of its king or com- mander. The individual loses liis influence and is lost to sight in the surging masses. He tliinks he is pushing, and he is hems pushed. Proper names cense to have any value or significance and iniglit be struck out fix>m history entirely. Ptoples act and endure as the trees blossom in the spring and shed their leaves in the fall ; the events in history are the eicpwssioii of the operation of cosmical laws, and the INDIVIBITALITY IN HISTORY. 325 4 destinies of nations are not determined in some beauty's boudoir, nor in the study of some talented prime minister, but very suitably by the stars. Astrology is sustained in nn unexpected way— not as it is practiced in reality, but as :i theory, a dnwning of the actual relations of things, and we must no longer sulile when we hear uneducated persons express their apprehension of wars, at the sight of a eomet. We may even be justified in believing that the apiK'arance of spots on the sun coincides with the great commercial crises ! Of course we do not imagine that the spots on the sun have any direct influence upon the prices in the markets, or that they suppress in man all inclination to Iniy ; we do not assume the effect to be in any way direct; but we do not know the intermediate links in the connecting chain, only the beginning and the end of it. Why then should it not be possible to imagine that the astronomic phenomena, the processes occurring in the sun, tlie planetary system, and in the universe, might ultimately produce certain states of excitement in man, and thus lead to wars, revolutions, and epo(;hs of progress and decadence? It is not necessary to confine ourselves so exclusively to either of these tAVO points of view ; we can stand with one foot upon each, and say that the general laws of nature are in fact the motive power in historical events, as they are in all other phenomena, but that the direction in which this power is applied is determined by isolated exceptional beings. This allows individuality to resume its traditional rigla to a partial extent ; it does not create history as a poet evolves dramas out of his imagination, but it guides the course of nations as an engineer drives his train along the given track, making the locomotive run faster or slower, or stop entirely, as he may choose. The genius is then an experimenter with humanity on a large scale ; he does not create his marvels any more than Harvey created i 1 S2I5. WHEK.1 IS TRUTH? the circulation of the blood, but he discovers the natural kws which prevail among peoples, and he tests them by applying them. From this point of view it is easier for us to comprehend how "the world is governed with but little wisdom," as the world would be governed by the laws of nature, and those who apparently govern it have only to refrain from interfering with them. Here are three hypotheses ; each one of the three is equally plausible and equally arbitrary; neither of the three can be refuted, and neither proved. They can not all three be true at the same time, but tliey may all three lie incorrect. What confidence tlien can we have in a science which necessarily must he founded upon one of these hyi>otheses, and therefore may ix>ssibly Ik; founded upon an erroneous one, in any case? Here again a deadly dilemma lias us lietween its horns. History is either purely objective and represents events exclusively as they really occurred — in which case it is meaningless, as it is impossible for it to portray events in objective actuality, — or else it is subjective and hypothetieiil and endeavors to explain and impute causes, which do not form an element of the event perceivable by tlie senses, — in which case it ceases to retain even the semblance of truth, and may be merely a tissue of individual errors, from the first to the last word.. Analyzing the phenomenon is generally' considered the best way to approximate the truth as closely as possi- ble. Is this way efficacious after all? There are grave doubts upon this point. Analyzing the phenomenon may not lead to the diseoverj^ of the essence of it, hut it cer- tainly does destroy the phenomenon. Let us take quite a superficial example to illustrate this. I see n man in the uniform of a soldier. Without the least hesitation or ▼acillation I am immediately induced to assert, here is a WHAT IS LEFT AFTER THE ANALYSIS. 327 soldier. Now I begin to analyze the ol)ject. I remove the uniform. What is it that I now see before me? No longer an object witli distinct, marked characteristics, differen- tiated, but something more indistinct and more general, a man of the Caucasian type. If I deprive him of his skin, then he is only a man in general, hardly to be distinguished from a negro or an Indian. If I carry my analysis still further, and place a fragment of his muscle under my microscope, then I can only say that the object was an animal, but am unable to tell from it whether it was a man or a white man, much less :i soldier. If, in conclusion, 1 resolve the muscle into its chemical elements, then I have nothing left of the original object, distinctive or essential, and all T can say is that it consisted of the differ- ent kinds of matter which are found in our planetary system. And thus with my implacable and continually progressing analysis, T have finally succeeded in reducing a soldier— an object clearly to be recognized and defined, which it would be impossible to confound with anything else— into a little oxygen, carbon, etc., which might have come just as well from a nebula or a Havana cigar. All the properties of material objects which we perceive with our senses, are movements. Those movements which alternate not less than twenty and not more than ten thousand times in a second, we count with our auditory nerves, and perceive them as sounds ; those which are re- peated between five hundred thousand and three hundred million times in a second, we count with the optic nerves, and apprehend as light and color. We have no organ to count those movements which occur between ten thousand and five hundred thousand times in a second, nor those below twenty and above three hundred million, and hence we fail to perceive them. The perception of an object is therefore, nothing but the counting of the movements j i\ MJgjittitl WHIRI IS TRUTH? hence all objects are essentially identical, and only diflTer by the number of the movements. This is the result of an analysis carried to extreme lengths. Very fine. Thus the tieautiful and the ugly, the bright and tlie dark, the delightful and the distressing, are all nothing but motion, a slower or more rapid motion. But how does it happen tliat these different forms of motion, which are after all entirely the same, impress me differently; that one is agreeable and another disagreeable to me, that one affords me gratification, and another cause for distress? This firings me to the same point as in my analysis of the sol- dier into his simple chemical elements. I have sacrificed the distinctive, intelligible and special characteristics of the Ijhenomenon, and after all, have failed to learn the essence of it in return. Such experiences make us distrustful and lead to the supposition that we have stated the problem erroneously from the beginning. In our search for the essence of things we destroy their outward appearance. Is not the phenome- non itself the essence, and when we are analj-zing it are we not doing like the child who, curious to see what is inside the onion, peels off layer after layer and when it has thrown away the ver}- last, has nothing left in his hand? This is not denjing the theory of the "thing in itself," but seeking it on the surface of the phenomenon, and not in its secret and inaccessible deptiis, and identifying it with the phenomenon. We strive further for absolute, objective troth. But who can tell us whether our ver^- premise may not be an erroneous one? Whence do we derive ou r knowl- edge that there is such a thing as absolute, objective truth? What if the unknown agency wliich produces the impressions upon our senses, did not become a distinct phenomenon except in our organism, and had no existence, as such, outside of It. The fact is universally conceded at THERE IS NO TRUTH. 329 the present day that phenomena possess neither colors nor sounds, neither odors, nor heat and cold, outside of our organism, but that all these properties are added to them in our organism. May not this same fact apply to the whole course of phenomena? If this be so, then phenomena would have no form apparent to the human senses except in the organism ; then there would be no objective and absolute truth, but merely a subjective truth alone, which could not be the same truth to two human beings unless their organisms were identical ; then every attempt to dis- cover objective truth would be entirely futile, and we would l)e more than ever condemned to seek for all our knowledge in our own consciousness exclusively, and not outside of it It is cold up here on these mountain peaks of thought I am shivering. We will now descend into the less ele- vated regions where we will be nearer the plainly practical but comfortably warm everyday life of humanity. ^ THE STATE AN ANNIHILATOR Ar"T'l7P The GennaE system of ranks and titles has been held up to ridicule a thousand times, and the treatises in prose and verse which satirize it form a whole literature in them- selves. But the subject is by no means yet exhausted, and certain phases of it have litirdly l)een alluded to. Thus no one iuis pointed out with sufficient emphasis, the danger that threatens the development and even the exist- ence of a nation, wlien it instals the mandarin's button, the insignia of his rank, as its private and public ideal. Go into socii3ty in Germany and look around you: you will find there assessors and insi^ectors, registrars and professors, majors and councilors of all kinds and colors, from the humble Kommissmmntth to the high and mighty WirMii^ie GeMwierraik or acting privy councilor. Eveiy profession has its special councilor, who is its blossom, as it were, and we can only be astonished that there are a few isolated professions which have no blossom of this kind, and can thus be considered the cryptogams of the state-flora. It would be so charming if the more success- ful beggars and wine-bibbers could hope to pass the declin- ing years of their prosperous career, adorned with some appropriate title such as Tramp-rath or Saloon-mth. You would seek in vain among all these Raths for a plain sim- ple man, satisfied with his own unadorned baptismal and m NOTHING BUT STATE OFFICIALS. 331 family name, even if you were aided in your search with a Diogenes lantern constructed according to the latest and most approved principles of electric lighting. The foot- man handing around the almond-milk is apparently the only representative of the genus Adam homo without some suffix, but even in this case appearances are decej)- tive. Whenever the State has occasion to refer to him officiall}', either to call upon him to pay his taxes, or to prosecute him for nocturnal disturbance of the public peace, or to pin the universal decoration of honor to his breast on account of the solicitous care he has taken of the boots of some general or privy councilor for so many years, it does not speak of him as 'Friedrich Wilhelm Mueller," but adds a distinctive, -Friedrich Wilhelm Mueller, footman." This is not a title of especial honor, it is true, but still it is a title. It fills the place of a title, at least, and keeps it warm. It is a sign that there ought to be something in this place. It keeps up the habit of seeing a handle to ones name, as there is to a frying-pan. The state is modest to excess in a certain way. It shocks it to behold a naked name. What dreadful indecency ! Quick, bring the cloak of some title ! Or at least the fig- leaf of some specified profession ! The science of mathe- matics, which is also very particular in regard to exactness, does without prefixes wherever it can, and asserts by pre- vious agreement that whenever there is nothing in front of a term we must imagine the plus sign there. The state takes nothing of the kind for granted. Every name must have something by which it can be taken hold of Anyone who is nothing more, obtains the title of "private citizen,' at least. How characteristically German that soul-impas- sioned cry of the man described in the Fliegemde BIcetter, who excfaimed: "Even if I am nothing else, I am at least a Contemporary ! " H\ I 332 THE STATE AN ANNIHILATOR OP CHARACTER. When 3'oti are introduced to a gentleman as Herr Eatli So and So, joii know everything about Mm that you need to know. You need not take any trouble to become acquainted with his personality ; you need not even look at his face and, much less, notice his name. These things are of secondary importance. What is essential is the fact that he is a Rath. This is the complete definition of the man. You can draw conclusions with infallible certainty, from his title as to what he is and what he does, what he has learned, what are his likes and dislikes; how and where he spends his days and nights ; what are his opin- ions on every subject, from free trade to the immortality of the soul ; and even in many cases the amount of money he earns. The sensation one experiences in meeting a man thus betitled, is one of delightful security. There is no annoying veil to conceal the features of a mysterious Isis. Maya stands before you satisfactorily \isible, and leaves you nothing to seek, nothing to surmise. I am only astonished that no one has thought of a system of simplification which has many practical points to recom- mend it. What is the use of leaving any proper name to these titled gentlemen at all? The proper name reminds you alter all of a personality, but the highest triumph of these gentlemen is not to have any personality; but to have rank, position, a title. These are the main thing;- the man, himself, is merely an unessential appendage. Very well, let ns suppress this appendage entirely, and designate each title-bearer only l>y the number of the page and line in the state reconls, the peerage book or in the army roll, where he is inscribed. Or if this may seem to have disadvantages, then let us give him some settled, easily remembered name, to be borne for ever after by all those who fill a certain position, and to be conferred simuL taueously with the title. Then when a mim assumes hia OF WHAT USE ARE PROPER NAMES? 333 uniform he assumes a name ulso, and vanishes in his rank and title to the last hair on his body. The grand seigneurs of France in the last century reduced living to a science. They had one settled surname for each footman, and any man entering their service was obliged to answer to this name. The valet was called Jeunesse, for instance, the game- keeper, Picardie, and the coachman, Victor ; each assumed the name with the livery left him by his predecessor, and bequeathed it to his successor, and thus their masters, who were not interested in distinguishing personalities, but only in seeing regular menial duties regularly performed, saved themselves in th?s way the necessity of taxing their memories as far as the servant's hall was concerned. The matter would not be so serious, however, if the public otticials were the only ones who experienced this childish delight in their titles, and ascribed more impor- tance to their uniform than to their person. But this phe- nomenon is by no means confined to those circles in which the title corresponds to at least some kind of work per- formed, and where the uniform is not a carnival disguise but an official robe ; it is found throughout the whole people and is observed in many persons who are not con- nected in any way with the state, except as they are enu- merated in the census to form the official total population. Even ill private life the German yearns and strives for official recognition in some way, some distinction or badge as a token that lie is a member of the electoral herd. Until the state has taken official cognizance of his existence by bestowing something upon him, he does not believe in his actual existence. Without such a so-called distinction, he does not feel himself a complete man, at most, only as the pedestal of one. He considers his profession as the stepping-stone to a title, and believes his breast was only created for the purpose of wearing an order. Men, free- i\ THE STATE AN' ANNIHILATOR OF CHAEACTER. boni tiDtl independent, they liave no pride in relying uix)n themselves and being under no obligations to anyliod}', but sacrifice their independence, which is worth far more than Esau's birth-right, for a favor which is more insignifi- cant in realitj' than Jacob's mess of pottage. When the feudal system was first developed, free-bom men were obliged to place all their possessions in the hands of the great nobles, and receive them back as a feudal tenure, like a gracious gift, from the latter. We now do without the least necessity or compulsion what was only done by the proud peoples of those days after an obstinate resistance. In Russia the ladder with its different rounds of official ranks and functionaries, is called the Tschin. Every Rus- sian has to stand upon some one round of this ladder, if he desires to be of any more consequence in the world than a beiTing in the shoal But the Tschin has not remained exclusivel}' a Russian institution ; it has found its way over the border. The ladder has also Ijeen erected in Ger- many, and the world now sees the remarkable spectacle of the firat and most powerful civilized people on earth, Blinding their days like a fiock of trained tree-toads climb ing solemnly from one round to the other. The individual does not develope from within outward, but by external accretions ; he does not grow like an independent organ- ism filled with vital energy, but like a dead, inert stone. The state is what adds new inches to the natural height of the individual, making him taller by a whole head from time to time. This development does not consist in any elevation of the character, but in the growth of the title in length. The peisonality loses a quality, tha title gains an adjective. The temperament grows poorer, the decoration richer. And wo© to the man who wishes to escape from this NO ESCAPE FR03I THIS VOLUNTARY SERVITUDE. 335 voluntary servitude ! He is regarded by all the rest like the free wolf by the house dogs in the fable. Or, to be more exact : he is disregarded altogether. Grimmelshausen tells about a wonderful bird's nest that made any one who carried it invisible. The title produces an effect exactly the reverse of this bird's nest. It is what first makes the one who bears it visible. As long as a man is without it, he is not noticed by society, he is a shadowy outline, a phantom. He who in obedience to his own organic vigor and to his inherent law of growth, has developed into an individuality which must be considered and measured by itself alone, and can only be comprehended in its true originality and beauty when all external arbitrary additions are removed, which only serve to disturb its outlines and confuse the effect of the whole, such a man is lost sight of behind these insignificant puppets, who have no use or purpose except as wearers of uniforms and insignia of rank! The child in the anecdote said that he could not tell whether the children bathing were boys or girls, as they did not have any clothes on. Society's point of view is the same as this child's. It is unable to realize what is human unless it appears in a certain attire. It does not recognize a man as a man unless he makes his appearance in the full panoply of ranks and titles. This point of view compels every one, who has the justifiable ambition to become of some importance in the eyes of his fellow- citizens, to abandon his natural course of development and fall in with the procession as it moves along the track appointed for it by the state, with policemen to guard it on the right and left, all drowsily keeping step together. The individual thus comes to be of the opinion that his original life, as he received it from nature, is of no account, and that, to enter upon actual existence, he must be born again with the help of the state, us somo pnV)lir functionary, as mnr^ 336 THE STATE AN AXXIIIILATClE OF €riARA€TER. ill liKlia tlic iiieiiilters of the lliit'e liijijlii'st easteH an* •'•l)liwiiselia,s/* lljal is, llii'v iiiiist siiluait to soiiie^ereiiioiiv syinliolical of a new liirtli, wlieii lliey have aUahie all the principles and impelling forces of the age! Tlie more liighly developed an organism, tlit! more cjriginal, the moie differentiated it is, and the more subordinat*; the position of the race in it eoniptired with tliat of tlie individual. This law alFects not merely the individuals alom; but the race as well. In ancient and mediieval times, the conniiii- nity was oi-ganizcfl ns a solid, com[>act l>ody, and the indi- vi(bials had no imiMjrtanee save as |»arts of the whole. In those days it was neither p«»ssible nor suitable for any <»tie to be oi'iginal : lie was oliliged' ti:» conform to thti can^firlly drawn desiirn followed in the construction of the state, \\ni 8oeiet> . the corporati<»u or tlu* iiuild. All those who had not been receivt'd iutoanv comnumitv or i>rivileii:ed fellow- ship, wert! wamkrers with no claiui to justici', and outlaws. Tliis stage of social develi »pmi'nt can be compaitHl to Ji cond branch, in wliieii the single individuals have grown together, incompletely developed, without any oi-ganie IVee- doni. anr on rsel x es. \\\' sac r i fice vol u o tari ly this i ndi v idii- mnmmm WHAT JS MKAST nv THE STATE. 337 ation— the prize won for us by modern times— for the old collectivity, in which the single being is nothing but a cell, an organ, a moving, senseless nothing. For this is where we inevitably land when wo tacitly acknowledge that a man Inis no worth and no dignity except as they are be- stowed upon him by the executive authoritit»s. and that his station among his fellow-men is l)etter determined by some name or distinction conferred upon hira, than by his own merits, liis intellectual achievements and his acts done without consideration of the otiicial rei)orts. What is the state? In theory it means : us all ! But in i)ractice it means a ruling class, a small numbcn- of domi- nant individuals, sometimes only one single person. To state that we plact^ the state above everything else, means, simply and exclusiveiv. that we arc anxious to please this class, the.se few persons or this single person. It means that instead of developing towards the ideal implanted in us ]»y nature, we have set ni) an ideal evolved 1)}' the mind of another person, perhaps even by another's whim. It nutans that w^e renounce our inmost essential being, and conform to some external pattern, possibly repugnant to all our original dispositions and tastes. The history of a nations civilization becomes thus the record of an order, like that of the Jesuits, whose members have offered up their own reason as a sacrifice and renounced the right of think- ing with their own brains and passing judgment in their own consciences upon what is right and what is wrong. We do not form ourselves according to the organic impulse within us, but complacently pour ourselves like melted metal into some mould set up for us l)y the authorities, and pride oui-selves upon being tawdry zinc figures for clocks turned out by the dozen, instead of living beings with an individual physiognomy. This process of melting and casting disintegrates the crystalline structure k\ !l I'. THE STATK AN AXNIMILATOR OF iHARArTEH. of 11 iMJoplc Jiiul (lesti'ovs its solidity. Tlie liejuitifiil iind rich iiiiiltifoniiity (»f luitiiral devclopiiieiit gives pl:i€e t4^* :i forced, wretelied uniformity. If you ask an individual aliruptly wliat is liis opinion upon a certain subject, he can not tell you uiMHi the spot, but has first to go to the chestnut groA'o to get the conntereign. Milliona renounce their intellect- nal li'eedoni, and plaroct\ss is intcsrfered with ; tliose alone who are incapable <»f indi\'id- ual thought succumb to tlie influence of the sujierior mintl and necessarily become its echo. In the latter case, on the other hand, nil natural development is prevented and suppressed, and those gifted and vigorous minds which are adapted to work out new tlioughts and add to the intel- lectual wealth of the people and of humanity in general, are also induced to suppress, intentionally and willfully, their own cerebral activity, so that they can think the pattern- thoughts with which the nation is kept supplied by the authorities, and thus render themselves worthy of official recognition. The difference is similar to that between the idleness of small cliihlren and the loafing of able-liodietl men. One THE government's INCESSANT St'PERTISlON. ^S39 is natural and a matter of course, with no injurious eco- nomical consequences ; the other, if it is universal, reduces a people to beggary. This general renunciation of all claim to personal independence, as a matter of course, facilitates the task of governing to a great degree. The poodle never keeps so still as when a piece of sugar is laid on his nose, and lie is allowed the prospect of snapping it as the reward for waiting like a good dog till ho receives per- mission. A people that has no respect for a man until he has received his re-baptism from the hands of the author- ities in the government records, and thereby impels and even compels its more talented citizens to force their way at any cost into the Holy of Holies of the official gazette, such a people is entirely at the merry of the gov- ernment, that is, of its dominant class. The thought: "What will the authorities say?" is the constant com- panion of all its citizens, and peers over their shoulder even at their most private tasks, schemes and conversa- tions. Under the inc^essant supervision of this overseer the citizen loses the necessary and fruitful practice of un- disturbed intercourse with himself and his own conscience, and thus loses confidence in himself, and begins to act a part and be an eye-servant— the inevitable result of know- ing that the eyes of a captious observer are constantly upon one. But of course it is for the interest of the gov- ernment to maintain this very state of affairs. It prevents any inconvenient opposition on the part of public opinion. It lays a great nation at the feet of a minister and a few influential statesmen. It grinds down the independent men into second class citizens bearing a stigma, as they will never be able to ripen into titled and decorated men of the full stamp, and imparts to every political attempt at rebel- lion against the government, the character of a disgrace in I THE STATK AN AXNIIIILATdll C»F rllARArTER. of 11 people iiiiil ilesirojs its solidity. T\\v Ijeuutifiil iinil rich iiiiiltiforinity of natural (levelopiiieiit gives place to :i foreed, wretched iiiilformity. If you ask an iiidividiuil iibniptly what is his opinion upon a certtiiii subject, he can not tell you uijoii the spot, but has first to go to tlie eliestnut grove to get the eountei-sign. .Millions renounce their intellectr nal freedom, and place themselves and ail tlieir thoughts and JK tioiis under a guardianship, U) whose narrow tyr- mmy th*»y soon eease to be sensitive. Tlu^rc is ijo need to advanc'c tlie olijection that this can not be otherwise, and that 1. myself, have bt*eu the ver}' one to dwell upon the fat*t that the masses are inca- pable of original, independent mentid labor, and tlu^t this is perfonned l>y exceptioiud characters alone, and the results of it iue tnuismitted liy snggestion from the small minority to tlic vast majority. But it makes an immense difference whether the th< nights of an individual or of se\'- eral individuals are instilled into the Inains of othera by natural suggestion or forced into them by violence anerior mind and necessarily lM»conie its echo. In the latter case, on the other hand, all natnral development is prevented ane right or left like other men, but was oliliged to hold even the writing he wished to rend high above his eyes. The same thing ha[)- 'P&m to a [people wliicli lias aequireil the habit of always looking up, always keeping its gaze fixed n^ion the heads of the government. It loses the faculty of looking around and forwani, freely and independently; fmm want of practice it fails to observe tlie dangers approaching from other directions. Those men who toil for the publico welfare, or pretend to do so, do not notice their neighbors nor the effect of their words and actions upon them, as in the whole of their artificially limited horizon there is noth- ing but the image of some one person or group at whose noock they dance like marionettes. Thcj no longer have an}' eyes for the communit}' ; to be useful to it, to please it, is not their object, which is only to obtain some condescending gesture or smile from those in i>ower. I am well aware of what is usually said in favor of such a state of affairs. It is claimed that it facilitates the centralization of the whole strength of the |KJople for great enterprises, in fiict is what firet makes them [jossible ; that it prevents this strength Vicing frittered away in a thousand different directions and allows an intellisreut and concen- TTIE VmXY rOTNClLOIl IN THE CATASTROPHE. ^^41 tnitcd ouiaance ol" the destinies of the nation. The inhab- itant ofa country whose citizens are of no account until they have become distinguished to tlie sight by the grand total represented in the government, feels himself constrained to dedicate his energies to this grand total and to make himself worthy of belonging to it ; selfisli interests are overthrown any the uuitication of Germany and Italy; in Austro-Hungary, where the subjugated peoples are demanding their rights of humanity, and in Belgium, where the Flemings are contending with the Walloons for their emancipation. All those whose understanding has not been obscured by solici- tude lor their personal interests, appreciate the fact that the awakening of a national consciousness is a phenome- non that occurs necessarily and as a matter of course, when the development of the individual, as also of the race, has reached a certain point, and that it is as inii)os- sible to retard it i»r prevent it as to change the tides of the ocean or the heat of the sun in midsummer. Those per- sons who assure the people that they will soon cease to emphasize their nationality, stand on the same intellectual plane as the child that says to its mother, "Wait till you get to be a little child, and then I will carry you, too."' Upon what is this idea of nationality (bunded? What are its distinguishing characteristics? This point has been much disputed, and the question has been answered in many ditferent ways. Some emphasize the anthropological element in it, that is, the result of common descent. This is so palpable an error, that it seems superfluous to refute it. As a matter of course I do not believe in the oneness of the human race. I believe that the different chief-races represent subdivisions of our species, and that their diffei^ ence in anatomical structure and complexion are not merely the evidences of adaptation, and consequences of the transfomation of a single original type, produced by ^ 34:6 in A M. M.\3^ A htA M. Tt t the iiiflueoc«s of tlie eiiviroiimeiit, but that the explanation of them is to be found in a difference of origin Accord- ing to ni}' opinion tlie degree of relationship Unit exists between a white man and a negro, between a Papuan and an Indian, is no more tluin that tetwoeii an African and an Indian elephant, or between a domestic ox and a buffalo. Bnt the differences between memljers of the same race and especially of the Caucasian race, are snrely not so signifi- cant as to jnstif}' al irnpt separations and clearly defined limitations of single national types. Every white nation contains faill and short individnals, light haired and dark, with eyes bine or black, and skulls long and short, some of a quiet and others of a lively temperament, and although one class ma) predominate in this nation and anotlier class in that, yet all their physical and mental cliaracteristics combined, are not of snfiicient importance to detennine unequivocally, that a certain individual should belong to a certain nation and not to any other, as, for histance, the negro is recognized as lx?longi ng to a ceilain race l»y his black skin, and hair and bis peculiar physiog- nomy. The many attempts to find tlie average type of particular nationalities have no scientific value. The descriiition may read agreeabl}-, and one's self-love may Iw flattered l»y the picture, bnt it in all the mere invention of fiction. Where the features of such a tyjie are not arbitra- rily invented, they consist in superficialities, wliich are not innate bnt assumed ; which can be laid aside even at an advanced age, and which, moreover, would never have lieen acquired if the individual had lieen brought up from child- hood in a foreign surrounding, exposed to the influences of an alien nationality. Chamisso, who was already a half- grown lad before lie knew a word of German, l>eeame as much of a German man and poet as any of those in whose veins the blood of the old TiMitonic guestij of Tacitus is FRENCHMEN AS TYPICAL GERMANS. 347 claimed to flow. Michelet, not the French enthusiast, but the German philosopher, reveals the intellectual character- istics, the profoundness, the moral earnestness, yea, even the obscuritv. which is considered so specifically German. That agreeable thinker, Julius Duboc, is characterized by a genuine German idealism, and Du Bois-Reyraond is the model of a thorough German scholar; Fontane, in his views of nature and his analysis of the human soul, is not only German l)ut specifically north-German. We find similar instances in all other European peoples. Who would insist that Ulbach and Mueller, (the author of the story of village life, 'La Mionette,") were not typical Frenchmen? Do we not find in Hartzenbusch and Becker every single feature characteristic of the Spanish [loets? And what is there un-English in Daiue Gabriel Rossetti, leaving his name out of question? It is not necessary to have a single drop of l)lood in common with a people wh(»se general characteristics, with all its excellencies and all its faults we assume, if we are only living and brought up in its midst. If certain isolated authors and artists are seemingly a contradiction of this statement, we had better first i)roceed to investigate whether they and we, ourselves, are not liable to be influenced by two sources of error, which it is almost impossible to avoid. For it is a familiar fiict that we yield with facility to the inclination to seek for those traits which we have arbitrarily ascribed to a nation— to the French, for instance, in the case of Cham isso— and hence discover them, as we know how quickly we transform any phenomenon to conform to the meaning ascril)ed to it l)y our preconceived opinions. While, on the otlier hand, it is extremely probable that a poet or an artist of foreign extraction, residing in England, for example, has the idea of the land of his forefathers con- tinually in his mind, and imagines that he must have jH k NATllLXALITY. eertiiiii peciiliiiritics wliicli reiniiid otliers of that land, liifiueiiced liy the siigt!;estioii exerted upon liiiii by tliese ideas lie will iineoiiseiously eliaiige bis nature and assume all sorts of artifieial mannerisms, in his endeavors to be- eoiiie like the picture which he has conceived in his mind of tlie inhaliilant of his native land. The comical part of the whole is, however, that he docs not exhibit the ipialities that actnally belong to tlie ijeople in (piestion, but, iustead, those which are habitually and erroneously ascribed to tlieni li}- Knglish jirejudice. It is not couiuion descent, therefore, which decides a man's nationality. The descciuUuits of those Huguenots wlio euiii^raUMl to Brandenburg, have liecome most excel- lent (icrmaus, and the Dutch settlers of New Amstei-dam, Irreproachiible North Americans. Wars, euiigration in masses, and intercourse with other nations, have lilended togctlier beyond possilnlity of recognition those national elements, which were probably distinct enougli at first; and the laws of all civilized states show how little value they place u[>on common descent in reality, by the fact tiiat tlicy make it possible for foi-eignei-s to liecoine " natu- ralized,'' that is, to become full citizens of a state originally alien to them, with the same rights and duties as all the other indivifhials of the nation. Since tlie anthropological foundation of this idea of nationality can not be defended, some have sought to prove that it has a legal and historical foundation. They say tliat wluit fuses men intt> one nation, is a common history, a common destiny; it is the living together under the same government and laws, the remembrance of like sufferings and like iovs. Tliis theme admits of line oratorical treat- ment, but it is, notwithstanding, purely sophistical, and is contemptuously thrust aside by all facts. Ask a lluthe- wian of Galicia if he considers himself a Pole, despite tlie NATtONALlTY NOT DUE TO COMMUNITY OF INTERESTS. 3^9 fact that the Ruthenians have shared the fate, the laws, and the political institutions of the Poles for more than a thousand years, even as far back as our gaze can penetrate into history. Or inquire of a Finn— or a Suomi, as he would call himself— whether he believed that he belonged to the same nationality as the Finnish Swedes, with whom he, likewise, has formed a single political people, for more than a thousand years. It is true that the common posses- sion of laws and institutions, and especially of habits of life, of customs and usages, leads to a mutual intercourse which may awaken a certain sentiment of fraternity, while, on the other luuid, it is impossible to doubt that the Jews, for example, are looked upon as foreigners by the peoples among whom they live, chiefly owing to the fact that they cling, with incomprehensible blindness and obstinacy to certain external customs, such as the measurement of time, the observance of days of rest and feast-days, food regula- tions, the choice of first names and other matters which dift'cr in every respect from the customs of their Christian fellow-citizens, and which must continually keep alive the feermg of isolation and antagonism in the minds of the latter'' But it is not true that this community of interests is sufticient to form a nation out of separate nationalities, nor that it can impart a sentiment of common nationality to the citizens of a state. No. These are all cunning subtleties which are shat- tered like soai>bubbles by the breath of truth. The indi- vidual human being bears the indications of his descent upon his brow but rarely ; as a general thing it is impossi- ble to recognize or distinguish them. He is not spontane- ously conscious of them himself in an elementary way; and all this rigmarole about 'Hhe voice of the blood" is nothing but the creation of the imagination of the authors of second-rate suburban melodramas. Neither is his nation- II I jifl NATIONALITY. alitj tkiteriiiiiied by the laws and institutions of his en- vironment, altliough their influence upon the formation of his character is not to lie denieci The language is what detennines the nationality, solely aed exclusively. This alone is what decides a man's relationship to a people ; this alone is what gives him his nationality. Reflect for a moment on the importance of language to the individual, the share it has in the formation of his nature, his habits of thought, his sentiments, his whole identity as a human be- ing ! It is througli his language that the individual assumes the ideas of the people which originated and developed this language, to whicli it lias confided the most secret i-niotious of its niiud and soul auil on which it has stamped all the finest characteristics of the plu}' of its imagination. It is through his language that the individual becomes the adopted child and heir of all the thinkers and poets, the t(»achers and leaders of the people; it is language that brings liim lieneath the Bimll of that universal suggestion which is exerted upon all the individuals who €»ompose a people by its literature and history, and is the cause of their similarity in sentiment and action. His language is really the man himself. It is tlie means by which the most imiwr- tant and the most numerous features of all phenomena attain to his consciousness, and it is the cliief instrument with which he reacts upon the external world. There may possibly be one man in several millions, who thinks inde- pendently and evolves original ideas out of the impressions upon his senses; while the millions think the thoughts already thought out for them beforehand, and which are accessible to them by language alone. There may iK>88i- bly be one man in millions who acts out his ideas and renders them apparent to the senses of others by his power to compel men and nature to work his will; while the millions make use of language and make the processes LANGUAGE THE SOLE FOl NDATION OF NATIONALITY, ^f)! occurring within them apparent to others by speech alone. Lau-uage is, therefore, by far the strongest tie by which huuuiu beings can l»e connected. Brothers and sisters not speaking the same language would find themselves Itir more strangers than two entire strangers meeting tbr the first time and exchanging a greeting in the same mother- tongue. We have all seen instances of this, and they are continually occurring before our eyes, viz., that the P^nglish and the North Americans have waged wars with each other, and their interests have frequently clashed, but, as opposed to the non-Englishman, they consider themselves one, they consider themselves sons of Great Britain ; the Flemings and the Dutch fought witli fury in 1831, and yet they are now in the act of concluding a new fraternal alliance ; when tlie Boers fought ag:iinst the English, the heart of the Netherlander beat in anxious suspense, despite the fact that all political connection between Holland and the Cape had ceased to exist almost a century ago ; the vast difference in laws, customs, political allegiances and historical recollections between France, Switzerland and Belgium, did not prevent the French-speaking Swiss and Belgians from sympathizing in word and deed with the French in 1870, with passionate but unjust ardor: and althouoh the people in Norway had hated their thralldom to Den'^nark for centuries and had finally freed themselves from it, and to this day have no especially exalted opinion of the Danes, yet at the time of the Schleswig Holstein war, many enthusiastic Norwegians hastened to oft'er their assistance to the Danish people with whom they had noth- iug in common except their language. This nothing is, in reality, everything. At a stage— long since past— in the (Vn elopment of peoples, the language may have been of Ic^s importance to tho individual, as well as to the state, than it is at present. 352 XATIONAUTY. Tliis was :it a tiiiic wIk!I1 the muss of the iiatioo was de- privecl of its rights and eiislavetl, and all i>owcr was in the hands of a very small miiioritv. Those of low birth Iiad no need of language, so lo si)i*iik. To wiiat purpose would it liavc served them? .Vt ilie utmost, lo groan or to eui"se in their eabins, or to bandy coai*se jokes at tlie drinkiug- plaees. The}' never encountered any human l>eings except tliosc of their own village, wlio, without exception, all s|)oke the same language ; to emigrate to a foreign country or to see foixjigncre at lionie, was something very unusual All governing was done with the whip, whose laconic speech was underetood witliont grammar and dictionary ; schools there were none ; tlie common man, seeking his little rights at the liauds of justice, was never allowed to pour out his heart liefore the judge in living si>eech, but was oliliged to make an advocate the interpreter t)f* his complaint; the government would ne^•er condescend to any interchange of intpiiry and answer with its subjects; even in the cluiroli itself, no man ever dared to say his soul wag his own, as Catholicism represented its God as a distinguislied foreign jiotentate with whom no one could communicate except in the strange Latin tongue, through the mediation of priests versed in that language. There was no necessity nor e\en any iM>8sibility for the iirivatc individual to emerge from the narrow limits of iniieritcnl surroundings, and, assisted by speech, find his way into broader iKitlis. But when, as iu numicipal communities, the people wei'c governed liy their own laws and the citi- zens had oi>portiuiitics to discuss and decide their own atlairs, tlie (piestion of language became, at once, of the utmost importance, and tlie citizens, if tliey were of diflerent philological (Icscent, divided themselves accord- ing to their vernaculars into nationalities which then con- tended with extreme bitterness for the supremacy. The IMPORTANCE OF LANGITAGE. 353 language was of slight importance to tliose of noble birth, but owing to a different cause. Their share of power was assured them by their birth, and they weie the lords and rulers without having to open tlieir mouths or make a stroke with their pen. (For it is possible at the present day in England, where all the institutions are so perme- ated with mediteval survivals, that a citizen of Holland, the descendant of some Scotchman who had emigrated to Holland several generations ago, might suddenly become an English peer and member of the House of Lords, by the extinction of the male line of the family which had remained in England. That is, a portion of the lawgiving power of the British realm, would ftill into his hands with- out his being obliged to l)e a citizen of England, or even to know a single word of tlie English language !) And in the few cases in which proclamations w^erc recpiired, the aristo- crat made use of the Latin tongue, with which he was either accpiainted himself, or with which at least the priest, his private secretary, was familiar. Under sucii circumstances, it is easy to understand that the nationality was something subordinate, because the lanjruajje, its chief distinguishing feature, was likewise of little importance. But at the present day mankind has advanced far beyond this stage of development all over the world, even in Russia and Turkey. The individual has attained his legal majority ; he has the right to fight his way out of and beyond the rank in which the accident of birth has placed him, even when he belongs to the lower classes. Legal procedures are now oral, the government lias become approachable to the citizens and is responsible to them ; in the school, in the array, every single individ- ual composing the nation is spoken to, and every one must answer ; Protestantism has taught the peoi)le to speak to their God in their own language, and to demand instruc- M "I ^4 NATIONALITY. tion and admonition from the pulpit in the vernacular. In every profession a control of language has become a neces- sit}' ; even those supreme in rank, the monarch himself, can not dispense with a certain fluency of language on important occasions, and all the municipal and political institutions re- quire tlie constant exercise of frcn* speech. Hence, language lias liccomc of vast imi^ortance to the individual, and everj' restriction of his right to make use of his f>wii language, and every force com|)elling him to express liimself in a strange tongue, seem to him the most insuttcrable outrage and tyranny. A man who lives tranciuilly surroundetl by persons of his own race, a citizen of a community and state unite*! as a nation, an«! thus so circumstanced that he would never have occasion to feel ashamed of or deny his mother-tongue,— such a man has in fact no idea of tlie real significance of llu- (lucstion of nationality. It is as impossible to descrilH* ruid explain tlie rage and shame a man experiences in su(*h a situation as it is t» fonn a coiTect conception of a physical pain one has never experienced. No one has a right to join in the discussion of this subject except those who were lM)ru in a land where tlieir nationality was suppressed and in tlie minority, where; their language was not the official language, and wliere tli<»y were compelled to learn a foreign tongue — which they never can use except as fore ignere—ini less they were willing to renounce forever all hope of a higher des- tiny for their personality, of an improved career, and of exercising any rights as citizens in the community and in the state, as utterly and completely as a slave in the Middle Ages or a convicted criminal at the present da^*. A man must liave experienced it himself to know the sensations it arouses to lie robbed in his own country of all his natural rights as a human lieing, and compelled to grovel in the iiiit before a strange nationality. What is the denial of COMPULSORY LANGUAGE. 355 civil ri^dits compared with the renunciation of one's mother- tonle, l\v laws alone, to prevail upon a nationality, that has developed so lar as to have a consciousness of itself, to renounce its language and special characteristics. A state, therefore, which in- eludes several nationalities is necessarily doomed to piti- DECENTRALTZATION. 357 less internal dissensions, and they can never be terminated except by some radical solution of the problem. One radical soUition— which has been proposed by several politicians-is the most extensive decentralization. As far as we can see now, such a solution is imaginal)le in theory only, it could not be carried into execution in ftict. Reflect for a moment, how far such a decentraliza- tion would have to extend in order to satisfy all the nation- alities of a state not constructed upon the foundation of a unity as a people. It assumes that every single citi- zen,\o whatever race he may belong, shall be allowed to manifest his powers in all directions and in all spheres of labor, and to exercise all his rights as a human bemg and a citizen without being compelled to use any other than his mother-tongue. In this case not only all the lousiness of the government— from the village post-office up to the Cabinet-andof the administration of law— f-om the lustiee of the peace to the highest court of the realm- would have to be carried on in all the languages of the land, Init the representative assemblies of the community, the province and the country at large, would have to b(^ conducted in all of these languages ; primary, intermediate and high schools would have to be organized for each separate nationality; literary culture in each language would have to lead to all the governmental and academical honors and advantages, which usually form the reward of literary efforts; in short, there should not be the slightest obligation for any citizen to learn a foreign language to enable him to acquire anything within the reach of any of his fellow-countrymen without any such obligation. These are demands which cannot be realized in practice. It would mean the dissolution of the state into atoms, which would no longer cohere in any perceptible way. Such an extensive equalization of different peoples within : . 358 BATIONAIfT. tbe same state is perhaps possible where only two nation- alities of about equal number live together, as, for instance, in Belgium, bnt not in a state with ten or twelve nation- alities, as In Aastro.Hnngar3f, where the tribes are un- like In nnmbere and degree of cultivation, and not set tied down in masses, but scattered among each other in strange confusion, where often one village contains three or four nationalities and languages, and a district even more than this. Such a state must have an official or state language. Consequently the nationality' whose tongue is the official and more prominent language becomes the ruling people, the equality of rights is at an end, all the other nationalities are wronged and degi-aded to a subor- dinate existence ; there are full citizens and half citizens, there are certain inhabitants of the land who are allowed by law to speak, and others whom the same law condemns to dumbness ; the fairy tale of the seven ravens, wliich tells how a maiden was not allowed to speak a wonl for seven years, becomes a governmental institution, and those inhabitants who are deprived of their simplest, and at the same time their highest rights as human beings, find them- selves in the unendurable conditions described above. There are certain enthusiastic statesmen who seriously believe that civilized humanity will some day arrive at a con- dition in which large political organizations will no longer be necessary. When this state of affiiire comes to pass there will l»e no more wars and no foreign affairs ; mankind will resolve itself into large groups, like vast families or moder- ate sized communities, in which the individual will enjoy all possible freedom of development, whose members will lend each other all that intellectual and physical assistance which man can not dispense with in his existence. Each o-roup will be independent of the rest, and only when ©nterprlfleB are under consideration, which are necessary IDEAL SOLUTIONS OF THE PROBLEM. 359 and useful to several at once, and which one alone would be unable to carry out, then all who have an interest m the aifair in question will enter into a temporary agreement, haviucr reference only to a determined object. It is true that in such a constitution of the human race, there would no lonc^er be anv question of nationality, as the mde- pendeut groups could be so small that, they would consist only of those who spoke one single idiom ; but rather than believe in the future realization of this vision, I would pre- fer to accept the supposition that in the course of the organic evolution of human beings, they will arrive at a pohit some day where they will no longer need any lan- guage, or any symbolical action at all to make the states of their consciousness apparent to others, but that the molecular motion of one brain will be imparted directly to other brains by a kind of radiation or continuous trans- mission I ascribe aV)out the same degree of probability to this imaginary onward evolution, as to the visionary backward evolution from the national state into the mde- pendent community. Not to wound any one's feelings I will call this degree of probability a very high one but I expect in return, the reasonal)le consession, that it will be a loner while before it is possible to attain to either of these two\leals-, in any event, much longer than the oppressed nationalities of the present day are able or willing to waif Nor will it be an easy matter to induce them to accept a universal language. It may be possible that at some dis- taut future, the most cultivated individuals of the human race as a whole, will make use of a common language in order to have intellectual intercourse with each other. But it is difficult to believe, that sufficiently extensive circles of people will ever become well enough acquainted with this classical language of the higher culture, to be gov- emed by and have justice administered in it The leading W" 360 NATIO'NALrTY. men of a oatioe would never toe willing to clothe their thoaghts in a foreign language in their most important abstract affairs — when they wish to initiate the \'oiing into the mj'steries of science, or to persuade tlieir fellow-citizens to momentous decisions, or when they wish to proclaim the judgments passed by their consciences in regard to what is right or wrong. To emploj' a foreign tongue would necessaril}' hamper their individuality and limit their freedom of action. Laying aside all other radical solutions, there remains but one more, the most radical of all — force. Nothing will ever be accomplished by Idle mediation and lame attempts at compromise. Wiiere it is a question of such an original possession as language, of such an essential element of the l)ei*sonality itself, no allowances can be made ; every de- mand for renunciation must be met by the gruff reply, " all or nothing." The struggle for language is another form of the struggle for existence, and must ha fought as that is: one kills the enemy or is killed by him, or else seeks safety In flight. The struggle between nationalities is the finishing up of a process which began centuries ago, in part, tliousands of years ago, and all this time has teen, as it were, frozen up, but is now at last thawing out and hastening to its conclusion. How did it happen tliat dif- ferent nationalities found their way into others? One people invaded and conquered the country of another l>eople, which the}' only partially dislodged. Islands of the conquered nation remained in the midst of the con- querors, or else the victors were not very numerous and spread themselves over the conquered people only as a thin surface l&jer. In this case the struggle must be renewed now, at the point where it ceased at the time of the conquest The victorious people must make a final OTertion and displace the invaded people once for all, or MIGHT MAKES RIGHT. 361 kill it mentally by depriving it of its language by sheer force or else it must allow the invaded people to gather itself together and defend itself against the invaders and expel them from the country or else force them to renounce their mitionalitv. The circumstances are different in other cases. A part of a people which did not find sufficient sustenance and prosperity in their own land, forsook its native soil and settled in another country. If this country was unoccupied at the time, but is now inhabited by tribes of later immigration, those who first took possession now necessarily consider the struggle for their language as merely one episode in the war against the natural obstacles with which the overflow of a people has always to contend when it sallies forth to found colonies in new regions of the earth. The colonists are obliged to protect themselves against their human foes as against swamps and streams, gUxciers and chasms, fever and ravenous beasts, famine and cold, and they should consider the prosperity which they did not find in their native land, and sought in distant climes, as merely the prize of the conflict in which their very lives were at stake, and the victory won over all these animate and inanimate opponents. If, on the other hand, the land in which the emigrants made their home, was in- habited, they should remember upon what conditions they demanded and received hospitality. If the surrender of their nationality was one of these conditions, and they were satisfied with this, their weakness and cowardice deserve no sympathy, and their hosts are right to claim in return for the offered support, the renunciation of their language and individuality. If they were strong enough, however, to acquire for themselves a portion of the foreign country, without making any concessions of a dishonorable nature, they should now have also the strength and the will to do what they ought to have done then, once for all, if they 360 NATIOMALITY. men of a nation would never be willing to clothe their thoughts in a foreign language in their most important abstract affairs — when the}^ wish to initiate the young into the mj'steries of science, or to persuade their fellow-citizens to momentous decisions, or wlien the}' wish to proclaim the judgments pjissed by their consciences in regard to wliiit is right or wrong. To employ a foreign tongue would necessarilj^ hamper their individualit}' and limit their freedom of action. Laying aside all other radical solutions, there remains Ittit one more, the most radical of all — force. Nothing will ever be accomplished by idle mediation and lame attempts at compromise. Where it is a question of such an original l^ossession as Ijinguuge, of such an essential element of the personality itself, no allowances can be made ; every de- mand for renunciation must be met by the gruff reply, "all or nothing." The struggle for language is another form of the struggle for existence, and must be fought as that is : one kills the enemy or is killed by him, or else seeks safety in flight. The struggle between nationalities is the inishing up of a process whieli l)egan centuries ago, in part, thousands of years ago, and all this time has been, as it were, frozen up, but is now at last thawing out and hastening to its conclusion. How did it happen tliat dif- ferent nationalities found their way into others? One people invaded and conquered the country of another Ijeople, which they only partially dislodged. Islands of the conquered nation remained in the midst of the con- querors, or else the victors were not verj^ numerous and spread themselves over the conquered people only as a thin surfece layer. In this case the struggle must be renewed now, at the point where it ceased at the time of the conquest The victorious people must make a final eTCrtion and displace the invaded people once for all, or MIGHT MAKES RIGHT. 361 kill it mentally by depriving it of its language by sheer force, or else it must allow the invaded people to gather itself' together and deleiid itself against the invaders and expel them from the country or else force them to renounce their nationality. The circumstances are different in other cases. A part of a people which did not find sufficient sustenance and i)rospcrity in their own land, forsook its native soil and settled in another country. If this country was unoccupied at the time, but is now inhabited by tri])es of later immigration, those who first took possession now necessarily consider the struggle for their language as merely one episode in the war against the natural obstacles with which the overflow of a people has always to contend when it sallies forth to found colonies in new regions of the earth. The colonists are obliged to protect themselves against their human foes as against swamps and streams, gTaciers and chasms, fever and ravenous beasts, fariine and cold, and they should consider the prosperity which they did not find in their native land, and sought in distant climes, as merely the prize of the conflict in which their very lives were at stake, and the victory won over all these animate and inauiniate opponents. If, on the other hand, the land in which the emigrants made their home, was in- habited, they should remember upon what conditions they demanded and received hospitality. If the suiTender of their nationality was one of these conditions, and they were satisfied with this, their weakness and cowardice deserve no sympathy, and their hosts are right to claim in return for the offered support, the renunciation of their language and individuality. If they were strong enough, however, to acquire for themselves a portion of the foreign country, without making any concessions of a dishonorable nature, they should now have also the strength and the will to do what they ought to have done then, once for all, if they ill I CI /JO NATIONALITY. Imcl eiiwuntew! resistantje m this foreign land ; either to retire from it eutireiy, or with the sword to wrest for them- selves a free portion of the country, or to perish in an enterprise l}e3*ond their powers. This is the way the question of nationality appears to me. It is the fifth aet of the great historical tragedies which began to play at the time of tlie great migration of nations, and in part ver^' much later. The intermissions haYe lasted a long while, but they could not continue forever. The curtain has risen and the catastrophe is approaching. It will Im cruel and hard, but hard aud cruel is the fate of all that lives, and existence is a conflict where no merey is shown. The question here is not one of right, but in its highest and most human sense, a ques- tion of might There is no law which can compel a living being to relhiquish the necessary conditions of existence. That is only to be accomplished by force, and force invites resistance. No legal f iiniitic has ever yet demanded of the lion tluit he first enter suit for possession when he wants to eat a sheep. The lion takes the sheep because he is obliged to ; it is his right to eat it. It would certainly also 1x5 the right of the sheep to kill the lion, if it could. In a matter of life or equality, all ideas as to right and mi*dit coincide. This is so evident, that even the written law of all countries reserves self-defense t.> the individual as his right, and thus acknowledges that there are certain situations in which a man must seek his rights in his strength. And what is war, but a similar case of self- defense, not by an individual, but by a people. A people recognizes, or thhiks it recognizes, that something is neces- sary to its life, or to the conveniences of its life, and it reaches for it It has a right to it, the same right that the lion has to the sheep. Should another people attempt to prevent it from obtaining this necessity, it must defend WOE TO THE WEAK ! 363 its ri«4its with all its might The conquered ought not to e(mu)lain; they can, at most, only seek to renew the strife If a people has been decisively beaten, and no prospect remains of its ever becoming the stronger, then it must accept its fate as the liiuil sentence of Nature and say to itself : " I was born a sheep, and must accommodate myself to a sheep's conditions of existence ; it would cer- tainly be better if I were a lion, but I am not a lion, and it is absurdly futile to quarrel with Nature over the fact that she did not cause me to be born a lion." A nationality which is being deprived of its language, is in a position of self-defense. It has the right to fight for its most precious possession. But when it is not stron^r enough to defend it, it ought not to complain. In the siime way, a ruling people has the right to prevent the freedom of its speech from being diminished by the pres- ence of another nationality, and to make no concessions to the latter which would interfere with its comfort and convenience in any way. But when it is unable to estal> lish its ri<^ht by foree, it must resign itself to recognize the other nationality as its equal ; it must humbly descend from its higher sUindpoint as the ruling people, it must even perish, if the power to rule was the condition of its existence. I apply this doctrine, without the least partisan feeling, to all struggling nationalities alike, to the Germans in Huligary and Bohemia, as well as to the Danes in North Schleswig aud the Poles in Posen, to the Rumanians in Siebcnbuergen, as well as to the Italians in the Tyrol. The five million Magyars are right, when they seek to change the eleven million non-Magyars of Hungary into Mag} ars ; they are only continuing the process of conquest, which they began under Arpad in 884 ; but the Geiinans, Slavs and Rumanians of Hungary are equally right, when they defend themselves, and should they prove t» be the mm 364 NATIONAITY THE CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORICAL DRAMA 365 1^' skoBger, should the}- conquer the scattered 3Iagjar8 of Europe, and uunihihite their tottering nationality, the 3Iagyar8 ought not to complain, but accept the fate to which thci}' kuowiugl}' exix>sed themselves, a thousand 3'ears ago, when tliey invaded a strange land, and risked their lives to win luxurious homes. The Czechs are right in their wish to form an independent state and to tolerate in it no German nationality ; it is only resuming the battle on the "Marclifeld ' and at the White Mountains ; but the Germans are also right in opposing greater force to force ; and after the two tlecisive battles of history, to fight a third, and let the Czechs know, once for all, that they are not IKJWcrful enough to pose as conquerors in a land into which they were able to steal twehe centuries ago, because no one happened to oppose them. It is impossible for Europe to escai^e much longer a mighty and violent rend- ing asunder of the different nationalities. The scattered fragments of peoples will either join with the main body of their kind, or else summon the latter to their assistance and with its aid suklue the lesser nationalities, in the midst of which they are now living and whose oppression they are now enduring. The small nationalities who share the same country with others, and have no powerful relatives upon whom the}' can rely, are destined to destruction. They are not able to hold their own in the struggle for ex- istence waged with their stronger fellow-countrymen. As nationalities, they must perish. The great nations alone will continue to exist, and among the smaller, only those who are so circumstanced as to be able to found an inde- pendent, national political organization, expelling or reduc- ing to a subordinate position, if necessary, all the elements of alien nationalities which may have settled among them. It is not probable that the Twentieth Century will pass away without having witnessed the conclusion of this grand historical drama. Until then a large part of Europe will see much distress and blood-shed, many crimes and deeds of violence; peoples will rage against each other, and whole races will be pitilessly crushed out of existence, tragedies of exalted heroism will be played along with the tragedies of human baseness, cowardly multitudes will allow themselves to be emasculated without resistance, armies of brave men will fVill with glory in the combat. The survivors, however, will at last enjoy the full posses- sion of their rights as nations, and be themselves in word and deed, always and everywhere. These are gloomy prospects that are opening before us but they have no terrors for those who have become reconciled to the universal law of life. Life is a struggle, and the strength to live is what constitutes the right to live This law governs the suns in space as well as the infusoria in stagnant water. It governs nations as well and gives the direction to their fote from which no hypo- critical legislation nor wily policy, nor the interests of any dynasty, nor the craftiness of any base renegades can divert it. Sentimcntalism may wipe its eyes at the spec- tacle of the destruction of a people. Rational minds com- prehend that it perished because it did not have the strength to survive, and class it with all the other extinct forms of existence which the world has left behind it in the course of its onward career. A GLANCE INTO THE FUTURE. 1 have ventured to draw upon the great, dark tablet of the future a picture, — the picture of events which I be- lieve will come to pass. There is a vast empty space on this tablet, and I can not resist the temptation to cover one small corner with a few sketclies drawn by my imagination. The next generations will witness the violent solution of the question of nationality as I have endeavored to show in the preceding chapter. The small and feeble peoples will disappear, that is, lose their language and individuality, like the Vends in Lusatia and Mecklenburg, and the Celts in Brlttiuiy, Wales and Scotland. Kindred races will unite and endeavor to form a single great nation, as has already been done by the lower and upper Germans, the Provencals and the northern French, and as the Slavs instigated by the Russians, and the Scandinavians have begun to do. The fragments of powerful nations that have emigrated will either perish or else, supported by the main strength of the parent nation, ight their way to the supreme control of the countfj in which they have settled, and make it a component part of their own nation and state. The uni- versal commotion, the striving and hurrying, the pushing and thrusting aside, will for a time produce a chiiotic con- fusion among the different nations, which will finally crys- tallize into a few powerful formations. There will be then only four or five great nations in all Europe ; each of which will be complete mistress in its own domain, having ex- wtm WHICH NATIONS WILL SURVIVE? 36t pelled or absorbed all foreign and disturbing elements, and have no inducements to cast any glances beyond its own boundaries for any but a friendly purpose, and for neighborly intercourse. Which nations will survive the great struggle Is a matter not to be decided by the policy of cabinets, nor by the genius of individual statesmen, and least of all, by any mistake or achievement, weakness or strength of mind on the part of the leaders. It will be decided by the innate, natural vital force of the nations themselves, as it may be manifested in aU possible ways : in physical strength as well as in fertility, in superionty on the battlefield as well as in progress in civilization, art and science, in an unconquerable passion for unity as well as in tenacious adherence to nationalit>\ It is not an accidental circumstance, according U> my opinion, whether a people is numerous or the reverse. The number of the individuals of a species in the animal kingdom also seems to me one of its most essential characteristics, one of its most distinctive features. If the Celts have almost van- ished off the face of the earth, if the Greeks have never been able to increase their number beyond a few millions, if the Magyars, Albanians, Basques, and the Grisons of eastern Switzerland have remained very small peoples, it is because it was not organically inherent in them to be- come great. At the time of Alfred the Great, the popula. tion of England was about two millions, and probably, (there are no historical data on the subject), that of Scan- dinavia was about the same. At the present day England has 34 millions of inhabitants, while the population of all the Scandinavian countries combined is merely eight mil- lions. Such different results in the increase surely can not be due to different conditions of climate and soil alone ; for Denmark and the southern part of Sweden and Norway are not essentially different from the greater part of Eng- A ©LANCl INTO fOE FUTTOl. land; and hmides the Englsh bave not confined theM- aatves to their island, but have peopled the greater part of the earth with their surplus vitality as a people. The fact that France at the beginning of this century had 22 million inhabitants and today numbers 37 millions, while the popu- lation of Germany has increased during the same period §mm 16 millions to 45 millions, can not be explained either by the difference in the conditions of soil and climate. The IVench have had the more favorable climate, the larger territory and the more fertile soil, and yet how nmterialiy they have fallen behind the Germans ! It iSj Hierefore, obviously a question of an organic phenomenon, ft physical characteristic inherent in a people from its very b^nnings. It may, indeed, be changed and deteriorated by intermi3rtiure with other blood and by unfavorable con- ditions of existence; but under ordinarily favorable cir- Gumstances it always asserts itself again, and leads finally to the inevitable historical result which no human power Is able to prevent : viz., that one people spreads over broad territories, becomes more numerous and powerful with each succeeding centurj', and finally has entire sway over whole continents ; while another people, not inferior to the former originally, gradually ceases to keep pace with it, shrinks more and more with each century that passes, diminishes more and more in extent and importance, and inally comes to lead only a shadowy existence or else vanishes altogether. In this way we arrive at a Europe which has found its internal equilibrium, and in which the few surviving DtlifMis have attained to all that tEey could possibly attain by lh« utmost exertion of all their organic powers, in the Vftj 0f territory, power and nnification. One European nation will then respect the other and look upon it as one nf the immutable phenomena of nature, which are accepted AFTER THE FINAL SETTLEMENT. 369 as something firmly established for all time. The dividmg lines between countries will be considered as unchange- able as those between the land and the ocean , and a Russian will feel as little inclination to invade German territory, or a German, Italian territory, as a bird to live under water, or a fish in the air. Each nation in its own domain will strive to improve its conditions of exist- ence, and, gradually remove, one after the other, all the obstacles that prevent the free development of the mdrnd- ual in every direction, the most complete utilization of all his powers, and the most perfect well-being of the mdrnd- ual and of the community, of which it is possible to con- ceive; and will finally establish, either by a course of gradual development or by violent revolutions, those forms of government, society, industry and trade, which seem most suitable to it or to a large majority of its people Aside from a tense intellectual life, the nations at that time wiU have but one universal occupation, that of gam- ing their daily bread from nature. The number of persons able to live by avocations whose purpose is other than the production of food materials, will constantly dimimsh. A more comprehensive utilization of natural forces and the invention of ingenious machines will make it possible to dispense with nine-tenths of the laborers now engaged m the industries. A society organized upon the principles of solidarity will transfom entire communities into associa- tions of consumption and obviate the necessity of smaU urddleii^en. All those who used to support themselves as r'l'p^kcewrs and day-laborers will be compelled to return t.- tic '^pld and till the soil. Meanwhile the nation con- lr.^Z to increase, the people crowd closer together, the lin ,ion <** land which can be allotted to each individual ]rr^yo rr.r -traitly smaller, and the struggle for existence cono^ : ^ vr 3 cliflacult The methods of agriculture and I I A ©LANCE INTO THE PUTUBE. cattlc-raising wiU be more imcl more improved , deserta will be transformed into gardens, streams and lakes into ish-preserves ; tbe soil will yield results.never before con- ceived possible ; but finally the bonr will arrive, when in apiteof aU arts the soil can no longer be forced to increase Its yield, and the question of food will rise like a spectre before the nation. Where can food be procured for the adults, whose lives have been lengthened by the more highly developed sanitary science? Where can it be found for the children, who are bora annually by hundreds of thousands and who have all good appetites? It has ceased to be possible simply to cross the borders and peacefuOy overflow into the neighboring countries, as nearly identical conditions prevail throughout the whole of Europe, and the difficulties of one nation are the same as those of the fest. In the same way, a resort to force is out of the question. No campaigns are undertaken to annihilato another nation or expel it from its home, or unite it by force to the invading nation. Civilization has reached abont the same point everywhere; customs and institutions have become alike; an animated intercourse, easy and cheap, has bound all the nations together by a thousand intimate tiesj any attempt to seize foreign possessions would be considered a criminal offense, and it would not only be considered a crime, but an extremely dangerous and hence, foolish undertaking as well For all the nations of Europe will have the same perfect and terrible weapons, the same military systems and trainhag in the art^ of wto; and if a sanguinary conflict were entered upon with some neighboring people to deprive it of land and home, the cftct would be not to gain new abodes for the surplus population, for which the country had become toorBmall, but, for want of room at home, to send it to certauiC death. Moreover, there would no longer be any jealousy between THE FOOD OtJESTION. sn the nations, since tlie scroggles between them wonld he m the past, and the right to existence of each great surviving nation be perfectly recognized by all the rest. The mhal^ ?tenL of the entire continent, uniformly cvdized and cultured, and uninterruptedly exchanging ideas, will gr^- uaUy come to look upon all the nations of Europe bb raem- bers of a single family, those ot the same nation as brothers, and all other white men as cous.ns ^[^^^^ the same way. as the inhabitants of a stat« or province under a national government have - disposition now ^ invade a sister province, expel its inhabitants, and se ze their land, so will also the idea of inflicting such an out- rage on a neighboring European nation not occur to a^ „7tion there. What. then, is to be done t« solve he food problem? The operation of one of the laws of nature wiU Ln begin to make itself felt. The excess of populaUon in Europe wUl flow out of the continent m the direction m .hich it meets with least resistance. This least ■•««« is ofl-ered by the colored races, who are therefore destined to be first driven back by the sons of the white race, and finally exterminated. The sense of fellowship and con^ monLrests which will have gradually come to include all Europeans, will not extend to non-E.uropeans. The uniformity of civilization, an element of similarity between the nations of Europe, will not exist between the latter and the inhabitants of the other continents. The application of force, useless in Europe, promises easy results m other countries. The emigrating European will not leave the temperate zone, which is most beneficial ^n^ agreeable to him, more than is absolutely necessary. He '^J » s^tUe first the whole of North America and Australia^ all Africa and South America south of the torrid zone. He wdl then take possession of the southern coasts of the Mediterranean Rud penetrate into the most hospitable portions of Asia. V i f« I 372 A GLANCE INTO THE FUTURE. The natives at irsl will attempt resistance, but will soon ind their only safety in flight They will give way before the Baropeans and in their turn overwhelm the weaker races in their rear, whom they will treat as they themselves have been treated by the stronger whites. Each genera- tion, however, will produce in Europe a new swarm of bmnan beings, in excess of the capacity of the land to sup- port them, who will be obliged to emigrate; the new stream will spread beyond the banks of the former torrent and the frontiers of European colonization move farther and lirther into the interior of the foreign continents, con- stantly approaching nearer and nearer to the equator. The inferior races wOl soon become entirely extinct, I see no escape for them. Missionaries may supply them with any quantity of Bibles and external Christianity; theoretical philanthropists, who have never seen a negro or an Indian except in pictures or in Hagenbeck's caravans, may be sentimental on the subject of the cliild of the wilderness, and the romantic Maoris and Caribs — ihc Cau- casian is better prepared for the struggle for existence than any other human race, and as fast as the white man requires the land of the savage to live upon, he will take it without hesitation. The individuals of tlic black, red or yellow races will then be his enemies, as it is to their inter- est to render his existence more difficult or impossible, and he will proceed to treat them as he has treated the animalis, the enemies of his children, his flocks and his fields, as he has treated the great felines of Africa and India, the bears, wolves and buffaloes of the primeval European forests-he will exterminate them till not a vestige remains. The first stage of our journey into the future was the final establish- ment of the boundaries of the great nations that survived the struggle for language and individuality, which was followed by the universal intellectual development and fl THE LIMITS OP nfMIGRATION. 373 great increase of the different European nations. Tlie second stage was the settlement of the whole earth by the sons of the white race, after Europe, first, and then the temperate zones of the other great continents had become too small for them, and the extermination of the lower and weaker races. Many hundreds and perhaps thousands of years will elapse before the white man will be driven by the pangs of hunger to the upper portion of the Congo, to the banks of the Ganges and the Amazon; before the last savage of the forests of Brazil, New Guinea, and Ceylon will have disappeared before him; but this will fiually come to pass, and the whole earth will be subject to the plow and the locomotive of the sons of Europe. Will a stationary period then ensue? Will the evolu- tion, the progressive development of mankind then cease? No. The history of the the world is the perpetuum mobile, and it runs on and on farther than we can follow it. The white or Caucasian race, which will be the only one sur- viving upon the earth, will continue to flourish vigorously in its old home on the continent of Europe and in the tem- perate zones of other lands. The nations will continue to increase, and a new generation will be continually gi-owing up, demanding room on the earth and a place at the table; and after several ages it will again be necessary for the new generation to seek a home away from the old hive. But by that time there will no longer be any inferior races, which they can crowd out and exterminate easily and without the- poignant consciousness of outraging a brother. Men will everywhere encounter their own type of physiognomy and figure, everywhere kindred European languages, views, manners and customs, everywhere the familiar forms of government and civilization, and every- where some civilized white man will have written his right and title to the land in the sacred furrows of the plow. A GLANCE INTO THK FUTURE. m fhe natives at irst will attempt resistance, but will soon ind their only safety in flight They will give way before the Bnropeans and in their turn overwhelm the weaker races in their rear, whom they will treat as they themselves have been treated by the stronger whites. Each genera- tion, however, will produce in Europe a new swarm of human beings, in excess of the capacity of the land to sup- port them, who will be obliged to emigrate; the new stream will spread beyond the banks of the former torrent and the frontiers of European colonization move farther and farther into the interior of the foreign continents, con- stantly approaching nearer and nearer to the equator. The inferior races will soon become entirely extinct. I see no escape for them. Missionaries may supply them with any quantity of Bibles and external Christianity; theoretical philanthropists, who have never seen a negro or an Indian except in pictures or in Hagenbeck's caravims, may be sentimental on the subject of the cliild of the wilderness, and the romantic Maoris and Caribs — the Cau- casian is better prepared for the struggle for existence than any other human race, and as fast as the white man requires the land of the savage to live upon, he will take it without hesitation. The individuals of the black, red or yellow races will then be his enemies, as it is to their inter- est to render his existence more difficult or impossible, and he will proceed to treat them as he has treated the animals, the enemies of his children, his flocks and his fields, as he has treated the great felines of Africa and India, the bears, wolves and buffaloes of the primeval European forests— he will exterminate them till not a vestige remains. The first stage of our journey into the future was the final establish- ment of the boundaries of the great nations that survived the struggle for language and individuality, which was followed by the universal intellectual development and THE LIMITS OP DDIIGRATION. 373 ^ great increase of the different European nations. The second stage was the settlement of the whole earth by the sons of the white race, after Europe, first, and then the temperate zones of the other great continents had become too small for them, and the extermination of the lower and weaker races. Many hundreds and perhaps thousands of years will elapse before the white man will be driven by the pangs of hunger to the upper portion of the Congo, to the banks of the Ganges and the Amazon; before the last savage of the forests of Brazil, New Guinea, and Ceylon will have disappeared before him; but this will finally come to pass, and the whole earth will be subject to the plow and the locomotive of the sons of Europe. Will a stationary period then ensue? Will the evolu- tion, the progressive development of mankind then cease? No. The history of the the world is the perpetuummohUe, and it runs on and on farther than we can follow it. The white or Caucasian race, which will be the only one sur- viving upon the earth, will continue to .flourish vigorously in its old home on the continent of Europe and in the tem- perate zones of other lands. The nations will continue to increase, and a new generation will be continually growing up, demanding room on the earth and a place at the table; and after several ages it will again be necessary for the new generation to seek a home away from the old hive. But by that time there will no longer be any inferior races, which they can crowd out and exterminate easily and without the- poignant consciousness of outraging a brother. Men will everywhere encounter their own type of physiognomy and figure, everywhere kindred European languages, views, manners and customs, everywhere the familiar forms of government and civilization, and every- where some civilized white man will have writU'^.n his right and title to the land in the sacred furrows of the plow. 374 A 0LANCE INTO THE FUTtlEl. In wblcli direciion are tlie emigrants to tiirn? What is to be done with those born in such excess in the oldest civ- ilized countries? A certain law will still be in operation, and again it will open a way out of the difficulty— the law of least resistance. There will no longer be any inferior races, but the descendants of the white emigrants who have settled nearest the equator will deteriorate organically in the tropical climate, and become a subordinate human species in the course of a few generations, so that they will compare with their cousins in more favorably situated countries, as the negro or redskin now compares with the white. The fact that this must be the case is established beyond a doubt The most virile and warlike white peo- ples degenerate in hot regions in the course of a few generations, until they become so feeble and indolent, so stupid and cowardly, so incapable of any resistance to vices and ruinous habits, that they become in time scarcely more than the shadows of their fathers and ancestors, if they do not die out entirely from barrenness and disease. This was the fate of the noble Vandals, in less than a cen- tury ; as Germanic giants they conquered Carthage, and a hundred, yeara later, as whining weaklings, they were driven out by the wretched Byzantines. The same phe- nomenon is observed even at the present day, whenever a tropical country is subdued by a people of the Caucasian race The English government makes every effort to increase the number of marriages between the Engljsli sol- diers and white women in India, but all in vain. "We have never succeded," as Mayor-General Bagnold expresses it, «in raising enough male children to keep the regiment supplied with drummers and pipers. In French Guiana, according to a ine report by Br. J Orgeas, 418 mat- liases were solemnized between Europeans from 1859 to 1882 Of these marriages, 215 have been childless, th€ I I FATE OF WHITE EMIGRANTS TO THE TROPICS. 375 remaining 203 have produced offspring to the number of 403. Of these children, 24 were still-born ; 238 died at different ages between April, 1861, and January, 1882. After 23 years, therefore, 141 children represented the en- tire posterity of 836 married Europeans. And the appear- ance of this new generation! They were almost uniformly creatures with small skulls, stunted in their growth, wrinkled, and afflicted with manifold deformities. The settlers between the tropics, therefore, are doomed to deterioration ; they not only fail to advance the civiliza- tion which they have brought with them, they even lose it entirely, and soon have nothing left of their birthright but a debased language and the self-conceit of the caste, none of whose distinctive features, physical or intellectual, have been retained. In presence of these degenerate starvelings the vigorous immigrants entertain no scruples, and the fee- ble resistance the former are able to oppose is not worthy of consideration. A new stratum of human beings, needing land and sustenance, therefore spreads out over these lands bathed in the sun's most fervid rays, burying be- neath it the previous layer v/hich has been dried up, and resuming the ineffectual battle with the climate. The equatorial regions will therefore perform the same function in the future history of man as in meteorology. In the same way as the cold waters of the poles flow toward the equator, evaporate there, and are sent back in the form of vapors and clouds ; in the same way as the ocean's surface is lowered by this evaporation, which lowering must be counteracted by the arrival of new waters from the cold regions; in the same way, finally, as the waters of all the oceans are thus kept in constant motion, the respective rain-fall upon the whole earth regulated and the remotest lands made fertile, so the surplus wiii tbcri flow from the older civilized countries to the tropics, perish there, evap- 376 A GLANCE INTO THE FUTURE, orate, as it were, and be replaced by a constant, flowing stream. The equator will become a fearful caldron in which liuman flesb will melt and evaporate. It will be a revival of the ancient worship of Moloch. The peoples of the temperate zones will cast a portion of their children into the jaws of the fiery furnace and thus manage to retain room in which to prosper and develop, themselves. The picture is horriblG ; the reality, however, is not. For it is not a painful death to which the children of the nations are con- demned A life of luxurious ease smiles invitingly be- fore them in the tropical climes ; soft breezes and waves envelop them ; field and forest offer them food in abund- ance, without compulsion; existence seems easier and more delightful to them than to their fathers and brothers on the refractory home soil ; and with sweet, burning kisses, to which they yield themselves in a voluptuous ecstasy, the sun drains their life from eveiy pore. It is a death which every effeminate nature will prefer to the rude struggle for existence ; it is a gentle melting and dissolv- ing away, which is as delightful as an opium dream, and which is more likely to arouse envy than pity. However, the equator will not always answer the pur- pose of a caldron or evaporator for mankind ; it wUl not always be the safety-valve, opening as often as the pressure becomes too great in the older civilized countries. A time will come when the circumstances will be entirely tlie reverse. The cooling of the earth is constantly going on, the belt of eternal ice at the poles spreading farther and farther downward, it will include one parallel of latitude after another, and constantly choke the life out of new regions. Human beings wilLemigrate towards the tropics more eagerly than ever, but the torrid zone will have ceased to be the insidious, caressing destroyer, and have b'.-come the mizQ of iiiao^iind. She alone will still fce^ It r^iU-^rea ; rHE SToxi,*, abundant; she alone still allows them a chance for complete development \*^nd cheerful prosperity, and to be and remain wise and strong; All culture and all civilization will center near the equator. Pjilaces and academies, high-schools and museums, will arise there; there men will think, investigate, invent, create. There alone will men still be able to live out their lives to the full. So much the worse, therefore, for the indolent, the easy-going, or the timid, who have re- mained too long in the older countries. When at last, forced by the encroaching barriers of ice, they do take their- staff in hand for the journey, they will find the more comfortable dWelUng-places already pre-empted and well guarded by a valiant race, which has become more flourish- ing and powerful, while they have been growing weaker from cold and hunger. They may encamp around the bor- ders of the magic circle like a flock of wolves, and gaze with ravenous glances over into the land of plenty ; but when- ever they venture to invade it and skirmish for booty, they will be driven back into their icy deserts by the strong and robust masters of the favored land. And after that ? What will happen after that, I know not. Here the sombre future becomes darker and darker still. I can not dis- tinguish anything further, and thus my story must end. 376 A GLANCE INTO THE FUTURE. orate, as it were, and be replaced by a constant, flowing stream. The equator will become a fearful caldron in which human flesh will melt and evaporate. It will be a revival of the ancient worship of Moloeh. The peoples of the temperate zones will cast a portion of their children into the jaws of the fiery furnace and thus manage to retain room in which to prosper and develop, themselvea. The picture is horriblG ; the reality, however, is not. For it is not a painful death to which the children of the nations are con- demned A life of luxurious ease smiles invitingly be- fore them in the tropical climes ; soft breezes and waves envelop them; field and forest ofier them food in abund- ance, without compulsion; existence seems easier and more delightful to them than to their fathers and brothers on the refractory home soil ; and with sweet, burning kisses, to which they yield themselves in a voluptuous ecstasy, the sun drains their life from ever>' pore. It is a death which every efieminate nature will prefer to the rudo struggle for existence ; it is a gentle melting and dissolv. ing away, which is as delightful as an opium dream, and which is more likely to arouse envy than pity. However, the equator will not always answer the pur- pose of a caldron or evaporator for mankind ; it wUl not always be the safety-valve, opening as often as the pressure becomes too great in the older civilized countries. A time will come when the circumstances will be entirely tlie reverse. The cooling of the earth is constantly going on, the belt of eternal ice at the poles spreading farther and farther downward, it will include one parallel of latitude after another, and constantly choke the life out of new regions. Human beings wilLemigrate towards the tropics more eagerly than ever, but the torrid zone will have ceased to be the insidious, caressing destroyer, and have b^-come the nui .:c of aiaii^ind. She alone will still fcc^ 1 'he S'roi.-4., abundant; she alone still allows them a chance for complete development \*»-nd cheerful prosperity, and to be and remain wise and strong! AH culture and all civilization will center near the equator. Maces and academies, high-schools and museums, will arise there; there men will think, investigate, invent, create. There alone will men still be able to live out their lives to the full. So much the worse, therefore, for the indolent, the easy-going, or the timid, who have re- mained too long in the older countries. When at last, forced by the encroaching barriers of ice, they do take their- staff in hand for the journey, they will find the more comfortable dWelling-places already pre-empted and well guarded by a valiant race, which has become more flourish- ing and powerful, while they have been growing weaker from cold and hunger. They may encamp around tiie bor- ders of the magic circle like a flock of wolves, and gaze with ravenous glances over into the land of plenty ; but v hen- ever they venture to invade it and skirmish for booty, tUey will be driven back into their icy deserts by the strong and robust masters of the fovored land. And after that ? What will happen after that, I know not. Here the sombre future becomes darker and darker still. I can not die- tinguish anything further, and thus my story must end. ,,■»,: 1,1-,, ;q !»■' 376 ftr-^-^f .-/. ^: %/r^ci'^'^ TE fO THE FUTURE. «* WEBSTER ....DICTIONARY -:o:- 27 Hfliil WJIRTIC! MITf V TII71?TWI?n I,01IU WUtlilD f UiiliX UMMliEiU -:o:- PIICE-CLOTH, ilEXED, 25 GENTS RiSSM, FOIL 6ILT, INDEXED. $0 CENTS An entirely new and orifriiial compilation from tlie famous Welwtor's Great Work. For ready referpnc€? In all mattorj conceriilnst Spelling, Meanings of Wt>rti-. Correct Pnmoundaiion. Synonyms. Irregular >?'erbs ami Kulen of ,Etiqu*^tt€*. onr VEST POCKET WW BSTi''.K is far ahead of all competitors. Com piled esixjclally for lis by a University miui. Simple, practical, invalu- able. It inciu«li,.'S the Gazvdteerof tlie Wori.1: .stMUCHMin:,' new and especially oaeful. Also, the Metericai System and ParliaTcentac Rules. EDISON'S HANDY Df eral Itiforinatioii and Universal Atlas IMif EMSii. BAILEY a WESTINQHOUSE .HtlCE^ — Limp Cloth, 25 cents Stiff Clotli, Ooid Emliossecl, 50 cts TMs iMXJkontains 512 pages of closely printed matter. A marvel of com yleteness, Ateolntely tliorongli and compn'lien.HivtJ. Bn.slness Pornis. T..ega» Items, etc.on 2 poo subjects of value to everyone in all occupations. It con- tains over iiO full-page colored maps, and a description of every country in the world. Ill every department it is tbe most complete encyclopedia ever pub llslied, and cannot fail to intewst everybody. LAIRD & LEE - - - Fubtisliers J6a anil j6s WalMtli Avenue, Chicago OPIE READ'S Great Character Novels %^%^S^^^S/M> / '»^>^^V^\^ Tbe growing strength of thbse fa.scinating and vivid character romances is such as to ensure them a permanent place in English literature. Opie Read's theme is ftlways one for moral and public pro- gress. His sketches of life are characteristic and natural. His theories of conduct are irreproachable and elevating. Opie Read's books grow Im favor with the popu^ lar judgment in every new work that comes from his pen. His style and method « are peculiarly his own. His short f-torles are unique. *7hen he writes of the dominating passions of mankind, it is always in re fined expressions and ennobling purjioses. THE WIVES OF THE PROPHET The theme, the plot, and the style of this remarkable story has^no counterpart in American literature. A TENNESSEE JUDGE This is a thorough delineation of certain phases of public life. It is a supreme character sketch and an unusually interesting story. • THE COLOSSUS Pronounced by an eminent literary critic to be "the most thoughtful romance of modern production. A KENTUCKY COLONEL This is the most beautifully written and the most striking in charac ter, as well as the most thrilling and chaste, pieces of fiction ever written EMMET BONLORE This story combines the strong qualities of Opie Read's style, and is^ tuU of action, incident and humor. LEN OANSETT "No one can read the book without being hettered.^^—Amer^mn Cfm>- fascial TraveUer. THE TEAR IN THE CUP and Other Stories Many of these are world-wide in fame, and every one aaa somtf Startling deuounmeut. They are typical American stories. tMRO It LEE PulUislierSt 263 Wabash Avenue. Cblc^pk If I ':' A MARKED INNOVATION THE PASTIMi SERIES tile most popular collection of Standard Novels now before the public lias had recently added the complete works of Wn. H. THOMES These thrilling stories of travel and adventure have never been sold for less than 50 cents in paper covers. When first published in cloth they sold for $2.00 per volume. Now offered complete unabridged, unchanged, at 25 cents. READ THE TITLES A GOLD HUNTER'S ABVEKTURES IN AUSTRA Ji A WMAIiEMAN'S ABYMT RES ON SEA ANB LANB. THE BUSHRANOERS; A Yankee's Adrentiures Bnriiig a Seeoni Trip to Australia. A SLATER'S ABYENTVRES ON SEA ANB IiAIB. RUNNING THE BLOCKABE. THE GOLB HUNTERS IN EUROPEf or. The Bead AUte. THE BELLE OF AUSTRALIA; or, Wlio Am II Oil LAND AND SEA; or; California in tlie Years 1848, '44 and '48. LEWEY AND I; or, A Sailor Boy's Wanderings. UFE IN THE EAST INDIES. 17 Fuil-page IHustralioiiS. Readers of good Literature are advised to procure Laird & Lee's Publications, as tliey are printed from large type on excel- ient piper profusely Illustrated, and bound in solid and attractivt covers. WOLD WSf Mis HBWSDEAUSRS AND UPON A^jl TRAINS. OB SOT PUED BY THE PUBLISHERS. miRD & LEB - - - PublislMir 9^3 and 965 Wirimli Avenue, ChicagG COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES This booic is due on the date indicated below, or at the expiration of a definite period after the date of borrowing, as provided by the library rules or by special arrangement with the Librarian in charge. DATE BORROWED DATE DUE DATE BORROWED DATE DUE */« 2 4 '49 ■'" •* '^,., JUL 3 ''95(| ^ S^Ofli^ -,m^^ ... JflN 14 - rf 5E ) 5 ft 199? ^^' '^ C28(946)MloiiL ill A MARKED INNOVATION THg PASTIMB SERIES 1, the most popular collection of Standard Novels now before 1ii0 pUic has had recently added the complete works of , Wn. H. THOMES These thrilling stories of travel and adventure have never been sold for less than 50 cents in paper covers. When first published in cloth they sold for $2.00 per volume. Now offered complete unabridged, unchanged, at 25 cents. READ THE TITLES A miM HUNTER'S ADYEKTURES IN AUSTRA M A WMAUSVAH'S ABTEIIT RES ON SEA AND LANB. HE BUSHRANGERS; A Yankee's AdTentnres Boring a Seeoni Trip to Australia. A SIiAYER'S ABYENTURES ON SEA ANB LANB. lUNIING THE BIiOCKABE. fHE OOLB HUNTERS IN EUROPE| or, Tlie Beoil AUfe> THE BELLE OF AUSTRALIA; or, Who Am 17 ii LAND AND SEA; or; California In the Yeait 1843, '44 and '4& LEWEY AND i; or, A MUir Bo/8 Wanderings. LIFE IN THE EAST INMES. 17 Full-page lUustraUons. 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