Nature and Mind: Selected Essays 9780231887038

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NATURE AND

MIND

NATURE AND MIND SELECTED ESSAYS OF FREDERICK J. E. WOODBRIDGE

PRESENTED TO HIM ON THE OCCASION OF HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY BY AMHERST COLLEGE THE UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

WITH A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HIS WRITINGS

NEW YORK: MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTS

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 1937

Copyright

I937

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS Published

Foreign

1937

Agenti

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS H U M P H R E Y MILFORD, A M E N HOUSE LONDON, E.C.4, E N G L A N D

K W A N G HSUEH PUBLISHING HOUSE 1 4 0 P E K I N G ROAD SHANGHAI, CHINA

MARUZEN COMPANY, LTD. 6

NIHONBASHI, TORI-NICHOME TOKYO, J A P A N

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS B. I. BUILDING,

NICOL

ROAD

B O M B A Y , INDIA

PRINTED IN T H E UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

F O R E W O R D

was graduated from Amherst College in 1889. H e taught in the University of Minnesota from 1894 to 1902 when he entered upon his teaching at Columbia University. These three institutions are celebrating the seventieth birthday of their son and intellectual leader by publishing and presenting to him this collection of his essays. These essays and addresses, some of them hidden away in publications difficult of access, have been selected from a wide range covering a period from 1894 when he addressed a Church Congress at Boston to 1936 when he contributed to the Thirty-third volume of the Journal of Philosophy. Brought together in this volume, they show the changes and developments in a philosophy essentially constant, and probably make more available a unified view of the author's constructive ideas and metaphysical position than any single one of his published writings. They have been selected by a small group of his former students who in this work merely represent the whole company of those who have enjoyed his teaching and who have long wished to publish and to own his essays. On this happy occasion they add their greetings and their good wishes to those of the institutions which Professor Woodbridge has served these many years. F R E D E R I C K J . E . WOODBRIDGE

T H E EDITORIAL March 26, 1 9 3 7

COMMITTEE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE editors appreciate the courtesy of the publishers who have given their permission to reprint the essays included in this volume. Special acknowledgment is due to The Macmillan Company for permission to reprint the essay entitled "Confessions" from Contemporary American Philosophy, to Charles Scribner's Sons for "Natural Teleology" from Essays in Modern Theology and Related Subjects-, to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Problem of Consciousness" from Studies in Philosophy and Psychology; to Longmans, Green & Company for "Perception and Epistemology" from Essays in Honor of William James; to The Yale Review for "The Preface to Morals"; to The Atlantic Monthly for "Creation"; to The Hibbert Journal for "Naturalism and Humanism." To Miss Shirley M. Carson acknowledgment is made for editing the manuscript, reading the proof, and preparing the bibliography. In the preparation of the bibliography the help of Professor Sterling P. Lamprecht and Mr. Edwin N. Garlan is also appreciated.

CONTENTS 3

CONFESSIONS M E T A P H Y S I C S AND LOGIC T H E ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN AS AFFECTED BY T H E THEORY OF EVOLUTION

29

T H E PROBLEM OF METAPHYSICS

37

T H E FIELD OF LOGIC

56

NATURALISM AND H U M A N I S M

EVOLUTION

79 95 113 134

STRUCTURE

149

MIND DISCERNED

160

MENTAL

173

METAPHYSICS NATURAL TELEOLOGY

DEVELOPMENT

BEHAVIOUR

183

CREATION

193

SUBSTANCE

206

T H E PROMISE OF PRAGMATISM

215

EXPERIENCE AND DIALECTIC

230

IMPLICATIONS OF T H E GENETIC T H E NATURE OF M A N

METHOD

240 246

CONTENTS

X

THE UNIVERSE OF LIGHT

264

AN APPROACH TO THE THEORY OF NATURE

272

CONSCIOUSNESS AND COGNITION WHAT IS PERSONALITY?

299

THE NATURE OF CONSCIOUSNESS

307

OF WHAT SORT IS COGNITIVE EXPERIENCE?

316

THE PROBLEM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

321

PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY

346

CONSCIOUSNESS, THE SENSE ORGANS, AND THE NERVOUS SYSTEM

365

THE PROBLEM OF TIME IN MODERN PHILOSOPHY

373

CONSCIOUSNESS AND OBJECT

381

THE DECEPTION OF THE SENSES

389

THE BELIEF IN SENSATIONS

402

TANGLING COGNITION

414

THE PROBLEM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AGAIN

418

ADDRESSES THE ENTERPRISE OF LEARNING

429

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MIND

440

PLACES AND MEN

451

THE PRACTICE OF PHILOSOPHY

457

THE PREFACE TO MORALS

471

BIBLIOGRAPHY

487

INDEX

499

CONFESSIONS

CONFESSIONS*

A s I review the course of my philosophical studies and attempt to express the conclusions to which they have led, I am conscious of special indebtedness to Aristotle, Spinoza, and Locke among the dead and to Santayana among the living. It is to them that I repeatedly turn both for refreshment and discipline. They represent, I may say, a selection or survival from the forces that have influenced me rather than a sequence which my own thinking has followed. I can not name a date when they were first recognized as controlling. I know, however, that when I began teaching at Columbia University in 1902, Aristotle, Spinoza, and Locke had already become the philosophers in whom I was most interested, and Santayana appeared to me as a brilliant and provoking writer. A f t e r reading his Life of Reason, which I reviewed for the New York Evening Post, I felt that I had found in it a matchless commentary on our human thinking. Since the contributions to this volume of essays are admittedly personal and egotistic, I may as well say now that the Life of Reason is a book I wish I could have written myself. I do not ask Santayana to take this as a compliment, f o r it is a doubtful one. I make the confession to indicate that his book is the kind of book which appeals to me as genuinely philosophical. For as I understand the Life of Reason, it makes no attempt to explain why the life of man should be intellectual. It attempts, rather, simply to tell the truth about that life. And telling the truth about the life of reason and trying to discover what that truth implies seem to me to be the business of philosophy. I had reached this conviction before I read the Life of Reason, but after reading it the conviction had received a force and an illumination which it had not had before. • I n Contemporary

438-

American

Philosophy,

New York, Macmillan, 1930, pp. 415-

4

CONFESSIONS

A n d more than this; my understanding of the history of philosophy seemed to be enhanced. I felt that I could enter into the thoughts of others with a keener and more sympathetic appreciation. Indeed, if I may use a chemical figure, the reading of Santayana has acted upon my own thoughts like a catalyzing agent, dissolving them and recombi'ning them in ways better suited to my own satisfaction at least. T w o examples may serve as illustrative. W h e n I read, " W i t h Aristotle the conception of human life is perfectly sound, f o r with him everything ideal has a n a t u r a l basis and everything natural an ideal fulfilment"—when I read this, not only did the disorderly writings of the Stagerite combine together to produce one impressive effect, but w h a t I myself h a d been clumsily feeling f o r received a clarified and satisfactory expression. In that one sentence was revealed w h a t certainly seems to be one of the m a j o r tasks of philosophy: to exhibit the passage f r o m the n a t u r a l to the ideal; f r o m common sense to reason; f r o m animal love to ideal love; f r o m gregarious association to f r e e society; f r o m practice and invention to liberal a r t ; f r o m mythology to enlightened religion; and f r o m crude cosmologies to t h a t impersonal objectivity found in science. In t h a t one sentence, too, I found an acceptable s t a n d a r d of criticism, f o r it seemed to me t h a t ideals are significant as they round out and complete some natural function, and that the natural, when cut off f r o m the ideal, must not be looked upon as affording by itself any s t a n d a r d of conduct or reason f o r its existence; it is brutally impersonal. A n d when I read, "Knowledge is not eating and we can not be expected to devour what we m e a n , " I found the vanities of epistemology exposed more conclusively t h a n any laboured exposition of my own had exposed them. I could have insisted t h a t "knowing a w o r l d " and " h a v i n g a world to k n o w " are never the same condition, but I could see it better with the m e t a p h o r to help. T o these illustrations I may a d d t h a t reading and re-reading the Dialogues in Limbo has become a prized experience in the clarification of my own ideas. I must r a t e t h a t book very high in the philosophical literature I have read. I have dwelt on my indebtedness to Santayana first because of its especial character. T h e basic ideas of "my philosophy"

CONFESSIONS

5

— I use the phrase conscious o f the egotistical privileges of this essay—were laid before I read him. Perhaps it would be more modest and even more truthful to say that I think they were. T h e thing, however, of which I am acutely conscious is, that through reading him I seem to have won f o r myself greater freedom and clarity in the handling o f my ideas. I think I know better what I am about. T h e scheme which was forming itself in my own mind through the study o f Aristotle, Spinoza, and Locke in particular, became more definite, and it became easier, for myself at least, to formulate the chief conviction to which that study had led. A synthesis o f Aristotle and Spinoza, tempered by the uncompromising, yet compromised, empiricism of Locke, became something which I thought I clearly conceived and which I believed to be useful in removing some of the confusion for which modern philosophy seemed to be clearly responsible. Aristotle's thoroughgoing naturalism and his conception o f productivity, Spinoza's rigid insistence on structure, and Locke's doctrine of the acquisition of ideas through experience, seemed to afford, when taken together, a means of backing up the philosophical enterprise with a metaphysics which would be analytical instead of controversial. I f effective ideas are really acquired through experience, an analysis o f these ideas should reveal something about the world in which that experience occurs; and the chief revelations seem to be a limiting structure or structures for all events and a genuinely productive activity within these limits. T h e structure determines what is possible and the activity determines what exists. But this result should not be taken as an absurd dualism which starts with two gods and then produces a world through their co-operation. Structure and activity are things implied by the fact that the world is known and controlled by getting ideas through experience. T h e y are arrived at analytically and are not invoked as demiurges to account for the world we live in. T h e development of a germ into thoughtful consideration o f its habitat and of the manner and incidents o f its development is the basal fact for every philosopher. H e can never get behind it. H e can only tell the truth about it and try to find out what that truth

6

CONFESSIONS

implies. H e m a y e x p l o r e his w o r l d and control it in s o m e m e a s ure, but he can never find o r i g i n a l s which b r o u g h t it into being. All this at the a g e o f sixty s e e m s t o me to be s o simple a s t o need no e l a b o r a t i o n . O n e ' s f a m i l i a r i t y with o n e ' s own line of t h o u g h t b e g e t s this illusion. I h a v e to c o n f e s s — l i k e every other w o r k e r in these m a z e s o f t h o u g h t — t h a t I h a v e entertained in the p a s t , with entire conviction, opinions which I can hold no l o n g e r . T h i s , if n o t h i n g else, should m a k e me reco g n i z e that w h a t now s e e m s so clear to me m a y not seem clear at all to o t h e r s , a n d t h a t I m y s e l f m a y be a m o n g those o t h e r s at a later d a t e . Y e t I v e n t u r e t o think, even if so thinking s a v o u r s of c o n t r a d i c t i o n a n d dialectic, that the principle of hesitation which I h a v e j u s t e x p r e s s e d is an essential p a r t of the position to which I h a v e been led. H e s i t a t i o n , doubt, perplexity, uncertainty, the s e n s e o f incompleteness and of m o r e to be done, the p r o s p e c t a n d p r o b a b i l i t y t h a t one will change one's m i n d — a l l these t h i n g s a r e a s real a s a n y t h i n g else. T h e d o u b t f u l m a n is a s much a p r o d u c t of nature a s the confident. Indeed, n o t h i n g t h a t h a p p e n s can be convicted o f impossibility. T h e r e must, consequently, be r o o m in one's m e t a p h y s i c s f o r anything that m a y h a p p e n . T h i s I take to be a very solid principle. W e m a y c o n d e m n p h i l o s o p h i e s as f a l s e , but we can not impugn their existence. It is easy to claim that men o u g h t not t o think in certain w a y s a n d f o r g e t that they d o think in those w a y s . T h e i r thinking m a y be i m p r o p e r , but it is clearly not i m p r o p e r f r o m the point o f view of its existence or a s an illustration of n a t u r e ' s p r o d u c t i v i t y . P r o m the point of view of existence one m i g h t a s well accuse the diversified flora and f a u n a of the e a r t h of i m p r o p r i e t y . T h e principle, t h e r e f o r e , that there m u s t be r o o m in o n e ' s m e t a p h y s i c s f o r w h a t e v e r m a y h a p p e n o r t h a t n o t h i n g t h a t h a p p e n s can be convicted of impossibility s e e m s clearly to imply that our distinctions arcdistinctions within one c o m m o n field and not between two fields which the distinctions m a k e incompatible. R a t h e r clumsily exp r e s s e d , they are distinctions " w i t h i n " and not distinctions between "within a n d w i t h o u t . " A p p e a r a n c e and reality, truth a n d e r r o r , g o o d a n d evil, b e a u t i f u l and ugly, a r e all c o r r e l a t i v e . A n existence which did not o w n them w o u l d not be our existence. A m e t a p h y s i c s which a b o l i s h e d them w o u l d not be a true

CONFESSIONS

7

metaphysics, but it would d e m o n s t r a t e t h e m . Even in being false it would have a claim on existence. I could boast t h a t my metaphysics recognizes this, m a k i n g it a cardinal principle. R a t h e r than boast, however, I would m a k e this the first step in metaphysics—the recognition t h a t existence is primarily w h a t it is a n d can neither be explained n o r explained away. T h e most t h a t can be done is t o find out w h a t it implies. And the g r e a t e r r o r of metaphysicians is the supposition t h a t the implications of existence are its causes and lead us to something more f u n d a m e n t a l than existence, or prior to it, or in itself irrelevant t o it. I have, consequently, o f t e n called myself a realist, and one of a very naive sort. But calling n a m e s seems to have parallel consequences, w h e t h e r oneself o r o t h e r s be the object. One is n o t always c o m f o r t a b l e with one's associates. T h e linking name is not a m a r r i a g e ring symbolizing community of bed and b o a r d . Yet I confess a sympathy with all realists of whatever stripe, even the mediaeval and the literary. T h e y are evidently trying to see things as they are, even when w h a t they see is selected. Novelists o f t e n tell us w h a t real life is by telling us about some unfamiliar life, a n d philosophers also o f t e n discern real existence in the u n f a m i l i a r . T h e realism I would urge is one of principle r a t h e r t h a n one of selection. As a principle it does not dichotomize existence. T h e r e is, f o r example, an ancient question, w h e t h e r a rose is red when it is not seen. T h e answer always has seemed t o me to b e : a red rose is. T h e colours of roses are not like guesses in Blind M a n ' s Buff, and many a rose is born to blush unseen. I can attach no meaning to the q u e s t i o n : Is the colour of a rose w h a t it is? I am t o o sensible of the fact that I have b o u g h t bushes of a nurserym a n w h o — n o r I — h a s not as yet seen the roses they will bear. Such experiences may drive us back on the general fact of colour and lead us to a s k : D o colours exist when they are n o t perceived? I t is h a r d f o r me t o attach a meaning even to this question. A d a r k room m a y exclude all colours save black when the eyes are open, and a similar effect may be produced by binding the eyes in a lighted r o o m . A n d this simple experiment forces me to conclude t h a t colour is as much something with the existence of which I have n o t h i n g to do as it is some-

8

CONFESSIONS

thing with the existence of which I have something to do. W h e n I try to find out how much I have to do with it, I find t h a t much very little—no more than the fact t h a t if I did not exist, I would never ask such curious questions. I would not ask any questions at all. And I can not possibly conceive w h a t a world is like about which no questions whatever are asked. F u r t h e r m o r e , it seems monstrous to me to conclude that the world is only my world, f o r " m y " world means nothing unless distinguished f r o m a world not mine. I may distinguish such a world just as I distinguish houses which are not mine. A metaphysical distinction, if made at all, must be of a similar kind, or it is meaningless. T h i s is what I mean by a realism of principle rather than of selection. As I am fond of saying, the only universe relevant to inquiry, the only universe t h a t exists f o r purposes of observation, experiment, and ratiocination, is the universe of discourse. Any other universe is meaningless. If I am challenged to prove this, I point out such obvious facts as this: we do not proceed originally f r o m the implications of colour to colour, but f r o m colour to its implications. T h e subject-matter of inquiry can not be called in question. Individual existences may be related to one another and compared, but " t h e whole of existence" can be related to nothing or compared with nothing. T h i s is the basic dogma of metaphysics. I can not remember when it first gained possession of me. I am tempted to think that I always thought that way. I remember quite distinctly t h a t when I first read Berkeley, which was in my college days at Amherst, I was troubled over the conflict between the incredibility of his doctrine and the obvious truth of its foundation. Looking back now at the experience, I can formulate it as I could not have formulated it t h e n : I was conscious that he converted a definition of subject-matter into the cause of its existence. H e saw clearly enough that existence implies mind in some objective sense, but he made mind the creator of what exists. In those same days, I had a similar experience with Kant, but it was many years before I could say that this synthetic philosophy was anything more than a definition of subject-matter converted into a wholly incredible explanation of experience. And the little I had then of H e g e l — g e t t i n g his ideas, not through reading but through the fascinating exposi-

CONFESSIONS

9

tion of Professor Garman—fired my imagination as a little of H e g e l did that of many of my contemporaries. Glimpses of the organic unity of experience were inspiring f o r minds distracted by an associationist psychology on the one h a n d and the artificiality of the "critical philosophy" on the o t h e r . W e read no Aristotle in those days, and it was only later t h a t I saw t h a t Hegel h a d done little more than turn Aristotle upside down and done it clumsily. I am conscious of such early experiences and such later formulations, but conscious of them as a pretty steady and natural development of my thinking unm a r k e d by a sense of violent conversion. This development seems to be a line along which I have been led r a t h e r than a p r o g r a m ever deliberately adopted. This seeming may be one of the illusions which I egotistically cherish, but I set it down with the frankness which confessions like these inspire. I could cite other things more casual, perhaps, than those already mentioned. A remark in a cherished copy of Jevons' Lessons in Logic stands pencilled with a question m a r k : " W e can not suppose, and there is no reason to suppose, t h a t by the constitution of the mind we are obliged to think of things differently f r o m the manner in which they are." T h e r e is a note to the r e m a r k : "Discuss light, colour, sound, etc." T h e book is a heritage f r o m college days and carries the name of a classm a t e . I must have purloined it. T h e question m a r k and the note were put there when I taught logic at the University of Minnesota. I was very conscious of the hopelessness of an obligation to think of things differently f r o m the manner in which they are, and ended a contribution to the Essays Philosophical and Psychological in Honor of William James with the rem a r k of Jevons. W h e n I read, shamelessly, as youth is wont to do, the Essays of M a t t h e w Arnold while P r o f e s s o r Shedd lectured on Dogmatic Theology at the Union Theological Seminary, there was tucked away in my memory one of Arnold's favourite quotations: "Things are what they are and the consequences of them will be what they will b e ; why then should we wish to be deceived?" So I take the principle of realism as something pretty well ingrained and constitutional in me. Like everybody else, I pride myself on a sense of fact.

io

CONFESSIONS

I h a v e t r i e d t o s u p p o r t this pride by teaching and by the little I h a v e w r i t t e n . T h e principle of realism seems so imp o r t a n t t o m e f o r metaphysics and philosophy that I have been m o r e busy with championing it than with developing it. Yet t o keep insisting on it seems w o r t h while. It helps me not to wish t o be deceived. If this world were explained as so m a n y of us p h i l o s o p h e r s t r y t o explain it, it wouldn't be this w o r l d at all. I t m a y cry f o r an explanation, but a metaphysician in his wish not to be deceived will set t h a t down as one interesting f a c t a b o u t it. H e will see poetry and religion, and a r t a n d society, a n d m o r a l s a n d science and philosophy even, as responses to t h a t cry and be glad and not contemptuous of t h e m . H e will recognize t h e m as responses, confident t h a t when they cease t o be such, t h e r e will be no m o r e world. T h e cry is essential to w h a t existence is. N a t u r e has generated and s u p p o r t s it. W i t h A r i s t o t l e we may make it the evocation of G o d ' s b a r e presence a n d rest content with t h a t , f o r G o d is a r a t h e r final explanation of things. But if we do not wish to be deceived we will not m a k e him the creator of the world, responsible f o r microbes and men, or try to deduce f r o m his n a t u r e t h e way of a m a n w i t h a maid. W e may insist with theology t h a t he must be incarnated, born of a virgin, even, to be as effective with men as he is with the stars, but we will recognize in t h a t insistence a supreme illustration of the cry. T h e a p p e a l of existence will not have ceased. First and f u n d a mentally it is an appeal. T o find it first and f u n d a m e n t a l l y something else is to ack n o w l e d g e oneself a selective realist r a t h e r t h a n a realist in principle a n d t o h a v e chosen one instance of the natural kinesis instead of the c h a r a c t e r of t h e m all. M a t t e r , atoms, space and time, ions, electrical charges, the stable bodies and rhythmic motions of the physical w o r l d , the microscope's revelations of the m u t a t i o n s of the seeds and carriers of subsequent developments, and the n a t u r a l evolution of living organisms, must bulk large in one's thinking. T h e y make an imposing spectacle, suited to a r o u s e b o t h the a d m i r a t i o n of a poet and the curiosity of a scientist. I t is trivial to ask which t r e a t s them the m o r e adequately unless one specifies the purpose f o r which they a r e t r e a t e d . T h e heavens declare both the glory of G o d

CONFESSIONS and an o p p o r t u n i t y f o r a s t r o n o m e r s . T h e y declare n e i t h e r exclusively. If we look f o r an exclusive d e c l a r a t i o n , it is f o u n d , not by selecting one f r o m a n u m b e r , calling the one r e a l a n d the o t h e r s illusion; it is f o u n d r a t h e r in the s t e a d y recognition of t h e f a c t t h a t s o m e t h i n g is d e c l a r e d . T h i s is but saying again t h a t existence is w h a t it reveals itself t o be t o a seeker, without a d d i t i o n or subtraction. A n d this m a y be t u r n e d a r o u n d . It is the seeking of w h a t existence reveals t h a t defines t h e unity in existence and discovers the m a n i f o l d n e s s of its revelations. T h i s shows again h o w metaphysics is realistic in principle. A t the risk of seeming to talk nonsense, I m a y say t h a t the question, W h a t is existence? is an existing question, one t h r o w n up in t h e o p e r a t i o n s of n a t u r e , an event in t h e w o r l d fully as much as an eclipse of the sun, but m o r e conspicuous t h a n the l a t t e r . F a m i l i a r i t y with it m a y b r e e d c o n t e m p t . I t is not, however, t o be set aside and neglected. F o r m a n does n o t s t a n d outside of n a t u r e and ask h e r questions. H e s t a n d s inside. H i s questions well up within him, f o r m on his lips as n a t u r a l l y as his smiles, a n d a r e as much a r e v e l a t i o n of existence as his a n s w e r s a r e . T h e y a r e m o r e . T h e y a r e the final r e v e l a t i o n of existence, d e c l a r i n g it t o b e — f o r metaphysics a t l e a s t — f i r s t and f o r e m o s t a question. W h e n this is seen, t h e m e t a p h y s i c i a n need not hesitate t o see a question a n s w e r e d in the g r o w t h of an a c o r n into an o a k or the r e v o l u t i o n of a p l a n e t a b o u t t h e sun. H e m a y even g o so f a r , r u n n i n g t h e risk of being l a u g h e d at as a p o e t or lover of m e t a p h o r s , a n d say t h a t a c o r n a n d planet h a v e asked questions a n d f o u n d answers. A t any r a t e , existence seeking will be f o r him a m o r e impressive f a c t t h a n existence f o u n d . T h a t is why he will n o t p u t the inquisitive mind outside of n a t u r e and suppose t h a t it is obliged to think of things different f r o m the m a n n e r in which they a r e . H e will keep it inside as t h e sure indication of w h a t n a t u r a l processes are, a n d if he finds an a t o m , he will not let t h e little t h i n g drive mind out of n a t u r e and m a k e of mind a p r o b l e m never t o be solved. H e will gladly be s o m e t h i n g of an H e g e l i a n a n d m o r e of an A r i s t o t e l i a n to avoid t h a t d i s a s t e r . All this, as I h a v e said, seems very simple t o me. I h a v e been told t h a t it is t o o obvious, t o o much b a r e m a t t e r of f a c t , and t h a t a p h i l o s o p h e r , if he accepted it, would h a v e n o t h i n g l e f t

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to do. H e would lose his profession. I might answer that, if this were true, humanity might profit by the loss. But I d o not believe it to be true. T h e r e is something still left f o r the philosopher. H e can at least keep on asking questions and seeking their answers, and do this with the added consciousness of knowing what he is about. H i s questions may be less foolish than they were. H e may find t h a t he has to give up many cherished problems, like that of the red rose, the doubled moon, the vanished star, the bent stick, the presence of evil, the ubiquity of error, the clash of freedom and necessity, the reconciliation of mechanism and teleology, the possibility of knowledge, and the relation of soul to body, but he ought to thank God for it. H e ought to be glad to be rid of appendages, sloughing them off, as nature seems to do, when they become useless or a hindrance. Even then he will have plenty to do in making confession to the world and, by his teaching, warning others f r o m a sad employment of their time, using the history of philosophy as a text. And then, if he has sympathy, he may do some good. T h e s e remarks are a f u r t h e r confession of my own thoughts. I have never been interested in the "problems" of philosophy. T h a t is, perhaps, not strictly true. Yet I can not remember ever having been seriously worried about them. T h i s fact, rather than the problems, has often worried me, f o r it convicts me, even to myself, of a lack of sympathy and stimulates my natural egotism unduly. These problems have been very important things in history and have had serious consequences. T o be cold to them is not to be wholly comfortable in the society of others or in the quiet reading in one's study. I have known souls desperate in the clutches of necessity and I have read about Erasmus and Luther. T h e cry f o r a just God in a naughty world I have heard. But it all seems to me, speaking quite frankly, unfortunate and absurd, and sometimes abominable. I know, of course, that these worries are quite real and very important. I have had enough practical experience, enough of that sort of dealing with others which acutely exposes the conflicts which go on in men's souls, to know how real these things are, to be stirred with deep concern and to be prompted to be resolute in action. Yet

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I could never translate the practical conflicts of life into problems which philosophy must solve in order that these conflicts may be reduced. T h i s may be in me what is often called temperamental, or it may be a consequence of my father's influence on my education. H e was one of the justest and fairest men I have ever known, unselfishly solicitous about others, but he never worried about the world. Its make-up and that distribution of good and evil which marks the life of man were never problems crying f o r a theoretical solution. H e was a devout Christian and a devoted Churchman, but he never worried over any doctrine. I was early heretical and brought back Herbert Spencer from college. His serenity was undisturbed. H e was serene. I can think of no better adjective. T o borrow Matthew Arnold's words about Wordsworth—the cloud of mortal destiny he put by. His constant prayer w a s : " W e know not what a day may bring f o r t h ; we only know that the hour f o r serving Thee is always present." W e were intimate companions. And it may well be that living from childhood in the shadow of his unruffled confidence, I early grew to be indifferent to much that otherwise might have disturbed me. T h e r e have been times when the evident indifference of the order of nature to human concerns has been emotionally shocking and the sense of estrangement acute, but it is rare indeed that I have felt that such experiences implied a theoretical problem to be solved. In this sense, I was early, without knowing it, something of a pragmatist, asking myself what difference does it make tomorrow whether I am fated or free. A n d in my student days in Berlin, in 1 8 9 3 , I wrote a never-published and now-lost paper to prove that it made no difference. I wish I could read it now to see how well reminiscence is confirmed. Y e t I have been and am interested in the problems of philosophy as excursions of the human mind. T h e history of ideas is one of the most absorbing and fascinating subjects in which I have ever engaged. Of all the great philosophers, Leibniz is the only one I could willingly eliminate. Here I confess to a prejudice. I know its origin. When I heard Ebbinghaus lecture on Leibniz in Berlin, he remarked: "Leibniz went about introducing himself to prominent people as a promising young man." T h a t remark stuck. I always see Leibniz that way first

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and, consequently, come at his ideas with amusement. Yet, as I f o r g e t this, I can enjoy some enthusiasm in seeing how the differential calculus and the doctrine of pre-established h a r mony admirably w o r k together, t h e m o n a d s reflecting the function of one equation, each with its own little differential. I t is, generally, such congruences in ideas t h a t I find m o r e fascinating t h a n any concern about their validity. H e r e I confess a g r e a t e r debt to E b b i n g h a u s than amusement over Leibniz. H e h a d the habit, every now and then, of brushing aside his notes, which followed a r a t h e r stupid m e t h o d of classification, and running his fingers t h r o u g h his hair, exclaiming: " A b e r nun, meine H e r r e n , miissen wir ein bisschen interpretieren. W a s will der M e n s c h ? " T h e n , t h e r e was a lecture indeed. Y e s ; w h a t would a m a n h a v e ? H o w does he go about having it? W h i t h e r is he led? I n t o t h e grip of w h a t ideas does he f a l l ? W T here does he arrive, with or against his will?—like H o b b e s sending Christian souls t o m a r t y r d o m in a heathen state as the only allowable escape f r o m the absolute sovereignty of a king who o r d e r s t h e m to renounce their f a i t h . T h e r e is an inevitability to which ideas bow. T h e y arc gotten of experience, as Locke so abundantly shows, but once gotten, they lead experience instead of following it. A n d t h a t to which they lead may send them back to clarify or mock their source. It is so with the problems of philosophy. T h e y are born of ideas which experience generates. Once born, they run their course and then come back to clear or m u d d y their origin. T h e y exercise a function r a t h e r t h a n lead to a solution. T h e exercise of t h a t function seems to me to be b e t t e r displayed in the thinking of the g r e a t t h a n it is displayed in introductions to philosophy, like Paulsen's f o r example, where the problems a r e systematically detached and r e n d e r e d as the outgivings of a universal experience which no m a n ever had. Was der Mensch will is then entirely f o r g o t t e n , although it is always w h a t some man would, w h a t he would in his day and generation, moved by the forces t h a t played upon him, which has generated these problems with vitality. D e p r i v e d of individual and social backing, they a r e little m o r e than f o r m a l exercises, good f o r discipline in ratiocination, but p o o r substitutes f o r the vitality of P l a t o or of H u m e .

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While I have been writing, a rather cryptic saying of Professor G a r m a n ' s has been claiming attention: " A man never thinks w r o n g ; his danger lies in not thinking." It was a perplexing utterance and mixed up, as I remember, with some Hegelianism. E r r o r s of thought seemed to be all too frequent and familiar things to be swept aside with an aphorism. T h e maxim did pedagogical service in his classroom. I will not say that he made us think right, but he made us think fatally. I well remember a classmate, one of the best students in the college, who, a f t e r a thrice-repeated perfect analysis of H u m e on causation, was made to swallow the doctrine much against his will, because he found no fault with it besides his own dislike. I can not say w h a t " G a r m a n ' s philosophy" was. H e certainly left me with no system of philosophy and no consciousness of one. H e did leave me with an immense respect f o r the thinking mind. Its wanderings and where it would go next became more alluring than stopping at some comfortable inn along the way. A n d I remember another classmate, a partner of the Berlin days, who asked me what system of philosophy I had decided on to teach when I returned to America. T h e question struck me as preposterous. I was diffident about admitting that I h a d no system, but I had heard the phrase "the Odyssey of the spirit," and was more interested in what that phrase implied than in indoctrinating youth with any system, whether b o r r o w e d or egotistically thought to be original. I f e a r i may have changed in this respect, although I still boast of a contempt of discipleship. These things are said, however, not t o praise my character but rather to illustrate my education and its bearing on my attitude toward the problems of philosophy and the history of ideas. T h e mind, like the body, has its excursions. T h e profit of them is the traveller's profit. I have already hinted t h a t the travelling has a consequence. W i t h me it has become a m a j o r one. Ideas, as Locke urged, are born of experience, of the body's contact with the body's world. H e thought t h a t God could—although he believed that God did n o t — h a v e made the body think without the addition of a soul to help it. T h e r e was a beautiful courage in that honest Englishman who, like some other philosophers, came near

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to being a clergyman. Yet he seems to have been a little a f r a i d of the soul, a little a f r a i d of "ideas" and used the term abominably. T h e y r a n away with him at times, as is well illust r a t e d in his chapter on "Solidity." In this chapter Locke makes two statements which deserve critical attention: " T h a t which hinders the approach of two bodies when they are moved one t o w a r d s another, I call solidity"; and " I f anyone asks me w h a t this solidity is, I send him to his senses to inform him." W h o will forbid the sending? But who can deny that the effect of it is a definition? Solidity turns out to be more than something at the tips of our fingers; it turns out to be something characteristic of the system of things in which our fingers move. Going to the senses opens the door to definable relationships. A man thereby enters a realm of being in which ideas enlarge and fructuate and f r o m which he may return to his senses with a different touch. H e is on his way to knowledge. T h i s is not a m a t t e r of comparing our ideas to see whether they agree or differ as one might compare a sound and a colour. It is not a m a t t e r of compounding them as one might compound the tastes of water, sugar, and lemons and get the taste of lemonade. Locke's illustration is "gold," but his examples of knowledge are pitiful. W h e n he is through with knowledge, he t h r o w s most of it over in favour of what he calls judgment, leaving the remnant as a foretaste of f u t u r e bliss. I t can all be m a d e very ridiculous. Yet he was fundamentally sound. W e must go to our senses, not our souls, if we are ever to enter the realm of mind. F a r less acute than Descartes and f a r less subtle than H u m e or Kant, he was f a r more solid than any of them. W e enter the realm of mind through our senses, but it is a realm we enter. T h e r e a different authority rules than the porter who let us in. T h e r e one travels among ideas which are forced to acknowledge a controlling fate. A n d so, to continue this apology for my life, I have leaned on Locke as on a sure support. I have ridiculed b e f o r e my classes w h a t has seemed to me to be ridiculous in him, and I have forced him to exhibit the fate to which his own ideas were committed. I f , however, I am at all sane, I thank him f r o m the b o t t o m of my heart, I thank him f o r sending me to my senses to find the mind rather than to Descartes to find

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it in doubt. F o r this "sending to the senses" when thoroughly worked out, reveals that what the senses define is not a discrete series of isolated contacts on which some synthesis must be superimposed. Locke so supposed, and his working out of the supposition amply demonstrates its futility. H e was forced to define real knowledge as something no man could ever attain and make it, consequently, a conception of no use whatever in this m o r t a l life. H e should have paid more attention to w h a t he h a d left, to those sciences he would f r e e f r o m the dictation of philosophers. W e can never know whether our ideas agree with things, but we have to proceed as if they did 1 But if we can not know the former, what possible sense is there in saying the l a t t e r ? W h a t is the sense of saying that we must proceed on the basis of something we know nothing a b o u t ? W h a t is the sense of trying to reduce knowledge to psychology, when psychology must be a branch of knowledge or not worth the paper on which it is w r i t t e n ? Is psychology, too, the taking of ideas to agree with something without any knowledge whether they do or what t h a t something is? Is the "science of knowledge" the same sort of thing? I must protest. T h e doctrine of the "association of ideas" in some f o r m or other has remarkable vitality. T h e reason is, I suppose, t h a t they are associated. W h e n , however, we turn the fact of their association into an explanation of knowledge, we have to make a number of assumptions f o r which association cannot account. Chief of these is the great assumption which Locke himself m a d e : t h a t there is, to begin with, an o r d e r in things to which the mind tries to conform, sometimes succeeding, perhaps, but more o f t e n failing. T h i s makes " t h e order in things" the crucial thing f o r the whole doctrine. If there is no such order, it is senseless to suppose t h a t the association of ideas conforms to it or reveals it. If there is such an order, and if it is helpful to explain the association of ideas, then the association of ideas does not explain it or our knowledge of it. If we try to escape these alternatives by concluding t h a t we have only an association of ideas to deal with, we may, perhaps, understand what we mean by "association" in this conclusion, but we ask in vain f o r an answer to the question, W h a t d o "only" and "ideas" distinguish? W h a t are

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" i d e a s " c o n t r a s t e d with and w h a t does " o n l y " exclude? T h e conclusion excludes an answer, and is, t h e r e f o r e , meaningless. I t is much b e t t e r to go to one's senses, to go to w h a t even Locke t o o much neglected, to the enterprises in which men are engaged in discovering o r d e r and not in supposing it exists or in trying to account f o r its existence—to the hope of getting knowledge, not to the hopelessness of explaining it. T h e n o r d e r imposes itself upon us. It is f o u n d to be, not an assumption which we make, but a discovery which we welcome and f e a r . O n it our happiness and misery depend. T h e better we know it, the m o r e we can m o d i f y our destiny: and we are in its h a n d s as in the h a n d s of f a t e . W e go to touch f o r solidity to discover it to be t h a t which keeps bodies a p a r t , something m o r e t h a n an isolated sense d a t u m , something in an o r d e r of things. So I once w r o t e an article on " S t r u c t u r e " and, later, the Realm of Mind. T h e principle of realism, carried out, seems to me to lead repeatedly t o at least the implication of structure. I have f r e q u e n t l y hinted at this in w h a t I have here written. E v e n the a t t e m p t to write something like one's philosophical b i o g r a p h y , calling the past to remembrance and probably d i s t o r t i n g it f o r effect, involves the a t t e m p t to find a f r a m e w o r k into which events, readings, and reflections fit and thereby own some relation to one a n o t h e r . W h a t e v e r our account may be of, it is an account with some o r d e r or structure t h a t is aimed at and expected. W i t h o u t it the account cannot be u n d e r s t o o d ; we call it unintelligible. If it is of the world or of n a t u r e t h a t we would give an account, the same implication h o l d s ; we must discover or invent an o r d e r or structure. W e a r e o f t e n deceived by invented o r d e r s when they are brilliant a n d tightly knit. T h e y may impose on mankind f o r centuries. E v e n when we reject them, we admire them, and we m o r e readily believe a man w h o tells us lies in an orderly f a s h i o n t h a n one w h o tells us the t r u t h in disorder. T h e reason f o r this is not our credulity. Invented o r d e r s are rarely p u r e inventions or wholly a r b i t r a r y . I doubt if thev ever are. One lie forces a m a n t o tell a n o t h e r , but this o t h e r must be a s u p p o r t i n g lie, one which fits into a structure, the structure which the first implies, so t h a t with the first lie a m a n is

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doomed to go on inevitably, if he goes on at all in its support. Even Fairyland and Nowhere soon rob their explorers of freedom. Premises freely or conventionally accepted lead to conclusions which their acceptance never suspected. Mathematics is the crowning example. Counting by tens is a convention, but Kant made a good deal of the fact that 7 + 5 = 1 2 is not. H e belaboured the fact with astute phraseology which ought not, however, because of a dislike of words, to obscure the leaning of the proposition on an order and not on its subject. Mathematics is the crowning example, and with its many applications is powerful enough to prove that order is not a human bias or an imposition on reluctant material. It is an implication of all existence, something to be set down as metaphysical, something which we creatures of a day never m a d e — f o r if we did, why do we rebel against it, cry over it, and yet seek it with our whole heart in the belief that it is the final answer to every question that we ask? It, and not our minds, is responsible f o r the intelligibility of the world, and we have minds because our bodies are in contact with other bodies which jointly with it are in an order enmeshed. T h a t is why I wrote the Realm of Mind. And that is why I have joined Spinoza to Locke in my affections. Few philosophers have had the sense of order as supremely as Spinoza had it. It overpowered him and set him all atremble. Ostracized by society and ill with consumption, he could rest in it as in the embrace of God's love. T h e beauty of it in him for a modern reader lies in his freedom from epistemology and the confusions of subjectivism. H e is astonishingly free from empiricism also. This, I find, is a matter of offence with students. It is difficult to get them to put, with him, the empirical world aside or take it f o r granted as something acknowledged but not allowed to interfere with the fatality of thought. T h e y expect him to show why, as a consequence of God's nature, the seasons change and the clouds drop down their dew. T h a t he is wise about men and has a profound knowledge of human nature seems clear from many a penetrating remark, but to affirm that whatever is—even in this matter of human nature—is in God and without God can neither be nor be conceived, is a queer sort of psychology.

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They often look, at him as a juggler, who presents to them an apparently empty hat in the shape of definitions and axioms and then proceeds to draw out of it astonishing things. They rarely fail in the end to be impressed by an inevitability, august, sublime, and possibly tender. T h e empirical world is somehow caught in it and illustrates it just as this circle is caught in and illustrates the circle. T h e question why, if the circle exists, this circle should also exist, remains unanswered, but it tends to become unimportant, for there seems to be some sense, even if an obscure and baffling sense, in saying that without the circle, this circle could neither be nor be conceived. Quite possibly, Spinoza, like the rest of us, was a man who thought he proved more than he did. There is abundant evidence of it; and his method of exhibiting his thoughts leaves much to be desired. H e was a very interesting person and a baffling one. People found him that. T h e y thought he had said something important which they did not understand and which seemed to violate cherished beliefs and obvious facts, and when they asked him about it, he had the habit of telling them that they did not understand, that they knew nothing of G o d and the human mind. A psychoanalyst can readily find in him an inferiority complex and a defensive mechanism. It may be ungrudgingly admitted that he had both, and fled to God because the world rejected him or because he was too weak to accommodate himself to the world. T h e fact of him, however, and what he did are more important than any analysis of his personality. The Ethics is a book which, like Euclid, should be read with no curiosity about its author. It is a book in which personal opinions and prejudices should not be allowed to count. T h e y are as irrelevant to the reader as Euclid, the man, is irrelevant to the boy studying geometry. F o r it is a geometrical effect one comes away with. In the light of this effect, the language can be discounted. T h e mediaeval terminology, all the apparent jugglery with essence, existence, idea, and power, is an instrument to impress upon the reader an overwhelming sense of the fact of order and structure. H e must get substance before he gets anything else. H e must begin philosophy with God and not with Locke. Unless he begins in this way, he can never understand any-

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thing; he may go to touch f o r solidity, but if he stops there he can never understand what he is saying when he says: By solidity, I mean this or that. For knowledge is not eating and we can not be expected to devour what we mean. And so I lean on Spinoza as well as on Locke. T o touch the world or experience it is very f a r f r o m knowing it. Experience and knowledge seem to me to be very different things. I quote Santayana again, f r o m m e m o r y : " I have often wondered at those philosophers who have said that all our ideas are derived f r o m experience. T h e y could never have been poets and must have forgotten that they were ever children; for the great problem of education is how to get experience out of ideas." It is the great problem of life and science: how to fit oneself into an order, how to get out of the idea of relativity white marks on a photographic plate. Doing these things is knowledge. Bumping one's head against a wall is experience and a poor substitute. T h e r e is joy in going to the senses—to experience—if one does not stay there. T h e y open the door to the realm of mind, to order, to structure, to the inevitable, to freedom, to substance, to God—if God is that in view of which our destinies are shaped. It is with one of those unreasonable enthusiasms which we often have that I turn to Aristotle. H e has said everything that I have ever said or shall ever say. H e tells me that that is continuous which, when cut, has common boundaries, and I find it unnecessary to go to Dedekind. T h i s is quite stupid, I know, but I may as well confess it. H e tells me that A is the cause of B, and B the cause of C, and so on forever, but that B is not the cause of C because A is the cause of B; and the weight of an infinite series is lifted f r o m my mind forever. Everything begins when it does, and there is no need to search the past f o r a first cause or origin of things. Existence begins now fully as much as it ever began. A road begins at this end, but it also begins at the other end, even if it began at this end before it began at the o t h e r ; f o r nothing ever begins before or a f t e r it does begin. I admire this cool insistence on such simple and obvious things—taking the beginning of a road as a first illustration of "principle" and then going to the keel of a ship, the axioms of geometry and the rules of

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a city. T h e principle o f a thing is found where the thing begins, and we must never forget that in searching for principles. T h e tenses o f the verb are the carriers o f time. One thing may begin before or a f t e r another or may so have begun. T h i n g s may be and are arranged that way. But to arrange principles themselves in temporal order is to forget that we are always dealing with a dynamic world. F o r m , matter, efficacy, and end (purpose) are just as much now as they have ever been, but this particular case o f them—this man, this house, this stone — n e v e r was or is, or will be again. It is this particular case which is interesting and important and the object o f our questions. W h a t is i t ? Out o f what did it c o m e ? W h a t effected its coming o u t ? W h a t purpose does it serve? A complete answer to these questions would tell us everything about the case. It would help us to the formulation o f conditions which are " c a t h o l i c , " which hold good "on the w h o l e " or for the most part, and so help us to arrange our knowledge in bodies of knowledge appropriate to this or that particular subject-matter. W h i l e we must always remember that we are dealing with a dynamic world and recognize that it is only some particular, individual case, not something in general, that raises the question o f the " f o u r causes," we may address ourselves to this very fact and discover that particular field of inquiry which was later called metaphysics. W h a t we must remember and recognize and what questions we ask when dealing with a stone or a house or a man, ought to give some indication of what it is to be, whether it is a stone, a house, or a m a n — o r even a g o d — t h a t is. T h e implications of being something are the implications o f being anything, if "things will not be governed ill" ra St Syra ou /SouXtrai irokiTti'toBa.i kcikCis. I owe to Aristotle my conception of metaphysics and the love of it. H i s errors and omissions—I can point them out as confidently as the next man. I know how history has distorted him and what a tyrant he became over the minds o f men. T h a t was because few really read and studied him, or because they read and studied him with a mental set previously determined by their own language and ideas. I had to tell a very brilliant student once that the word " c a u s e " never occurs in Aristotle, before I could make him see that his contention that Aristotle

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was not justified in the use of the term was amusing rather than critical. Students who go to his text often forget that his writings are not translations of English. E v e n so, he has a gripping power and, when read attentively, is still the great intellectual force he has always been. Compared with that, his errors, omissions, and tyranny are now trivial. F r o m him I learned that metaphysics is a special interest and not a superscience which should dictate to others and criticize them. T h e y can get on without it, although it can not get on very well without them. Y e t it admits no servile dependence. It does not wait on their permission or advice any more than they wait upon its. It would share with them mutually in the interests of the mind. But it frequently has to protest against the substitution of them in its place. It dares to be as egotistical as they are and be thankful. I f Aristotle could try to keep them all together in happy companionship, why not keep on trying? F o r metaphysics would never aim at usurping their place. It would not boast, even if it boasted perfection, that it could solve a single problem in physics, chemistry, or biology, and it would not expect them to do its own work of analysis. Y e t it would claim to be a very human enterprise without which a man may be easily intellectually warped and deficient in sympathy with the great episodes of human life. Aristotle, with all his errors, is immune to that. And, more technically, I have learned f r o m him that metaphysics is analytic. It produces nothing out of a juggler's hat, and certainly not G o d and the world. It takes things as they are, in all their obvious plurality, and never supposes that they can be reduced to ultimates f r o m which they sprang by miracle or evolution. It leaves the history of existence to historians and its evolution to evolutionists. Its interest is in what it is to be a history and what it is to be an evolution. T h a t there are space and time, and matter and energy, and life and death and thought—a world to know and minds to know it—it admits beyond question. Faced with these things, it has no interest in why they are as they a r e — w h y the body has a mind or the mind a body. It does not try to justify the ways of G o d or matter. Since nature produces many things, it is content to take her productivity as a fact without asking f o r a reason

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f o r it, k n o w i n g that the only possible reason would be " s o m e thing that p r o d u c e s . " B u t metaphysics w o u l d analyze productivity to see w h a t it implies, without supposing that the results of its analysis disclose f a c t o r s which once, in some f a r - a w a y time, conspired together to make a w o r l d . One f u r t h e r debt I must acknowledge to A r i s t o t l e — a n appreciation of language which I never had until I studied him. I w a s early impressed with his use of the v e r b " t o s a y " and his insistence that truth is not a m a t t e r of things but of propositions. K n o w l e d g e , with him, is largely a matter of saying w h a t things a r e . T h i s gives a dominant logical note to all his writings, noticeable even in his descriptions and illustrations. I t w o u l d seem, at times, as if a coherent system of sayings in a given field w a s of m o r e importance to him than its subjectm a t t e r . H e points out how certain common uses and turns of speech v a r y as they a r e used in v a r y i n g connections, t6 ov XiytTCLi iroXXax&s. T h e principle is generalized almost to the roots of being. W h a t is said is relevant to the occasions of saying it, so that the same expression m a y exercise quite diff e r e n t functions in different connections. H e made common w o r d s and phrases do unexpected service. H e made, one might say, the G r e e k l a n g u a g e conscious of itself as an instrument r a t h e r than as a l a n g u a g e different f r o m that of b a r b a r i a n s . A n d although truth is not a matter of nature, the saying of things is. W h e n S o c r a t e s is said to be a man, something has happened to him of which he may be u n a w a r e , but he has p r o v e d conversation f u l l y as much as he p r o v o k e d the resentment of A t h e n s . Existence is p r o v o c a t i v e . Its being so is one instance of its kinetic character, f o r speech is a motion f u l l y as much as the movements of the spheres. W h a t a saying effects is consequently m o r e important than the w a y of saying it, although a scrupulous nicety about expression is to be commended highly. F r o m all this I hope I h a v e learned a respect f o r l a n g u a g e and been m a d e a w a r e that alarmingly different expressions in the same l a n g u a g e and in different languages m a y convey the same idea. I h a v e o f t e n told my classes that when J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s called his sweetheart " a handmaid of the L o r d " he w a s not v e r y f a r r e m o v e d f r o m the modern youth, w h o might call his " a damn fine g i r l . " T h e different

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expressions connote a different culture and different proprieties, but should a metaphysician quarrel with either of them? T h e maid was provocative. I should not be surprised, therefore, if I found out that Thomas Aquinas and Immanuel Kant were saying the same thing; or John Calvin and Charles Darwin—the many are called and the few chosen. I t is again " W a s will der Mensch"; and, perhaps, when a man thinks, he does not think wrong. The language he speaks may be unintelligible or sound absurd, but there is at least the suspicion that it is humanly vernacular. We all live in the same world of sunrise and sunset, but talk about it in languages which are diverse; and what our differing utterances are relevant to is more important than their relevances to one another. Since they are relevant to something, I have been led to consider language as an instance of that give and take in nature which discovers ideas. And so I end, conscious that I have left unsaid things that might have been said and not as sure as I should like to be that I have fulfilled the purpose of this volume. I have taken the opportunity to be one which permits and encourages a freedom of expression and intimacy which one ordinarily might prefer to avoid. Confession is said to be good for the soul. I think I have had some good of it. Receivers of confessions—one leaves the priest a little worried about what has been told. I think of David H u m e : "I can not say there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily sensed and ascertained."

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T H E A R G U M E N T FROM DESIGN AS A F F E C T E D BY T H E T H E O R Y OF EVOLUTION*

IT IS usual to urge the argument from design in the interest either of theology or of ethics. When so urged, it is beset by numerous logical difficulties which render even its apologetic value questionable. Logic has seen in the argument a splendid example of some of the more subtle fallacies; but it has not usually seen one of its fundamental postulates. Accustomed to attack the argument, logic would not be likely to seek its support. But I think that any thoroughgoing conception of evolution, in fact any thoroughgoing theory of nature, raises certain questions which logic can meet by taking refuge only in something very much akin to design—not in the argument from design, in its usual theological form, but in what we may call the essential belief which that argument expresses. I shall, therefore, attempt to show the effect upon logic, or the significance f o r logic, of the argument from design, especially when logic is confronted by certain considerations drawn from evolution. It is necessary, at the outset, to have some clear conception both of the argument and of the theory. The essence of the argument from design I take to be the belief in the superiority of intelligence to all else in the universe. What is precisely meant by the term "superiority" I propose to let the sequel explain. It is enough for the present to say that the essence of the argument from design consists in the belief that intelligence is, in some way, superior to all else in the universe. There is, in this connection, another point that requires some notice. It will be clear to anyone who attends to the matter that all analysis of the objective world reveals nothing but * In Papers, Addresses, and Discussions at the Sixteenth Church Congress in the United States, New York, Thomas Whittaker, 1894, pp. 193-197.

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sequence, continuity, action, and reaction—in other words, simply natural law which expresses the relations of parts of that world to each other. That is true even in the life of his fellow man. H e finds there, too, nothing that does not come under the forms of natural law. Just as the astronomer, after watching the heavens with his telescope, exclaimed, *'I can find no God there," so all of us, after a disappointing analysis of the world of our experience, must exclaim that, apart from our own intelligence, we find no intelligence there. The fact that analysis of this sort reveals no intelligence has often been regarded as sufficient to overthrow the argument from design in its usual theological form—namely, that from the evidence of design in nature we must inf,er a designer. T o such an argument, it has always seemed a sufficient answer to say that nature evinces no design. If, therefore, we are to retain any vitality for our argument, let us deny for it a place in scientific analysis, and assert it in the sphere of rational belief. With this explanation, I trust it is clear what is meant in the main by the statement that the essence of the argument from design consists in the belief in the superiority of intelligence to all else in the universe. We now turn to determine our conception of evolution. It is clear that it is with the broad generalizations of this theory that we are concerned. I know no better exposition of the theory than is given in C. M . Williams's Evolutional Ethics.1 I think the theory of evolution there presented will be found most thoroughgoing and scientific. In fact, anyone inclined to accept evolution at all will find it exceeding difficult to escape from the generalizations there given. I give these generalizations in the words of the book itself, because I can not improve upon their clearness and conciseness. A f t e r a careful analysis of our experience we reach these conclusions: W e have found in nature only variables, no constant and invariable factor, no independent one according to which the others v a r y ; w e have found no cause that w a s not also an effect; that is, w e have discovered nothing but a chain of phenomena bearing constant relations to each other, no causes except in this sense. W e have no precedent or data 1 A Review of the System of Ethics Founded on the Theory of Evolution, C. M. Williams, New York, T h e Macraillan Company, 1893.

by

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from which to assert that chemical combinations could not have resulted in protoplasm and in living protoplasm, no data from which to assert that mere evolution could not have produced consciousness. As a matter of fact, however, w e find the relations of consciousness and physiological process as constant as those of the different forms of material force, and while discovering no grounds upon which to pronounce either consciousness or physiological process more essential, find none, either, for pronouncing the one, more than the other, independent of what we call natural law. T h e logic of all our experience leads us to believe that neither protoplasm, nor the earth, nor any of the parts of the universe, could have originated otherwise than under natural law, that is, as the result of preceding natural conditions which must have contained all the factors united in the result, and would thus explain to us, if we knew them, in as f a r as any process is explained by analysis, the results arising from them. W e know matter and motion only as united; we know no state of absolute rest, and we have no grounds for supposing any initial state of such absolute rest, or any in which motion not previously existent in the universe entered. On the other hand, we have no proof of the absence of consciousness outside of animal life, and no proof of the non-existence of transcendental causes, though likewise no proof of their existence. (Page 3 3 9 . ) W e h a v e seen that any explanation of f a c t s f r o m analysis, except as we assume some transcendental intuition, is impossible. O u r mathematical habit of selecting some one side of natural process as independent, in order to trace, by its variation, the variation of the others, leads us to regard the one side, phase, or portion, of phenomena as actually thus independent, although we forget, in this assumption, that we may select any phase for our mathematical independent, and are not confined to any particular one. T h e organism is itself a part of the environment regarded as conditioning, when we consider the development of other organisms, or change of inorganic matter with which it is in contact. ( P a g e 3 5 1 . ) S o much in g e n e r a l . A n d n o w f o r a particular generalization r e g a r d i n g d e s i g n : O u r analysis of the development of thought, feeling, and will has an important bearing on the teleological argument. If all habit comes, in time, to be pleasurable, if pleasure merely follows the line of exercise of function, whatever that line may be, and ends are thus mere matters of habit, and habit, exercise, is a matter of the action and reaction of

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all conditions, then it is evident that the force of the teleological a r g u ment is at once destroyed. W e cannot pass beyond nature, by this route, to the inference of a transcendental cause. M a n ' s action being a part of n a t u r e and the result of all conditions as much as is the motion of the w i n d or of the w a v e s , the results he produces, like theirs,

only

c h a n g e and never creation, the only inference w e could make f r o m his w i l l to other w i l l must be an inference to w i l l that is a part of nature, a result if also a condition, a link in the chain of nature, its ends coordinate w i t h habit but not the cause of it, and no more

determining

than determined. ( P a g e 3 8 1 . )

F r o m these generalizations w e see that nature is to be reg a r d e d as one g r e a t process, no part of which is independent, but all p a r t s inter-dependent. A n a l y s i s reveals no superiority of intelligence o v e r all else in the universe. It reveals intelligence simply as one f a c t o r in the process, no more dependent o r no m o r e independent than any other f a c t o r . I t is but one link in the chain, held on and holding on, but no better, no w o r s e , no more important, no less important than any other link. C l e a r l y on such a basis there can be no teleology, no design. But it will be replied that our conception of the matter f r e e s us f r o m this conclusion. W e r e g a r d e d the essence of the argument f r o m design as a belief which a d d e d to analysis. B u t w h a t it added, analysis itself does not r e v e a l . T r u e , so we r e g a r d e d it, but the theory has its a n s w e r — t h a t all addition, all belief is itself but one f a c t o r in the process of evolution. I t is no more cause than it is effect. It is but one link in the chain, held on and holding on, no more determining than determined. It does not escape analysis, but the analysis rev e a l s it as a f a c t o r , just as it reveals natural selection as a factor. Is this the end of the m a t t e r ? P e r h a p s a metaphysician w h o is not satisfied with the statement that the only explanation we can have is analysis m a y h a v e a f e w questions to ask. F i r s t , he would probably ask a v e r y old one. I f analysis is the method of explanation w h o or w h a t does the a n a l y z i n g ? I f one f a c t o r in the process of evolution does it, then that one f a c t o r , the intelligence within you, must submit and subject all the p a r t s of the universe to itself. T h e analysis does not r e v e a l that, f o r it is the prerequisite of any analysis whatso-

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ever. So we might say to the evolutionist, " Y o u r analysis is excellent, but it g r a n t s all we ask—it grants the superiority of the analyzing intelligence to all else in the universe." But we are not out of the difficulties of the theory with such ease and rapidity. T h e evolutionist replies: "If that is the conclusion you d r a w you have mistaken my whole a r g u m e n t — that the analyzing intelligence, itself submitting and subjecting f o r the time being all the p a r t s of the universe to itself, is itself but a factor in one great process, no more conditioning than conditioned." T h i s answer is somewhat bewildering, and it is at this point where the combatants usually take r e f u g e in abusive language. Let us avoid this difficulty by coming at the m a t t e r in another way. Let us start with a Cartesian axiom. If we can prove any theory of ours to be a delusion only by somewhere assuming its reality, we must give up the hypothesis of delusion. W i t h this axiom well in mind, let us proceed to ask w h a t becomes of our opinions of t r u t h and error, confronted by this information f r o m evolution. Centuries ago, as the result of the preceding natural conditions, to use the words of the theory, there appeared the Platonic theory of the universe. In our own century, as the result of preceding natural conditions, there appeared the evolutionary theory of the universe. N o w which of these theories is t r u e ? T h e only difference evolution can show between them is simply t h i s — t h a t evolution appeared f a r t h e r on in the line of development. But if " f a r t h e r on in the line of development" is to be taken as the test of truth, what truth difference is there between conflicting theories of the universe held today by different people simply as the result of preceding natural conditions? Let us get the state of the matter as clearly as possible before us. If all our judgments of truth and error are simply phenomena in nature, like the flight of a bird or the roll of thunder, then those judgments are no better, and no worse, than any o t h e r natural phenomena. T r u t h and error are delusions, because truth and error have no meaning when applied to phenomena. But note this—that " t r u t h and error are delusions" is a judgment. Is it a true judgment? N o w it is plain as the day that we can never answer that question, if judg-

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m e n t s a r e simply p h e n o m e n a . A n d if we answer it either by " y e s " or " n o , " we m u s t a d m i t t h a t in one case at least, j u d g ment is not a p h e n o m e n o n — t h a t intelligence, in one c a s e at l e a s t , is s u p e r i o r to all else in the universe. H e n c e o u r conclusion. W e m u s t a d m i t the f u n d a m e n t a l belief of the a r g u m e n t f r o m design, if we a r e to a d m i t any j u d g m e n t w h a t s o e v e r as valid. P e r h a p s enough h a s been said to show that the t h e o r y of evolution, like any other theory a b o u t nature, needs a s its s u p p l e m e n t the a r g u m e n t f o r design, a n d that it needs it the m o r e the m o r e t h o r o u g h g o i n g we m a k e our theory. T h e m o r e c o m p l e t e we m a k e our physics, the m o r e urgent b e c o m e s our d e m a n d f o r m e t a p h y s i c s . P e r h a p s e n o u g h h a s been s a i d ; but I s h o u l d like to a d d a n o t h e r c o n s i d e r a t i o n in the h o p e o f rem o v i n g a p o s s i b l e objection. It m a y a p p e a r f r o m the conclusion t h a t we h a v e r e a c h e d t h a t we should infer that intelligence is l a w l e s s — t h a t it is an undetermined thing. Such a conclusion is e n o u g h to m a k e a m a n who believes in o r d e r suspicious. I t will be s a i d , not only by the evolutionist, but by m a n y o t h e r s , you must a d m i t , t h a t w h a t e v e r a m a n thinks, says, or d o e s is absolutely d e t e r m i n e d by the sum total of the conditions o p e r a t i n g at the time of the action. T h a t is a p r o p o s i t i o n which no one w h o t h o r o u g h l y u n d e r s t a n d s it will ever dispute. N o w the sum t o t a l o f conditions o p e r a t i n g at the time o f action includes the m a n a s acting. It is clear that laws can be f o r m u l a t e d to cover only c o m p l e t e d series of events. A s e r i e s o f events which h a s no beginning and no end can not come within the f o r m u l a o f law, and that is why all physics courts conf u s i o n when it t a l k s a b o u t beginnings a n d ends. A n y series o f events which includes intelligence as a f a c t o r can b e f o r m u l a t e d under law when we a s s u m e that intelligence is p r e s e n t in a certain way. In t h a t sense intelligence is not l a w l e s s . B u t if we m e a n by l a w simply the d e t e r m i n a t i o n o f certain p h e n o m e n a by other p h e n o m e n a — i f we define law in t e r m s o f m e r e p h e n o m e n a — t h e n intelligence is not a p h e n o m e n o n , a n d then it is not l a w in the sense d e f i n e d — i t is l a w l e s s . T h e m o m e n t we m a k e clear to o u r s e l v e s t h a t n a t u r a l l a w s a r e simply e x p r e s s i o n s in their lowest t e r m s of what t a k e s p l a c e in a c o m p l e t e d series of events, just that m o m e n t we will m a k e

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clear t h a t f r e e d o m , God, necessity, have absolutely n o t h i n g to do with law, but they are simply metaphysical concepts of the purest type. N a t u r e herself evinces no f r e e d o m , no necessity, no cause, no effect, no t r u t h , no e r r o r , no good, no b a d , no design. Only when the logical intelligence, in its conscious superiority to nature, reads into n a t u r e these purely metaphysical conceptions, do they win the first shadow of meaning. N o w if this is t r u e — i f , while intelligence may be p a r t of nature, and may be dependent upon nature f o r its material, but not f o r the judgnjent of the m a t e r i a l — t h e n it is clear t h a t we owe to intelligence the only intelligible conception we can f r a m e f r o m nature. W h a t we want to k n o w is, W h a t is the meaning of nature, and above all, w h a t is its ideal meaning; and the moment we r a i s e that question, we d e m a n d an answer t h a t includes design of some sort. W e a r e striving to interpret nature, and to interpret it without design is an impossibility. So much of the effect upon logic of the argument f r o m design when c o n f r o n t e d by the theory of evolution. It is necessary to stop here, though questions crowd in upon us. H a v e we really modified that conception of intelligence which the theory affirmed? I think we have modified it p r o f o u n d l y . If the attitude of intelligence t o w a r d nature is ideal, it can not be termed n a t u r a l without a considerable extension of meaning. If by n a t u r a l we mean " d e t e r m i n e d by the laws of p h e n o m e n a , " then the attitude of intelligence is not n a t u r a l — i t is ideal, and here is where the importance of the m a t t e r comes to a full head. N o t only is the attitude of intelligence f o u n d to be ideal, but if we were to pursue the m a t t e r f u r ther, we should find t h a t the attitude of feeling and t h a t of will are also ideal. W h a t we are a f t e r is not the fact of thought, feeling, and will, but their significance. W h a t we a r e a f t e r is to find out how we can make this world w h a t we feel and think it ought to be. H e r e we are in ethics, and we want to realize w h a t we think and feel this world o u g h t t o b e — t h e fullness of an o r d e r which is g r e a t e r than we, a n d b e f o r e which we bow in reverence. H e r e we are in theology, but here it will be necessary f o r us to stop. Bringing t o g e t h e r the salient points t h a t have been urged, they may be ex-

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pressed in this w a y : Since truth and error, freedom and necessity, good and bad, are conceptions which we do not find in nature, but which, by virtue of our intelligence, we read into nature, then the question becomes, not, Can we find design in nature, and so infer a designer? but, W h a t is the most l o f t y conception we can f r a m e of beneficence in design in order adequately to explain the terribly earnest life of man in the world which he strives to explain, to enjoy, and to master?

T H E

P R O B L E M

OF

METAPHYSICS*

MANY tendencies in recent thought indicate a revivified interest in the problem of metaphysics. While philosophers for the last few decades have never wholly neglected the problem, their treatment has been, until very recently, largely historical. Old theories have been restated in the light of renewed study, but the statements have usually followed traditional lines which had become fixed. There have been few instances of attempts to state and solve the metaphysical problem as an immediate problem of human experience. But the recent work in logic and epistemology, with its return to the immediate facts of life for its subject matter, has tended to turn our attention to the same source for the study of metaphysics. The work of science in criticizing its fundamental conceptions has been largely metaphysical in its character, even when writers like Mach and Brooks repudiate, with feeling, the imputation. Energy begins to take its place along with matter and spirit as a metaphysical concept indicative of the nature of reality. These newer tendencies have something of scorn for traditional and historical philosophy. With a boast, akin to that of Descartes, they would claim to be without presupposition, without hypothesis, and without substantial dependence on the past. But this is an idle boast. These newer tendencies are what they are because of the history of thought which has preceded them. They get their freshness because much of the work of the past has won general recognition, and it is, consequently, possible to proceed without the preliminary critical discussions which have characterized the historical method. It is this fact which gives to the outlook for metaphysics its encouraging character. The study of history has taught us much, and we • I n the Philosophical Review, Vol. X I I ( 1 9 0 3 ) , pp. 367-385. Read as the Presidential Address at the third annual meeting of the Western Philosophical Association, A p r i l io, 1903.

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begin t o find o u r s e l v e s in a position w h e r e , with this k n o w l e d g e as a b a s a l p o s s e s s i o n , we can r e s t a t e the p r o b l e m o f m e t a physics w i t h i m m e d i a c y a n d d i r e c t n e s s . T h e s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s h a v e led m e t o a t t e m p t t h e s u g g e s t i o n o f this r e s t a t e m e n t in t h e l i g h t o f t h e lessons we h a v e l e a r n e d f r o m t h e h i s t o r i c a l treatment o f the problem. T h e h i s t o r y o f p h i l o s o p h y has, in t h e m a i n , been d o m i n a t e d by t w o ideas, t h o s e o f e v o l u t i o n and classification. T h e g r e a t s y s t e m s h a v e been p r e s e n t e d in their mutual a n t a g o n i s m s , dependencies, a n d s u p p l e m e n t a t i o n s , as m o m e n t s in an h i s t o r i c a l d e v e l o p m e n t ; a n d they h a v e been classified in a c c o r d a n c e with a n o m e n c l a t u r e t r a d i t i o n a l l y a c c e p t e d and r e n d e r e d a l m o s t classic by t r e a t i s e s on t h e i n t r o d u c t i o n t o p h i l o s o p h y . B u t we h a v e a t l a s t b e g u n t o be suspicious o f the result. A r i s t o t l e r e a d s so m u c h like a m o d e r n t h a t we can conceive his w r i t i n g a f t e r H e g e l w i t h no g r e a t c h a n g e in his system. A n d we l o o k in v a i n f o r t h e t h o r o u g h g o i n g m a t e r i a l i s t , spiritualist, pantheist, a n d t h e r e s t , o f t r a d i t i o n a l p h r a s e o l o g y . T h e g r e a t men r e f u s e t o be classified in this r e a d y w a y , and persistently present us with c o n c e p t i o n s which t h e evolutionist has t o l d us could n o t p o s s i b l y h a v e been e n t e r t a i n e d in t h e i r t i m e . T h e r e c o g n i t i o n o f t h e s e t h i n g s is b r i n g i n g us f r e e d o m , so t h a t we no l o n g e r find it n e c e s s a r y t o r e g a r d o u r w o r k as m e r e l y t h e next e v o l u t i o n o u t o f t h e u n f o l d i n g p r o c e s s , o r t o classify ourselves u n d e r s o m e d e p a r t m e n t o f t h e t r a d i t i o n a l scheme. W e would d r i n k d e e p o f t h e p a s t , and, so i n v i g o r a t e d , p r o c e e d t o o u r t a s k w i t h t h e independence and o r i g i n a l i t y o f which we m a y b e c a p a b l e . B u t w e p r o c e e d with the experience o f t h e past b e h i n d us, a n d w i t h t h e lessons o f its h i s t o r y . W e h a v e l e a r n e d n o t only t h a t t h e g r e a t systems o f the past r e f u s e t o be classified in a c c o r d a n c e with t h e t r a d i t i o n a l c h a r a c t e r i z a t i o n s , but also t h a t these c h a r a c t e r i z a t i o n s can n o t s t a n d f o r us f o r any a d e q u a t e d e s c r i p t i o n o f u l t i m a t e positions. T h e t y p e s o f m e t a p h y s i c s , m a d e classic by our termin o l o g y , s e e m t o r e n d e r r e a l i t y , as P r o f e s s o r J a m e s is f o n d o f p o i n t i n g out, implicitly o r explicitly an a c c o m p l i s h e d f a c t at one s t r o k e . T h e y thus d o violence t o e x p e r i e n c e , in t h a t they l e a v e n o r o o m f o r its m o v e m e n t , its n o v e l t y , its v a r i a b i l i t y . J u s t f o r this r e a s o n they h a v e n e v e r won t h e unqualified ap-

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proval of anybody. T h e y have gained their absoluteness of statement only by insisting on our ignorance of the very conditions on which such absoluteness is made to depend. They have insisted that they would be satisfactory if only we had the knowledge to make them so. I f we only knew enough about the nature of matter or spirit, we should then see how everything is somehow their result. But we have become at last bold enough to say, that just because we do not know that much, and apparently can never know it, we will not let our ignorance determine the character of our metaphysics. W e desire firmer ground to stand on, and shrink no more aghast before objections and arguments that rest on unverifiable hypotheses. W e will take raw experience as ultimate, before we will bow to any theory which radically changes its evident character. So we have learned that the classification of metaphysical systems, such as Paulsen has laid down in his Introduction, for instance, does not indicate the lines we must follow, or the names by which we must be called. W e have learned also that the gulf set between appearance and reality, and between the subjective and the objective, has resulted in our stultification rather than in our enlightenment. T h e meaning of the reduction of everything we know to the phenomenal or the subjective has at last dawned upon us. It is, indeed, a revelation, but not the revelation it was supposed to be. Instead of turning out to be an ultimate characterization of what we know, it has turned out to be a recognition that we have returned to our point of departure. F o r the reduction of everything to one character whose opposite has been so shut out from us that we can neither know nor formulate it, makes of that opposite something which we do not need and can not value; and it gives to what we do have its old primary interest and its old need of metaphysical handling. T h e assertion that we can have no metaphysics, no insight into the nature of reality, is only the recommendation to begin metaphysical inquiry anew along lines which will not lead to this stultifying result. Absolute phenomenalism, subjectivism, and solipsism are to be rejected, not because they are false, but because they are meaningless and barren of all enlightenment. T o be of value, the distinction between appearance and reality,

4°

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the subjective and the objective, the single ego and its o t h e r , must be so u n d e r s t o o d as t o render the implied opposition clear and illuminating. So we have learned t h a t the reduction of everything to a character which h a s no intelligible opposite is not metaphysics. W e have learned also the desirability and necessity of having a metaphysics which rests on its own foundation, in as complete independence as possible. H e r e the reversal of history is interesting and instructive. T h e r e w a s a time when science and religion had to fight long and h a r d f o r their independence of metaphysics. N o w , we have to contemplate the struggle of metaphysics to f r e e itself f r o m science on the one hand and f r o m religion on the o t h e r . W e have, in my opinion, looked with a t o o jealous glance on science and its achievements. W e have coveted a n a m e which has won distinguished glory a p a r t f r o m our participation and aid. W e have blushed at the imputation of not being scientific in our w o r k . W e have sought to make metaphysics a result of science, an o u t g r o w t h f r o m it, a rounding out of it, a sort of sum t o t a l and unity of all scientific knowledge. W e have done these things, but we are beginning to realize, and the g r e a t systems of metaphysics have t a u g h t us this, t h a t we have a claim of our own to recognition quite independent of the revelations of science, a birthright by no means to be despised. I t m a y be u n f o r t u n a t e t h a t so useful and general a t e r m as science should have come to have its present restricted meaning. Yet, on the whole, I am inclined to think t h a t the distinction has been a gain, and, f o r my own p a r t , would plead f o r a fuller recognition of it. I modestly shrink f r o m a calling t h a t imposes upon me the necessity of completing the f r a g m e n t a r y w o r k of the physicist, the chemist, and the biologist, or of instructing these men in the basal principles of their respective sciences. M y w o r k lies in a totally different sphere, deals with totally different problems, and can be pursued in independence of them as much as they pursue their w o r k in independence of me. T h e r e is scientific knowledge and there is metaphysical knowledge, and these t w o are widely different. T h e y involve different tasks and different problems. Science asks f o r the laws of existence and discovers

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them by experiment. Metaphysics asks for the nature of reality and discovers it by definition. T h e recognition of this difference is a great gain. It points at once to a need of method on our part. But a method, as P r o f e s s o r O r m o n d has pointed out, "is not defined fundamentally when we say t h a t it is either deductive or inductive, synthetic or analytic. T h e real nature of a method is determined only when we bring to light the underlying concepts and presuppositions on which its procedure rests." W e need f o r definition a method which will do just t h a t ; and that method, in proportion to its perfection, will distinguish still more clearly science f r o m metaphysics. A definition of reality is that at which metaphysics aims, and the introduction to the attainment of that end is the method or logic of definition. T h e recognition of this is to secure f o r metaphysics something of t h a t independence which it deserves. T o be sure, the different departments of knowledge can not proceed in absolute independence of each other and succeed. But there is a relative independence f o r each specific branch growing out of consideration of the concepts and underlying presuppositions on which t h a t branch rests. T h i s is the independence which metaphysics should have, and I think we may call that day happy when the metaphysician recognizes t h a t his work lies in a restricted field. H e will glory then in a distinction of his own without sighing f o r t h a t o t h e r glory which is the scientist's pride. Metaphysics needs to be equally independent of religion. Kant did us a world of h a r m by his renewed insistence that the three things with which metaphysics has fundamentally to do, are God, freedom, and immortality. These may turn out to be legitimate subjects of metaphysical inquiry, but to admit them as the sole and basal subjects, is to prejudice the definition of reality at the outset. T h e suspicion and the hope that metaphysicians are really poets or theologians in disguise should both be dispelled. A n d to t h a t end, the emotional atmosphere should not be t h a t in which the philosopher does his work. T h a t work may turn out to have emotional value of the highest kind, but such value is not his aim. H i s definition of reality may show what the reality of God must be, but of itself that may imply no m o r e than the exhibition of what the reality of

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the yet unrealized f u t u r e must be. It is doubtless an excellent t h i n g that philosophers busy themselves so much about the meaning and content of religion, but in doing this they are only doing their duty as men, not their duty as metaphysicians. T h e motive which leads to metaphysical inquiry is as purely theoretical as t h a t which leads to scientific inquiry. Ultimately both must react upon human life f o r its perfecting. Yet in the pursuit of knowledge we must recognize the relative independence in aim and method. W e have learned also t h a t metaphysical knowledge is, in large measure, non-explanatory in character. Of course, all knowledge aims at some sort of explanation; but there is a very wide difference between explanation by definition, and explanation by laws of connection. T h e phenomena of existence in all their manifold interdependence may be l e f t untouched by metaphysics. T h e definition of reality may leave u n f o r m u l a t e d and unknown the general and specific laws of the occurrence of events. T h a t is quite true historically. T h e m e t h o d of metaphysics has not given us the laws of any of the sciences. But metaphysical inquiry is not thereby rendered useless. L e t the " s o u l " or the "will" be a metaphysical concept, and we can not say t h a t the clarification of that concept has given us a single law of the connection of mental processes. T h e concept of purpose occurs repeatedly in much of our thinking, but it does not explain how the spider spins its web. T h e history of science has been, in one of its aspects, the history of the rejection of concepts t h a t do not explain by leading to the f o r m u l a t i o n of laws. But these concepts may turn out to be the ones most i m p o r t a n t f o r a definition of reality. Indeed, they may reveal a t r u t h of the greatest significance, namely, t h a t metaphysics is non-explanatory in the sense in which these concepts are such. T h e y may free us f r o m the besetting prejudice of metaphysicians, t h a t a knowledge of reality is itself quite sufficient f o r all the uses of man, both speculative and practical. A n d not only t h a t : they may also reveal their own use as concepts which we still must retain in o r d e r to preserve sanity in our thinking, to keep it f r o m being absolutely detached and meaningless. One of the most significant illustrations of this is the concept of purpose. W e may

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deny design in nature, we may reject final causes as explanations of existence; but we can not define a single problem, isolate a single field of inquiry, determine the requisites of the solution of a single question, without this concept as the determining factor. So deep seated in all our thinking does it disclose itself, that we are tempted to say it defines the nature o f reality in at least one of its essential characters. It has, therefore, that much use. I f this use is for a moment thought to have only speculative validity, that need not abash us, for speculative validity has everywhere high importance in the realm o f science, no less than in that o f metaphysics. But it has also the greatest practical importance. I t validates the purposeful life o f man. It fills nature with a content of surpassing value. It makes human history worth the reading. Admit that it does not explain, but admit also that it does define. T h i s admission may tentatively carry with it that of the general proposition, that much o f metaphysical knowledge, just because it is knowledge by definition, is non-explanatory in the sense in which laws explain. Once m o r e : we have learned that the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics is apt to be quite valueless, even if it has proved to be methodically useful. T h e history o f this distinction and its bearing on metaphysical inquiry is full of suggestiveness. T h e great work o f Kant can not be too highly valued. H e has done more to clarify our view of philosophical problems than any other philosopher. In his attempt to determine and define precisely what it is to know, we find a field for the most important logical inquiry. But Kant's metaphysical conclusion does not appear to follow necessarily from his critical analysis. F o r the discovery that knowledge can be defined in independence of its object, that so defined it is not representative, but synthetic, constitutive, and regulative in character, does not enlighten us at all as to the metaphysical bearing of this discovery. W h e n once knowledge is defined f r o m an analysis o f its own nature, there still remains the question, Does knowledge apply with success to any concrete content? I f this question is not raised, the results of epistemology are without great significance. Knowledge may be a regulative and constitutive synthesis in time and space, in the

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categories, in apperception, and in reason; but if things-inthemselves will submit to such a synthesis, they can not be so shut out f r o m our experience as Kant would make them. W e know, at least, that they are adaptable to knowledge; and I can not see how the fact that this conviction rests on the experience of success, renders it invalid. Indeed, even if thingsin-themselves should somehow refuse to admit of the synthesis of knowledge, we should know at least that much about them. T o recognize the general truth here involved is, indeed, to find oneself in possession of a pretty intimate acquaintance with things-in-themselves. T h e y admit of spatial and temporal construction, they admit of causal arrangement and necessary connection, they infinitely surpass any finite comprehension of them in a completed system. T h e absolute separation of knowledge f r o m its object can have, therefore, no metaphysical significance. T h a t is the lesson we have learned f r o m the futility of such a separation. W c can in no sense define reality in a way which makes it unrelated to knowledge, but this does not make a definition of reality impossible. It shows us rather that the conception of reality thus unrelated is quite meaningless. Knowledge is thus disclosed to be a real relation between things, a f o r m of connection which has ontological significance in the general determination of reality's definition. W h a t e v e r may be the nature of reality, it is, in a measure at least, held together in a degree of continuity by the knowing process, and to that extent definitively characterized. And it must be f u r t h e r recognized, that, because reality is so characterized, it admits of numberless changes and transformations. F o r knowledge breaks forth into action, and reality becomes modified as the result. Reality thus not only allows knowledge to synthesize it, but it allows those transformations within it which such knowledge makes possible. And so the breaking down of the barrier between knowledge and reality, which had been set there because knowledge was found to be non-representative, reveals anew the possibilities of metaphysics. These, then, are some of the lessons that we have learned from the historical method of handling the problem of metaphysics : the weaknesses in the evolutionary conception and in

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traditional terminology, the futility of the distinction between appearance and reality, the necessity of an independent metaphysics, the need of a logic of definition, the non-explanatory character of much of metaphysical knowledge, with a recognition of the value of such knowledge, the metaphysical failure of the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics. W e have doubtless learned others of importance, but these have appeared to me to be among the most important. T h e recognition of them ought to serve us in determining in a positive way the general nature of the problem of metaphysics. T h i s problem is naturally the nature or character of reality. W h a t is reality? H o w is it to be defined? is the metaphysical question. But such a question has its own meaning apart f r o m any answer which may be given to it. F o r a search for the concrete characterization of reality implies the abstract f o r m which is to receive the concrete content. T h e problem of metaphysics involves, thus, first of all, its detailed formal statement. W e have to ask in most general terms. W h a t does the solution demand in principle, under the conditions which we may discover as determining it logically? H e r e we come at once upon one of the most significant positive results of our previous discussion. It is this: reality can not be defined intelligibly as a system absolutely external to the one who formulates it, nor a system in which the one who formulates it is a mere incident, or of which he is a mere product. T h a t is the positive contribution made by the weakness discovered in the traditional types of metaphysics, in the breach between reality and appearance, in all thoroughgoing evolutionary conceptions, and especially the weakness in the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics. T h e moment the definition of reality makes of reality an explicitly or implicitly complete system over against the metaphysician, or makes of him a merely incidental occurrence in its otherwise independent operations, reality has been put beyond any intelligible grasp of it. Reality absolutely external to the metaphysician will give him nothing besides himself. And reality, become momentarily conscious in the metaphysician, will give him no more than his moment of consciousness. H e r e , as I have said, we are back once more at our point of departure, with the metaphysical

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curiosity still unsatisfied. T h e failure results f r o m the destruction of the only point of view f r o m which anything can be defined, namely, the point of view which allows an independent position over against the m a t t e r to which it is directed. Destroy such independent positions, and the possibility of definition is destroyed. T h i s fact is, of course, practically recognized. F r o m some point of view, as independent, we define an object which f r o m t h a t point can be viewed and defined. But we should give to this epistemological principle its metaphysical significance, and recognize t h a t the definition of reality involves numberless points of d e p a r t u r e f r o m which reality may be grasped, and t h a t each of these points, in its relation to w h a t is thereby defined, is an absolute and undivided individual. T h u s we may claim t h a t the problem of metaphysics is fundamentally the problem of individuality, the definition of reality is primarily the definition of the individual. But individuality can not be defined away or argued out of existence. Its definition must give t o it the fullest ontological recognition. N o metaphysics must be allowed to vitiate the basal proposition about reality, namely, t h a t it consists of t h a t which can be defined and grasped solely f r o m points of d e p a r t u r e absolutely individual in character. If reality is a system, it is a system of individuals. If it is not a system, individuality is one of its essential characters. W h a t e v e r it is, individuals enter somehow into its constitution. If one should claim t h a t t h o u g h t immediately d e m a n d s t h a t we should transcend individuality, we can answer t h a t the a t t e m p t to transcend it is to reinstate it. T h u s it is t h a t individuality can not be defined or argued out of existence. I t is there to stay. T h e definition of individuality is thus the first problem of metaphysics. F r o m the nature of the case, this definition must be non-explanatory in the sense indicated in our previous discussion. If individuals are ultimate, we can never hope to show how they originate or w h a t the laws of their occurrence are. W e can define them, so to speak, only denotatively. W e can exhibit in many ways their presence. W e can show how they are repeatedly involved. W e can employ other terms and conceptions to m a k e t h e m m o r e palpable. H e r e such categories

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as activity, change, and the transient may be found to be of use. T h e y exhibit that to which the term individuality is applied in its concrete bearings. T h e whole of the logical doctrine of universals and predication may serve in the desired determination. But our concern here is one of method and not of content. W e may therefore leave the general consideration of the problem with these suggestions, since the definition of individuality has been pointed out as the primary problem of metaphysics, and the methodical character of this definition has been noted. I t is to be observed, however, that the attempt to carry over the idea of individuality into the realm of concrete determination, and, indeed, the attempt to construe what we mean when we say that reality has somehow individuals as its primary ingredients, involve new questions in the general determination of the problem of metaphysics. F o r we wish to know more of these individuals, their number, their kind, their order, and in this attempt we find ourselves involved in new problems. Then, too, t h a t indefinite term somehow, which has been used to indicate the way in which individuals enter into the constitution of reality, demands determination. As these things are reflected on, the second basal problem of metaphysics arises, that of continuity. Individuality and continuity are bound together in all our thinking. Indeed, the assertion that thought demands that individuality be transcended is really the demand f o r continuity as a supplementary conception. Again, we should give to these epistemological principles their metaphysical significance. If we are bound to recognize that individuality enters into the constitution of reality, we are equally bound to recognize that continuity enters also. But b e f o r e concrete significance is attached to this fact, we should concern ourselves with the problem of method. I t is to be noted that, while individuality and continuity are supplementary and correlative, they are radically opposite in nature. Continuity is not itself individual, but is the denial of individuality in the realm where it applies. W e may dismiss at once, therefore, all attempts to derive individuals f r o m a continuum, or to construct a continuum out of any number of individuals. T h e two facts may go together, may even imply each

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other, yet the one may not, t h e r e f o r e , be deduced f r o m the other. T h i s is, in fact, but another way o f asserting t h a t the concept o f continuity, like that o f individuality, is non-explanatory in character. It may be admitted that the character o f the continuity may be determined by reference to the character of the individuals, as I shall attempt to show later, but the fact o f its presence in reality may not be so explained or determined. T h e logical universal may serve here as a passing illustration. Any number o f individuals may exist in a general class. T h e fact o f class can not be deduced f r o m that o f individuality, nor the latter fact from the f o r m e r . But the character o f the class may be determined by the character o f the individuals. So it may turn out that the continuity o f reality gets its character f r o m the individuals, or from one individual, as Aristotle maintained; but such a result would not militate against the recognition o f the distinctness o f the two conceptions. A s I return to the consideration o f this question later, I submit at present no further discussion of it. Individuality and continuity are supplementary, but essentially different in nature. I t is quite possible, t h e r e f o r e , that the continuity may also have a character essentially different f r o m that o f individuals. One such character, at least, is readily recognized, that o f infinite divisibility. T h i s can not be ascribed to individuals, but it appears to be o f the very nature o f a continuum. But as individuals can not be deduced from a continuum, they can not be arrived at by a process o f infinite division. Again, the points determined in any way we please by intersecting directions in a continuum are not true individuals. But such points may involve individuality in their determination. A continuum can not determine itself or make its own directions intersect. Such a determination must come ultimately f r o m outside the continuum, from an exterior point o f departure. And when once this determination has originated, the continuum will present necessary relations between the points defined and all that beauty of a causal nexus which is so much admired. T h e impossibility of deducing necessary connection f r o m individuals was the classic contribution o f H u m e to metaphysics, and it can hardly be claimed that K a n t successfully supplanted it. B u t it may be recognized that neces-

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sary connection is the nature of a continuum determined in any direction. Such a consideration suggests quite different metaphysical conclusions to be drawn f r o m the famous antinomies. Instead of indicating an inevitable dialectic of reason with itself, they point to a radical diversity in the constitution of reality. Any attempt to grasp individuals in a continuity involves permanent acquisitions or relations f o r knowledge, at least. Of course, it is abstractly conceivable t h a t individuals, even in a continuity, should be of such a character that every attempt to relate them would be futile. Yet this is not true as a matter of experience. W h a t e v e r the nature of our individuals and their continuity may be, the fact of their supplementation does involve successive changes which result in permanent acquisitions. T h e processes of reality are conservative. Individuals exist in continuity in such a way t h a t the result is cumulative. Each individual, if it alters in any way, alters thereby the continuum in such a way that the alteration is not wholly lost. T h e continuum takes it up and preserves it. W e can express this fact in no other way than by saying that the existence of individuals in continuity gives to such an existence the character of purpose. T h u s the problem of purpose appears to be another fundamental problem of metaphysics. I t is by no means necessary to the conception of purpose t h a t it be defined as something superimposed upon the individuals or existing prior to them, either temporally or logically. All that we need to embody in our definition is the recognition that the alterations in individuals are cumulative in effect. Such a recognition provides for the constant approach of this accumulation toward definite issues through the elimination of useless factors. T h u s f a r the definition of purpose involves no explanatory elements. I t is rather descriptive and definitive of the nature of reality. But we may inquire a f t e r the character of this purpose. T h i s inquiry may reveal an explanation of the character of purpose through its reference to the character of the individuals or of their continuum. H e r e we return to the general problem of which f u r t h e r discussion was promised. Our attempt to define reality may show that there must enter into this definition three basal facts, indi-

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viduality, continuity, and purpose. W e may recognize that the n a t u r e of reality is such that these facts do not admit of deduction f r o m each other or f r o m any original, and consequently t h a t they are non-explanatory in character. But we can not hold these facts in such isolation that there will result between them no unity of any sort. T h i s desired unity, no m a t t e r w h a t may be its origination, will be, in one aspect at least, a unity of character, t h a t is, the three facts will present the same aspect in certain directions. W e may ask, then, W h e n c e does this unity of character arise? It has been suggested already t h a t the continuum may get its character f r o m the individuals or f r o m one individual. A n illustration of this may be seen in the character of a people's history arising f r o m its individuals and g r e a t men. But the converse of the general proposition does not a p p e a r to be true, namely, t h a t the individuals get their character f r o m the continuum. F o r such a supposition reduces continuity to individuality. I t not only distinguishes continuity f r o m individuality, but isolates it, and we should require a f u r t h e r continuum to bring our individuals and the first continuity thus isolated t o g e t h e r . W e should find ourselves here on the well-travelled r o a d to no conclusion. W e must recognize, therefore, that the continuity gets its character f r o m the individuals. T h i s is, indeed, but a n o t h e r way of saying t h a t the continuity is progressive, cumulative, p u r p o s e f u l . A n d so our f u r t h e r question is answered, and we recognize t h a t ultimately purpose gets its character f r o m the individuals. W e are thus in a position to ask whether the character of continuity and purpose alike is to be derived f r o m all the individuals, or f r o m a restricted n u m b e r ? T h e answer to this question carries us into the material side of metaphysics, which it was the purpose of this address to avoid as f a r as possible. But the following suggestions are offered. W e may recognize at once t h a t all individuals must enter into the determination of the character as a whole. T h e question can r e f e r only to the dominating characteristics. If these are to be ascribed to a single individual, this individual must be r e g a r d e d as holding a unique and dominating position. Again, if knowledge, as indicated above, is a real connection between the elements of

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reality, and if we a r e entitled, t h e r e f o r e , to r e g a r d knowledge as in any sense the dominating character of the continuum, we m a y conclude t h a t the individuals who can know are the essentially determining factors. Such a conclusion would involve a recognition t h a t a unique individual, if insisted on, would very likely h a v e a character akin to these factors. Even if the argument should not be pursued in this particular way, its general line of procedure has been indicated. P u r p o s e involves, as we have seen, t h a t the alterations which may take place in the w o r l d of individuals are accumulated and conserved. W e may admit t h a t the b a r e conception of individuality does not oblige us to think of individuals altering in any way. But however a priori our conceptions may app e a r on analysis, they are never given a p a r t f r o m certain determinations of experience. W e are obliged, t h e r e f o r e , when we view individuals in their existence, to recognize that they alter. Indeed, as noted above, alteration, change, movement, are concepts well calculated to assist in a fuller determination of the definition of individuality. Since individuals do alter, we find another problem of prime importance f o r metaphysics, namely the problem of potentiality. T h i s problem is bound up not only with the fact of individuality, but with t h a t of purpose also. F o r the fact of accumulation and the narrowing of this accumulation down to definite results to the exclusion of others, f o r b i d s our entertaining the supposition that the f u t u r e is wholly w i t h o u t determination. W e may admit t h a t a given event may never occur, but if it should occur, we are forced to recognize t h a t it will occur within certain restrictions which it calls into being. T h e acorn may never become an oak, but should it become one, there exist already in some shape the conditions which are to determine t h a t result. T h i s fact is t h e fact of potentiality. In all the determinations of our knowledge, f e w concepts are of g r e a t e r value. W e constantly ascribe to the elements with which we deal certain potentialities which allow us to f o r m u l a t e the possible results. Instead of recognizing this practice as an epistemological infirmity, we should recognize its ontological significance, and conclude t h a t the potential is itself an element in reality's constitution.

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W e should have thus a f o u r t h factor in our general definition of the metaphysical problem. T h e fact that it seems impossible to f o r m u l a t e the potential with any exactness before it loses its character leads us easily to reject its validity. But it was pointed out as long ago as Aristotle that this rejection drives us to the alternative of affirming the whole realm of being to be in a state of changeless actuality. Violence is thus done to the facts of life. Alteration is driven out of the realm of the real. Such a result cannot dominate us long. Change and motion still persist, no m a t t e r with what amount of unreality we may designate them. W e must give some status to the bare potential, even if the task appears most difficult. W e may recognize at once t h a t the bare potential contains within itself no elements which can lead to its own realization. T o be more than a mere possibility, something else must supervene. T h e whole of existence at any moment faces the future, therefore, with untold possibilities. Each of them, if started on the road toward realization, has its path determined, but f r o m the point of view of potentiality, all are equally possible. T h e determined path presents us with all the elements of a necessary connection, but we look in vain f o r such connection when we seek among the untold possibilities the one which is in effect to be. Something new must add itself, must emerge, as it were, out of non-existence into being. An a r b i t r a r y point of departure must arise, and when once it has arisen, the movement proceeds with definiteness. It is thus, whether we like it or not, that the doctrine of chance originates. T o adopt again the argument of Aristotle, the elimination of chance is the elimination of the potential. F o r if there had always existed the elements necessary to t r a n s f o r m the potential, it would have always been transformed, and so motion and alteration could have no place in the scheme of things. Chance along with the potential would thus appear to be essential elements in the definition of reality. It is very easy to misconstrue the doctrine of chance. T o o readily we conclude that it destroys the possibility of exact knowledge in all spheres of inquiry. W e fail to observe that all our knowledge up to the most exact rests on presuppositions

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which give to it all the validity it can claim. I f conclusions are always drawn f r o m premises, if every consequent must first have its antecedent, we may well conclude that this necessity in knowledge has its significance f o r reality as well. Indeed, if we knew all the conditions t h a t are necessary to any result, we should know t h a t result. B u t the moment we inquire a f t e r these conditions we are led to others, until the admission is forced from us that our knowledge will never free itself f r o m ultimate contingency. Only a lack o f broad reflection on the problems o f existence can lead us to ascribe this result to the imperfection o f our knowledge. I t is f a r more rational to ascribe it to the nature o f reality itself, and to recognize that the elements which enter into the constitution o f reality force us to admit t h a t any result can be determined only when a point o f departure is first determined, and that this determination, if original, as it must be to preserve potentiality, is something new and underived in the scheme o f things. And here we are back again at the recognition o f individuality f r o m which our discussion started. T h e considerations here briefly outlined have aimed at stating the problem o f metaphysics in terms o f its most essential elements, and in independence o f its concrete content. In their light, an inquiry concerning the nature o f reality appears to be an inquiry whose results are to be expressed in terms such as individuality, continuity, purpose, potentiality, and chance. T h e complete definition o f these concepts would be a very close approach to the complete definition o f reality. T h e i r recognition would enable us, I think, to approach the solution o f the problem o f metaphysics with an independence and directness highly to be desired. I have confined the discussion closely to the formal side o f metaphysics, avoiding as f a r as possible its material content. T h e advantages o f such a procedure are evident. B e f o r e the solution o f the problem can be effected, it is necessary to have its statement, to formulate its equation, as it were. W e must know beforehand the conditions which our solution is to fulfill, in order to determine its correctness when attained. T h i s general consideration applies to metaphysics with as much cogency as to any other branch o f in-

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quiry. T h e indication of these things was the purpose of this address. Although this purpose has, as I hope, been in a measure attained, I should like in conclusion to emphasize in a summary f o r m the m o r e i m p o r t a n t points of the discussion. T h e concepts, in terms of which the problem of metaphysics has been stated, have been r e g a r d e d as ultimate and underived. In logical terms, they have no common genus in t e r m s of which they can be defined, and they cannot be deduced f r o m each o t h e r or f r o m a common conception. T o a d a p t an idea of the Scholastics, they are t o be r e g a r d e d r a t h e r as ultimate differentia than as species under a common genus. T h e definition of them can be accomplished, t h e r e f o r e , only by exhibiting t h e m in their concrete f o r m and analysing their concrete content. It is the status of their existence and the concrete modes of their operation which have to be determined. Yet even if they are ultimate and incapable of deduction, they exist t o g e t h e r and supplement each o t h e r . T h e y do this as a m a t t e r of fact, and not as a m a t t e r of deduction, or under conditions which themselves need analysis and explanation. In o t h e r words, the moment we a t t e m p t to grasp reality, we find ourselves compelled to g r a s p it in these terms, in full recognition of their absoluteness and their supplementation. W e are compelled to recognize t h a t reality is not a term which covers something which has no irreducible internal differences, but a t e r m which covers ultimate differences in supplementation. Finally, let it not be urged as an objection t h a t this is to elevate as the test of reality's ultimate constitution the imperfections of knowledge, the poor, weak fact t h a t every proposition, to convey a meaning, must have a subject and a predicate which are different. F o r when we say t h a t there are certain conditions which must be fulfilled in o r d e r that knowledge may be knowledge, we must recognize t h a t it is the constitution of reality which determines these conditions. W e may ascribe w h a t a priori powers we like to knowledge; but these p o w e r s would never receive an a t o m of significance in experience, if reality did not call them out and fit into them. W e must most certainly give up the ways in which alone it is possible f o r us to know, if those ways will not work, and most assuredly it can

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be nothing but reality which is to determine which o f our possible ways is to succeed. I f , t h e r e f o r e , reality baffles us until we recognize that we must seek to grasp it in some such terms as indicated in our discussion, we may recognize in these terms the elements o f the problem o f metaphysics and the ultimate determinations o f the constitution o f reality.

T H E

F I E L D

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L O G I C *

CURRENT tendencies in logical theory make a determination o f the field o f logic fundamental to any statement of the general problems o f the science. In view o f this fact, I propose in this paper to attempt such a determination by a general discussion o f the relation o f logic to mathematics, psychology, and biology, especially noting in connection with biology the tendency known as pragmatism. In conclusion, I shall indicate what the resulting general problems appear to be. I T h e r e may appear, at first, little to distinguish mathematics in its most abstract, formal, and symbolic type from logic. Indeed, mathematics as the universal method o f all knowledge has been the ideal o f many philosophers, and its right to be such has been claimed o f late with renewed force. T h e recent notable advances in the science have done much to make this claim plausible. A logician, a non-mathematical one, might be tempted to say that, in so f a r as mathematics is the method o f thought in general, it has ceased to be mathematics; but, I suppose, one ought not to quarrel too much with a definition, but should let mathematics mean knowledge simply, if the mathematicians wish it. I shall not, therefore, enter the controversy regarding the proper limits o f mathematical inquiry. I wish to note, however, a tendency in the identification o f logic and mathematics which seems to me to be inconsistent with the real significance o f knowledge. I refer to the exaltation o f the freedom o f thought in the construction o f conceptions, definitions, and hypotheses. T h e assertion that mathematics is a " p u r e " science is often taken to mean that it is in no way dependent on experience in • In Congress 313-330.

of Arts and Science,

Vol. i, Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1905, pp.

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the construction of its basal concepts. T h e space with which geometry deals may be Euclidean or not, as we please; it may be the real space of experience or n o t ; the properties of it and the conclusions reached about it may hold in the real world or they may not; f o r the mind is free to construct its conception and definition of space in accordance with its own aims. W h e t h e r geometry is to be ultimately a science of this type must be left, I suppose, f o r the mathematicians to decide. A logician may suggest, however, that the propriety of calling all these conceptions "space" is not as clear as it ought to be. Still further, there seems to underlie all arbitrary spaces, as their foundation, a good deal of the solid material of empirical knowledge, gained by human beings through contact with an environing world, the environing character of which seems to be quite independent of the freedom of their thought. H o w e v e r that may be, it is evident, I think, that the generalization of the principle involved in this idea of the freedom of thought in f r a m i n g its conception of space, would, if extended to logic, give us a science of knowledge which would have no necessary relation to the real things of experience, although these are the things with which all concrete knowledge is most evidently concerned. It would inform us about the conclusions which necessarily follow f r o m accepted conceptions, but it could not inform us in any way about the real truth of these conclusions. I t would, thus, always leave a gap between our knowledge and its objects which logic itself would be quite impotent to close. T r u t h would thus become an entirely extra-logical matter. So f a r as the science of knowledge is concerned, it would be an accident if knowledge fitted the world to which it refers. Such a conception of the science of knowledge is not the property of a few mathematicians exclusively, although they have, perhaps, done more than others to give it its present revived vitality. It is the classic doctrine t h a t logic is the science of thought as thought, meaning thereby thought in independence of any specific object whatever. In regard to this doctrine, I would not even admit that such a science of knowledge is possible. You can not, by a process of generalization or free construction, rid thought of connection

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with o b j e c t s ; a n d t h e r e is no such thing as a general content or as content-in-general. G e n e r a l i z a t i o n simply reduces the richness of content and, consequently, of implication. I t deals with concrete subject-matter as much and as directly as if the content w e r e individual and specialized. " T h i n g s equal t o the same thing a r e equal to each o t h e r , " is a t r u t h , not a b o u t t h o u g h t , but a b o u t things. T h e conclusions a b o u t a f o u r t h dimension follow, not f r o m the fact t h a t we have t h o u g h t of one, but f r o m the conception a b o u t it which we have f r a m e d . N e i t h e r g e n e r a l i z a t i o n n o r f r e e construction can reveal the o p e r a t i o n s of t h o u g h t in t r a n s c e n d e n t a l independence. I t m a y be urged, however, t h a t n o t h i n g of this sort was ever claimed. T h e b o n d a g e of t h o u g h t t o content m u s t be a d m i t t e d , but g e n e r a l i z a t i o n a n d f r e e construction, just because they give us the p o w e r to v a r y conditions as we please, give us thinking in a relative independence of content, a n d thus show us h o w t h o u g h t o p e r a t e s irrespective o f , a l t h o u g h not independent o f , its content. T h e binomial t h e o r e m o p e r a t e s irrespective of the values substituted f o r its symbols. But I can find no gain in this r e s t a t e m e n t of the position. It is true, in a sense, t h a t we m a y determine the way t h o u g h t o p e r a t e s irrespective of any specific content by the processes of generalization and f r e e c o n s t r u c t i o n ; but it is i m p o r t a n t to k n o w in w h a t sense. C a n we claim t h a t such irrespective o p e r a t i o n m e a n s t h a t we have discovered certain logical constants, which n o w stand out as the distinctive tools of t h o u g h t ? O r does it r a t h e r m e a n t h a t this process of v a r y i n g t h e content of t h o u g h t as we please reveals certain real constants, certain ultimate c h a r a c t e r s of reality, which no a m o u n t of generalization or f r e e construction can possibly a l t e r ? T h e second alternative seems t o me to be t h e correct one. W h e t h e r it is or not m a y be l e f t here undecided. W h a t I wish to e m p h a s i z e is the fact t h a t the decision is one of the things of vital interest f o r logic, and p r o p e r l y belongs in t h a t science. Clearly, we can never k n o w the significance of u l t i m a t e constants f o r our thinking until we k n o w w h a t their real c h a r a c t e r is. T o determine t h a t c h a r a c t e r we must most certainly pass out of the realm of g e n e r a l i z a t i o n and f r e e c o n s t r u c t i o n ; logic must become o t h e r t h a n simply m a t h e m a t i c a l or symbolic.

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T h e r e is a n o t h e r sense in which the determination of the operations of t h o u g h t irrespective of its specific content is int e r p r e t e d in connection with the exaltation of generalization and f r e e construction. Knowledge, it is said, is solely a m a t t e r of implication, a n d logic, t h e r e f o r e , is the science of implication simply. If this is so, it would a p p e a r possible to develop the whole doctrine of implication by the use of symbols, and thus f r e e the doctrine f r o m dependence on the question as to how f a r these symbols are themselves related to the real things of the world. I f , f o r instance, a implies b, then if a is true, b is true, a n d this quite irrespective of the real t r u t h of a or b. I t is to be urged, however, in opposition to this view, t h a t knowledge is concerned ultimately only with the real truth of a and b, and t h a t the implication is of no significance whatever a p a r t f r o m this t r u t h . T h e r e is no virtue in the mere implication. Still f u r t h e r , the supposition that there can be a doctrine of implication, simply, seems to be based on a misconception. F o r even so-called f o r m a l implication gets its significance only on the supposed truth of the terms with which it deals. W e suppose t h a t a does imply b, and t h a t a is true. In o t h e r words, we can state this law of implication only as we first have valid instances of it given in specific, concrete cases. T h e law is a generalization and nothing more. T h e formal statement gives only an a p p a r e n t f r e e d o m f r o m experience. M o r e o v e r , there is no reason f o r saying t h a t a implies b unless it does so either really or by supposition. If a really implies b, then the implication is clearly not a m a t t e r of thinking it; and to suppose the implication is to feign a reality, the implications of which are equally f r e e f r o m the processes by which they are t h o u g h t . Ultimately, t h e r e f o r e , logic must take account of real implications. W e can not avoid this t h r o u g h the use of a symbolism which virtually implies them. Implication can have a logical character only because it has first a metaphysical one. T h e supposition underlying the conception of logic I have been examining is, itself, open to doubt and seriously questioned. T h a t supposition was the so-called f r e e d o m of t h o u g h t . T h e a r g u m e n t has already shown t h a t there is certainly a very definite limit to this f r e e d o m , even when logic

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is conceived in a very abstract and f o r m a l way. T h e processes of knowledge are bound up with their contents, and have their c h a r a c t e r largely determined thereby. W h e n , m o r e o v e r , we view knowledge in its genesis, when we take into consideration the contributions which psychology and biology have m a d e t o our general view of w h a t knowledge is, we seem forced t o conclude t h a t the conceptions which we f r a m e are very f a r f r o m being our own f r e e creations. T h e y have, on the contrary, been laboriously w o r k e d out t h r o u g h the same processes of successful a d a p t a t i o n which have resulted in other products. Knowledge has grown up in connection with the u n f o l d i n g processes of reality, and has, by no means, freely played over its surface. T h a t is why even the most abstract of all m a t h e m a t i c s is yet grounded in the evolution of human experience. In the remaining p a r t s of this p a p e r , I shall discuss f u r t h e r the claims of psychology and biology. T h e conclusion I would d r a w here is t h a t the field of logic can not be restricted to a realm w h e r e the operations of t h o u g h t are supposed to move freely, independent or irrespective of their contents and the objects of a real w o r l d ; and t h a t mathematics, instead of giving us any support f o r the supposition t h a t it can, carries us, by the processes of symbolization and f o r m a l implication, to recognize t h a t logic must ultimately find its field where implications a r e real, independent of the processes by which they are t h o u g h t , and irrespective of the conceptions we choose to frame. II

T h e processes involved in the acquisition and systematization of knowledge may, undoubtedly, be r e g a r d e d as mental processes and fall thus within the province of psychology. I t may be claimed, t h e r e f o r e , that every logical process is also a psychological one. T h e i m p o r t a n t question is, however, is it nothing m o r e ? D o its logical and psychological characters simply coincide? O r , to put the question in still another f o r m , as a psychological process simply, does it also serve as a logical o n e ? T h e answers to these questions can be determined

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only by first noting what psychology can say about it as a mental process. In the first place, psychology can analyze it, and so determine its elements and their connections. It can thus distinguish it f r o m all other mental processes by pointing out its unique elements or their unique and characteristic connection. N o one will deny that a judgment is different f r o m an emotion, or that an act of reasoning is different f r o m a volition; and no one will claim that these differences are entirely beyond the psychologist's power to ascertain accurately and precisely. Still f u r t h e r , it appears possible f o r him to determine with the same accuracy and precision the distinction in content and connection between processes which are true and those which are false. For, as mental processes, it is natural to suppose that they contain distinct differences of character which are ascertainable. T h e states of mind called belief, certainty, conviction, correctness, truth, are thus, doubtless, all distinguishable as mental states. I t may be admitted, therefore, that there can be a thoroughgoing psychology of logical processes. Yet it is quite evident to me that the characterization of a mental process as logical is not a psychological characterization. In fact, I think it may be claimed that the characterization of any mental process in a specific way, say as an emotion, is extra-psychological. Judgments and inferences are, in short, not judgments and inferences because they admit of psychological analysis and explanation, any more than space is space because the perception of it can be worked out by genetic psychology. In other words, knowledge is first knowledge, and only later a set of processes for psychological analysis. T h a t is why, as it seems to me, all psychological logicians, f r o m Locke to our own day, have signally failed in dealing with the problem of knowledge. T h e attempt to construct knowledge out of mental states, the relations between ideas, and the relation of ideas to things, has been, as I read the history, decidedly without profit. Confusion and divergent opinion have resulted instead of agreement and confidence. On precisely the same psychological foundation, we have such divergent views of knowledge as idealism, phenomenalism, and agnosticism, with many other strange mixtures of logic, psy-

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chology, a n d m e t a p h y s i c s . T h e lesson of these p e r p l e x i n g t h e o r i e s seems t o be t h a t logic, as logic, m u s t b e d i v o r c e d f r o m psychology. I t is also of i m p o r t a n c e t o n o t e , in this connection, t h a t t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n of a p r o c e s s as m e n t a l a n d as t h u s f a l l i n g w i t h i n t h e d o m a i n of p s y c h o l o g y strictly, h a s by no m e a n s been w o r k e d o u t t o t h e g e n e r a l s a t i s f a c t i o n of psychologists t h e m selves. R e c e n t l i t e r a t u r e a b o u n d s in e l a b o r a t e discussion of t h e distinction b e t w e e n w h a t is a m e n t a l f a c t a n d w h a t not, with a p r e v a i l i n g tendency t o d r a w t h e r e m a r k a b l e conclusion t h a t all f a c t s a r e s o m e h o w m e n t a l o r experienced f a c t s . T h e s i t u a t i o n w o u l d be w o r s e f o r p s y c h o l o g y t h a n it is, if t h a t v i g o r o u s science h a d n o t l e a r n e d f r o m o t h e r sciences t h e valuable k n a c k of i s o l a t i n g c o n c r e t e p r o b l e m s a n d a t t a c k i n g t h e m directly, w i t h o u t t h e b u r d e n of p r e v i o u s logical o r m e t a physical s p e c u l a t i o n . T h u s k n o w l e d g e , w h i c h is t h e peculiar p r o v i n c e of logic, is increased, while we w a i t f o r t h e acceptable definition of a m e n t a l f a c t . But definitions, be it r e m e m b e r e d , a r e t h e m s e l v e s logical m a t t e r s . I n d e e d , s o m e psychologists h a v e g o n e so f a r as t o claim t h a t t h e distinction of a f a c t as m e n t a l is a p u r e l y logical distinction. T h i s is significant as indicating t h a t t h e t i m e h a s n o t yet come f o r the identification of logic a n d p s y c h o l o g y . In r e f r e s h i n g l y s h a r p c o n t r a s t t o t h e v a g u e n e s s a n d uncert a i n t y w h i c h beset t h e definition of a m e n t a l f a c t a r e t h e p a l p a b l e c o n c r e t e n e s s a n d definiteness of k n o w l e d g e itself. E v e r y science, even h i s t o r y a n d p h i l o s o p h y , a r e instances of it. W h a t c o n s t i t u t e s a k n o w l e d g e o u g h t t o be as definite a n d p r e cise a question as could be a s k e d . T h a t logic h a s m a d e no m o r e p r o g r e s s t h a n it h a s in t h e a n s w e r t o it a p p e a r s t o be d u e to t h e f a c t t h a t it h a s n o t sufficiently g r a s p e d t h e significance of its own simplicity. K n o w l e d g e h a s been t h e i m p o r t a n t business of t h i n k i n g m a n , a n d he o u g h t t o be able t o tell w h a t he d o e s in o r d e r t o k n o w , as r e a d i l y as he tells w h a t he does in o r d e r t o build a h o u s e . A n d t h a t is w h y t h e A r i s t o t e l i a n logic h a s held its o w n so l o n g . I n t h a t logic, " t h e m a s t e r of t h e m t h a t k n o w " simply r e h e a r s e d t h e w a y he h a d s y s t e m a t i z e d his o w n s t o r e s of k n o w l e d g e . N a t u r a l l y we, so f a r as we h a v e f o l l o w e d

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his methods, have had practically nothing to add. In our efforts to improve on him, we have too o f t e n l e f t the right way and followed the impossible m e t h o d inaugurated by Locke. H a d we examined with g r e a t e r persistence our own methods of m a k i n g science, we should have profited m o r e . T h e introduction of psychology, instead of helping the situation, only confuses it. L e t it be g r a n t e d , however, in spite of the vagueness of w h a t is meant by a mental fact, t h a t logical processes are also m e n t a l processes. T h i s fact has, as I have already suggested, an i m p o r t a n t bearing on their genesis, and sets very definite limits to the f r e e d o m of t h o u g h t in creating. It is not, however, as mental processes t h a t they have the value of knowledge. A mental process which is knowledge p u r p o r t s to be connected with something o t h e r t h a n itself, something which may not be a mental process at all. T h i s connection should be investigated, but the investigation of it belongs, not to psychology, but to logic. I am well a w a r e t h a t this conclusion runs counter to some metaphysical doctrines, and especially to idealism in all its f o r m s , with the epistemologies based thereon. I t is, of course, impossible here to d e f e n d my position by an elaborate analysis of these metaphysical systems. But I will say this. I am in entire agreement with idealism in its claim t h a t questions of knowledge and of the nature of reality can not ultimately be s e p a r a t e d , because we can know reality only as we know it. But the general question as to how we know reality can still be raised. By this I do not mean the question, how is it possible f o r us to have knowledge at all, or how is it possible f o r reality to be known at all, but how, as a m a t t e r of fact, do we actually know it? T h a t we really do know it, I would most emphatically claim. Still f u r t h e r , I would claim t h a t w h a t we know about it is determined, not by the fact t h a t we can k n o w in general, but by the way reality, as distinct f r o m our knowledge, has determined. T h e s e ways a p p e a r to me to be ascertainable, and f o r m , thus, undoubtedly, a section of metaphysics. But the metaphysics will naturally be realistic r a t h e r t h a n idealistic.

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III

J u s t as logical processes may be regarded as, at the same time, psychological processes, so they may be regarded, with equal right, as vital processes, coming thus under the categories of evolution. T h e tendency so to regard them is very marked at the present day, especially in France and in this country. In France, the movement has perhaps received the clearer definition. In America, the union of logic and biology is complicated—and at times even lost sight o f — b y emphasis on the idea o f evolution generally. I t is not my intention to trace the history of this movement, but I should like to call attention to its historic motive in order to get it in a clear light. T h a t the theory of evolution, even Darwinism itself, has radically transformed our historical, scientific, and philosophical methods, is quite evident. Add to this the influence o f the Hegelian philosophy, with its own doctrine of development, and one finds the causes of the rather striking unanimity which is discoverable in many ways between Hegelian idealists, on the one hand, and philosophers of evolution of Spencer's type, on the other. Although two men would, perhaps, not appear more radically different at first sight than Hegel and Spencer, I am inclined to believe that we shall come to recognize more and more in them an identity o f philosophical conception. T h e pragmatism of the day is a striking confirmation of this opinion, for it is often the expression of Hegelian ideas in Darwinian and Spencerian terminology. T h e claims of idealism and of evolutionary science and philosophy have thus sought reconciliation. Logic has been, naturally, the last of the sciences to yield to evolutionary and genetic treatment. I t could not escape long, especially when the idea of evolution had been so successful in its handling o f ethics. I f morality can be brought under the categories of evolution, why not thinking also? In answer to that question we have the theory that thinking is an adaptation, judgment is instrumental. But I would not leave the impression that this is true of pragmatism alone, or that it has been developed only through pragmatic tendencies. I t is naturally the result also of the extension of biological philosophy. In the biological conception of logic,

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we have, then, an interesting coincidence in the results of tendencies differing widely in their genesis. It would be hazardous to deny, without any qualifications, the importance of genetic considerations. Indeed, the fact t h a t evolution in the hands of a thinker like Huxley, for instance, should make consciousness and thinking apparently useless epiphenomena in a developing world, has seemed like a most contradictory evolutionary philosophy. It was difficult to make consciousness a real function in development so long as it was regarded as only cognitive in character. Evolutionary philosophy, coupled with physics, had built up a sort of closed system with which consciousness could not interfere, but which it could know, and know with all the assurance of a traditional logic. I f , however, we were to be consistent evolutionists, we could not abide by such a remarkable result. T h e whole process of thinking must be brought within evolution, so t h a t knowledge, even the knowledge of the evolutionary hypothesis itself, must appear as an instance of adaptation. In order to do this, however, consciousness must not be conceived as only cognitive. Judgment, the core of logical processes, must be regarded as an instrument and as a mode of adaptation. T h e desire for completeness and consistency in an evolutionary philosophy is not the only thing which makes the denial of genetic considerations hazardous. Strictly biological considerations furnish reasons of equal weight f o r caution. F o r instance, one will hardly deny that the whole sensory apparatus is a striking instance of adaptation. Our perceptions of the world would thus appear to be determined by this adaptation, to be instances of adjustment. T h e y might conceivably have been different, and in the case of many other creatures, the perceptions of the world are undoubtedly different. All our logical processes, referring ultimately as they do to our perceptions, would thus appear finally to depend on the adaptation exhibited in the development of our sensory apparatus. So-called laws of thought would seem to be but abstract statements or formulations of the results of this adjustment. It would be absurd to suppose that a man thinks in a sense radically different f r o m that in which he digests, or a flower blossoms, or that two and two are four in a sense radically different f r o m

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t h a t in which a flower has a given n u m b e r of petals. T h i n k i n g , like digesting and blossoming, is an effect, a p r o d u c t , possibly a structure. I a m not a t all interested in denying the f o r c e of these considerations. T h e y have, to my mind, the g r e a t e s t i m p o r t a n c e , and due weight has, as yet, not been given t o t h e m . T o one at all c o m m i t t e d to a u n i t a r y and evolutionary view of t h e world, it must indeed seem s t r a n g e if thinking itself should not be the result of evolution, or t h a t , in thinking, p a r t s of the w o r l d h a d not become a d j u s t e d in a new way. But while I am r e a d y t o a d m i t this, I a m by no m e a n s r e a d y t o a d m i t some of the conclusions f o r logic and metaphysics which a r e o f t e n d r a w n f r o m the admission. J u s t because t h o u g h t , as a p r o d u c t of evolution, is functional and j u d g m e n t i n s t r u m e n t a l , it by no m e a n s follows t h a t logic is but a b r a n c h of biology, or t h a t k n o w l e d g e of the w o r l d is but a t e m p o r a r y a d j u s t m e n t , which, as knowledge, might h a v e been radically different. In these conclusions, o f t e n .drawn with P r o t a g o r e a n assurance, two considerations of crucial i m p o r t a n c e seem to be overl o o k e d : first, t h a t a d a p t a t i o n is itself metaphysical in character, a n d secondly, t h a t while knowledge m a y be f u n c t i o n a l and j u d g m e n t instrumental, the c h a r a c t e r of t h e f u n c t i o n i n g has the c h a r a c t e r of knowledge, which sets it off s h a r p l y f r o m all o t h e r functions. It seems s t r a n g e t o me t h a t the admission t h a t k n o w l e d g e is a m a t t e r of a d a p t a t i o n , and thus a relative m a t t e r , should, in these days, be r e g a r d e d as in any way d e s t r o y i n g the claims of knowledge to metaphysical certainty. Yet, s o m e h o w , the opinion widely prevails t h a t the doctrine of relativity necessarily involves the s u r r e n d e r of a n y t h i n g like absolute t r u t h . " A l l o u r k n o w l e d g e is relative, and, t h e r e f o r e , only p a r t i a l , incomplete, and but practically t r u s t w o r t h y , " is a s t a t e m e n t repeatedly m a d e . T h e f a c t t h a t , if our d e v e l o p m e n t had been different, o u r k n o w l e d g e would have been different, is t a k e n t o involve the conclusion t h a t our k n o w l e d g e cannot possibly disclose the real constitution of things, t h a t it is essentially conditional, t h a t it is only a m e n t a l device f o r g e t t i n g results, t h a t any o t h e r system of k n o w l e d g e which would get results equally well would be equally t r u e ; in short, t h a t t h e r e can be

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no such thing as metaphysical or epistemological truth. These conclusions do indeed seem strange, and especially strange on the basis of evolution. F o r while the evolutionary process might, conceivably, have been different, its results are, in any case, the results of the process. T h e y are not arbitrary. W e might have digested without stomachs, but the fact that we use stomachs in this important process ought not to free us f r o m metaphysical respect f o r the organ. A s M . Rey suggests, in the Revue Philosophique f o r June, 1904, a creature without the sense of smell would have no geometry, but that does not make geometry essentially hypothetical, a mere mental construction; f o r we have geometry because of the working out of nature's laws. Indeed, instead of issuing in a relativistic metaphysics of knowledge, the doctrine of relativity should issue in the recognition of the finality of knowledge in every case of ascertainably complete adaptation. In other words, adaptation is itself metaphysical in character. Adjustment is always adjustment between things, and yields only what it does yield. T h e things or elements get into the state which is their adjustment, and this adjustment purports to be their actual and unequivocal ordering in relation to one another. Different conditions might have produced a different ordering, but, again, this ordering would be equally actual and unequivocal, equally the one ordering to issue from them. T o suppose or admit that the course of events might have been and might be different is not at all to suppose or admit that it was or is different; it is, rather, to suppose and admit that we have real knowledge of what that course really was and is. This seems to be very obvious. Y e t the evolutionist often thinks that he is not a metaphysician, even when he brings all his conceptions systematically under the conception of evolution. This must be due to some temporary lack of clearness. If evolution is not a metaphysical doctrine when extended to apply to all science, all morality, all logic, in short, all things, then it is quite meaningless f o r evolutionists to pronounce a metaphysical sentence on logical processes. But if evolution is a metaphysics, then its sentence is metaphysical, and in every case of adjustment or adaptation we have a revelation of the nature of reality in a definite

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and unequivocal f o r m . T h i s conclusion applies to logical processes as well as to others. T h e recognition that they a r e vital processes can, t h e r e f o r e , h a v e little significance f o r these processes in their distinctive c h a r a c t e r as logical. T h e y are like all other vital processes in that they a r e vital and subject to evolution. T h e y are unlike all others in that thought is unlike digestion or breathing. T o r e g a r d logical processes as vital processes does not in any w a y , t h e r e f o r e , invalidate them as logical processes or make it superfluous to consider their claim to give us real knowledge of a real w o r l d . Indeed, it m a k e s such a consideration m o r e necessary and important. A second consideration o v e r l o o k e d by the P r o t a g o r e a n tendencies of the day is that j u d g m e n t , even if it is instrumental, purports to g i v e us k n o w l e d g e , that is, it claims to r e v e a l what is independent of the j u d g i n g process. P e r h a p s I ought not to say that this consideration is o v e r l o o k e d , but r a t h e r that it is denied significance. I t is even denied to be essential to judgment. I t is claimed that, instead of r e v e a l i n g anything independent of the j u d g i n g process, judgment is just the adjustment and no more. I t is a r e o r g a n i z a t i o n of experience, an attempt at control. A l l this looks to me like a misstatement of the facts. J u d g m e n t claims to be no such thing. It does not function as such a thing. W h e n I m a k e any judgment, even the simplest, I m a y m a k e it as the result of tension, because of a demand f o r r e o r g a n i z a t i o n , in o r d e r to secure control of experience; but the j u d g m e n t means f o r me something quite different. It means decidedly a n d unequivocally that in reality, a p a r t f r o m the judging process, things exist and operate just as the judgment declares. I f it is claimed that this meaning is illusory, I eagerly desire to k n o w on w h a t solid g r o u n d its illusoriness can be established. W h e n the conclusion w a s reached that g r a v i t a t i o n v a r i e s directly as the mass and inversely as the square of the distance, it was doubtless reached in an evolutionary and p r a g m a t i c w a y ; but it claimed to disclose a f a c t which p r e v a i l e d b e f o r e the conclusion w a s reached, and in spite of the conclusion. K n o w l e d g e has been born of the t r a v a i l of living, but it has been born as knowledge. W h e n the knowledge character of judgment is insisted on, it seems almost incredible that any one would think of denying

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o r o v e r l o o k i n g it. Indeed, current discussions are f a r f r o m clear on the subject. P r a g m a t i s t s are constantly denying that they hold the conclusions that their critics almost unanimously d r a w . T h e r e is, t h e r e f o r e , a g o o d deal of confusion of thought yet to be dispelled. Y e t there seems to be current a pronounced determination to banish the epistemological problem f r o m logic. T h i s is, to my mind, suspicious, even when epistemology is defined in a w a y which most epistemologists would not a p p r o v e . It is suspicious just because w e must a l w a y s ask eventually that most epistemological and metaphysical quest i o n : " I s k n o w l e d g e t r u e ? " T o a n s w e r , It is true when it functions in a w a y to s a t i s f y the needs which generated its activity, is, no doubt, correct, but it is by no means adequate. T h e same a n s w e r can be m a d e to the inquiry a f t e r the efficiency of any vital process w h a t e v e r , and is, t h e r e f o r e , not distinctive. W e h a v e still to inquire into the specific character of the needs which originate judgments and of the consequent satisfaction. J u s t here is w h e r e the uniqueness of the logical problem is disclosed. W i t h conscious beings, the success of the things they do has become increasingly dependent on their ability to discover w h a t takes place in independence of the knowing process. T h a t is the need which generates judgment. T h e satisfaction is, of course, the attainment of the discovery. N o w to m a k e the j u d g m e n t itself and not the consequent action the instrumental f a c t o r seems to me to misstate the f a c t s of the case. N o t h i n g is clearer than that there is no necessity f o r k n o w l e d g e to issue in adjustment. A n d it is clear to me that increased control of experience, while resulting f r o m knowledge, does not g i v e to it its character. Omniscience could idly v i e w the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n s of reality and yet remain omniscient. K n o w l e d g e w o r k s , but it is not, t h e r e f o r e , knowledge. T h e s e considerations h a v e peculiar f o r c e when applied to that branch of k n o w l e d g e which is k n o w l e d g e itself. Is the biological account of k n o w l e d g e c o r r e c t ? T h a t question we must evidently ask, especially when w e are urged to accept the account. C a n we, to put the question in its most general f o r m , accept as an adequate account of the logical process a theory which is bound up with some other specific department of human k n o w l e d g e ? It seems to me that we can not. H e r e we

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must be epistemologists and metaphysicians, or give up the problem entirely. T h i s by no means involves the a t t e m p t to conceive pure t h o u g h t set over against pure r e a l i t y — t h e kind of epistemology and metaphysics justly ridiculed by the pragm a t i s t — f o r knowledge, as already stated, is given to us in concrete instances. H o w knowledge in general is possible is, t h e r e f o r e , as useless and meaningless a question as how reality in general is possible. T h e knowledge is given as a fact of life, and w h a t we have to determine is not its non-logical antecedents or its practical consequences, but its constitution as knowledge and its validity. I t may be a d m i t t e d t h a t the question of validity is settled pragmatically. N o knowledge is t r u e unless it yields results which can be verified, unless it can issue in increased control of experience. But I insist again t h a t t h a t fact is not sufficient f o r an account of w h a t knowledge claims to be. I t claims to issue in control because it is t r u e in independence of the control. A n d it is just this assurance t h a t is needed to distinguish knowledge f r o m w h a t is not knowledge. It is the necessity of exhibiting this assurance which makes it impossible to subordinate logical problems, and forces us at last to questions of epistemology and metaphysics. As I am interested here primarily in determining the field of logic, it is somewhat outside my province to consider the details of logical theory. Yet the point just raised is of so much importance in connection with the main question t h a t I v e n t u r e the following general considerations. T h i s is, perhaps, the more necessary because the p r a g m a t i c doctrine finds in the concession m a d e r e g a r d i n g the test of validity one of its strongest defenses. Of course a judgment is not t r u e simply because it is a judgment. It may be false. T h e only way to settle its validity is to discover w h e t h e r experience actually provides w h a t the judgment promises, t h a t is, w h e t h e r the conclusions d r a w n f r o m it really enable us to control experience. N o m e r e speculation will yield the desired result, no m a t t e r with how much f o r m a l validity the conclusions may be d r a w n . T h a t merely f o r m a l validity is not the essential thing, I have pointed out in discussing the relation of logic to mathematics. T h e test of truth is p r a g m a t i c . I t is a p p a r e n t , t h e r e f o r e , t h a t the f o r m a l

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validity does not determine the actual validity. W h a t is this but the statement t h a t the process of judgment is not itself the determining f a c t o r in its real validity? I t is, in short, only valid j u d g m e n t s t h a t can really give us control of experience. T h e implications taken up in the j u d g m e n t must, t h e r e f o r e , be real implications which, as such, have nothing to d o with the judging process, and which, most certainly, are not b r o u g h t about by it. A n d w h a t is this but the claim that judgment as such is never instrumental? In other words, a judgment which effected its own content would only by the merest accident function as valid knowledge. W e have valid knowledge, then, only when the implications of the judgment are found to be independent of the judging process. W e have knowledge only at the risk of e r r o r . T h e p r a g m a t i c test of validity, instead of p r o v i n g the instrumental character of judgment, would thus a p p e a r to prove just the reverse. Valid knowledge has, t h e r e f o r e , f o r its content a system of real, not judged or hypothetical, implications. T h e central p r o b l e m of logic which results f r o m this fact is not how a knowledge of real implications is then possible, but w h a t are the ascertainable types of real implications. But, it may be urged, we need some criterion to determine what a real implication is. I venture to reply t h a t we need none, if by such is m e a n t anything else t h a n the facts with which we are dealing. I need no o t h e r criterion t h a n the circle to determine w h e t h e r its diameters are really equal. And, in general, I need no other criterion than the facts dealt with to determine w h e t h e r they really imply w h a t I judge them to imply. Logic a p p e a r s to me to be really as simple as this. Yet there can be p r o f o u n d problems involved in the working out of this simple procedure. T h e r e is the problem already s t a t e d of the most general types of real implication, or, in o t h e r words, the time-honored doctrine of categories. W h e t h e r there a r e categories or basal types of existence seems to me to be ascertainable. W h e n ascertained, it is also possible t o discover the types of inference or implication which they afford. T h i s is by no means the whole of logic, but it a p p e a r s to me to be its central problem. T h e s e considerations will, I hope, t h r o w light on the state-

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ment t h a t while knowledge works, it is not t h e r e f o r e knowledge. I t w o r k s because its content existed b e f o r e its discovery by the knowledge process, and because its content was not effected or b r o u g h t about by t h a t process. J u d g m e n t was the ins t r u m e n t of its discovery, not the instrument which fashioned it. W h i l e , t h e r e f o r e , willing to admit t h a t logical processes a r e vital processes, I am not willing to admit that the problem of logic is radically changed thereby in its f o r m u l a t i o n or solution, f o r the vital processes in question have the unique character of knowledge, the content of which is w h a t it claims to be, a system of real implications which existed prior to its discovery. In the psychological and biological tendencies in logic, there is, however, I think, a distinct gain f o r logical theory. T h e insistence t h a t logical processes are both mental and vital has done much to take t h e m out of the transcendental aloofness f r o m reality in which they have o f t e n been placed, especially since Kant. So long as thought and object were so s e p a r a t e d t h a t they could never be b r o u g h t together, and so long as logical processes were conceived wholly in terms of ideas set over against objects, there was no hope of escape f r o m the realm of pure hypothesis and conjecture. Locke's axiom t h a t " t h e mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath no other immediate object but its own ideas," an axiom which K a n t did so much to sanctify, and which has been the basal principle of the g r e a t e r p a r t of modern logic and metaphysics, is most certainly subversive of logical theory. T h e transition f r o m ideas to anything else is rendered impossible by it. N o w it is just this axiom which the biological tendencies in logic have done so much to destroy. T h e y have insisted, with the greatest right, t h a t logical processes a r e not set over against their content as idea against object, as appearance against reality, but are processes of reality itself. Just as reality can and does function in a physical or a physiological way, so also it functions in a logical way. T h e state we call knowledge becomes, thus, as much a p a r t of the system of things as the state we call chemical combination. T h e problem how thought can know anything becomes, t h e r e f o r e , as irrelevant as the problem how elements

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can combine at all. T h e recognition o f this is a great gain, and the promise o f it most fruitful f o r both logic and metaphysics. But, as I have tried to point out, all this surrendering o f pure thought as opposed to pure reality, does not at all necessitate our regarding judgment as a process which makes reality different from what it was before. O f course there is one difference, namely, the logical o n e ; f o r reality prior to logical processes is unknown. A s a result o f these processes it becomes known. T h e s e processes are, therefore, responsible f o r a known as distinct f r o m an unknown reality. But what is the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n which reality undergoes in becoming k n o w n ? W h e n it becomes known that water seeks its own level, what change has taken place in the w a t e r ? I t would appear t h a t we must answer, none. T h e water which seeks its own level has not been transformed into ideas or even into a human experience. I t appears to remain, as water, precisely what it was b e f o r e . T h e transformation which takes place, takes place in the one who knows, a transformation from ignorance to knowledge. Psychology and biology can afford us the natural history o f this transformation, but they can not inform us in the least as to why it should have its specific character. T h a t is given and not deduced. T h e attempts to deduce it have, without exception, been futile. T h a t is why we are forced to t a k e it as ultimate in the same way we take as ultimate the specific character o f any definite transformation. T o my mind, there is needed a fuller and more cordial recognition o f this fact. T h e conditions under which we, as individuals, know are certainly discoverable, just as much as the conditions under which we breathe or digest. And what happens to things when we know them is also as discoverable as what happens to them when we breathe them or digest them. B u t here the idealist may interpose that we can never know what happens to things when we know them, because we can never know them b e f o r e they become known. I suppose I ought to wrestle with this objection. It is an obvious one, but, to my mind, it is without force. T h e objection, if pursued, can carry us only in a circle. T h e problem o f knowledge is still on our hands, and every logician o f whatever school, the offerer o f this objection also, has, nevertheless, attempted

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to show what the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n is that t h o u g h t works, f o r all admit that it works some. A r e we, therefore, engaged in a hopeless t a s k ? O r have we failed to grasp the significance of our problem? I think the latter. W e fail to recognize that, in one way or other, we do solve the problem, and t h a t our attempts to solve it show quite clearly that the objection under consideration is without force. T a k e , f o r instance, any concrete case of knowledge, the water seeking its own level, again. Follow the process of knowledge to the fullest extent, we never find a single problem which is not solvable by reference to the concrete things with which we are dealing, nor a single solution which is not forced upon us by these things r a t h e r than by the fact that we deal with them. T h e t r a n s f o r m a t i o n wrought is thus discovered, in the progress of knowledge itself, to be wrought solely in the inquiring individual, and wrought by repeated contact with the things with which he deals. In other words, all knowledge discloses the fact that its content is not created by itself, but by the things with which it is concerned. It is quite possible, therefore, that knowledge should be what we call transcendent and yet not involve us in a transcendental logic. T h a t we should be able to know without altering the things we know is no more and no less remarkable and mysterious than that we should be able to digest by altering the things we digest. In other words, the fact that digestion alters the things is no reason that knowledge should alter them, even if we admit that logical processes are vital and subject to evolution. Indeed, if evolution teaches us anything on this point, it is that knowledge processes are real just as they exist, as real as growth and digestion, and must have their character described in accordance with what they are. T h e recognition that knowledge can be transcendent and yet its processes vital seems to throw light on the difficulty evolution has encountered in accounting f o r consciousness and knowledge. All the reactions of the individual seem to be expressible in terms of chemistry and physics without calling in consciousness as an operating factor. W h a t is this but the recognition of its transcendence, especially when the conditions of conscious activity are quite likely expressible in chemical and

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physical t e r m s ? W h i l e , t h e r e f o r e , biological considerations result in the g r e a t gain of giving concrete reality to the processes of knowledge, the gain is lost, if knowledge itself is denied the transcendence which it so evidently discloses. IV

T h e a r g u m e n t advanced in this discussion has had the aim of emphasizing the fact t h a t in knowledge we have actually given, as content, reality as it is in independence of the act of knowing, t h a t the real world is self-existent, independent of the j u d g m e n t s we m a k e about it. T h i s fact has been emphasized in o r d e r t o confine the field of logic to the field of knowledge as thus u n d e r s t o o d . In the course of the argument, I have occasionally indicated w h a t some of the resulting problems of logic are. T h e s e I wish now to state in a somewhat more systematic way. T h e basal problem of logic becomes, undoubtedly, the metaphysics of knowledge, the determination of the nature of knowledge and its relation to reality. I t is quite evident t h a t this is just the problem which the current tendencies criticized have sought, not t o solve, but to avoid or set aside. T h e i r motives f o r so d o i n g have been mainly the difficulties which have arisen f r o m the Kantian philosophy in its development into transcendentalism, and the desire to extend the category of evolution to embrace the whole of reality, knowledge included. I confess t o feeling t h e force of these motives as strongly as any advocate of t h e criticized opinions. But I do not see my way clear to satisfying them by denying or explaining away the evident c h a r a c t e r of knowledge itself. I t a p p e a r s f a r better t o admit t h a t a metaphysics of knowledge is as yet hopeless, r a t h e r than so to t r a n s f o r m knowledge as to get rid of the p r o b l e m ; f o r we must ultimately ask a f t e r the t r u t h of the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n . But I am f a r f r o m believing t h a t a metaphysics of knowledge is hopeless. T h e biological tendencies themselves seem to furnish us with much material f o r at least the beginnings of one. Reality known is to be set over against reality unknown or independent of knowledge, not as image to original, idea to thing, phenomena to noumena, appearance to reality; but reality as known is a new stage

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in the d e v e l o p m e n t of reality itself. I t is not an external mind which knows reality by means of its own ideas, but reality itself becomes k n o w n t h r o u g h its own expanding and readjusting processes. So f a r I a m in entire agreement with the tendencies I have criticized. But w h a t change is effected by this expansion a n d r e a d j u s t m e n t ? I can find no other answer t h a n this simple o n e : the change to knowledge. A n d by this I mean to assert unequivocally t h a t the addition of knowledge to a reality h i t h e r t o without it is simply an addition to it and not a t r a n s f o r m a t i o n of it. Such a view may a p p e a r to make knowledge a wholly useless addition, but I see no inherent necessity in such a conclusion. N o r do I see any inherent necessity of supposing t h a t knowledge must be a useful addition. Yet I would not be so foolish as to deny the usefulness of knowledge. W e have, of course, the most palpable evidences of its use. A s we examine them, I think we find, without exception, t h a t k n o w l e d g e is u s e f u l just in p r o p o r t i o n as we find t h a t reality is not t r a n s f o r m e d by being k n o w n . If it really were t r a n s f o r m e d in t h a t process, could anything but confusion result f r o m the multitude of knowing individuals? T o me, t h e r e f o r e , the metaphysics of the situation resolves itself into the realistic position t h a t a developing reality develops, u n d e r ascertainable conditions, into a known reality without u n d e r g o i n g any o t h e r t r a n s f o r m a t i o n , and that this new stage m a r k s an advance in the efficiency of reality in its a d a p t a t i o n s . M y confidence steadily g r o w s t h a t this whole process can be scientifically w o r k e d out. It is impossible here to justify my confidence in detail, and I must leave the m a t t e r with the following suggestion. T h e point f r o m which knowledge s t a r t s and t o which it ultimately r e t u r n s is always some portion of reality w h e r e t h e r e is consciousness, the things, namely, which, we a r e wont to say, a r e in consciousness. T h e s e things are n o t ideas r e p r e s e n t i n g o t h e r things outside of consciousness, but real things, which, by being in consciousness, have the capacity of r e p r e s e n t i n g each other, of standing f o r or implying each o t h e r . Knowledge is not the creation of these implications, but their successful systematization. It will be found, I think, t h a t this general statement is t r u e of every concrete case of k n o w l e d g e which we possess. Its detailed

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working out would be a metaphysics o f knowledge, an epistemology. Since knowledge is the successful systematization o f the implications which are disclosed in things by virtue o f consciousness, a second logical problem o f fundamental importance is the determination o f the most general types o f implication with the categories which underlie them. T h e execution o f this problem would naturally involve, as subsidiary, the greater part o f formal and symbolic logic. Indeed, vital doctrines o f the syllogism, o f definition, o f f o r m a l inference, o f the calculus o f classes and propositions, o f the logic o f relations, appear to be bound up ultimately with a doctrine o f categories; f o r it is only a recognition o f basal types o f existence with their implications that can save these doctrines f r o m mere formalism. T h e s e types o f existence o r categories are not to be regarded as f r e e creations or as the contributions o f the mind to experience. T h e r e is no deduction o f them possible. T h e y must be discovered in the actual progress o f knowledge itself, and I see no reason to suppose that their number is necessarily fixed, or that we should necessarily be in possession of all o f them. I t is requisite, however, t h a t in every case categories should be incapable o f reduction to each other. A doctrine o f categories seems to me to be o f the greatest importance in the systematization o f knowledge, f o r no problem o f relation is even statable correctly b e f o r e the type o f existence to which its terms belong has been first determined. I submit one illustration to reinforce this general statement, namely, the relation o f mind to body. I f mind and body belong to the same type o f existence, we have one set o f problems on our hands; but if they do not, we have an entirely different set. Y e t volumes o f discussion written on this subject have abounded in confusion, simply because they have regarded mind and body as belonging to radically different types o f existence and yet related in terms o f the type to which one o f them belongs. T h e doctrine o f parallelism is, perhaps, the epitome o f this confusion. T h e doctrine o f categories will involve not only the g r e a t e r part o f f o r m a l and symbolic logic, but will undoubtedly carry the logician into the doctrine o f method. H e r e it is to be

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h o p e d t h a t r e c e n t t e n d e n c i e s will r e s u l t in effectively b r e a k i n g d o w n t h e artificial d i s t i n c t i o n s w h i c h h a v e p r e v a i l e d b e t w e e n d e d u c t i o n a n d induction. D i f f e r e n c e s in m e t h o d do n o t result f r o m differences in p o i n t s o f d e p a r t u r e , o r between the univ e r s a l a n d t h e p a r t i c u l a r , but f r o m the c a t e g o r i e s , a g a i n , which give t h e m e t h o d d i r e c t i o n a n d a i m , a n d result in different types o f synthesis. I n t h i s d i r e c t i o n , the logician m a y h o p e f o r an a p p r o x i m a t e l y c o r r e c t classification o f the v a r i o u s dep a r t m e n t s o f k n o w l e d g e . Such a classification is, p e r h a p s , t h e ideal o f l o g i c a l t h e o r y .

N A T U R A L I S M

A N D

H U M A N I S M *

PHILOSOPHY, declining through acquired modesty or by compulsion the position of chief of all the sciences, may still rightfully claim an historical function. For that complex of human performances which we call civilization turns out, as we examine it closely, to be a changing and shifting scene which has none the less a definable background. T o discover that background, and to exhibit the varied lights and shadows as thrown up from it, is a proper task f o r philosophy. Indeed, each of us has such a background. Using other imagery, we may call it character or soul or personality, but what we mean by the words is some relatively fixed and fundamental body of habits and dispositions lying back of the rich phantasmagoria of our lives. There sits the helmsman, his hand on the tiller. When we are unconscious of his directing, we speak of our destiny or our f a t e ; but when in the stress of things we suddenly grow aware of the definite pointing of our course, we boast of personal triumph. T h e background is thus the important factor, at once conservative and propelling. There, still to keep to our nautical figure, the log is kept, the reading of which is the true biography of any individual life. Times as well as individuals have their backgrounds, a fact which leads us to speak of society as an organism and to ascribe a character to an age. Or we use the phrase "the spirit of the times," indicating thereby a kind of temporal destiny somehow responsible f o r the characteristic trend of events. At times it may be dreaded, as in 1848, when governments slept uneasily while the spirit of revolution stalked abroad. Or it may be hysterically welcomed, as in crusading days, when a continent could surrender itself to a visionary task. H o w such backgrounds are constituted and how they operate to afford the symptoms of a time's disease or health, * In the Hibbert

Journal,

Vol. V I (1907), pp. 1-17.

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are questions about which philosophy may properly busy itself. T h e general theme is well worth our study; but yielding to the current demand f o r the concrete and the specific, we may seek some insight into the general theme by a study of a particular case. History did not have to preserve Cicero's cry, " O tempora I O m o r e s ! " in order to teach men to be critics of their own times and their own manners. So we today hear, on all sides, the cry, uttered now with shame and regret and now with enthusiasm, that our age is materialistic and industrial, t h a t it has substituted utility for principle, that it has surrendered to mechanism and lost the idealism of the fathers. An age of naturalism, in short, which pictures man caught in the machinery of nature and forced to learn at his imminent peril the lesson of efficiency. T h e cry resounds f r o m government halls and f r o m the busy street, f r o m p l a t f o r m and f r o m pulpit, and has been heard along the length and breadth of our systems of education. T h e cry suggests a contrast. Nay, m o r e ; the contrast has raised a conflict where individual estimates and judgments become uncertain holdings. T h e contrast which naturalism suggests is summed up in the word humanism. T h e conflict, so we have been told, is a struggle to preserve the humanities, to keep alive the classic literary heritage of the race, to preserve a r t and religion for ideal uses, to keep morality f r o m sinking into mere opportunism, to make education minister to the spirit and not simply to serve the body's wants. W e are all familiar, f r o m the words of the teacher or f r o m the newspaper or the magazine, with the many battles of this w a r ; but what may be said of the background of the modern spirit? H o w comes it that naturalism and humanism stand out f r o m it competitors in the interest of human happiness? It was once customary to dismiss serious consideration of such questions with a joyous optimism which regarded the whole conflict as academic merely. Full of the abundance of goods, this optimism could claim that nature and man could stand in no unfriendly relation to each other. T h e stern critic, full of caustic disapproval, was pointed out as an embittered and u n f o r t u n a t e misanthrope looking with ill-

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concealed jealousy at the f o r t u n a t e man of the times, and we were warned f r o m his path as one leading to contempt. W e were assured of the essential soundness of the modern man, and told that he took H o m e r or Emerson with him on his travels and carried poems in his pocketbook. N o w the creed of optimism is sound, else why should life result in values to be p r i z e d ? But the professions of optimism in our day have, unhappily, proved untrue. T o proclaim that God's in His heaven, All's right with the world,

may have been once the utterance of a satisfied faith, but it now sounds a challenge to a distressed civilization. G o d may be in H i s heaven; but the w o r l d — w h o living in it, noting the events of the day, his eyes open upon man and his works, will venture the cry, "All's r i g h t " ? W h a t we need is a clearer vision and less clamour. T h e call to the educated is to reflection rather than to panaceas or nostrums for our ills. W e need to know how we stand and what our possessions really are. W e need to see the background of our life, to find its controlling forces and so gain control ourselves. I do not mean that we should set our hopes on a multiplication of philosophers, for, with the best intentions, that could not be an unmixed good. Philosophers are seldom statesmen, as Plato discovered, and was consequently led to place the perfect city, not on earth, but in heaven. There, where the main joy is supposed to be contemplation, the state might safely be entrusted to the lovers of wisdom. On earth, however, there are affairs, and philosophers must, therefore, be content to see men of affairs inherit most of the earth. But Plato made another discovery which his perennial influence has repeatedly demonstrated, namely this, that one of the chief uses of philosophy is education. T h e sun must be shown to the ignorant dweller in the cave, even if the vision is at first blinding. And I am convinced t h a t our education today needs new methods and curriculums f a r less than it needs a new philosophy. T h a t is why I take it t h a t our need is primarily to see the background of modern life.

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T h e n , w h e n it is seen, affairs m a y be m o r e intelligibly illum i n e d a n d t h e h a n d l i n g of t h e m less perplexing. T h i s b a c k g r o u n d is u n d o u b t e d l y a highly complex thing, which f a c t m a k e s some restriction necessary f o r the p r e s e n t study. I p r o p o s e t o deal only w i t h some of its intellectual ingredients, a n d I shall begin by a study of n a t u r a l i s m . I begin with it because it was t h e a g g r e s s o r in the conflict a n d is n o w in t h e ascendency. It f o u n d science neglected, and, w h a t little science t h e r e was, quite insensible to the evident f a c t t h a t n a t u r e h a s a history. I t f o u n d a m o r a l i t y t h a t t h o u g h t mainly of p r e c e p t s and little of the concrete g o o d s of life. I t f o u n d an a r t , b e a u t i f u l indeed beyond c o m p a r e , but secured a n d m a d e possible in its m o n u m e n t a l expressions at the cost of u n m e r i t e d and u n r e q u i t e d h u m a n suffering. I t f o u n d a religion busied in saving m e n ' s souls f o r a n o t h e r w o r l d in a m a n n e r n e i t h e r c o m p l i m e n t a r y n o r h u m a n e , while it cared little f o r t h e i r sad e s t a t e in this. It f o u n d an education t h a t p r i z e d t h e m a k i n g of verses m o r e t h a n it prized the discovery of t h e laws of n a t u r e . So it d e c l a r e d w a r . G e o g r a p h y , h o w e v e r , is necessary f o r w a r . You can not invade with g r e a t h o p e s of success unless you h a v e first spied out the land. O n c e l e a r n e d , the g e o g r a p h y is soon taken as a t h i n g f o r g r a n t e d , a n d its i m p o r t a n c e as a f a c t o r in the conflict f o r g o t t e n . Some e r r o r in t h e r o a d is necessary f o r its ree s t a b l i s h m e n t . T h e m a p which n a t u r a l i s m m a d e was n a t u r e . I t w a s d r a w n with new lines and s h o w e d unexpected elevations a n d depressions. I t r e v e a l e d m a n ' s place in n a t u r e in a new a n d c o n t r a s t e d light, r e d u c i n g him f r o m pre-eminence to insignificance. T h a t c h a n g e in m a n ' s place has become one of t h e essential i n g r e d i e n t s in the intellectual b a c k g r o u n d of m o d e r n life. I t is w o r t h a t t e n t i v e r e g a r d . Recall the w o r d s of t h e E i g h t h P s a l m :— O Lord our Lord, how excellent is T h y name in all the earth! w h o hast set T h y glory above the heavens. Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast T h o u ordained strength because of T h i n e enemies, that T h o u mightest still the enemy and the avenger. W h e n I consider T h y heavens, the work of T h y fingers, the moon and the stars which T h o u hast ordained;

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W h a t is man t h a t T h o u art m i n d f u l of h i m ? and the son of man that T h o u visitest him ? For T h o u hast m a d e him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. T h o u madest him to have dominion over the works of T h y h a n d s ; T h o u hast put all things under his f e e t : All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field; T h e fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas. O Lord our L o r d , how excellent is T h y name in all the w o r l d !

Surely, so thought o f , man w a s thought of nobly. Y e t the modern man considering the heavens can utter no such outburst of praise. H e a r Huxley, for instance: O u r reverence for the nobility of manhood will not be lessened by the knowledge that man is, in substance and in structure, one with the brutes; for he alone possesses the marvellous endowment of intelligible and rational speech, whereby, in the secular period of his existence, he has slowly accumulated and organized the experience which is almost wholly lost with the cessation of every individual life in other animals; so that, now, he stands raised upon it as on a mountain top, f a r above the level of his humble fellows, and transfigured f r o m his grosser nature by reflecting, here and there, a ray f r o m the infinite source of t r u t h .

W e may be convinced that what H u x l e y says is true, but we can not wholly escape the feeling that his words are an apologetic for human dignity. H e sends man to us with a recommendation. T h e contrast between the words of the Psalmist and the words of Huxley reveals in part the great change in intellectual background which naturalism represents so far as man's place in nature is the thing we are attending to. M a n appears no longer as the Creator's last and supreme act, with all nature made f o r his conquest and dominion. H e has become a part of nature, her master only as he has first become her attentive and obedient servant. She nourishes him in her bosom, but sedulously conceals from him the amount and length of her concern; her greatest child, but questionably her favourite. A s a part of nature he can claim only a natural origin and destiny; he can no longer spontaneously believe that he can survive her. Being a part, he must measure him-

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self up against the whole, laying his little stature off as somet h i n g practically negligible in the vastness of things. T h e r e is such an overwhelming magnitude of universe to which his existence is entirely irrelevant t h a t he can no longer instinctively r e g a r d human civilization as the supremely i m p o r t a n t event in the history of t h a t universe. It may be supremely i m p o r t a n t f o r him, but to say t h a t it is supremely i m p o r t a n t in n a t u r e a p p e a r s like uttering an u n t r u t h or an absurdity. N o w this altered estimate of our natural importance has become a widely diffused intellectual habit in the background of the t h o u g h t of the m o d e r n man. It has d r o p p e d f r o m the realm of speculation and become a controlling disposition. T h i s is pre-eminently true of those who have had a m o d e r n education, but it is quite generally true of the mass of men who reflect at all. Is it surprising, then, that we should view things under the f o r m of opportunity r a t h e r than under the f o r m of eternity? Is it a thing to be wondered at that m o r a l and religious convictions which have withstood the vicissitudes of centuries should, within our own memory, crumble in d e c a d e s ? Is it not a m a r k of superficial reflection to r e g a r d the materialism and utilitarianism of the times as a symptom of m o r a l decadence, instead of r e g a r d i n g it as the n a t u r a l expression of an altered b a c k g r o u n d ? Is it not a desperate situation when morality and religion make their appeals as if the old background were still intact, while education goes on in cordial recognition of the n e w ? T h e r e never was a time t h a t did not need r e f o r m i n g . O u r own, certainly, has not enough excellences to let us rest content. But that r e f o r m e r is chasing an illusion or wickedly wasting our emotions and our s t r e n g t h who does not reckon with the intellectual backg r o u n d of the m o d e r n spirit. T h e historian of philosophy in trying to understand this spirit can not, however, rest content with noting simply t h a t the view of m a n ' s place in nature has radically altered, f o r the m o d e r n view is not new. I t was the natural and instinctive view of the G r e e k mind, and t h a t mind produced the most exalted ethics and the g r e a t e s t philosophy t h a t human ingenuity has devised. T h e m o r e clearly it envisaged nature the m o r e intelligently it conceived human excellence, f o r n a t u r e

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with the Greeks still led a preferential life of which man was the most signal exhibition. But we have altered not only the view of m a n ' s place in nature, but also the view of nature herself. It is important, therefore, that we inquire what sort of nature it is of which man is conceived to be a p a r t ; f o r here lies the deeper source of the symptoms of modern naturalism. T w o factors, mainly, have shaped our conception of nature — t h e theories of modern physical science, and the p a r t that machinery has played in our industrial and social development. T h e s e two factors, one of which is theoretical and the other practical, have led us to think of nature as a sort of vast machine controlled only by mechanical methods. T h e history of the science of mechanics is suggestive reading f o r the student of civilization, f o r it shows how a study of appliances has been turned into a theory of the universe. M e n like Archimedes were interested in mechanics that they might make pumps and useful structures. But men like Galileo, Copernicus, Newton, and Laplace were interested that they might understand the processes of nature. H a d Galileo used his knowledge as an architect might, or as an engineer, there had been no trial of him as a man hateful to God and dangerous to his fellows. Instead of being content to make machines, he essayed to make a world a f t e r a machinist's manner, and that was blasphemous. T h e tower of Pisa, illustrating in its wonderful structure many a mechanical law, was something to delight in and was assuredly no offence to Church or State. But Galileo, mounting its steps to drop his weights f r o m its highest gallery, was a revolutionist. H i s offence, however, lay not in his ideas; they might have been pardoned, as were those of many another, had he not been measurably successful in his practice. N a t u r e was responsible f o r his overthrow, f o r she answered readily to mechanical treatment. F r o m Galileo's time to our own day stretch several centuries. T h e y m a r k in our intellectual history the steady and successful advance of the mechanical view of things, until today we can speak of the mechanism of thought and use no m e t a p h o r . T o be sure, physical science is but a fraction of human knowledge; and the facts of life and mind do not read-

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ily yield to purely mechanical expression, yet mechanism has become the ideal of science. Indeed, our time does not lack historians who would make it the ideal of history also. In philosophy, idealism has made a valiant fight, but it has been a fight of defence. Its logic and dialect produce a sense of bewilderment, while mechanism produces profitable industry. Furthermore, the mechanical conception of nature has ceased long ago to be a speculation of scientists. It has become a popular conviction. T h e encyclopedia, the lecture, the magazine have brought the view within reach of everyone who can read. Your morning paper announces the latest scientific discovery as well as the latest divorce. T h e average man in the street knows as much about radium as the average college graduate. Galileo, in his day, was the exception. T o d a y he is the exception whose view of nature is not essentially that which Galileo ventured to affirm. And this view has become a settled habit of thought. W h o today thinks of the San Francisco earthquake as an act of God and not as a mechanical occurrence? In our industrial and social development mechanism has ruled fully as much as in our intellectual development, for we have become dependent on machinery and organization. In such things we have put our faith, and that not without good reason. It is machinery that has made modern civilization with all its variety and effectiveness possible. T h a t is a common enough remark which one could reinforce with a wealth of illustration. But what is not so commonly remarked is the intellectual habit which our civilization has engendered, namely, the habit of demanding the appropriate machinery to make a cause effective before the cause itself may have an attentive hearing. W e are no longer spontaneously visionary or romantic, but regard the man of visions and romances as mildly insane or as a man cultivating a pose. W e may stand for ideas, as the saying is, but we are apt to do it f r o m a sense of duty or f r o m the desire to create an impression. W e are not apt to do it instinctively as the free and natural expression of our settled habits; f o r our settled habits have been f o r m e d while we have conquered nature not through ideas, but by machinery. Attempts in that direction have been so abundantly

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justified both by theory and by practice that we no longer think readily o f nature as a source o f spontaneity and inspiration. W e think o f her rather as a vast machine. Our background contains, thus, an altered view o f man and an altered view o f nature. N o t only has man been dethroned from his exalted position as the lord o f creation and made a part o f nature, but he has been made a part o f a machine. W h e r e v e r he turns, it is mechanism which confronts him and mechanical methods which commend themselves. H e has by no means thought the matter out to a liberal acceptance o f it and its consequences. I t has been forced upon him without his free consenting, as a thing inevitable, aggressive, and dominating. D i d we consult our inclinations and preferences we might choose a more personal world, peopled with divinities responsive to our moods and their expression; but such inclinations on our part are rudely inhibited by our intellectual habits. T o personify the world with success, it must be done instinctively and spontaneously, with no meddling intellect to stop the free impulse; but how can one personify the world if he is convinced that it is essentially mechanical? I have likened the background to the geography which is often neglected in a campaign because knowledge o f the land is taken for granted. So I would not suggest that it is my opinion that we are living our lives, meeting our problems and our promises with the philosophical proposition currently on our lips, " N a t u r e is a mechanism, and man is a part o f that machine." I mean, rather, that what that proposition signifies has become a settled intellectual habit about which we do not think because it is a habit, but which, for the same reason, controls our actions and attitudes, colouring all that we instinctively and spontaneously do. I have tried to indicate how this habit has been formed and what its justification has been. I have suggested that what is often condemned as our materialism, utilitarianism, and loss o f ideals, is not a negative m a t t e r signifying a sinful deterioration o f human nature, but a positive matter, the natural expression o f an altered background forced upon us by the progress o f events. All this I have done professedly in the interest o f philosophy and education, convinced that what we need in these days o f so much

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agitation and r e f o r m is a clear knowledge of the controlling forces of our civilization. In spite of its significance and its justification, naturalism has not been, however, emotionally satisfactory. Our greatest poets have been blindly optimistic, like Browning, or despairingly reflective, like Arnold. T h e social influence of the two men is interesting. Browning's poetry produced clubs to make of him a cult and to preserve his philosophy through sectarian discipleship. Arnold's poetry produced strong individuals tenderly yet critically appreciative of human interests, but incapable of arousing great enthusiasm. H e was by f a r the sounder thinker of the t w o ; but he drew his inspiration f r o m a past he could not justify, seeing in the f u t u r e the intensity of human need more than an assured promise of good. Emotions, however, are not kept young and vigorous by clubs designedly constituted f o r raptures, or by beautiful expressions of despair; they must well up spontaneously f r o m the background, and be so natural t h a t they will need no cult and so instinctive that they will need no justification. I t is just here that naturalism has failed. A mechanical world is emotionally bankrupt. In such a world one star does not differ f r o m another star in glory; the difference is to be expressed directly in terms of mass, and inversely in terms of the square of the distance. T o speak of glory in such a world is to speak theatrically. H a d not naturalism been m a r k e d by such emotional poverty, it would doubtless never have found humanism arrayed as its enemy. In that event humanism might have been enlarged or its best elements incorporated in a new inspiration. I t was destined, however, to suffer a shrinkage and a diminution of its powers, so t h a t it could fight only on the defensive and yield fortress a f t e r fortress. Yet it has been strong enough, in spite of successive defeats, still to preserve the f r o n t of a compact foe. A t the outset, humanism had a distinct advantage, for it possessed culture as a lawful inheritance. T h a t human treasure was not acquired by it through violence, but came as the natural legacy of an age grown sensitive to the accomplishments of man. Remember that in the inception of humanism man had achieved little as a student of nature,

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while he h a d achieved much as a student of his own impressions and ideas. I n d e e d , such a study is the characteristic note and definition of humanism. Such a study had produced a w o n d e r f u l literature g i v i n g expression to noble sentiments. I t had embodied itself in institutions which it maintained as the treasuries of its w e a l t h , g i v i n g to them a sanctity which hist o r y seemed to confirm. H u m a n i s m became, consequently, cons e r v a t i v e and traditional, a tendency which naturalism f o r c e d into a habit. R e m e m b e r , too, that f o r several centuries humanism w a s educationally effective. T h e classics presented models of statesmanship and social excellence which could serve a d m i r a b l y in a civilization still owning kinship with the impressions and ideas of o l d e r times. H u m a n i s m could, theref o r e , claim the w a r r a n t of experience when naturalism assailed its system of education. B u t its strongest claim has been in its emotional richness. U n d e r the spell of literature and art, of m o r a l aspiration and religion, the spirit of man has been quickened and ennobled. T h e claim is true that naturalism tends to produce efficiency m e r e l y , while humanism tends to produce character, refinement, sensitiveness, and sympathy. E v e n t o d a y w e a d m i r e the naturalist, but we love the humanist. T o the latter w e still assign a kind of superior excellence as w e do to gentlemen of the old school. T h e r e , indeed, is a man. I t must be set d o w n as a m i s f o r t u n e that humanism has f o u n d so little to support it in the background of the modern spirit and to m a k e it effective. B u t misfortunes h a v e their causes, and we can assign as a chief cause of the steady decline of humanism its f o o l i s h educational p r o g r a m . I have said that it has been educationally effective, and can point to experience in p r o o f . B u t its educational p r o g r a m has a serious defect which naturalism has not f a i l e d to make apparent. T h a t d e f e c t resides in the f a c t that the materials of its education are limited and can be exhausted by a progressive age. T h e source of G r e e k intelligence and its products w a s not antiquity, but nature. T h o s e ancients d r e w f r o m an inexhaustible source, one not located in the past o r traditionally guarded, but one surrounding them and e n f o l d i n g them with wonders daily new. T h e moment they f o r g o t that source, they might still teach

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the wisdom of the fathers to the R o m a n s ; but they ceased to be productive. They could hold up examples to imitate, but they could produce no new models. N o w , humanism in its educational p r o g r a m has interested itself in the past of man, in what he has accomplished r a t h e r than in the immediate sources of his inspiration. It has sedulously cultivated the classic tendency. By that I mean that it has placed the foundations of human excellence in the past achievements of certain men, and not in the experience of living persons. It has shut human life up in books, making these books authoritative and forgetting that the men who wrote them wrote, not out of contemplation of the past, but out of the richness of their own experience. T h a t is why humanism was bound to exhaust itself. I would not be understood as not valuing history, f o r it is man's great teacher. Our plight would be sad indeed if we had to relearn everything. W e could enjoy such a condition only if the records of the past were periodically destroyed. T h a t might prove an interesting experiment, but it would be folly to accomplish such destruction by our volition, f o r we have grown too dependent f o r that. But history should be studied not as a record of the past, but as the story of the present, as the backward look of current experience. T h e n it is illuminating and instructive. America today is what lends significance to the performance of Columbus. W e are guilty of a foolish anachronism when we credit him with its discovery. Similarly, our own achievements can have significance only as the future owns them as its past. But humanism tended to seal up the past and refuse to let it have its rightful vindication. W e were bidden to write commentaries on it and introductions to it, as if a man could grow strong through the perennial contemplation of his youth. T h u s it was that humanism in its educational p r o g r a m provided mainly for reminiscence and little for the immediate sources of the imagination. It divided time into epochs, the least imp o r t a n t of which was the present. It lived constantly in another world than its own. It thus became a producer of evil. G r a n t all its rich contributions to what we call the humanities, what has it done to lighten pain or poverty or disease? W h y

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has it nearly always been impotent in the crises of history? T h e answer lies in its method and its educational program, f o r its sources were secondary, and not the primary and immediate fountains of life. M y object, however, has not been to disparage humanism any more than it has been to exalt naturalism. I have rather aimed at exhibiting their emergence f r o m the background of the modern spirit as rival claimants for our acceptance. I have suggested t h a t they might not have contended with each other had naturalism been able to supply that emotional uplift which is so characteristic of humanism at its best. In that case, each had doubtless ministered to the other's health. But naturalism, with its altered conception of man and nature, could see in humanism only a beautiful illusion, and, having nature to draw upon with ever-increasing justification of its d r a f t , it has rapidly and signally altered our opinions and our practices. W i t h o u t p e r f o r m i n g the interesting experiment of destroying the records of the past, we face, it seems to me, the present as men who must learn f o r themselves. W e have returned to nature and learned the lesson of mechanism, with the result that both naturalism and humanism have become unsatisfactory philosophies of life. T h e times and the manners appear to be the natural expression of that result. Philosophy, exercising t h a t historical function of which I spoke in the beginning, might rest content with this diagnosis. But it has a critical function as well. It is never content until it has made an estimate, f o r in seeking knowledge it would aim at teaching wisdom. W h a t estimates, we may therefore ask, does our study suggest? Surely it must be, a f t e r all, a high estimate we put upon the lessons of mechanism when we are mindful both of its achievements and its promise. A mechanical nature may not warm the heart or fire the imagination, but it is certainly a powerful and tractable instrument capable of being put to countless uses. It is too valuable to be neglected. Still, to deepen the consciousness that every end we may desire, every hope we may wish to see fulfilled, has, could we but discover it, the machinery appropriate to its realization, is decidedly worth while. This deepening consciousness begets a sturdy confidence. A mechanical nature

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is not whimsical, but a thing to be relied on, striking the proper hour at the proper time. I t shelters no subtle malevolence which might elude our greatest care. It allows one no longer to have his hopes depressed and his will enfeebled by the belief that any evils are incurable. O u r moral responsibility is thus put in a clear light, reinforced by a demonstration of the old saying that ignorance is the greatest o f evils. F o r when once the appropriate mechanism f o r the achievement o f any good is made known, no one can excuse the failure o f its realization, f o r the condemnation is that o f folly; indeed, it is a great thing for man to be able to blame his stupidity rather than Providence f o r the greater share of his ills. W e are entering today on the full significance o f this truth and its many applications. W e insist, f o r instance, as never b e f o r e , and our insistence will grow to a relentless importunity, that we be allowed to live in sanitary conditions and that our food and water shall be pure. T h i s we do not out o f humanitarian benevolence simply, but because mechanism has taught us that there is no good reason why unsanitary conditions should exist. Such insistence is a prophecy o f a new social order when we shall universally demand that knowledge shall minister to the public good, conscious that none can gainsay the justice of that demand. Consider J a p a n . Immobile for centuries, she has suddenly acquired our science o f nature and given such an exhibition o f civilization that the world looks on amazed. T h a t illustration seems to me to be typical o f the future, for we have learned that the knowledge which counts is not primarily that o f man's impressions and ideas, but knowledge of the mechanism o f nature, which, when applied, yields its inevitable result. Y e s , our estimate of mechanism must be high, convinced as we have become o f its essential truth. T o deepen this conviction is the great business o f education, and such education will be profoundly moral. T h e r e seems, therefore, to be no good reason to conclude that what has been called naturalism is the only philosophy o f life which our altered background can afford. I t appears rather to be the superficial exhibition o f a profounder view o f life, something bound to pass in its crudity, to be replaced by a quickened and eminently rational view o f human goods and the means

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of their attainment. T h a t newer philosophy might still be called naturalism, f o r it would own nature as its source; but it might equally well be called humanism, f o r it would realize that nature affords the proper mechanism to minister to the ambitions and hopes of humanity. If the narrow and straitened humanism which we have discussed erred in its educational p r o g r a m , the narrow and straitened naturalism has erred in its estimate of nature. H a v i n g learned that nature works by machinery, it neglected the obvious fact that the machinery exists to support and maintain its product. T h e future historian will note the neglect and characterize our age as one strikingly lacking in intelligence. H e will note our vast industry, and comment on the fact that while we made great machines to support and sustain the products of that industry, we could none the less regard nature as purely mechanical, with no product to exalt and sustain. W e have been so a f r a i d of the doctrine of final causes and of assigning deliberate intentions to nature, that we have forgotten that she has produced, supported, and sustained human civilization. For man is a p a r t of nature, carried on by her forces to work the works of intelligence. In him she bursts f o r t h into sustained consciousness of her own evolution, producing in him knowledge of her processes, estimation of her goods, and suspicions of her ultimate significance. This is a truth of nature and not a product of human fancy; and it is a truth f r a u g h t with the profoundest emotional import. Without such creatures as man, nature might well exist, but she would exist unvalued and unobserved. H e r natural beauties would fire no imagination, her wonders would rouse no curiosity, the fact that her vast machinery supported and sustained a varied world would excite no comment and kindle no aspiration. A d d man—ah ! but you can not add him as some extraneous figure tacked on as a negligible quantity to a sum already total, f o r he has grown out of nature's own stuff and been wrought in her workshop. H e is, then, no mere comment a t o r on the world or spectator of it; he is one of its integrations, so to speak, a supreme instance where nature has measurably evaluated herself. H i s comments are nature's selfestimate.

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Led by an enlightened naturalism, therefore, we cannot regard the mechanism of nature as a factory where the machines run on, but where there is supreme indifference to the product. Rather must we regard it as that which supports and maintains what we choose to call ideal products, and finds in them its significance and justification, as the germ finds its reason for existence in the life it engenders. W e have been half-hearted evolutionists, seeking the causes of variation and neglecting the fact that nature is always achieving results which may justify her labours. Yes, something must be achieved. It need not be something long ago devised or originally intended, but we know it must be something with a value suited to give the struggle significance. It is impossible, therefore, f o r philosophy to regard the emergence of reason as but the opportunity to condemn the cosmic process as the begetter of illusions, and to convince us that the ideal aspirations of man are the one great error in the universe. N a y , rather, an enlightened naturalism will call upon reason constantly to illumine our path with ever fresh glimpses of the light of nature, so that human life may be at once natural, rational, and joyous. Such a philosophy would be also an enlightened humanism, calculated to sustain culture and give birth to impressions and ideas suffused w,ith spontaneous emotion. And such a philosophy, I am bound to believe, is a solid foundation f o r enlightened educational progress.

METAPHYSICS*

THE first book to bear the title "Metaphysics" is attributed to Aristotle. If the title described or suggested the contents of the book, there might have been less confusion regarding the nature of the science. T o some, however, it means the mysterious, to others, the exceptionally profound; while still others see in it an occasion for mirth. There have been, consequently, many definitions of metaphysics. The Century Dictionary gives, among others, the following: " T h e doctrine of first principles"; "Supernatural science; the doctrine of that which transcends all human experience"; "The science of the mind treated by means of introspection and analysis, and not by experiment and scientific observation"; "Any doctrine based upon presumption and not upon inductive reasoning and observation"; "An abstract and abstruse body of doctrine supposed to be virtually taken for granted in some science"; "Used frequently with the definite article, and generally connected with unpleasant associations, as being a study very dry and at the same time of doubtful truth." T o these definitions might be added that by Professor James: "An unusually obstinate attempt to think clearly and consistently." Such variety of definition is largely due to the fact that the title given to Aristotle's book was an unfortunate choice. It appears to indicate that when you have finished your physics, the science which was originally thought to embrace nature, you must then pass beyond physics and somehow cut loose from nature herself. A f t e r physics, metaphysics; after nature, the supernatural—that is an invitation at once to titanic effort and to Icarian folly. Metaphysics came to suggest such human possibilities. Originally, however, the term represented no more than the happy thought of an enterpris• A l e c t u r e d e l i v e r e d a t C o l u m b i a U n i v e r s i t y in the s e r i e s on Science, P h i l o s o p h y , a n d A r t , M a r c h 1 8 , 1908, a n d p u b l i s h e d by the C o l u m b i a U n i v e r s i t y Press.

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ing e d i t o r . F o r , we a r e t o l d , A n d r o n i c u s of R h o d e s , in the first century B.C., finding a m o n g the w o r k s o f A r i s t o t l e a n u m b e r of l o o s e l y connected w r i t i n g s which the g r e a t G r e e k h a d neglected to n a m e , p l a c e d these w r i t i n g s a f t e r the b o o k s on physics, a n d n a m e d them a c c o r d i n g l y , rd pera ra «¿uo-ixa, the b o o k s which c o m e a f t e r the b o o k s on physics. A n a m e which thus indicated only an e d i t o r i a l a r r a n g e m e n t b e c a m e the n a m e of a d e p a r t m e n t of k n o w l e d g e . T h a t is not the only time when an e d i t o r ' s h a p p y t h o u g h t h a s been the c a u s e of mischief. I f , h o w e v e r , we turn f r o m the inspiring title to the writings t h e m s e l v e s , illusions a b o u t the s u p e r n a t u r a l c h a r a c t e r o f m e t a p h y s i c s tend t o d i s a p p e a r . " T h e r e i s , " s o we a r e told by the S t a g i r i t e , " a science which i n v e s t i g a t e s existence a s existence a n d w h a t e v e r b e l o n g s to existence a s such. I t is identical with none of the sciences which a r e defined less g e n e r a l l y . F o r none of these p r o f e s s e d l y considers existence a s existence, but each, restricting itself t o s o m e a s p e c t of it, i n v e s t i g a t e s the g e n e r a l aspect only incidentally, a s do the m a t h e m a t i c a l sciences." T h e e m p h a s i s is thus put by A r i s t o t l e on f a c t a n d on nature, but it is put on f a c t a n d n a t u r e a s we a t t e m p t t o view them with at once the least a n d with the g r e a t e s t res t r i c t i o n : with the l e a s t restriction, b e c a u s e we a r e invited t o view n a t u r e in the light o f her m o s t c o m p r e h e n s i v e c h a r a c t e r s ; with the g r e a t e s t restriction, because we a r e invited t o view her s t r i p p e d of her w o n d e r f u l d i v e r s i t y . In thus conceiving a science w h o s e d i s t i n g u i s h i n g m a r k s h o u l d be t h a t it a p p l i e s to all existence, A r i s t o t l e n o t e d a f a c t which the history of intellectual p r o g r e s s h a s a b u n d a n t l y illustrated, the f a c t , n a m e l y , that k n o w l e d g e g r o w s in extent a n d richness only t h r o u g h s p e c i a l i z a t i o n . N a t u r e herself is a specialized m a t t e r . S h e d o e s things by p r o d u c i n g differences, individuals, v a r i a t i o n s . T o g r a s p this v a r i e t y , a v a r i e t y of sciences is necessary. I n d e e d , a s A r i s t o t l e e s t i m a t e s the achievements of his p r e d e c e s s o r s , he finds the source of their c o n f u s i o n , inadequacy, a n d limitation t o lie in their habit of r e g a r d i n g each his own special science a s a sufficient account of the c o s m o s . W h a t they s a i d m a y h a v e been true under the restrictions which their limited field i m p o s e d u p o n their utter-

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ance; but it became false when it was t r a n s f e r r e d to other fields differently limited. Following his own illustrations we may say, f o r instance, that the Pythagoreans were quite right in trying to formulate the undoubted numerical relations which obtain in n a t u r e ; but they were quite wrong if they conceived arithmetic to be an adequate astronomy. T h e soul may be a harmony o f the body and thus capable o f numerical expression, but to think one has exhausted its nature by defining it as a moving number is to f o r g e t the natural limitations o f inquiry and to make a rhetorical phrase the substitute f o r scientific insight. W e may properly speak o f a sick soul as out o f tune, but we should not thereby become either psychologists or physicians. N o ; knowledge is a matter o f special sciences, each growing sanely as it clearly recognizes the particular and specialized aspect o f nature with which it deals, but becoming confused when it forgets that it is one o f many. Accordingly what we call the philosophy o f Aristotle is not a single science to be described by a picturesque or a provoking name, but a system o f sciences the members o f which should be related to one another in the way nature r a t h e r than desire permits. I f knowledge increases thus through limitation, restriction, and specialization, if science grows through the multiplication o f different sciences, must our final view o f nature reveal her as a parcelled and disjointed t h i n g ? I s the desire to say something about the universe as a whole which may none the less be true o f it, is t h a t desire without warrant, something utterly to be condemned? N o t , thought Aristotle, if that desire is checked and controlled by fact. W e should indeed err if we thought to attain unity through any artificial combination o f special truths, or by attempting so to reduce the diversity o f the sciences t h a t their individual differences should disappear. Y e t we may approach unity through the same method by which the special sciences gain their individual coherence and stability, t h a t is, by limitation and restriction o f field. All things somehow e x i s t ; and because they so obviously do, we can never lose sight o f the fact that existence itself is a problem irrespective o f the fact whether a particular existence is that o f a stone, a man, or a god. Particular existences may carry us at last to some exclusive and inalienable core o f

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individuality, hidden somewhere a n d possibly discoverable, but existence itself is possessed by nothing exclusively. I t is r a t h e r t h e common f e a t u r e of everything t h a t can be investigated, and as such is something t o be looked into. W h e t h e r such looking is f r u i t f u l is a question not to be prejudiced. T h e f r u i t f u l n e s s of the inquiry depends upon the discovery w h e t h e r existence as such has anything to reveal. W e thus r e t u r n to Aristotle's conception of a science of existence as existence, a specialized and restricted science, doing its own w o r k and n o t t h a t of the mathematician or the physicist or the biologist, o r of any o t h e r investigator, a science which should take its place in t h a t system of sciences the aim of which is to reveal t o us with growing clearness the w o r l d in which we live. I t was t h a t science which Andronicus of R h o d e s called " M e t a physics," baptizing it in the name of ambiguity, confusion, and idiosyncrasy. F o r me it would be a congenial task to devote the remainder of this lecture to a detailed exposition of the metaphysics of Aristotle. It would be the m o r e congenial, since the lect u r e r on history, by making the ancients our contemporaries, has saved enthusiasm f o r the Stagirite f r o m being condemned as a m e r e anachronism. T o call Aristotle, as D a n t e is supposed to have done, the master of them t h a t know, even if they know no less than others, is still a privilege in the twentieth century. A n d this privilege is the one ad hominem argument in justification of the study of metaphysics which I would venture to suggest to an audience already m a d e somewhat familiar with the inadequacies and limitations of human knowledge. A s the congenial, however, may not be the appropriate, I proceed to sketch the general bearings of metaphysics, pointing out how, beginning with analysis and description, it tends to become speculative, and to construct systems of metaphysics which aim at complete conceptions of t h e universe and have a certain relevancy to science, morals, and religion. T h e n I will indicate how metaphysics, influenced by m o d e r n idealistic speculation, became a r r o g a n t as a theory of knowledge, and how there are present signs of its r e t u r n to its ancient place as a science co-ordinated with the rest of knowledge. In concluding, I will consider how, with this re-

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turn, it finds a new interest in the interpretation of the process of evolution. Either because Aristotle developed his science of existence with so much skill or because the science is to be reckoned, as he reckoned it, among those intellectual performances which are excellent, its u n f o r t u n a t e name has never completely obscured its professed aims and restrictions. T o o often, indeed, metaphysics has been made the refuge of ignorance, and inquirers in other fields have been too ready to bestow upon it their own unsolved problems and inconsistencies. M a n y have thus been led to refuse discussion of certain difficulties f o r the reason that they are metaphysical, a reason which may indicate that one is tired r a t h e r than that one is wise. It has even been suggested t h a t so long as problems are unsolved they are metaphysical. Even so, the study, on account of the comprehensiveness thus given to it, might advance itself, imposing and commanding, a g u a r a n t o r of intellectual modesty. Yet metaphysicians, as a rule, have not regarded their work as t h a t of salvation. T h e y have viewed their problems as the result of reflection r a t h e r than of emergency. And their reflection has ever seized upon the fact that nature's great and manifold diversities do, none the less, in spite of that diversity, consent to exist together in some sort of union, and that, consequently, some understanding of that unity is a thing to attempt. Metaphysics, therefore, may still adopt the definition and limitations set f o r it by Aristotle. W e may, indeed, define it in other terms, calling it, f o r instance, the science of reality, but our altered words still point out that metaphysical interest is in the world as a world of connected things, a world with a general character in addition to those specific characters which give it its variety and make many sciences necessary f o r its comprehension. T h e term "reality," however, is intellectually agile. It tends to play tricks with one's prejudices and to lead desire on a merry chase. For to denominate anything real is usually to import a distinction, and to consign, thereby, something else to the region of appearance. Could we keep the region of appearance f r o m becoming populated, it might remain nothing more than the natural negative implication of a region of

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positive interest. But reality, once a king, m a k e s many exiles w h o crave and seek citizenship in the land f r o m which they have been banished. T h e t e r m "reality," t h e r e f o r e , should inspire caution instead of confidence in metaphysics—a lesson which history has abundantly illustrated, but which m a n is slow to learn. C o n t r a s t those imposing p r o d u c t s of human fancy which we call materialism and idealism, each relegating the o t h e r to the region of appearance, and w h a t are they at b o t t o m but an exalted prejudice f o r m a t t e r and an exalted prejudice f o r m i n d ? A n d h a d not their conflict been spectacular, as armies with banners, w h a t a pitiable spectacle it would have presented, since a child's first t h o u g h t destroys the one, and every smallest grain of sand the o t h e r ? N o ; everything is somehow r e a l ; and to make distinctions within t h a t realm d e m a n d s caution and hesitation. T h u s it is t h a t the concept of reality has become an imp o r t a n t theme in a g r e a t p a r t of metaphysical inquiry, and t h a t a keen appreciation of its varieties is essential to the historian of metaphysics. T h a t science has been t h o u g h t to suffer f r o m a too close scrutiny into the idiosyncrasies of its p a s t ; but being somewhat ancient and robust, and, withal, decidedly human, it may consult the reflection t h a t m o r e youthful sciences have not always walked in wisdom's path, a n d so bear its own exposure with some consequent consolation. Yet w h a t it has to reveal in the light of the shifting concept of reality is significant indeed. F o r we have come to learn t h a t to call anything real exclusively, is to imply a preference, and t h a t preference is largely a m a t t e r of the time in which it is born. I t reflects an age, an occasion, a society, a m o r a l , intellectual, or economic condition. It does not reflect an absolute position which knows no wavering. F o r me, just now, metaphysics is the most real thing imaginable, m o r e real t h a n chemistry or the stock exchange. In displaying some enthusiasm f o r it, I care not if the elements revert to ether or how the m a r k e t goes. T o be invited just now to consider the periodic law or the latest m a r k e t quotations would irritate me. An altered situation would find me, doubtless, possessed of an altered preference, indifferent no longer to another science or

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to the Street. So much does occasion determine preference, and p r e f e r e n c e reality. T h e historical oppositions in metaphysics present them selves, t h e r e f o r e , not as a mass of conflicting and contradictory opinions about the absolutely real, but as a too exclusive championship of w h a t their exponents have believed to be most i m p o r t a n t f o r their times. In such metaphysicians the enthusiasm of the p r o p h e t has o u t r u n the disinterestedness of the scientist. W e may describe t h e m as men of restricted vision, but we m a y not, t h e r e f o r e , conclude that their vision was n o t acute. P l a t o was not an idle d r e a m e r , assigning to unreality the bed on which you sleep in o r d e r t h a t he might convince you t h a t the only genuinely real bed is the archetype in the mind of G o d , the ideal bed of which all others are shadows. U n d o u b t e d l y he converses thus about beds in his Republic, but he does not advise you, as a consequence, to go to sleep in heaven. H e tells you, r a t h e r , t h a t justice is a social m a t t e r which you can never adequately administer so long as your attention is fixed solely on individual concerns. You must seek to g r a s p justice as a principle, in the light of which the different p a r t s of the body politic may find their most f r u i t f u l interplay and co-ordination. H i s metaphysics of the ideal was born of A t h e n s ' need, but his dialogues remain instructive reading f o r the m o d e r n m a n . W e may confound him by pointing out the obvious fact t h a t men, not principles, make society, and yet accept his teaching t h a t men without principles make a bad society, exalting principles thus to the position of the eminently real. Similarly, he w h o reads Fichte's Science of Knowledge should not f o r g e t t h a t Fichte spoke to the G e r m a n people, calling them a nation. A n d the response he met must have seemed, in his eyes, no small justification of his view that reality is essentially a self-imposed m o r a l task. And Spencer, influenced by social and economic reorganization and consolidation, could force the universe into a f o r m u l a and think t h a t he h a d said the final w o r d about reality. T h u s any exclusive conception of reality is rendered g r e a t , not by its finality f o r all times, but by its historical appropriateness. Such questions, t h e r e f o r e , as, W h a t is r e a l ? Is there any

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reality at a l l ? Is not everything illusion, or at least part of everything? and such statements as, Only the good is real, Only matter is real, Only mind is real, Only energy is real, are questions and statements to be asked and made only by persons with a mission. F o r reality means either everything whatsoever or that a distinction has been made, a distinction which indicates not a difference in the fact of existence, but a difference in point of view, in value, in preference, in relative importance f o r some desire or choice. Y e t it is doubtless the business of metaphysics to undertake an examination and definition of the different points of view f r o m which those questions can be asked and those statements made. Indeed, that undertaking may well be regarded as one of the most important in metaphysics. T h e outcome of it is not a superficial doctrine of the relativity of the real, with the accompanying advice that each of us select his own reality and act accordingly. N o r is it the doctrine that since nothing or everything is absolutely real, there is no solid basis f o r conduct and no abiding hope f o r man. T h a t individualism which is willful and that kind of agnosticism which is not intellectual reserve, but which is intellectual complacency, have no warrant in metaphysics. On the contrary, the doctrine of metaphysics is much more obvious and much more sane. It is that existence, taken comprehensively, is an affair of distinctions; that existence is shot through and through with variety. But this is not all. Metaphysics discovers in the f a c t of variety a reason f o r the world's onward movement. F o r a world without variety would be a world eternally still, unchanged and unchanging through all the stretches of time. W e might endow such a world with unlimited power, capable, if once aroused, of a marvelous reaction; but unless there existed somewhere within it a difference, no tremor of excitement would ever disturb its endless slumber. A l l the sciences teach this doctrine. E v e n logic and mathematics, the most static of them all, require variables, if their formulations are to have any significance or application. Knowledge thus reflects the basal structure of things. A n d in this fact that differences are fundamental in the constitution of our world, we discover the reason why all those systems of metaphysics eventually fail

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which attempt to reduce all existence to a single type of reality devoid of variety in its internal make-up. T h e variety in our w o r l d involves a f u r t h e r doctrine. W h i l e all varieties as such a r e equally r e a l , they a r e not all equally effective. T h e y m a k e different sorts of differences, and introduce, thereby, intensive and qualitative distinctions. T h e onw a r d movement of the w o r l d is thus, not simply successive change, but a genuine development o r evolution. I t creates a past the contents of which must f o r e v e r remain w h a t they were, but it p r o p o s e s a f u t u r e w h e r e v a r i e t y m a y still exercise its difference-making function. A n d that is w h y w e human beings, acting our p a r t in some cosmic comedy or t r a g e d y , m a y not be indifferent to our p e r f o r m a n c e or to the p r e f e r e n c e s w e exalt. T h e future m a k e s us all r e f o r m e r s , inviting us to meddle with the w o r l d , to use it and change it f o r our ends. T h e invitation is genuine and m a d e in g o o d f a i t h , f o r all man's f o l l y is not yet sufficient to p r o v e it insincere. T h a t is w h y it has been easy to believe that G o d once said to m a n : " B e f r u i t f u l and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and h a v e dominion o v e r the fish of the sea, and o v e r the f o w l of the air, and over every living thing that m o v e t h upon the e a r t h . " T h a t is why, also, w i l l f u l individualism and complacent agnosticism have no w a r r a n t in metaphysics. Since all things are equally real, but all not equally i m p o r t a n t , the w o r l d ' s evolution presents itself as a d r i f t t o w a r d s results, as something p u r p o s e f u l and intended. W h i l e we m a y not invoke design to explain this relative importance of things, the w o r l d ' s trend puts us under the natural obligation of discovering how it m a y be controlled, and e n f o r c e s the obligation with obvious penalties. T h u s willfulness receives natural punishment and the universe never accepts ignorance as an excuse. It seems difficult, t h e r e f o r e , not to describe evolution as a m o r a l process. B y that I do not mean that nature is especially c a r e f u l about the kinds of things she does o r that she is true and just in all her dealings. B u t evolution is movement controlled by the r e l a t i v e importance of things. W e consequently find such terms as " s t r u g g l e , " " s u r v i v a l , " " a d a p t a t i o n , " useful in the description of it. A n d although these terms may appear more a p p r o p r i a t e to the development of living

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things t h a n to t h a t of inorganic nature, we m a y not o v e r l o o k the fact t h a t the physical w o r l d also begets varieties a n d has its character determined by their relative importance. T h u s it is t h a t the metaphysical doctrine of final causes, a p p e a r s to be fundamentally sound. It is easy to r e n d e r it ridiculous by supposing t h a t things were once m a d e on p u r p o s e to exhibit the f e a t u r e s and m a n n e r s of action which we now discover in them, or by conceiving a d a p t a t i o n as an efficient cause of events, as if the fact t h a t we see were the reason why we have eyes. So conceived the doctrine of final causes is justly condemned. On the o t h e r hand, however, how superficial is the opinion t h a t in n a t u r e there is entire indifference to results, and t h a t there a r e no n a t u r a l g o o d s ! T o d a y is not simply yesterday r e a r r a n g e d or twenty-four h o u r s a d d e d to a capricious t i m e ; it is yesterday reorganized, with yesterday's results carried on and intensified. So that we m i g h t say t h a t nature, having accidentally discovered t h a t the distinction between light and darkness is a n a t u r a l good, stuck to the business of m a k i n g eyes. W e should thus express a n a t u r a l t r u t h , but should not thereby f r e e ourselves f r o m the obligation of discovering how nature h a d achieved so n o t e w o r t h y a result. T h a t obligation the doctrine of final causes most evidently does not discharge, because final causes have never been f o u n d adequate to reveal the m e t h o d of nature's working. Again and again, some investigator, impressed by the undoubted fact of n a t u r e ' s continuity, by her carefulness of the type, by her preservation of forms, by t h a t character of hers which we can properly describe only by calling it p r e f e r e n t i a l or m o r a l , impressed by these things he has attempted to turn them into efficient causes, f a c t o r s operative in the mechanism of the world. A n d he has repeatedly failed. It is, consequently, not prejudice which leads many students of nature's processes to insist t h a t these are ultimately w h a t we call mechanical. I t is metaphysical insight. Yet that insight may readily d e g e n e r a t e into the most superficial philosophy, if it leads us to f o r g e t t h a t mechanism is the means by which the ends of n a t u r e are reached. F o r n a t u r e undoubtedly exists f o r w h a t she accomplishes, and it is that f a c t which gives to mechanism its relevancy, its importance, a n d its high value. T h u s metaphysics,

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true to its early f o r m u l a t i o n s , finds the w o r l d to be both mechanical and teleological, both a quantitative relation of p a r t s and a q u a l i t a t i v e r e a l i z a t i o n o f g o o d s . Some indication that this finding is correct m a y be d i s c o v e r e d in our instinctive recognition t h a t nature is a p p r o p r i a t e l y described both in the f o r m u l a t i o n s o f science and in the expressions of p o e t r y . M e t a p h y s i c a l analysis tends thus to disclose existence as a process m o t i v e d by the v a r i e t y o f its f a c t o r s , as an evolution c h a r a c t e r i z e d , not by indifference, but by selection based on the relative i m p o r t a n c e of its f a c t o r s f o r the maintenance of natural g o o d s , as a d e v e l o p m e n t executed t h r o u g h an elaborate mechanism. It is natural that metaphysics should become speculative and a t t e m p t the construction o f a system o f things w h e r e i n its o b v i o u s disclosures m a y be envisaged with coherence and simplicity, and thus be r a t i o n a l l y c o m p r e h e n d e d and explained. It is in such attempts t h a t metaphysics has historically scored its g r e a t e s t successes and its g r e a t e s t failures. T h e lesson to be d e r i v e d f r o m a survey o f t h e m is, doubtless, one of g r a v e caution, but it w o u l d be idle to affirm that w e h a v e seen the last o f g r e a t systems o f metaphysics. D e m o c r i t u s , Plato, Aristotle, Bruno, Descartes, Hobbes, Spinoza, Newton, L e i b n i z , B e r k e l e y , K a n t , L a p l a c e , H e g e l , S p e n c e r — t o mention only the g r e a t e s t n a m e s — e a c h has h a d his system o f the w o r l d which still h a s p o w e r to affect the t h o u g h t and lives of men. System is b e l o v e d of m a n ' s imagination and his mind is restless in the presence of unconnected and unsupported details. H e will see things sub specie aternitatis even while time counts out his sands of life. It is a habit begotten of nature, to be neither justified nor condemned. It w o u l d be absurd, consequently, to r e g a r d any system o f metaphysics as absolutely true, but it w o u l d be m o r e absurd to r e f u s e to make one on t h a t account. F o r such systems constitute the supreme att e m p t s of intelligence at integration. T h e y propose to tell us w h a t our w o r l d w o u l d be like if our present restricted k n o w l e d g e w e r e a d e q u a t e f o r its complete exposition. T h e y a r e not, t h e r e f o r e , to be a b a n d o n e d because they are a l w a y s inadequate, incomplete, and p r o v i s i o n a l ; they are rather to be pursued, because, w h e n constructed by the wise, they are al-

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ways ennobling and minister faithfully to the freedom of the mind. Protests against metaphysical systems are, consequently, apt to be proofs of an impatient temper r a t h e r than of sound judgment. Yet such systems often grow arrogant, and become, thereby, objects of justified suspicion. Being the crowning enterprise of intelligence, to be worn, one might say, as an indication of a certain nobility of mind, they f o r f e i t the claim to be thus highly regarded if they are made the essential preliminaries of wisdom. Yet the too eager and the too stupid have often claimed that the only possible foundation f o r the truth and value of science, and the only possible w a r r a n t f o r morality and human aspiration, are to be found in a system of metaphysics. If such a claim meant only t h a t with a perfect system, could we attain it, would riddles all be solved and life's darkness made supremely clear, it would express an obvious truth. But made with the intent of laying metaphysics down as the foundation of science, of morality, and of religion, it is obviously false and iniquitous. In our enthusiasm we may indeed speak of metaphysics as the queen of all the sciences, but she can wear the title only if her behavior is queenly; she forfeits it when, ceasing to reign, she stoops to rule. Yet there is justice in the notion that metaphysics, especially in its systematic shape, should contribute to the value of science, and be a source of moral and religious enlightenment. Its greatest ally is logic. In the systematic attempt to reduce to order the business of getting and evaluating knowledge, in distinguishing f r u i t f u l f r o m fruitless methods, and, above all, in attempting to disclose the sort of conquest knowledge makes over the world, the aims and achievements of science should become better appreciated and understood. It is still true, as Heraclitus of old remarked, that much information does not make a man wise, but wisdom is intelligent understanding. T h e disclosures of metaphysics are equally significant f o r ethics. T h e great systems have usually eventuated in a theory of morals. And this is natural. Metaphysics, disclosing the fact that behavior is a primary feature of things, raises inevitably the question of how to behave effectively and well. Emphasizing the relative importance of the factors of evolu-

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tion, it encourages the repeated valuation of human goods. I t can m a k e no m a n m o r a l , nor give him a rule to guide him infallibly in his choices and a c t s ; but it can impress upon him the f a c t that he is under a supreme obligation, that of living a life controlled, not by passion, but by reason, and of making his k n o w l e d g e contribute to the well-being of society. It will still preach its ancient m o r a l lesson, that, since with intelligence has arisen some comprehension of the w o r l d , the w o r l d is best improved, not by passions or by parties, not by governments or by sects, but by the persistent operation of intelligence itself. A f t e r a somewhat similar manner, metaphysics in its systematic character has significance f o r theology. T o speak of existence as a riddle is natural, because so much of its import can be only guessed. T h a t it has import most men suspect, and that this import is due to superior beings or powers is the conviction of those w h o are religious. M e t a p h y s i c s is seldom indifferent to such suspicions and convictions. A s it has a lively sense of the unity of things, it is led to seek ultimate reasons f o r the w o r l d ' s stability. A n d as it deals with such conceptions as " t h e infinite" and " t h e a b s o l u t e , " it has a certain linguistic sympathy with f a i t h . Consequently, while it has never made a religion, it has been used as an a p o l o g y f o r many. T h i s f a c t witnesses, no doubt, more p r o f o u n d l y to the adaptability of metaphysics than it does to the finality of the ideas it has been used to sustain. Y e t metaphysics, tending to keep men ever close to the sources of life, f o s t e r s a whole-hearted acceptance of l i f e ' s responsibilities and duties. It is thus the friend of natural piety. A n d in superimposing upon piety systematic reflection on w h a t we call the divine, it f o l l o w s a natural instinct, and seeks to round out man's conception of the universe as the source of his being, the place of his sojourning, the begettor of his impulses and his hopes, and the final treasury of what he has been and accomplished. Such, then, are the general nature and scope of metaphysical inquiry. W i t h A r i s t o t l e we m a y define metaphysics as the science of existence and distinguish it f r o m other departments of knowledge by its generality and its lack of attention to those specific f e a t u r e s of existence which m a k e many

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sciences an intellectual necessity. Existence, considered generally, presents itself as an affair of connected varieties and, consequently, as an o n w a r d movement. Because the varieties have not all the same efficacy, the movement presents those selective and m o r a l characters which we ascribe to a development or evolution. W h i l e the efficient causes of this evolution a p p e a r to be mechanical, the mechanism results in the production of n a t u r a l goods, and thus justifies a doctrine of final causes. U p o n such considerations metaphysics may superimpose speculative reflection, and a t t e m p t to attain a unified system of the world. It may also a t t e m p t to evaluate science in terms of logical theory, to enlarge morality t h r o u g h a theory of ethics, and to interpret n a t u r a l piety and religion in t e r m s of theological conceptions. Metaphysics proposes thus both an analysis and a theory of existence; it is descriptive and it is systematic. If metaphysicians o f t e n f o r g e t t h a t theory is not analysis, t h a t system is not description, it is not because they are metaphysicians, but because they arc human. F o r my p a r t , t h e r e f o r e , I do not see why they should not be allowed to entertain at least as many absurdities as the average reflective inquirer. G r e a t e r indulgence is neither desired nor necessary. A n d while metaphysicians may be h a r d to understand, they do not like to be misunderstood. So I emphasize again the fact t h a t it appears to be the greatest abuse of metaphysical theories to use them to justify n a t u r a l excellence or to condone n a t u r a l folly..It is their business to help to clarify existence. I t is not their business to constitute an apology f o r our prejudices or f o r our desires. In r e g a r d i n g metaphysics as the outcome of reflection on existence in general, and, consequently, as a d e p a r t m e n t of n a t u r a l knowledge, I have supposed t h a t intelligent persons could u n d e r t a k e such reflection and accomplish something of interest and consequence, by following the ordinary experimental methods of observation and tested generalization. I have stated t h a t the contrast between metaphysics and o t h e r d e p a r t m e n t s of knowledge arises f r o m its emphasis on generalities and their emphasis on particulars. In doing all this I have followed ancient tradition. But much of modern philosophy has emphatically declared that such an attitude is de-

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cidedly t o o naive. Keenly alive t o the fact, which it credits itself with discovering, the fact, namely, t h a t the w o r l d into which we inquire exists f o r us only as the mind's object, t h a t philosophy has insisted t h a t the mind is central in the universe, and t h a t the n a t u r e and laws of mind are, t h e r e f o r e , t h e determining f a c t o r s in the structure of the world we know. Of this view K a n t was the g r e a t systematic expounder. I t was he w h o t a u g h t t h a t space and time are but the f o r m s of sense perception. It was he who declared that the basal principles of physics are but derivatives of the principles of the mind. I t was he w h o affirmed t h a t by virtue of our understanding we do not discover the laws of nature, but impose them. H e consequently drew the conclusion t h a t we know only the appearances of things connected according to t h e laws of the mind, but never the things themselves connected according to their own laws. T h e m o r a l he d r e w pointed in the direction of intellectual modesty and an enlightened reliance on experience. But to make nature nothing but a collection of appearances in the mind, united according to the supposed necessities of thought, is really to discourage experience and bid imagination riot. F o r in the critical philosophy of K a n t we have suggested a science which is higher than the sciences, a set of principles upon which they depend, and f r o m which might possibly be deduced by the mere operation of t h o u g h t all t h a t is essential to their content. W e have also suggested a m e t h o d of inquiry which is no longer based on experimental observation and generalization, but which is controlled byprinciples supposed to be purely a priori, and thus m o r e f u n d a mental t h a n experience itself. Metaphysics, by entering t h a t supposed region of purer insight, cut itself off f r o m all h e l p f u l competition and co-ordination with the rest of knowledge. I t begot those great systems of idealistic philosophy which P r o fessor Santayana has characterized as "visionary insolence." I t produced t h a t lamentable conflict between science and metaphysics which was so characteristic of the last century. N o d e p a r t m e n t of knowledge can thrive in isolation. If metaphysics, by a r r o g a t i n g to itself supremacy, tended to become visionary, the sciences also, despising metaphysical insight, tended to become disorganized and illiberal.

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H a p p i l y in o u r own day t h e r e a r e m a n y signs t h a t t h i s unf o r t u n a t e antithesis b e t w e e n science and m e t a p h y s i c s is disapp e a r i n g . M e t a p h y s i c s itself, by a s o r t o f inner e v o l u t i o n , h a s been w o r k i n g out t o a m o r e o b j e c t i v e view o f things. O n t h e o t h e r hand, t h e sciences, t h r o u g h t h e i r o w n e x t e n s i o n , h a v e c o m e upon unsuspected g e n e r a l i t i e s and c o - o r d i n a t i o n s . A b o v e all, t h e principle o f evolution, which w a s e a r l y r e c o g n i z e d in m e t a p h y s i c a l t h e o r i e s , has s e r v e d , by its g e n e r a l r e c o g n i t i o n in all d e p a r t m e n t s o f k n o w l e d g e , t o r e s t o r e unity a m o n g t h e sciences. I t h a s f o r c e d idealism t o r e c o g n i z e t h a t even intelligence, t h e m i n d itself, h a s h a d a n a t u r a l h i s t o r y . M e t a physics is thus leaving its position o f i s o l a t i o n , a n d r e t u r n i n g t o its ancient p l a c e as a science c o - o r d i n a t e d with t h e r e s t o f knowledge. B u t it r e t u r n s n o t w i t h o u t modification a n d not w i t h o u t its own i n t e r e s t in e v o l u t i o n a r y t h e o r y . I t will still, as o f old, seek t o discover the b a s a l types o f existence a n d t h e i r g e n e r a l m o d e s o f o p e r a t i o n . I t will still ask, W h a t c a n we say o f existence as a w h o l e which is t r u e o f i t ? B u t it has l e a r n e d f r o m idealism t h a t while it m a y view intelligence as t h e ins t r u m e n t o f k n o w l e d g e , it m a y n o t hope t o u n d e r s t a n d n a t u r e as a process if t h e place o f intelligence in t h a t p r o c e s s is disr e g a r d e d . F o r t o r e c o n s t r u c t in t h o u g h t t h e w o r l d ' s v a n i s h e d p a s t and t o f o r e c a s t its possible future is t o give t o intelligence a certain baffling and p e r p l e x i n g i m p o r t a n c e in t h e s c h e m e o f things. In a t t a c k i n g this p r o b l e m o f the p l a c e o f intelligence in an evolving w o r l d , m e t a p h y s i c s may n o t , h o w e v e r , b o a s t t h a t it has a m e t h o d peculiarly its own. I t m a y not h o p e t o c o n t r o l the inquiry by principles supposed t o be derived f r o m pure r e a s o n a n d thus t o h a v e a h i g h e r w a r r a n t t h a n the principles e m p l o y e d in o t h e r sciences. F o r m e t a p h y s i c s has c o m e t o believe in t h e evolution o f intelligence b e c a u s e it has been so t a u g h t by t h e m e t h o d o f e x p e r i m e n t a l i n v e s t i g a t i o n . I t can n o t , t h e r e f o r e , discredit t h a t m e t h o d w i t h o u t discrediting its own b e l i e f . W e m a y , indeed, be at first b e w i l d e r e d by the f a c t t h a t t h e w o r l d in which intelligence h a s evolved is t h e w o r l d which intelligence h a s d i s c o v e r e d ; but if we accept the discovery, wc d o but r e c o g n i z e in intelligence a n a t u r a l g o o d w h o s e use and final cause is t o m a k e us s o m e w h a t a c q u a i n t e d with our dwell-

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ing-place. T h e world thus exists as just what we have discovered it to be, the place in which intelligence has dawned and led to a knowledge o f the process in which such a great event has happened. It is natural, t h e r e f o r e , to claim that in reflecting on our world we may largely disregard the fact that we reflect. Realizing that in him has arisen intelligence, knowledge, understanding of the world, as the stoutest weapon in his life's w a r f a r e , man realizes that his weapon is f o r use r a t h e r than f o r scrutiny. I t s excellence is to be tested by the territory won, and not by inquisitive feeling o f the sharpness o f the blade—especially when that blade sharpens only with its conquering use. T h u s , as I say, we may largely disregard the f a c t that we reflect. By so doing, the world grows to clearness as the thing reflected on. I t s laws and processes take shape in useful formulas. It is thus that the sciences advance to their great contributions. And why not, then, metaphysics? W h y should we rather hope that by making the mind itself exclusively the object o f our study, an added clearness will be given to the scheme o f things? But we can never wholly disregard the fact that we reflect, because the dawn of intelligence in the world is an event o f too great interest to be accepted merely as a matter o f record. I f we are warranted in regarding it as a natural good whose use is to acquaint us with the world, we are, doubtless, also warranted in regarding it as the situation in which the world's evolution is most clearly and effectively revealed. I f , now, we interpret this situation as differing from all others only by the fact that in it we have immediate knowledge o f what it is to be an evolution, we attain a suggestive basis for generalization. F r o m it we find little warrant to conclude that the present is simply the unfolding o f a past, possibly o f a very remote past, or that the future is simply the present unfolded. Evolution appears to be a process o f a totally different sort. I t appears to be always and eternally the unfolding o f an effective present. Behind it, it leaves the past as the record o f what it has done, the totality o f things accomplished, but not the promise and potency o f things to be. I t is a dead past. A s such it may be conditioning; but it is not effective, because it is accomplished. T o the present alone belong the riches o f potentiality and spontaneity; to it alone belongs efficiency. W e are,

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thus, under no obligation to seek in endless regress through the past the source of the world's becoming or the secret of its variety and human interest. If such an interpretation of evolution is warranted, that process may indeed be described as having purpose. Only we may not understand by purpose some anciently conceived plan which the world was intended to follow. W e should not invoke foresight, but should recognize historical continuity. F o r when we have a process going on in such a manner that the present of it is continually t r a n s f o r m i n g itself into the record of what it has done, writing, as it were, a cosmic history, then, surely, we have a purpose. Such a process can be comprehended only as one having meaning and significance. Its factors are bound together not only as cause and effect, but also as means and end. Shed intelligence upon any of its events, and the question, W h y ? will leap into being with its insistent demands. T h e question sends us searching through the records of the past and the promise of the f u t u r e in order that the event may be estimated at its proper value. Only by such searching may we hope to discover what the world's purpose is. W e may call it, in one word, achievement. And I must believe, just because achievement is wrought through an effective present, that the world, as it passes f r o m moment to moment of its existence, carries ever with it perennial sources of outlook and novelty. And I must believe, too, that just in proportion as we free ourselves f r o m the desperate notion that somewhere and somehow hope and outlook have been, once for all, fixed unalterably for the world's future, we shall then find in our union with nature a source of genuine enthusiasm. Yes, we can not wholly disregard the fact that we reflect. W e must note t h a t the knowledge of the evolution of intelligence is itself a product of intelligence. T h u s taking note, we may discover in the evolution of intelligence, not only the world grown to the highest point of varied and efficient action that we know, but evolution itself disclosed f o r what it is in its essential nature. I t is the ceaseless unfolding of an effective present which carries with it the sources of w h a t it achieves, and whose achievements have the value they disclose as discovered factors in the universal history of the world.

N A T U R A L

T E L E O L O G Y *

THE operations of nature do not appear to be aimless changes. They issue in specific products the history of which can be traced and construed as the adaptation of means to ends. It is, doubtless, this aspect of nature as the producer of definite and particular results which, more than any other, profoundly stirs the imagination and provokes scientific curiosity. From of old the coming into being of things in an ordered world and their passing away has been the theme of both poet and scholar. Reflection, after it has endured disappointment and sophistication, may come to view nature with eyes less fascinated by her productivity, seeing in her nothing but an aimless and ceaseless rearrangement of elements to which chance or a human prejudice in favor of final causes imparts the illusory appearance of direction; but such is not the spontaneous vision of things. There they are, constituting the great whole we call nature, each of them with its individual history culminating through many helps and hindrances in the present product. Illustrations are so abundant that choice is baffled in selecting the most appropriate. For while living things may at first appear to be more evidently the products of directive and selective forces, inanimate nature itself—the plain with mountains about it, the river with its course motived by the character of the land through which it flows—exhibits likewise the adaptation of means to ends. And the adaptations are admirable, well-calculated, the more they are analyzed, to produce the specific results which eventuate. Thus we come to think that we have explained the origin of anything when we are able to view it as the kind of result we should expect from the operation of the factors which have produced it. But this means, of course, that these factors serve. They aid and abet the outcome in definite ways and will produce it if no obstacles • I n Essays in Modern Theology and Related Subjects: T h e B r i g g s Commemorative Volume. N e w Y o r k , Scribners, 1 9 1 1 , pp. 307-326.

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of sufficient contrary influence t h w a r t their n a t u r a l productivity. T h u s individual existence a p p e a r s to be the outcome of the success of processes which help t o w a r d the realization of some specific end over those t h a t hinder this realization. N a t u r e is a domain, not of chaotic changes, hut of definite, teleological changes pointing to particular results. In o t h e r words, in view of nature's productivity, there are helps and hindrances; things and the elements of things have specific uses. Philosophy has not always been content t o take this fact of specific usefulness as metaphysical, something to be set down as of the n a t u r e of things. E x p l a n a t i o n has been sought of it and the question asked. W h y do things have their uses, and, indeed, their specific uses? In asking this question philosophy h a s been stimulated by an analogy which has o f t e n p r o v e d of striking value, the analogy between n a t u r e and a r t . F o r art, like nature, produces. Its procedure is an a d a p t a t i o n of means t o ends. N o w a r t is controllable and its m a n n e r of o p e r a t i n g is measurably obvious, while n a t u r e is stubborn and obscure. T h e building of a house is a comparatively simple process f o r analysis, but the factors which combine to produce a s t a r require long searching f o r their discovery. T o pass f r o m a r t to nature thus affords knowledge the desired opportunity of passing f r o m the better to the less known. Science has ever availed itself of this opportunity and by so d o i n g has o f t e n attained its most signal achievements. T h e analogy between nature and a r t captivates the imagination also and has been no mean instrument in the poet's hands. A n d it has an obvious b e a r i n g on the problem of use. Its record in this respect has, however, been unsatisfactory. Instead of leading to accepted and intelligible opinion, it has led to bitter controversy. Instead of clarifying use, it has, m o r e o f t e n , obscured and mystified use. Its procedure is reviewed here, not f o r the idle purpose of fighting old battles over again, but in the hope of securing f r e s h emphasis upon the obvious, but o f t e n neglected, fact t h a t teleology is n a t u r a l ; t h a t use is something on which to build, not something requiring explanation; t h a t it is a d a t u m in metaphysics.

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I A r t , when consciously productive, evidently intends its products to be useful. A house is m a d e f o r shelter, clothing f o r protection or a d o r n m e n t , pictures to delight the sense. T h e skill of the artist is m e a s u r e d by the success with which he makes his materials serve his chosen end. T h e finality of a r t appears, thus, to be an imparted and intended finality. So we find a ready explanation of the usefulness of the things man makes in the intention or design with which he makes them. Asking why the loom so successfully weaves the coloured fabric, we get the answer, it was m a d e in o r d e r that it might do precisely the thing which we admire. F u r t h e r m o r e our admiration of the product passes over into even g r e a t e r admiration of the skill which could contrive a machine so useful. T h u s in the products of a r t we seem to have instances where the explanation of use is obvious. T h e ease of the explanation readily begets a habit of thinking about use generally, leading us to r e g a r d all uses as designed f o r the ends they serve. Since the hand is so useful f o r grasping it may be t h o u g h t of as m a d e in o r d e r to g r a s p . Since the adaptations of nature grow more w o n d e r f u l the m o r e they are perceived, n a t u r e may be t h o u g h t of as directed by a skill commensurate with such wonder. T h e analogy between nature and a r t thus easily constituted is reinforced by h u m a n necessities. F o r m a n needs the useful in o r d e r t h a t he may live long and well. H i s life is a struggle f o r help. N a t u r e , too, appears to struggle and its products, like man himself, fail if help is not attained. Indeed, so p r o f o u n d l y may this analogy between nature and a r t affect the mind, t h a t it becomes incredible t h a t the uses of nature have any other explanation than in a power g r e a t enough and intelligent enough t o contrive their m a n i f o l d adaptations. T h u s philosophy is led t o explain natural use by design and to see in the varied a d a p t a t i o n s of means to ends in nature proof of intelligent direction. N a t u r e becomes thus a work of art. If this explanation of the uses of things, this thinking of nat u r e as somehow a w o r k of a r t with its a d a p t a t i o n s admirably contrived, does not settle down into an unquestioned faith, it suffers in its satisfactoriness f r o m f u r t h e r reflection. F o r no

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w o r k of m a n ' s a r t is so perverse as nature. T h e spider and the fly have afforded a favourite illustration of this. H o w admirably a d a p t e d is t h e spider's web f o r catching flies! But shall we also say, H o w admirably are flies a d a p t e d to be c a u g h t ! Such a summer's day illustration may p r o v o k e a smile at the ease with which philosophy may embrace a hasty conclusion. T h e t r a g e d i e s of life, however, the tragedies which arise out of these same a d a p t a t i o n s which we have been asked to admire, p r o v o k e a m a z e m e n t and leave the mind bewildered. Expected h a r v e s t s blighted in a night, lives of promise lost t h r o u g h no discoverable fault, even the kindnesses of men t u r n e d to cruelty when blame can be lodged at no one's d o o r — these and a multitude of similar instances make nature as a w o r k of a r t irrational and perverse. Indeed, if philosophy has f o u n d it easy to accept the a d a p t a t i o n s of n a t u r e as evidence of intelligent contrivance, it has also found it easy to tear that evidence to shreds. Count only the gains, the seed breaking upw a r d t o w a r d s the life-engendering sun, and the inference to design looks easy; but count the losses also, the f r o s t t h a t kills b e f o r e the blossom, and the inference is h a r d . If, when all is considered, belief in design still lingers, it is belief in a design the purposes of which are past finding out, and clearness of philosophical vision gives place to p r o f o u n d bewilderment. N a t u r e , as a w o r k of art, becomes, thus, an inscrutable mystery. T h e r e are o t h e r considerations besides n a t u r e ' s perversity which disturb the opinion t h a t use may be explained by intelligent design. T h e analogy between nature and a r t may be preserved while the inference to intelligent direction is abandoned. F o r the products of a r t o f t e n turn out to have uses which the artist neither intended nor suspected. In breaking stones, m a n discovered fire. In trying to m a k e gold, he f o u n d what gold could never buy. But there is no need of striking illustrations, f o r accidental a d v a n t a g e is one of the commonest a t t e n d a n t s of directed activity. N o w this fact may be generalized as well as t h a t of intelligent direction, and use be, consequently, explained as an accident, as something which attaches to things not by design or f o r any ascertainable reason, but, as we are wont to say, by chance. Incredible as such

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an explanation o f t e n appears when first proposed, it grows in credibility as it is steadily contemplated. F o r , contradictory as it may seem, the appeal to chance tends to become, when attention is focused on the thing that happens, an appeal to necessity. L o n g ago Democritus noted t h a t the orderly arrangement of the sand, the pebbles, and the stones upon a beach was not due to any designed selection, but was the necessary result of the coincidence of these things and the action of the waves. So, too, while the arrangement of plants in a garden may show the gardener's taste and skill, the distribution of vegetation about the shores of a lake, although no less remarkable in its arrangement, needs no g a r d e n e r f o r its explanation; f o r , again, the fact that w a t e r and soil have happened to meet there under certain natural conditions excludes any other explanation of the resulting o r d e r . And it has not been difficult to extend a similar explanation to the marvellous structures and functions of animals. Its apparent incredibility when so extended steadily diminishes with greater familiarity with the facts and with increased experimentation, until it becomes no longer easy—it may, indeed, become impossible—to think of nature as a work of a r t . Its uses and adaptations appear rather to be accidental, because they simply befall under the conditions which happen to exist in any given case. T h e y appear also to be necessary, because, given these conditions, no other results than the actual appear to have been possible. T h e explanation of use by design founded upon the analogy between nature and art finds thus a rival explanation in the contention that use is the outcome of chance and necessity, a rival founded upon the same analogy. T h e first is a generalization f r o m intended use and the second is a generalization f r o m unintended use. Yet the second has a certain superiority over the first. T h e perversity of nature, as we have seen, reduces the generalization of design to a mystery, making the purposes of nature inscrutable. But it is just this perversity which the contrasted generalization appears competent to explain. For, if there is no design in nature, but advantage and disadvantage fall out as the conditions happening at the time determine, perversity in nature is something to be expected.

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L i f e will be quickened under the sun's g r a t e f u l w a r m t h , but be destroyed by the sudden f r o s t . As n a t u r e works f o r no hoped f o r or expected results, its results are simply those t h a t happen. T h u s within the limits of their definitions, within the limits, t h a t is, set by the facts f r o m which they are generalizations, the inference to design is inferior to the inference to chance and necessity. Yet the conviction t h a t things must be as they are is a potent means of obscuring w h a t they are, and the appeal to chance is o f t e n only a device to end our curiosity. T o conclude, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t the teleology of nature has been explained, may not, a f t e r all, be an exhibition of wisdom. T h e r e lurks in the a r g u m e n t which, in contrast to the argument f r o m design, may be called the argument f r o m chance and necessity, an obscurity r e g a r d i n g w h a t it has really achieved which is seldom sufficiently emphasized. T h e argument is essentially negative. It insists that there is no valid reason f o r appealing to design in explaining the a d a p t a t i o n s of n a t u r e ; it points out t h a t these adaptations, when clearly seen, a p p e a r to be the n a t u r a l outcome of the conditions under which they arise; when applied to specific cases, it o f t e n succeeds in tracing admirably the history of the a d a p t a t i o n s involved. T h e s e are admitted services. But it may not claim that use has been explained, t h a t a world of useless things could by chance or by necessity become a world of useful things. Its most a r d e n t s u p p o r t e r s would hardly venture to make such a claim. Yet the suggestion of it serves to show the limits within which the a r g u m e n t moves. Chance, t h a t is, can operate to produce a d a p t a t i o n only under conditions where t h a t a d a p t a t i o n is already possible. A variation can turn out to be useful only in an environment where it has a possible use. I t would be quite profitless, f o r example, f o r an organism to develop eyes in a world where there was nothing to see. T h u s chance and necessity can o p e r a t e to secure a d a p t a t i o n only in a w o r l d where things have their specific uses, only in a w o r l d already essentially teleological. T h e uses and adaptations of n a t u r e remain, having lost nothing of their teleological character f r o m our efforts to explain them or to explain them away. N a t u r e may not be a work of art. I t may not

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be a work of chance. It is a domain of uses where chance and design may operate, but it is a domain of uses first. Still the analogy between nature and art may be preserved, but it should now be less ambitiously construed. A r t and nature both produce and their products are both useful and instances of the adaptation of means to ends. But in neither case is use itself something produced. N o t to be sufficiently conscious of this fact is to run the risk of confusing the analogy and indulging in unwarranted speculations. A r t makes useful things and may make them with or without intention, but it never makes things useful. T h a t fact alone renders the argument f r o m design or f r o m chance logically illegitimate. Since the sun's warmth is grateful, it may be thought of as graciously bestowed. L i f e would indeed be poor if such a sentiment were forbidden; but sentiment is not reason. It is one thing to call the sun gracious because its effects are grateful, but it is quite a different thing to regard these effects as evidence that the sun acts with a motive. Poetry and science are separated by that difference. It is imperative in science that evidence should be evidence, that the facts cited should be unequivocal in their import. But in the illustration it is clear that the sun's warmth would be grateful even if it were bestowed with malice or with no motive at all. T o be sure a generous g i f t implies a generous giver, but the thing given is not a g i f t because it has the quality of being generous. It is a g i f t f o r other reasons, and no connection is discoverable between these reasons and that quality which w a r r a n t s an inference f r o m the one to the other. So too with respect to use: if a thing is useful, it is useful irrespective of the causes which produced it, and no connection is discoverable between its use and its causes which warrants an inference f r o m the one to the other. It is not because it is a work of art that a watch is useful; and it is not because the adaptations in nature may be the work of chance that they are useful. T h e use of anything is, thus, no evidence whatever of the character of its origin. A thing may originate by a r t or it may originate by chance, but whether it is useful or not is not thereby determined. Since, therefore, there is no ascertained connection between use as use, on the one hand, and chance or design, on the other, the arguments

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which have been considered lack the kind of evidence required by science. Use is, accordingly, to be set down, not as a product of nature or of art, but as a factor in their productivity. A r t and nature are, therefore, alike in this, t h a t in their productions use is discovered and applied. II

T h e argument thus f a r pursued points to the conclusion t h a t use, when it exists, is not produced, but discovered, that, in the last analysis, it is an original property of whatever possesses it. Teleology is natural, something to build upon, not something to be explained. T h e r e is, as Aristotle insisted long ago, a final factor in every instance of production, and thus a final factor among the factors of evolution. But it may be urged that thus to regard use as natural is not to provide knowledge with a valuable category. It is the business of knowledge, one may claim, to study how things do and may go together. I t is causes and not uses which constitute the object of scientific research. T o look for them with an eye on use is to rob science of its disinterestedness. For use is detected only as means and ends are distinguished, while causes operate independent of such distinction. I f , therefore, it is affirmed that use is a factor in nature's processes, must it not also be affirmed t h a t nature distinguishes between means and ends? And does not this latter affirmation imply that nature, a f t e r all, operates intelligently, and so open the door again to visionary speculation? But there is no peculiar sanctity attaching to the category of causation, just as there is no peculiar sanctity attaching to any category of thought. Consequently, when it is asserted t h a t nature must operate intelligently if means and ends are to be naturally distinguished, there is a ready retort in the assertion that nature must also operate intelligently if causes and effects are to be naturally distinguished. Yet it is not good philosophy to dismiss an objection simply by pointing out that it shares the difficulty which it raises. F o r simply to put one's argument and objections to it in the same boat is not to be well assured of a prosperous voyage. Reason may be better served by a consideration of her chart, f o r her

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v o y a g e is not a r b i t r a r y , nor her p o r t self-chosen. T o d r o p the figure, the mind cannot create the distinctions which it discovers. W e r e there no causes and effects discoverable in nature, nature w o u l d never be construed by the mind in those terms. A n d the same is true of means and ends. T h a t ends are reached in nature through the utilization of serviceable means is as simple and unsullied a f a c t of observation as any other. It is not r e a d into the o r d e r of things; and surely disinterested inquiry should not r e a d it out f o r the irrelevant reason that intelligence is necessary in o r d e r to observe it. T h e sole question to be raised about any c a t e g o r y of thought is the extent of its applicability. N o w to claim that the distinction between means and ends is known only when intelligence operates is not the same as to claim that the distinction exists only when intelligence operates. Indeed, as has already been pointed out, there is no discoverable connection between intelligence and use which w a r r a n t s an inference f r o m the one to the other. T h e category of use is not, t h e r e f o r e , necessarily limited in its application to the field where intelligence operates. Philosophy is amply justified in supposing that a w o r l d of u s e f u l things could exist, characterized by the adaptation of means to ends and yet unillumined throughout its whole extent by the presence of thought. Only, let it be added, such a w o r l d would not be our w o r l d . O u r w o r l d is illumined by thought. By such illumination the distinction between means and ends, together with all other discoverable distinctions, gains in significance. T h e gain, however, is still natural. It is another instance of natural teleology. F o r nature produces thinking beings as well as whirling stars. It is, consequently, no more astonishing that men should philosophize than that bodies should f a l l ; that nature, through its products, should operate intelligently, than that it should operate unintelligently. T h e r e are, doubtless, difficulties in tracing the natural genesis of intelligent beings, but these difficulties are not reasons f o r concluding that their genesis is not natural. M e n are not d r o p p e d into the w o r l d f r o m without. N a t u r e m a y , t h e r e f o r e , be said to be intelligent, but the statement should not be rendered absurd by a misuse of the concept of totality. One m a y speak of nature as a whole if one's inten-

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tion is to be as inclusive as possible in one's utterances. F o r n a t u r e as a whole is simply nothing left out, but nothing m o r e . A s a whole, nature allows no other descriptive predicates. It is simply the domain where predicates are specific in their application. T o affirm, t h e r e f o r e , that nature is intelligent, is to affirm t h a t among the total of its specific operations intelligence is to be included. Since nature appears to be intelligent in this sense, since our world is illumined by thought, the distinction between art and nature turns out to be a distinction within nature itself, a distinción between nat u r e as intelligent and nature as unintelligent. I t points to a specific instance of the a d a p t a t i o n of means to ends. I t is a special case of use. T h u s , f a r f r o m creating the distinction between means and ends, intelligence is one of its most significant illustrations. In metaphysics, moreover, the category of use would a p p e a r to be indispensable. H e r e , at least, where the aim is to define the f a c t o r s which enter into existence generally, our view of things is w a r p e d by a too exclusive emphasis upon causation. Metaphysics may be limited in the appeal it makes, and our chief business in life may remain the discovery of the quantitative value of the factors which combine to effect any change; but only a mind long habituated to the disregard of all but the quantitative can be content t o construe the world generally only in quantitative terms. T h e quantitative is only so much, and always so much of the concrete and the qualitative, of sugar and salt, of gold and silver, of space and time, of motion and electricity. F u r t h e r m o r e , all our skill is unable to discover any connection between the quantitative value of a cause and the peculiar character of its efficiency. T h e quantity of f o o d required to sustain life does not resemble the quality of the life sustained. A n d while we may consider such a generalization as the conservation of energy to be a m o n g the triumphs of scientific induction, its value consists, not in rendering the characteristic efficiency of any cause intelligible, but r a t h e r in showing t h a t all causes a p p e a r to be connected and subject to control. Consequently philosophy can never be satisfied with the a t t e m p t to r e g a r d the qualitative features of the world as negligible in any effort to construe ex-

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istence generally. F o r this purpose the category of causation is inadequate, because it is colourless. M o r e o v e r , it is useful only because, in its application, it presupposes the characteristic and qualitative efficiency of the f a c t o r s with which it deals. T o define a world, t h e r e f o r e , solely in terms of the dimensions of energy, is to define another world than ours. T h e vision of things is only distorted when their qualitative features, their .-esthetic character even, are regarded merely as the incidental byplay of f a c t o r s which have no other law than the equation. Ill T h e justification of the category of use has, thus f a r , been mainly negative. T h e a t t e m p t has been m a d e to show, first, t h a t there is no relevant connection between the fact of teleology and the operations of chance or design; and, secondly, that intelligence may not be r e g a r d e d as the source of the distinction between means and ends, because it cannot be credited with creating the distinctions it discovers, and because it is itself an instance of teleology. T h e s e considerations do not, however, a m o u n t to a positive definition. T h e y produce at best a negative conviction and so serve to w a r n us that teleology is to be reckoned with. But if teleology is natural, how is it to be naturally construed and w o r k e d o u t ? T h i s study would be incomplete if no a t t e m p t were m a d e to answer the question. F o r the baffling thing about the distinction between means and ends is that it is a distinction which points t o w a r d s the f u t u r e ; and to r e g a r d an end not yet attained as an efficient f a c t o r in producing present changes has never been productive of generally convincing reasoning. Historically the progress of knowledge has o f t e n been arrested by some fresh and fascinating appeal to final causes, but knowledge has usually proceeded again unmodified by the appeal except in so f a r as it has directed attention to new methods of obviating the difficulties it raises. T h e science of biology is a pertinent illustration of this. Its history is m a r k e d by repeated appearances of vitalism in some f o r m , but its g r e a t gains have not been m a d e by the use of t h a t hypothesis. T h e r e is, thus, in the fact noted, cause f o r inquiry and caution. T h e appeal to final

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causes always commands interest, but it is always r e g a r d e d with suspicion. T h e interest a p p e a r s to be due t o the fact t h a t the appeal forcibly calls attention to the habitual presupposition of finality in tracing the course of any n a t u r a l process. T h e suspicion a p p e a r s to be due to the fact t h a t the appeal insists t h a t w h a t the presupposition involves should be reg a r d e d as an efficient f a c t o r during the process. T h e issue thus raised is m o r e of a logical tangle than a question of fact. Its analysis may serve to indicate t h a t a definition of n a t u r a l teleology must recognize an ultimate diversity in the character of the f a c t o r s with which we have to deal. Use is always specific use. T h e bare statement t h a t the a t t e m p t to trace the life history of a given organism is the a t t e m p t to follow the movement f r o m its germ to its m a t u r e d f o r m , is sufficient to indicate t h a t the finality of the movement is presupposed. F o r the germ is not the germ of an organism in general, but the germ of a particular organism. A kernel of corn is not a grain of wheat. A n d , to t r a n s f e r the illustration to the inorganic world, carbon is not oxygen. Consequently, whether we are dealing with elements or with complexes, with dead things or with living things, these factors, if they are to enter into the production of any f u t u r e result, are never conceived irrespective of the particular p a r t they are to play in t h a t production. T h e i r finality, their serviceableness in the production of definite ends is presupposed. W i t h o u t the presupposition inquiry could not go f o r w a r d , but, when once made, the presupposition may be disr e g a r d e d without any d a m a g e resulting to the explanation. T o conclude, however, t h a t teleology does not exist or t h a t it has been explained is u n w a r r a n t e d . It both exists and is unexplained. An appeal to final causes directs attention to this fact. But it goes f u r t h e r . I t insists that an additional cause should be incorporated a m o n g the already ascertained factors in any process. I t invokes some " e n d , " " f o r m , " " i d e a , " "entelechy," "psychoid," " s o u l , " to account f o r the fact t h a t specific ends are reached. T h e situation thus produced is ambiguous and confusing. If one asks what is the specific function of the final cause, the answer is, obviously, to give the product its specific character. Since, however, the product must

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first exist b e f o r e its specific character is realized, and since this character has already been presupposed, the answer appears to mean nothing at all or an absurdity. A n acorn is not an o a k , but to put an oak into the acorn in order to explain w h y acorns g r o w into oaks instead of into fishes, is like putting an explosion into gunpowder in o r d e r to explain why it explodes when ignited. In other w o r d s to put the end of a process into the beginning of it in o r d e r to explain why that end is reached, is either meaningless o r absurd. F o r , assuredly, if the end existed at the beginning w e should need more than all our wit to distinguish the one f r o m the other. A w o r l d so constituted would be a w o r l d where nothing could happen, a p e r f e c t l y static w o r l d . If it is urged that this is only a caricature of the doctrine of final causes, the reply may wisely be m a d e that that doctrine is only a caricature of the facts. F o r little more is gained besides a kind of mystification of the mind by expressing the doctrine in terms less gross than those here employed. Y e t something is, perhaps, gained, although a more refined expression is not necessary to secure it, and although the gain is not a gain f o r the doctrine itself. T h e appeal to final causes calls as we h a v e seen, attention to the f a c t that teleology exists, but is unexplained. Its own explanation is devoid of f o r c e because it turns the necessary presupposition of teleolo g y in any movement t o w a r d a result into a cause why the particular result is reached. T h a t is why it fails to be logically convincing. B u t its f a i l u r e does not constitute a reason f o r rejecting teleology. It points r a t h e r to the fact that what is needed is not explanation, but definition. It does more. It points also to the f a c t that any definition of teleology must recognize an essential diversity of character in the processes involved in any change. T h i n g s and the elements of things a r e specifically different in their character and their operations. In terms of use, uses are a l w a y s specific and in specific directions. W h e n we indulge in speculations about the origin of things in g e n e r a l we are f o r c e d to conceive that origin as capable of yielding the kind of w o r l d we discover ours to be. Such speculations may at first impose themselves upon the mind as

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explanations o f why things are as they are, but candid scrutiny can find in them only more or less successful generalizations of the obvious. T h u s our attempt to explain why the processes o f the world move on in specific and distinguished directions with specific and distinguished results, amounts, in the last analysis, to a generalization of the fact of specific difference in a dynamic world. In biology, for instance, the problem of the origin of species is always the problem of the origin o f particular species, and its solution is not an explanation of the existence of species generally. T h e solution is rather the fact of specific differences generalized and refined in view of the conditions under which they exist. B y this is not meant, of course, that biological species must always have existed, but that ultimately specific differences in the factors dealt with must exist if specific differences in the results o f their operation are to be made clear. Expressing the matter once more in general terms, recognition is here asked o f the fact that uses are specific and operate in specific directions. I n other words, to claim that things are generally useful is not to exhibit the fact of teleology in the processes of nature. T h e particular—and, indeed, many—ways in which they are useful must first be discriminated if there is to be any pertinent consideration o f the adaptation of means to ends. T h e teleology of nature is not, therefore, a general drift toward some general result, it is always in individualized directions. I t is a teleology of special cases. Our world is thus a collection of concretes, so that we are always inquiring about some definite thing, a star, an atom, an element, an organism, or some specific relation o f these things to one another. T h e r e is no other kind of profitable inquiry, because there is no other kind of subject-matter for investigation. Ultimately concrete and specific differences in the character and operations of whatever factors go to make up the world, appear, thus, to be the first element in a definition of natural teleology. Given such differences, any change, no matter how it originated, would be subject to them, and the resulting movement be consequently a controlled movement. Natural teleology involves more than controlled movement. W e get but an inadequate picture of things if we view them

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only as the a r r a n g e m e n t of given f a c t o r s under fixed conditions. F o r the m o v e m e n t s of n a t u r e a r e m a r k e d by unmistakable gains and losses; they a r e helped and hindered. In view of these helps a n d hindrances, it is possible f o r us t o select any one of the concrete things of the w o r l d and r e g a r d it as a centre, while the o t h e r s f o r m its varying a t t e n d a n t s o r e n v i r o n m e n t . T h e w o r l d ' s processes may thus be r e g a r d e d as the interaction between a t h i n g and its surroundings. Since the selection of any centre is a t our pleasure, this procedure h a s a certain universality a b o u t it, so t h a t the complete natur a l history of a n y t h i n g w o u l d be a history of n a t u r e itself. Yet m a n y such histories w o u l d h a v e t o be written, f o r the w o r l d as a whole h a s no possible single history, because it has no possible e n v i r o n m e n t with which to be r e l a t e d . But one may say t h a t it h a s m a n y histories, because, as a whole, it is but the sum of all possible distinctions between a thing and its envir o n m e n t . T h u s we come once m o r e upon the fact of ultimately specific differences, b u t we come upon it under new aspects. F o r to construe t h e w o r l d as t h e environment of any chosen t h i n g as its centre, r e v e a l s t h e w o r l d as contributing, not only in different ways, but with unequal success to the processes of t h a t thing. T h e elements in the e n v i r o n m e n t are not all useful, and those t h a t a r e u s e f u l a r e n o t all equally so. A n y thing's existence p r e s e n t s itself thus as a kind of survival, as a centre w h e r e the u s e f u l in a given direction has been in excess. W h i l e a t t e m p t s to explain survival a r e n o t usually successful because they have a f a t a l tendency t o reduce themselves t o the simple s t a t e m e n t t h a t things do survive, it is evident t h a t only in a teleological w o r l d is t h e concept of survival a p p r o p r i a t e . Indeed, when the concept is critically examined, it a p p e a r s to m e a n p r i m a r i l y t h a t all things a r e not equally useful in supp o r t i n g individual existence. N a t u r a l teleology involves, theref o r e , the recognition t h a t use is c o m p a r a t i v e . T h i n g s and the elements of things differ in t h e i r teleological importance. Deductively expressed, one m i g h t s a y : Given a world m a d e up of specifically different elements in dynamic relations and of diff e r e n t values with respect t o any processes which might occur, these processes would result in specific products the existence of which could be c o n s t r u e d as survivals, as the a d a p t a t i o n s of

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m e a n s t o ends, a s the success o f p r o c e s s e s which help m o r e o v e r t h o s e t h a t help less. T h e d e d u c t i v e e x p r e s s i o n o u g h t not, h o w e v e r , t o blind our eyes to the f a c t t h a t it is not an hypothesis invented t o explain the w o r l d . I t is only a g e n e r a l i z a t i o n of familiar facts. T h e third element in a definition of n a t u r a l t e l e o l o g y is a c o r o l l a r y of the preceding. U s e s a r e not only specifically diff e r e n t and of c o m p a r a t i v e v a l u e , they a l s o p e r s i s t a n d accumulate. T h e eye, when it a p p e a r e d , a f f o r d e d , not a t e m p o r a r y g l i m p s e of the w o r l d , but a continuing vision o f it. T h i s persistence a n d accumulation, h o w e v e r , s h o u l d be c o n s t r u e d under the g e n e r a l limitations a l r e a d y set f o r the definition. T h a t is, we d o not a p p e a r w a r r a n t e d in s p e a k i n g of p r o g r e s s in gene r a l ; we m a y s p e a k only of specific a n d i n d i v i d u a l i z e d p r o g r e s s . Consequently, when we affirm t h a t n a t u r a l teleology is p r o g r e s s i v e , we affirm that f a c t o r s of g r e a t e r teleological i m p o r t a n c e h a v e continued t o o p e r a t e . T h e f a c t of such continuance is the f a c t of p r o g r e s s . I t is possible, t h e r e f o r e , to i m a g i n e t h a t a given thing, if it m e t with no hindrance in the p r o g r e s s i v e a p p r o p r i a t i o n o f the u s e f u l , would present an instance of the s t e a d y a p p r o a c h t o w a r d s c o m p l e t e a d a p t a tion t o its environment and t o w a r d s a conquest of the uses of the w o r l d . T h e M a l t h u s i a n r a b b i t m i g h t thus b e c o m e sovereign of the universe. It is, t h e r e f o r e , not u n n a t u r a l t o believe t h a t , if t h e r e is any d o m i n a t i n g direction in the a p p r o p r i a t i o n o f the u s e f u l , that direction m u s t be due t o the o p e r a t i o n of s o m e individual being. B u t s o b e r thinking is r e m i n d e d t h a t the directions in which use is a p p r o p r i a t e d a r e m a n y and diverse, a n d t h a t hindrances consequently o p p o s e complete a d a p t a t i o n . T h e r e is w a r in the w o r l d and s o v e r e i g n t y there is h a z a r d o u s . T h e m o s t d o m i n a t i n g o f beings m a y succumb to the m o s t insignificant, a s m a n m a y be d e s t r o y e d by the animalcule. Y e t sober thinking m u s t a l s o r e c o g n i z e that the symbol of w a r is a p p r o p r i a t e , a n d t h a t uncertainty in the tenure of s u p r e m a c y d o e s not o b s c u r e the f a c t t h a t there a r e genuine victories. T h e definition of n a t u r a l t e l e o l o g y involves, t h e r e f o r e , besides the recognition t h a t uses a r e specific, in specific and controlled directions, a n d of c o m p a r a t i v e v a l u e in view of these

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directions, the f u r t h e r recognition that uses are progressive. L e t it be insisted once more, h o w e v e r , that the definition is not p r o p o s e d as an explanation of teleology in the w o r l d ' s processes, but as a generalization f r o m facts which w e can, in wisdom, neither o v e r l o o k nor explain a w a y . W h i l e no attempt has been m a d e to question the right of any science to employ the categories it finds best adapted to its specific aims, the attempt has been made to j u s t i f y metaphysics in the employment of the category of use.

IV T h e r e are, doubtless, various applications of the general definition of natural teleology which has been here proposed. T h e s e lie outside the scope of this discussion. T h e r e is, however, a special instance of teleology which may serve to throw the definition into s h a r p e r relief, and which affords inquiries of special i n t e r e s t — t h e teleology of consciousness. T h a t it is useful to be conscious is palpably evident in spite of the difficulties one m a y encounter in defining just how thought can change the w o r l d . T h e s e difficulties can not obscure the significance to be attached to these moments in the w o r l d ' s history when its teleology becomes a conscious teleology and is reflectively considered. T h e significance may at first be emotional. Consciousness m a y be a " l y r i c c r y " — t o adapt P r o f e s sor S a n t a y a n a ' s p h r a s e — i n v o l v i n g joy o v e r discovered uses or s o r r o w o v e r f r u s t r a t e d aims. B u t the deeper significance lies evidently in the direction of f o r e s i g h t and knowledge. T o anticipate a d v a n t a g e o r d i s a d v a n t a g e , and to know the means by which the one may be gained and the other avoided, presents the most signal instance of natural teleology that can be cited. T h e conception of a w o r l d like ours in all respects save the presence of thought has a l r e a d y been suggested as philosophically w a r r a n t e d . Such a w o r l d would have a past and a future, and its history would display the facts of comparative use and p r o g r e s s i v e adaptation which h a v e been embodied in the general definition of natural teleology. Y e t it would appear to be impossible to assign to these f a c t s or to the past and the f u t u r e any characteristic efficiency. T h i s statement does not

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mean that such a w o r l d would lack continuity in its development, that any given f a c t o r in it w o u l d be w h a t it is irrespective of its past, or that its f u t u r e w o u l d be out of relation to other f u t u r e f a c t o r s . But it does mean that the teleology in such a w o r l d would be only a characteristic of it, indicating the a p p r o p r i a t i o n of use, but that this characteristic would not be detached f r o m the specific instances of its o p e r a t i o n and thus become itself a f a c t o r in that w o r l d ' s processes. T h i s , a f t e r all, is but a w a y of saying that a w o r l d so conceived lacks consciousness, that its processes g o on uncomplicated by any recognition of their uses, actual, prospective, or retrospective. Y e t it m a y serve to indicate the kind of complication which the presence of consciousness introduces. T h e spider may spin its web unconsciously and produce thereby a product u s e f u l to it; but if it spins consciously, the past and f u t u r e have entered into its activity in a new and significant manner. It m a y even be led to contemplate the miserable f a t e of its prey. W i t h o u t consciousness, yesterday is only t o d a y ' s past, t o m o r r o w only t o d a y ' s possible future. W i t h consciousness today's changes occur in view of yesterday and of the possible t o m o r r o w . W i t h consciousness the processes of the w o r l d become at once retrospective and prospective in their operation. T h e r e is, t h e r e f o r e , design in the w o r l d . Only, as w e h a v e seen, that design may not be invoked to explain the w o r l d ' s teleology, because it is one instance of that teleology. B u t the f a c t that it is such makes it unnecessary to seek further f o r the g r o u n d of m o r a l distinctions or f o r a rational confidence that nature is sufficient f o r the demands design may make upon it. Responsibility is not imposed f r o m without. It arises f r o m no a u t h o r i t a t i v e command. It is, r a t h e r , the inevitable consequence of design. F o r to plan and put the plan in operation is to become the cause of the issuing result, the point w h e r e responsibility is definitely l o d g e d . So we do not hold rocks responsible because they f a l l , but we do hold men responsible because they think. Because they think today is changed in view of yesterday and t o m o r r o w , and consciousness being the possibility of such a change takes upon itself the t h o u g h t f u l construction of the issue in the light of the w o r l d ' s natural teleology. T h a t is the essence of m o r a l i t y . M a n was not m a d e

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m o r a l by the prohibition of an apple. T h e fruit w a s g o o d to eat, and the conscious discovery of its use turned m a n into a designing being. T h e r e a f t e r he must learn the n a t u r a l uses of things and turn them to his a d v a n t a g e , but at the risk of reciprocal demands. T h u s , with consciousness, the w o r l d ' s teleo l o g y is a m o r a l teleology. G i v e n the w o r l d , which is not that w o r l d unillumined by thought which philosophy in its f r e e d o m m a y imagine, but a w o r l d a m o n g whose f a c t o r s conscious beings must be numbered as instances of its productivity, these beings m a y not be surprised that their w o r l d is m o r a l . I t s m o r a l character impresses them as again something necessary, something f o r the absence of which they can discover no reason. W h a t the sun is to the movements of the planets, that justice is to the movements of design. P e r f e c t justice, like p e r f e c t equilibrium, may be unattainable, but justice is not a visionary ideal, unsupported by the teleology f r o m which it arises. F o r , as we have seen, uses are specific, cumulative, a n d of c o m p a r a t i v e value in their operations. J u s t i c e has, t h e r e f o r e , f o r its exercise, not only the distinction of the u s e f u l and the useless, the g o o d and the bad, but also the distinction of the better and the w o r s e . A c cordingly, while design may despair of success in eliminating evil, it ought not to despair of success in attempting to achieve the better. F o r these attempts a r e supported by the w o r l d ' s natural teleology, by the c o m p a r a t i v e value of the uses of things. K n o w l e d g e thus ministers to morality in a t w o f o l d manner, by the localizing of responsibility and by the conscious discovering of the more useful. T h e end of such discovery is most evidently beyond our vision. E v e r y new scrutiny of the w o r l d ' s uses r e v e a l s new and unsuspected possibilities, and w a r r a n t s the conviction that the better is attainable and attainable with a diminution of injustice. T h e w o r l d m a y not h a v e had its origin in reason, m o r a l p r o g r e s s in it m a y w a v e r , g r e a t gains m a y there be lost, and civilization g o b a c k w a r d , but the w o r l d a f f o r d s of itself the vision of its o w n rational conquest. T o fix responsibility and to p r o m o t e science a p p e a r thus to be the p r i m a r y essentials of m o r a l p r o g r e s s . T o entertain, t h e r e f o r e , the vision of the w o r l d ' s rational conquest is not to be an optimist by temperament, but an optimist by con-

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viction. W e may not proclaim out of an a b u n d a n c e of wellbeing t h a t this is the best possible w o r l d a n d t h a t all things w o r k t o g e t h e r f o r g o o d . F o r t h e m o r a l lesson of n a t u r a l teleology is t h a t the w o r l d can be i m p r o v e d . O u r s is the best possible world only bccause it has the capacity t o e n g e n d e r a n d supp o r t the effort to m a k e it b e t t e r . Yet enthusiasm is not to be denied to philosophy. T o envisage the w o r l d in the light of reason is to beget emotions f o r which the impersonal categories of k n o w l e d g e afford inadequate expression. T h e s e emotions, too, are n a t u r a l , responses to p r o v o k i n g stimuli as much as the v i b r a t i n g chord to the finger's touch. M a n may, t h e r e f o r e , sing the praises of n a t u r e and be d e v o u t or f e a r f u l in her presence, f o r to p e r s o n i f y her is but to accord her the filial recognition t h a t persons a r e her offspring, b o r n of her body, and nourished at her b r e a s t s . T o r e f u s e emotional responses t o her revelations because they do not involve an explanation of her origin or of her destiny, is not a sign of wisdom, but of insensibility. F o r the contemplation of the s t a r s has o t h e r n a t u r a l uses besides the advancement of a s t r o n o m y . Indeed, m a n can h a r d l y be indifferent to t h e fact t h a t n a t u r e evokes f r o m him emotional responses as well as intellectual curiosity. But it is impossible f o r him so t o divorce emotion and reason t h a t his thinking and his feeling m a y remain unrelated and independent activities. F o r consciousness is comprehensive in its scope, including in its survey the fact t h a t we live fully as much as the fact t h a t we fall. I t is also reflective, embracing, as we are wont to say, its own o p e r a t i o n s as something of which it also takes cognizance. T h i s is, however, only the affirmation t h a t consciousness is consciousness, t h a t the existence of facts is not the considering of t h e m . But it serves again to r e n d e r conspicuous the particular use t o be assigned to consciousness, the use of r e n d e r i n g the p a s t and the f u t u r e connectable and continuous now. I t is creative of nothing but comprehension, and is subservient to the m a t e r i a l s it finds. I t s task is thus the r a t i o n a l o r g a n i z a t i o n of this m a t e r i a l in its entirety. W h i l e , t h e r e f o r e , its exercise may discover emotions, we may not say t h a t it is because we are conscious t h a t we rejoice or f e a r , just as we may not say t h a t it is because we

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are conscious that we have a certain specific gravity. T h e emotional life presents itself, thus, as one object f o r intelligent control and organization. But it does present itself as such an object. T o claim, therefore, that teleology is natural and that consciousness is its most signal illustration, is not thoughtlessly to discard the obligation to seek f o r the emotional life its appropriate support and the befitting sphere of its operation. It is, rather, to urge that the search be conducted with an intensified appreciation of the immediate sources by which that life is quickened and refined.

EVOLUTION*

THE subject to which I ask your attention requires a preliminary statement if it is not to a p p e a r at the outset too vast and vague. M y purpose is to express the opinion that evolution is history; t h a t antecedents and causes should consequently be historically construed; t h a t evolution is pluralistic, implying many histories, but not a single history of the w o r l d ; t h a t man writes the history only of his own w o r l d ; that, however, since he discovers his world to be a history, he may have a science of history or evolution which is universal, and t h a t this science indicates t h a t evolution is progressive. Because I am expressing an opinion and not trying to p r o v e a thesis I have indulged in many assertions. I take it t h a t the term "evolution" in so f a r as it indicates any natural fact, indicates initially no more than the fact t h a t things have a past, t h a t they have a history. It would indeed be but another name f o r history if we were willing to extend our conception of history to denote all discovered and discoverable changes. As indicating a rational enterprise the term appears to express the attempt to recover the history of things by generalizing f o r the past the conditions, types, factors, and rates of change which are discoverable. If this is so, it would seem clear t h a t the only point where the doctrine of evolution in general is questionable, is in its method of procedure. If we are not justified in extending to the past the discoverable principles of change, the attempt to do so might be interesting, but it would deserve no special commendation. It is, however, unprofitable to question this m e t h o d of evolution, because it is the only method which can be checked and controlled. N o alternative method is open to us except the a r b i t r a r y method of making what suppositions we choose about the past, and in • I n the Philosophical Review, Vol. X X I ( 1 9 1 2 ) , pp. 1 3 7 - 1 5 1 . Delivered as the presidential address before the Eleventh Annual Meeting of the American Philosophical Association at H a r v a r d University, December 28, 1 9 1 1 .

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that case all suppositions can be m a d e equally g o o d because none o f them can be tested. T h e evolutionary attitude needs, t h e r e f o r e , neither a p o l o g y nor justification. It may need advocacy because it is easier and o f t e n more congenial to m a k e mythologies than to write history. T h e acceptance of the evolutionary point of view is, however, no g u a r a n t e e that m y t h o l o g y has been abandoned. Speculations about energy and f o r c e , about the origins of variation, about heredity, about nature and nurture, as well as such controversies as o f t e n m a r k the engagements between vitalists and the supporters of mechanism, or between the adherents of epigenesis and of p r e f o r m a t i o n , seem frequently to indicate that m y t h o l o g y still finds a place a m o n g the general doctrines of evolution. I d o not mean to imply that these speculations and controversies point to no problems in need of solution. I mean only that they too frequently display a tendency to turn the characteristic operations of things into causes why things so o p e r a t e ; to assign a superior efficiency to the past than to the p r e s e n t ; to m a k e evolution a substitute f o r a c r e a t o r ; and, in general, to suppose that the causes rather than the history of the w o r l d h a v e been discovered. W h e n , f o r instance, we ask, W h y does a hen sit on e g g s ? we are o f t e n f o r b i d d e n to g i v e the natural and obvious answers, Because she wants to, or, In o r d e r that chicks m a y be h a t c h e d ; and a r e u r g e d r a t h e r to give the mythological answers, Because she has an instinct to sit, or, Because her ancestors sat. N o w the first of these latter answers is the attempt to turn the characteristic behaviour of the hen into a cause w h y she so behaves, and the second is the attempt to r e g a r d her past as more efficient than her present. One might as rationally say that a clock goes because it has an instinct to g o or because its antecedents went. It seems, however, that when we ask such a question as has been proposed about the hen, we desire an answer which will m a k e clear to us the result to be attained by her behaviour, whether that result be a bodily satisfaction or f u t u r e offspring, or we desire one which will disclose w h a t it is that induces the hen so to behave. W e do not desire, or rationally ought not to desire, an answer which will disclose why the hen sits irrespective of the end

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to be attained by her behaviour or of the stimulus which excites her. In other words, unless we are mythologists, we do not expect to be told why in a world like ours it is characteristic of hens to sit. T o be sure, we do want to discover what that characteristic behaviour is, what stimulates it, what the hen's structure is, how that structure has come about, and what results f r o m her activity, and there our rational interest stops. T o suppose that the answers to any one or to all of these questions will give us an explanation of the fact or possibility of sitting hens in a world like ours is totally to misconceive their import. T h e r e are hens, they do sit, they thus perpetuate their kind, and they have had a history which is measurably ascertainable; but hens must be given first, if there is to be any investigation of them or any discovery of their evolution. If there were no hens, or never had been any, all our science and all our philosophy would be irrelevant to their consideration. Evolution, that is, discloses and is the history of what exists or what has existed, but it is always with the existent t h a t it begins. T o suppose, therefore, that any state of the universe, however remote or distant, has a metaphysical superiority to any other, or a greater right to ontological eulogy, or is possessed of a more potent efficiency, is, to my mind, radically irrational. T h e opposite opinion is not unfamiliar. Although it may not be as widely held as formerly, it is still current, clouding our intelligence, depressing our energies, and weakening our responsibilities. W e have been frequently told that if we knew completely the state of the cosmos before hens existed, we should then be able to set the date for the first hen that would eventually appear, we should be able to tell, that is, whether there would ever be such things as hens in this world of ours because we should have become cognizant of all the causes of its evolution. Perhaps such a statement can not be refuted. Every attempted refutation may be met with the rejoinder t h a t our knowledge is as yet too incomplete to make the prediction successful. I t may be asked, D o you really mean to affirm that if we knew the cosmos through and through we should not then know its possibilities and its eventualities? Does the fact that we must wait f o r events to happen before

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we can discover their causes give us the slightest warrant f o r supposing that those causes, even before we discovered their effects, were not competent to produce them, would not, in fact, produce them? A n d if so, is it not simply nonsense to a f firm that we could not have predicted what those causes would produce if we had really known what those causes were? Is not such an affirmation one more instance of the stupid failure to distinguish between the ratio cognoscendi of things and their ratio essendi or fietidi ? Questions like these may impose upon the mind, but they do not clarify it. T o be sure, if we knew the full competency of things and how and when that competency would be exercised, there would be nothing left to discover. T h i s we do not know and we may confidently say that we never shall know it. T h a t we shall not does not indicate a defect in our faculties, some limitation which we vainly try to leap over. It indicates rather that our knowing is itself an event, one of nature's happenings, an item of history. T h e ratio fiendi and the ratio cognoscendi look strange, do they not, when applied to the fact of knowledge itself; if they force us to affirm that if we knew—let us say, the primeval condition of all things—we should then be in a position to state what our knowledge of it would eventually be and whether that knowledge would be correct or not. W e owe idealism a profound debt f o r that piece of dialectic, even if we charge idealism with the failure to profit by it. It, too, imposes upon the mind even if it does not clarify it. W h a t intelligible meaning can be attached to the statement that if I knew the antecedents of my present knowledge, I should then be able to tell f r o m those antecedents what my present knowledge is? T h e antecedents of my present knowledge are not my knowledge, and the antecedents of the hen are not the hen. And I have not been able to discover any wisdom or profit in putting my present knowledge into its antecedents in order to explain how that knowledge originated, nor in putting the hen into her antecedents in order to explain her. Our researches acquaint us with the natural history of the things into which we inquire and they acquaint us with nothing else. Knowing their natural history we may be led to entertain certain expectations about their future, but it is

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i m p o r t a n t to remember the conditions of such expectations. N o w I take it t h a t while the fact t h a t we expect anything has its antecedents, these antecedents are not themselves expectations or anything like expectations. Because the sun has risen so invariably, I may expect it to continue invariably to rise; but its p e r f o r m a n c e does not account f o r the fact that I expect it t o do anything at all. T h a t p e r f o r m a n c e may lead me to expect a rising and not a setting sun, but it does not lead me to expect t h a t the sun will do anything. In other words w h a t our expectations about things concretely are may be due entirely to the things, but it is not due to them that we meet them in the attitude of expectation. Expectant beings must first exist b e f o r e anything is expected of things. T o be sure, expectant beings have a history, but w h a t can it possibly mean to affirm t h a t any knowledge of that history short of their existence would lead us who are expectant beings to expect t h a t such beings would one day exist? I am not trying to say t h a t the origin of consciousness is one of the riddles of the universe. I doubt t h a t it is. T o suppose that its origin may one day be discovered a p p e a r s to me to be neither visionary nor absurd. I am trying to say, however, that the origin of consciousness, its evolution, is a m a t t e r of history only. W e expect things to do w h a t they are in the habit of doing. Because plants grow f r o m seeds, we expect them so to grow. If they d r o p p e d f r o m the clouds like rain, we should expect t h a t of them. If they behaved in a way to baffle all expectation, we should expect them so to behave. If, t h e r e f o r e , we discovered t h a t m a t t e r produced thought, we should expect it t o produce t h o u g h t . T h i s does not mean, however, that if we knew the constitution of m a t t e r , we should expect m a t t e r to produce t h o u g h t . I t means r a t h e r t h a t we can not construe m a t t e r without taking thought as an item in its history. T o say, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t if we completely knew the past condition of all things we should then see t h a t the present is its fulfillment, can mean only that we are construing the present historically. It can not mean that we have discovered a condition of affairs which, irrespective of the present, would, by a kind of unfolding, produce the present, because irrespective of the present t h a t condition is not only not discoverable, but it does

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not even exist. A n t e c e d e n t s a r e only antecedents and evolution is history. But antecedents a r e antecedents. T h a t means, n a t u r a l l y , t h a t they can not be isolated o r defined out of relation t o t h e historical m o v e m e n t in which they occur. T h e p a s t is undoubtedly d e a d . I t is u n a l t e r a b l e because it is d e a d a n d exists no longer. But this does not allow us t o construe t h e p a s t independent of the continuing processes of things. W h e n we say t h a t the past can not be changed, all we can profitably m e a n is t h a t p r i o r to a given d a t e the events t h a t have occurred a r e n o t a l t e r e d by the events t h a t occur subsequently. W e can n o t m e a n t h a t o u r appreciation of w h a t the p a s t was is fixed o r t h a t the significance and efficacy of the p a s t as an item in t h e w o r l d ' s history is completed. In o t h e r w o r d s , it is only w h a t the past w a s t h a t is u n a l t e r a b l e . W h a t it is, u n d e r g o e s c o n s t a n t change. W h a t it was, is i m p o t e n t . W h a t it is, has efficacy. O r , to speak epigrammatically, t h e r e always was a past, but never is one. T h i s means, I t a k e it, t h a t antecedents are definable only in view of the history to which they belong and as items in t h a t h i s t o r y ; they are, neither f r o m the point of view of o u r knowledge of t h e m nor f r o m the point of view of t h e i r own efficacy, fixed and finished things. E v e n the principle of inertia must be expressed in t e r m s of a continuance in a s t a t e if it is to be comprehensible and a principle of things. I t should, t h e r e f o r e , be a p p a r e n t t h a t w h a t the antecedents of anything are, not w h a t they were, is never fully ascertainable n o r fully existent except as we a r b i t r a r i l y fix a d a t e and r e f u s e to pass beyond it. A world which has h a d a past is a w o r l d which will have a f u t u r e . U n d o u b t e d l y its past was w h a t it was and its f u t u r e will be w h a t it will be, but in so f a r as it is an evolution which has continuously a p a s t and a f u t u r e , its past is alterable and its f u t u r e t h e r e f o r e i n d e t e r m i n a t e . E v o lution as history is thus not simply the record of accomplished events with all their principles and laws; it is r a t h e r , let us say, history as an object, a continuing process whose p a s t is recoverable and whose f u t u r e is conjecturable, but which, as a process, can not be construed as the result or eventuation of anything. In a certain sense, then, t h e r e is no evolution. If we conceive

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of the simple unfolding of potentialities once resident and determined in some primitive condition, there is no evolution. A s a substitute for a creator, there is no evolution. A s a set of laws or principles which, somehow controlling the stuff of things, causes that stuff to produce a world, there is no evolution. A s the g r o w t h of a cosmic seed, there is no evolution. N a t u r e defies and gives the lie to all these conceptions. She proclaims a g a i n and a g a i n that everything that happens has had a history, but that nothing happens because it has had a history. Clocks do not go because they have had a history. H e n s do not sit because they h a v e had a history. M a t t e r does not p e r f o r m its m a n i f o l d functions because it has had a history. T o say that the w o r l d is w h a t it is because it has h a d a history is to say something meaningless. It is meaningless for two r e a s o n s : first, because the history of a thing is never the cause of it, and secondly, because the w o r l d has no history at all. T h e s e statements may be more irritating than convincing. I am sensible that they a p p e a r to obscure an issue. It m a y be readily admitted that the history of anything is never its cause, since so to affirm is to confuse facts with their record. But the thing has causes and its history reveals what those causes a r e . T h e history of a house m a y not be the cause of a house, but its history does reveal the men w h o built it. A s s u r e d l y ; but this is to construe causation as well as evolution historically. It is evident that builders do not build houses in a w o r l d where houses a r e not built. Causes do not operate where they do not produce effects. In other words, no effect points to its causes as isolated antecedents of t h a t effect. If there is no effect without a cause, there is also no cause without an effect. Only existent things have causes. T o impute causation, therefore, to anything irrespective of its effect, is to impute an entirely meaningless conception. W e m a y say, that is, that w h a t e v e r conception of causation we entertain, it should be historically construed to be m a d e intelligible. T o m a k e evolution the cause of anything is, t h e r e f o r e , meaningless, for evolution as a cause can not be historically construed. It has no effects over against which it can be indicated as a cause. T o say that it causes the history of things is unintelligible, for that is to say that it

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causes itself. So, I repeat, causes are never causes absolutely and in isolation. They are causes only in an historical series. T h e i r nature and efficacy are never given except in their eventualities, and when these occur, the causes as causes have ceased to be. A spark may cause an explosion, and there may be no explosion without a s p a r k ; but where there are no explosions, sparks, even if they exist, are not their causes. And the world has no history. I appeal to the philosopher of Königsberg. T h e world is a collective idea which we can f r a m e because we can group things and because things are grouped in nature. T o extend the act of grouping, however, until we have the idea of a group f r o m which no fact remains uncollected, and then to suppose that there corresponds to this idea an object of which we may ask, H a s it a beginning in time, an extent in space, a history or an evolution? is to enter the realm of illusion. N o ; the world as a useful concept must be used distributively. It must mean, T a k e any item you like, but not, T a k e all items together. I t must be regulative and not constitutive. Evolution as history is always the history of items. Yet no limit can be set to the extent of any such history. A flower in a crannied wall may carry other than a poet far, leading to the construction of every discoverable event as significant in the light of its career. But no one of such histories, however comprehensive, may claim cosmic preeminence over any other. T h e world is no more matter's world than it is the spirit's, and no less; no more man's world than the microbe's, and no less. Individuals may compete for their lives, but cosmic histories are free f r o m rivalry. N o one of them exists as a history to the prejudice of any other. T h e history of the stars is not the history of man. So to conceive it is to make the history of man contributory and incidental to astronomy, and this man as the writer of histories can not succeed in doing. H e can write other histories only as he is willing to become an observer of the world but not a factor in it. H e can r e g a r d himself as something incidental to another's history only through a kind of forgetfulness of his personality, or by substituting f o r it a kind of dummy which behaves as he would, but without his reasons. Xenophanes, we know, sought to disparage man by saying

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that if lions h a d hands and could paint they would paint their gods as lions; and this t r u t h f u l remark has many times since been taken in t h a t same sense of disparagement. Maeterlinck, on the other hand, has represented a dog as calling a boy his god. H e thereby made the dog as stupid an animal as the men who call dogs their gods. W e may say, consequently, that Xenophanes had the finer poetic feeling, but he appears to have missed altogether the profundity of his remark. M a n can construe the world eventually only as his own history. H i s doing so is saved f r o m egotism, however, so long as he knows what he is doing and why he does it. T h a t knowledge is inconvenient at times. It often disturbs man's mind with thoughts of the rights of other histories. Consequently, he may often a t t e m p t to quell this disturbance by trying to write a history of the world which will be totally impersonal and inhuman. T h e n he becomes a materialist. O r he may convert the fact that he can write only a human history into an epistcmology. T h e n he bccomes an idealist. O r he may call upon evolution to explain it all. T h e n he becomes superstitious. Yet through all his blundering he has sounded the depths of his philosophy. H e has discovered the world because he has discovered his history. T h a t means that he has discovered the world to be a history and that any discovery of the world would be the discovery of a history. Evolution is, t h e r e f o r e , pluralistic, and man tries to write many histories even if eventually he succeeds in writing only his own; but no history of evolution can be written. Every attempt to write one always gives us something other than a history and something other than an evolution. It converts the world into a product or into an effect of causes, and must at last confess its inability to find the producer of that product or the causes of t h a t effect. Its failure does not indicate a lack of intellectual power, but a misdirection of intellectual effort. It proves that evolution is pluralistic, not t h a t monism is necessary. Yet the a t t e m p t to write many histories with a clear consciousness t h a t histories are the theme, may disclose the fact that all histories have common categories. T h a t is the discovery of metaphysics. In other words, the attempt to tell what history is, o r what evolution is, may not be inept or

METAPHYSICS A N D LOGIC futile. T h a t is, since we discover t h e w o r l d t o be an evolution, it o u g h t n o t to be impossible f o r us t o a n a l y z e t h a t discovery a n d s t a t e w h a t it is t o be an e v o l u t i o n . W h a t e v e r success we m a y a t t a i n in such an enterprise, it is n o t necessarily v i t i a t e d by any h u m a n limitation. I t is universal. Only, I r e p e a t , it is n o t u n i v e r s a l history. I t is n o t t h e p o r t r a y a l of an e v o l u t i o n . I t is t h e science of evolution. So while t h e r e can be n o h i s t o r y of evolution, a science of it m a y be a t t e m p t e d a n d p r o j e c t e d . I n no o t h e r sense m a y we v e n t u r e t o claim t h a t evolution is monistic. A s a history it is m a n y ; as a science it is one. I t s h o u l d be a p p a r e n t t h a t t h e science of evolution, j u s t because it is n o t a history, will n o t deal in origins. I t will disclose n o genesis of the w o r l d a n d discover n o causes of its existence. I t will disclose, h o w e v e r , o r we should expect it t o disclose, principles, laws, types, g r o u p i n g s , connections, characteristic efficiences. Briefly, we s h o u l d expect it t o disclose t h e f a c t o r s a n d m e t h o d of evolution, but n o t h i n g m o r e . W e should expect, t o o , t h a t such a science w o u l d n o t only be universal, but m i g h t also be r e s t r i c t e d t o as n a r r o w a field as we m i g h t choose. T h a t is, we m a y h a v e n o t only a science of evolution, b u t also a science of any p a r t i c u l a r evolution. If it is l e g i t i m a t e t o inquire into the n a t u r e of h i s t o r y , it is also legitimate t o inquire into t h e n a t u r e of m a t t e r , o r of life, o r of consciousness, or of a n y t h i n g t h a t can be d e n o t e d as subj e c t - m a t t e r f o r analysis and study. O n l y we should r e m e m b e r t h a t its science discloses its n a t u r e a n d n o t its h i s t o r y ; a n d t h a t its evolution discloses its history, t h e r e c o r d of its existence, a n d not its n a t u r e . T h e c o n t r a s t t h u s stated is s t a t e d , p e r h a p s , with t o o g r e a t simplicity. T h e science of any h i s t o r y is a science of a history, t h a t is, it is a science of n a t u r e s which m a y t h e m s e l v e s h a v e a history. T h i s f a c t can not be d i s r e g a r d e d . I t is evident, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t w h e n we say t h a t t h e evolution of a n y t h i n g discloses its history, but n o t its n a t u r e , we should not p r e j u d g e t h e possibility t h a t t h e r e m a y be things t h e n a t u r e of which is only historically definable, the n a t u r e of which is, we m a y say, just t h e i r concrete history. A g r a i n of w h e a t in its chemical a n d physical composition is a t h i n g quite different f r o m w h a t we call a seed, the g r a i n of w h e a t which implies w h a t only its

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history can make apparent at the time of harvest. It is conceivably possible t h a t we might know the chemical and physical composition of all seeds without any nook or corner left unexplored; t h a t we might then be able to detect differences in their composition which would allow us to classify them with accuracy, so that one kind of seed could be distinguished without e r r o r f r o m any other k i n d ; and yet that we might find nothing which would indicate what the nature of those seeds is as displayed in their growth. I t is considerations like this t h a t give to vitalistic theories their recurring interest. Yet we should emphasize two t h i n g s : first, t h a t under the supposition we have made, vitalism is scientifically unnecessary; and, secondly, that vitalism would be scientifically necessary only if a f t e r fully ascertaining the composition of all seeds we were unable to distinguish between them or to classify them as of different kinds. I t may well be that every living thing in its germ has a mechanical constitution as specifically and individually distinct as the specific f o r m and individuality which its maturity reveals. T h e evidence points t h a t way, and as long as it so points, vitalistic theories are naturally viewed with suspicion. N o ; the supposition I have ventured to make, has not been m a d e in o r d e r t h a t we may entertain once more a theory which retreats d e f e a t e d again and again a f t e r every fresh appearance, but to emphasize the fact t h a t the nature of a thing may be progressive. T i m e may enter into its substance. O u r problem then becomes to discover and trace that progress, not to look f o r causes of it. W h y should we look f o r t h e m ? T h e argument against so doing is old. If progress has causes we must invoke time to delay their operation, to keep the world f r o m being finished at a single stroke. But then what causes can we invoke f o r time's delay? It avails us not. W e shall end by affirming t h a t causes are progressive, and then, perhaps, delude ourselves into supposing that we have discovered the cause of progress itself. T h a t some natures are progressive seems certain; that all are seems doubtful. And that, I suspect, is why we find the distinction between the organic and the inorganic so natural and so helpful. I venture to suggest t h a t the triumph of mechanism would involve, not the reduction of the organic to the inorganic, but the removal

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of the distinction or the restatement of it in terms of a time function. Evolution is thus discovered to be progressive. A l l our attempts to explain why this is so, all our appeals to energy, force, will, design, vitality, appear to be but the obscure recognition of that discovery. O r they are introduced to help out an initial misconception, the conception, namely, that the nature and efficacy of all causes are fixed and determined irrespective of the time it takes f o r those causes to operate. Such a conception implies to my mind a world where nothing could occur without the intervention of some new power to make it occur. But we have the best of evidence that it is not some such mysterious power which operates, but rather simply the continuing in operation of the concrete factors with which we deal. If evolution as a natural fact is thus progressive, it is apparent that evolution as a rational enterprise, as the attempt to recover the history of things by generalizing f o r the past the conditions, types, factors, and rates of change which are discoverable, is itself an instance of progress. T h a t the past is thus recoverable can be no less a natural fact and no less significant f o r evolution than the existence of the past itself. If it is unprofitable to construe evolution otherwise than as history, it is also unprofitable to construe it irrespective of intelligence, to suppose that the mind has had no history or that it is irrelevant to the world it contemplates. W e should not say that it creates that world or serves as the ground of its character or existence. Y e t we should say that it makes that world discoverable and prospective so that in intelligent beings we find a discovered and a prospective evolution. W e find the contrast between what might be and what was and is. W e find the progress of history alterable in the interest of what is desired, hoped f o r , and imagined. W e find nature submitting to be idealized and evoking the spiritual enterprises which enlarge the happiness of men. In the light of evolution, intelligence is seen thus to have the kind of operation which does more than excuse the vagaries of intelligent beings. T h e i r attempts to construe the world as itself a rational process and to read the mind into its substance

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and into its e v e r y o p e r a t i o n ; their m a k i n g of mythologies e v e n ; their superstitions, their blunders, their f a i t h s , their hopes, their ambitions; their irrationalities a l s o ; their sciences, their philosophies, their p o e t r y , and their a r t ; their morality and their religion; their likes and dislikes; their loves and their h a t e s ; their cults and their ceremonies; their societies and their Utopias; their nationalities and their politics; their l a w s and their institutions; their comedies and their t r a g e d i e s ; their impotence and their s t r e n g t h — a l l these things a r e no less ontological than nebulae and ions. T h e y a r e as much f a c t o r s in evolution as anything that can be named. T h e y h a v e to be reckoned with as much as climate and soil. T h e y a r e as dignified as electricity or g r a v i t a t i o n . T h a t the w o r l d should have become the home of the imagination is no less cosmically important than that it should have become the home of stellar systems. If man w a s destined to be an instance of physics and chemistry, he was also destined to be an instance of the " l i f e of r e a s o n . " T h a t intelligent beings should recover their history is no reason w h y they should repudiate it, even if they find many things of which to be a s h a m e d ; f o r they a r e examples of the recovery of the past with the prospect of a f u t u r e . In reading their own history, they may find that they may smile at that which once they reverenced and laugh at that which once they f e a r e d . T h e y may h a v e to unlearn m a n y established lessons and renounce many cherished hopes. T h e y m a y h a v e to emancipate themselves continually f r o m their p a s t ; but note that it is f r o m their past that they w o u l d be emancipated and that it is f r e e d o m that they seek. It is not a new f o r m of s l a v e r y . I n t o w h a t g r e a t e r s l a v e r y could they f a l l than into that implied by the squandering of their inheritance o r by blaming their ancestors f o r preceding t h e m ? T h e y will be ancestors themselves one day and others will ask w h a t they have bequeathed. T h e s e others may not ask f o r G r e e c e again or f o r R o m e or f o r Christianity, but they will ask f o r the like of these, things which can live perennially in the imagination, even if as institutions they are past and d e a d . H e is not f r e e d f r o m the past w h o has lost it or w h o r e g a r d s himself simply as its product. I n the one case he w o u l d h a v e no experience

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to guide him and no memories to cherish. In the other he would have no enthusiasm. T o be emancipated is to have recovered the past untrammeled in an enlightened pursuit of that enterprise of the mind which first begot it. It is not to renounce imagination, but to exercise it illumined and refreshed. It would appear, therefore, an error to consider intelligence solely as the instrument of truth or the rule by which propositions are proved and disproved. It is such an instrument and such a rule, but it is more. It is an instrument for the recovery of the past in such wise that the past is doubly effective, effective in view of its own continued nature and effective in view of what intelligence conceives and imagines. T o that double effectiveness knowledge is subsidiary. It is a means to an end, not an end in itself. H o w the whole of philosophy witnesses to that conclusion 1 W e call ourselves by differing party names. W e rush to different colours to contend under them f o r the truth of propositions. It is a battle for the strong, and it is good to engage in it. Let the hosts be drilled and the conflict test our strategy, for truth is worth fighting for. Yet it is worth fighting for because there is one truth which none of us can successfully assail, the truth that intelligence provides "a technique for generating a chosen future out of a given present." 1 I made my summary at the beginning. I there stated that it was my purpose to express the opinion that evolution is history; that antecedents and causes should consequently be historically construed; that evolution is pluralistic, implying many histories but no single history of the world; that man writes the history only of his own world; that, however, since he discovers his world to be a history, he may have a science of history or evolution which is universal; and that this science indicates that evolution is progressive. Such an opinion is, I believe, liberalizing. It frees intelligence for its own progressive operation untrammeled by any suspicion of its rights. It suggests that the discovery of the world is not principally or essentially the discovery of what it has been, and not at 1 W . T . Bush, " T h e Emancipation of Intelligence," Journal Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. V I I I ( 1 9 1 1 ) , p. 178.

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all the discovery of causes which, irrespective of its history, h a v e produced it, but the discovery of its implied possibilities, a discovery which is the surest foundation f o r the ideals of men and which allows them to look upon their present and their f u t u r e as something f a r richer than an illustration of their past.

STRUCTURE*

W E SPEAK of the structure of buildings, poems, plants, animals, machines, states, and even atoms. T h e fact denoted by the term is of such importance f o r our knowledge and use of things that nearly all inquiry is devoted to the discovery of structure in specific cases. M o r e o v e r , this discovery has an obvious finality about it. Its explanatory value is high and satisfying. F o r whatever the end may be which any operation serves and whatever the cause may be which initiated the operation, our curiosity is largely satisfied and our efficiency is enhanced when we have discovered the structure to which the operation conforms. A watch may be made to keep time; if we ask why it keeps time, we are not satisfied by saying because it was made f o r that purpose by a watchmaker, but we are satisfied by knowing its structure. H a v i n g this knowledge we are able to increase the precision of watches. T h e eye may have been made in order that we might see, but, if so, we do not thereby understand vision. W e understand it rather when we have discovered optical structure. Then, too, we are in a position to improve defective vision. T h e fact of structure is obvious. Illustrations of it, however, even if they are trite, may serve to emphasize the fact in some of its apparent varieties. T h e user of materials may do many things with them provided that his use of them conforms to their structure. This is well illustrated in any problem of maxima and minima, as, f o r instance, the problem of determining what areas may be enclosed by a line of given length. H e r e the particular areas are limitless in number, but they are all limited by a single • In the Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, Vol. X I V ( 1 9 1 7 ) , pp. 680-688. Delivered at the meeting of the A m e r i c a n Philosophical Association, December, 1 9 1 6 .

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principle. T h i s principle defines precisely the structure to which the operation conforms and within which, so to speak, it is confined, so t h a t we know t h a t the minimum a r e a is the line and the maximum area the circle. T h i s illustration may be paralleled indefinitely. P r o p e r selection f r o m a m o n g the illustrations would lead to recognized sciences which set f o r t h the discovery of the structures within which a r e confined the operations with which these sciences deal. Mechanics would be one of these sciences. A n d it is clear t h a t no m a t t e r how much mechanics may vary in its concrete discoveries or in the terms and instruments it finds best suited to its use, it will not vary in its a t t e m p t to discover the structure t o which the equilibrium and displacement of bodies a r e confined. So f a r as this structure is concerned our conception of w h a t bodies "really" are seems quite irrelevant. T h e y may be the concrete things we perceive them to be, they may be "masses of matt e r " or "congeries of sensations," they may be molecules, atoms, or w h a t not, their equilibrium and displacement conf o r m to a precise and definite structure. Mechanics thus testifies to the fact of a structure of a particular kind within which and subject to which numberless operations of a particular kind can occur. Chemistry affords another example. N o t only do elements combine in definite ways, but the same elements subjected to different structural a r r a n g e m e n t s seem to produce an almost limitless variety of compounds. Ultimately, all chemical structures may be discovered to be mechanical. In t h a t event we should recognize a welcome scientific simplification and an extension of the domain of mechanics. Such a possibility ought not to be p r e j u d g e d even if in many chemical operations time appears to be a different f a c t o r f r o m w h a t it is in mechanics generally. T o the latter science time seems to be relevant only as it is measured in terms of simultaneous displacements, while in chemistry successive or genuinely t e m p o r a l displacements o f t e n seem to be involved. Although a r e m a r k of this kind ought not, in the present state of our knowledge, to be accepted as final, it serves, nevertheless, to indicate the possi-

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bility t h a t s t r u c t u r e s m a y be m a t t e r s of time as well as of space. 1 Biology seems t o confirm this possibility. It has a d v a n c e d in recent years t o r e m a r k a b l e d e t e r m i n a t i o n s in detail of t h e s t r u c t u r e of living beings and of their o p e r a t i o n s . Recent exp e r i m e n t a l w o r k on heredity, instinct, g r o w t h , and descent h a s revealed to us w h a t we m a y call living structures with a fullness h a r d l y suspected fifty y e a r s ago. 2 A n d it is these struct u r e s r a t h e r t h a n any assumed vitalistic principles which, as we a r e wont t o say, "accounts f o r " t h e variety of f o r m s a n d o p e r a t i o n s . But since living is not s o m e t h i n g s p r e a d out in space, but s o m e t h i n g e n d u r i n g in time, living structures seem to be c h a r a c t e r i z e d t e m p o r a l l y in a way different f r o m mechanical and chemical structures. A cell is not simply w h a t it a p p e a r s to be u n d e r the microscope. It seems t o have also w h a t we m i g h t call a suspension in time which can be ascertained only by allowing to it its p r o p e r d u r a t i o n . It is not only so much chemical substance encased, so t o speak, in a p a r ticular mechanical structure, but it is also so many minutes or days of a specific kind of g r o w t h . Accordingly, its g r o w i n g seems t o be subject t o a structure suspended in time fully as much as the displacement of its p a r t s is subject to a s t r u c t u r e extended in space. C o n f o r m a b l y with the l a t t e r it m a y divide a n d c o n f o r m a b l y w i t h the f o r m e r its successive divisions result in a typical living f o r m . I n biology, t h e r e f o r e , we a p p a r ently meet with s t r u c t u r e s which, while they exhibit definite mechanical a n d chemical characteristics, exhibit also characteristics which can n o t be defined in these terms. T h e s e struct u r e s are of kinds; and when we exhibit definitely the kind in any instance, we p o i n t not only t o a p a r t i c u l a r mechanical a n d chemical fact, o r series of such facts, but also to a life history. 3 Psychology, at present, is f o l l o w i n g the lead of biology, 1

" T h e present physical and chemical structure of organism must be explained not only in terms of atoms and molecules, but also in terms of the history of l i v i n g matter upon the earth." Comstock and T r o l a n d , The Nature of Matter and Electricity. N e w Y o r k , V a n Nostrand, 1 9 1 7 , p. 194. ' S e e , for example, T . H. M o r g a n ' s Mechanism of Mendelian Heredity. New Y o r k , Holt, 1 9 1 5 , with its extensive references. * I suspect that it is a confused recognition of the f a c t of life histories, as different f r o m one another as different chemical compounds, that leads so re-

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especially when the latter science deals with highly o r g a n i z e d living beings. M a n y of the operations which we call mental are so evidently vital that a distinction between the mental and the vital is more o f t e n confusing than helpful. If we are to m a k e a sound distinction at all, our considerations h i t h e r t o might lead us to make it in w h a t we may call structural terms. In other words, if there are operations or activities of living beings which indicate a structure different f r o m the mechanical, the chemical, or the biological, then we may have a means of distinguishing mental f r o m vital processes which may be a d v a n t a g e o u s . Such a difference a p p e a r s to be the fact, f o r we recognize a kind of structure which we call logical. Whichever of the current attitudes t o w a r d logic we may take, we seem to be c o n f r o n t e d with the fact t h a t the operations of t h o u g h t are subject to a structure which is not like t h a t involved in the displacement of bodies, or in chemical combinations, or in life histories. T h e syllogism may be an inadequate expression of this structure, but it is an historically instructive one and shows how different the structure of t h o u g h t is f r o m the other types of structure we have considered. E v e r y examination of the operation of implying or inferring seems to show the same difference. Ideas and propositions, w h e t h e r spoken or unspoken, are subject in their movement to structural principles as definite and precise as the principle involved in the simple illustration of the line and the area with which we s t a r t e d . A n d these principles have that kind of aloofness f r o m time and space which we indicate by the ordinary w o r d " m e n t a l " and the e x t r a o r d i n a r y w o r d " t r a n s c e n d e n t a l . " T h e f o r e g o i n g illustrations naturally suggest the generalization t h a t a structure of some sort is characteristic of all operations universally. In other words, whatever else the world or the universe or " r e a l i t y " may be, it is at least a structure or a system of structures. Or we may say that it has structure as something genuinely, universally, and metaphysically characteristic of it. W h e t h e r it has one structure or m a n y will be l e f t here unconsidered. W e shall be content to follow p e a t e d l y to vitalistic t h e o r i e s in biology, j u s t as it is t h e f a i l u r e to recognize t h e s t r u c t u r a l c h a r a c t e r of l i f e h i s t o r i e s w h i c h m a k e s m a n y " m e c h a n i c a l " i n t e r p r e t a t i o n s of l i f e so u n s a t i s f a c t o r y a n d so u n c o n v i n c i n g .

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the lead of our illustrations and say that it has at least spatial, temporal, and logical structures which may be reducible to one type, but which will be left here without any attempt so to reduce them. Nevertheless, we shall speak in what follows of the fact of structure generally without distinguishing its apparent kinds. Structure is a discovery and not an hypothesis. N a t u r a l l y the discovery in particular cases may be generalized for cases not yet examined, so that belief in the universality of structure becomes a controlling belief. It may lead us to refuse the supposition that there is any operation which is structureless. But we do not begin inquiry by first supposing that there must be structure and then find that our supposition is borne out by the facts. Structure is met with in quite a different way. I t is met in action and practice, by setting one stone upon another, f o r instance, and finding that stones must be set in certain ways if they are to stand up as a wall. T h e fact found out in such ways as this imposes itself on us, so to speak, confronts us, obstructs us a f t e r the manner of a brute fact, so t h a t we must regard it as belonging to the subject-matter into which we inquire and as independent of the fact that we discover it by inquiry. If we apply to it the distinctness current in philosophical usage, we must say that it is objective and not subjective, that it is a posteriori and not a priori, t h a t it is empirical and not transcendental. In short, it is not an hypothesis invented by the mind for purposes either of explanation or control. It is a fact discovered, and discovered like other facts, as, f o r instance, that Saturn has rings. Consequently there are many philosophical considerations irrelevant to it and on which it in no way depends. Its status as a genuinely discovered fact is independent of realistic and idealistic theories. It confronts materialism and spiritualism equally and unequivocally. Every brand of epistemology must bow to it, no matter how each brand may attempt to account f o r it, since each brand discovers it first and attempts to account for it a f t e r w a r d s . These statements need no other evidence than the recognition that the philosophical considerations implied by them, if they deal with structure at all, deal with it as a discovered fact which they attempt to elucidate

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or explain. In t h a t sense only are they at all relevant t o it. But they are in no sense relevant to its obviousness, its obstructiveness, or its bruteness. Any of these philosophies may be entertained without any alteration in the fact of structure either as a discovery of a general nature, or as a discovery specific in characteristic details. I t stands out thus as one of the absolute metaphysical facts to which all speculation is subordinate. Although philosophers may busy themselves with attempts to explain structure, there is no explanation of it, if by explanation we mean the finding of a reason why it should be. Of course there is explanation in the sense of m a k i n g plain w h a t structure is in specific cases and even w h a t structure is in general. T h e r e is explanation also in the sense of showing w h a t consequences flow f r o m the fact of structure itself. But t h e r e is no explanation in the sense of showing why there is structure or why there is structure of any particular kind. A watch has a particular structure by virtue of which it keeps t i m e ; but if we ask why it has t h a t structure, it is difficult to make clear precisely w h a t we mean by the question. W e can hardly say t h a t the watch has its structure in o r d e r to keep time or because it keeps time, f o r manifestly its structure and its time-keeping go together simultaneously and not successively—the one is in no sense because of the other or for the sake of the other. T o be sure, watches have been made in o r d e r t h a t time may be kept, and that fact may show us why watches have come to be, but it does not show us why a watch in o r d e r to keep time or in just keeping time, has a structure of a particular sort. T h e discovery of w h a t the structure of a timepiece is or has got to be, if time is to be or is kept, is a very ultimate kind of discovery. It does not lead beyond itself. A n d w h a t is true of the watch is true generally. G o d may have m a d e all things a f t e r the manner in which a watchm a k e r makes a watch, f o r the purpose of having certain things done, but his purposes could not explain to us why things have the structure they are discovered to have. H i s purposes explain only w h a t uses of structure he has chosen. A n d so the discovery t h a t all things have structure is a very ultimate kind of discovery. I t is absolute because the consideration of ori-

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gin is quite irrelevant to it. N o m a t t e r how things have been produced nor when, no m a t t e r w h e t h e r they were ever produced or not, s t r u c t u r e is an absolute fact about them, the kind of fact t h a t does not lead beyond itself. T h e r e is no explanation of it because it is the kind of fact t h a t does not require explanation. All this is saying again that structure is really a discovery and a discovery of an absolute kind. T h a t is, the inquiries which lead to the discovery of structure terminate absolutely in that discovery. H a s structure been discovered or n o t ? If it has been discovered, t h a t ends the m a t t e r . F r o m which it is clear t h a t structure is not imposed upon things, but is something constitutional t o them, so to speak. A watch does not have its structure imposed upon it by its m a k e r . N e i t h e r does anything else. T h i s is really saying again that structure needs no explanation, t h a t the question why anything has structure is an idle question, but it is saying it in another way. Since structure is a discovery it may, like o t h e r discoveries, o f t e n be a surprise. Historically it seems to have been a surprise when m a d e on a large scale. T h a t things are fluid, so to speak, structureless, a kind of flux without law or o r d e r , subject to whim and caprice, is not an u n n a t u r a l supposition, so that the discovery of structure may come as a surprise and may lead to the question h o w was structure imposed upon the flux? But the discovery of structure in any specific case always disposes of this question by showing its futility. N o one who understands the structure of a watch is surprised by it. W e may be surprised at w h a t is accomplished by means of the struct u r e b e f o r e it has been discovered, but when it is discovered we are not surprised t h a t these things are accomplished by its means. P u t in its most general f o r m , the idea is this: o r d e r and uniformity cease to be objects of surprise when once struct u r e has been discovered. T h e r e is then no longer any motive f o r accounting f o r them. T h e y a r e not imposed upon the flux, but the flux exposes them in its movement. Structure is thus evidently a metaphysical discovery absolute and final. Knowledge of structure is an eminently satisfying kind of knowledge. It reduces impressions, opinions, convictions, and beliefs to w h a t we call science. N e v e r do we understand any-

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t h i n g m o r e completely and finally t h a n w h e n we u n d e r s t a n d its structure. Such k n o w l e d g e is in the highest sense explanat o r y , because it leaves n o t h i n g t o be explained. By t h a t I do n o t m e a n t h a t it puts an end to all intellectual interest or t h a t t h e discovery of structure is not progressive. I m e a n r a t h e r t h a t did we k n o w the structure of things t h o r o u g h l y , all our intellectual interests would become practical and inventive. Science would become d o g m a t i c while a r t would flourish. Since such complete knowledge would enable us t o predict the consequences of any structural combination, all our ingenuity would be employed in inventing new combinations a d a p t e d to secure desired ends. All a r t s f o r e s h a d o w such an ideal and especially the mechanical a r t s . F o r even if t h e principles of t h e classical mechanics are now under suspicion, it is clear t h a t their acceptance as so much settled d o g m a has been m a r velously f r u i t f u l in inventions f o r m a n ' s use and c o m f o r t . A n d so it is t h a t knowledge of structure gives us the g r e a t d e s i d e r a t a of all knowledge, namely, science and prediction, on the one h a n d , and control in the interest of desired ends, on the o t h e r . Such complete knowledge, even if a t t a i n e d , would p r o b a b l y n o t put an end t o a t t e m p t s to conceive existence generally in t e r m s which will satisfy h u m a n aspiration. But these a t t e m p t s would not increase k n o w l e d g e or add a new d e p a r t m e n t to science. T h e y would not, t h e r e f o r e , be either needless or profitless. T h e y would be instances of an a r t which transf o r m s existence by refining, beautifying, a n d ennobling it as does a picture or a song. I n a w o r l d where pictures a r e p a i n t e d and songs sung, it would be quite ridiculous t o say t h a t the imagination o u g h t not to leap t o a vision of providence or of a m o r a l o r d e r . F o r a k n o w l e d g e of s t r u c t u r e would show t h a t p o e t r y a n d religion, as clearly as a n y t h i n g else, are not miraculous, and t h a t they are not u n n a t u r a l . But it would show also t h a t they are not scientific, a n d t h a t they do not increase o u r knowledge. Yet they do b e a u t i f y existence and enhance t h e control of it. T h e y p u t into the w o r l d heavenly pictures, so t h a t he w h o contemplates t h e m may be t h e m o r e at h o m e in this physical w o r l d . T h e r e is a p p a r e n t l y little difference, if any, between struc-

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ture and w h a t is called substance by metaphysicians. T h e latter term is more ambiguous in its usage and has associated with it m a n y conflicting ideas. Y e t when w e speak of substance as that which exists in its own right, o r as that which persists through all changes, or that which is defined in its o w n terms, o r that which stands under, o r as that which has attributes, o r as that the knowledge of which is conclusive and final, w e are using expressions which seem equally applicable to structure. Indeed, when the term substance is used to i d e n t i f y anything beyond the particular subject of discourse at any time, it seems to carry us to much the same conclusions as a consideration of structure carries us. B u t the term structure has the a d v a n t a g e of f r e e i n g us f r o m many perplexing associations. T o speak p a r a d o x i c a l l y it is less substantial. It means something absolute without meaning G o d . I t means that without which nothing can be or be conceived without meaning something which should be eulogized or made an object of emotional attachment. I t is more expressive than the term substance is of an ultimate f a c t actually discovered. B u t our habit of thinking of structure as something possessed by the w o r l d or by things suggests the advisability of linking it m o r e closely with the older term. F o r although we may say that a watch has a certain structure w e do not thereby mean that the watch is more ultimate than the strucure it is said to h a v e . A n d so with the w o r l d — i t does not possess its structure, but is rather its structure when w e wish to express a final and absolute f a c t about it. T h i s linking of the terms structure and substance enables us to speak of structure m o r e naturally as a subject to which predicates may appropriately be attached. W e may then say not that the w o r l d has structure, but that structure is the w o r l d . In other w o r d s , the attempt to f o r m a conception of all things together or to speak of the universe or nature g e n e r a l l y is an attempt which does not successfully carry us to the recognition of a single complete and self-enclosed whole of things, but rather to the f a c t that h o w e v e r endless the succession of events may be, or h o w e v e r m a n i f o l d the number of identifiable things may be, ultimately there is unity of structure. A n d it is this discovered f a c t of unity of structure

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r a t h e r than some supposed wholeness with nothing l e f t out which may properly be called the world or the universe. W e might then say t h a t beyond structure there is nothing, without meaning t h a t within structure everything past, present, and to come is already somehow included. W e should mean r a t h e r t h a t all there is to structure is completely knowable because structure is itself complete, but t h a t it is the only t h i n g of which this can be said. Linked with this completeness of structure is its principal a t t r i b u t e — a s I should like to call it, still using substantial terms. T h a t attribute is inertia. I have already indicated that structure is discovered as a brute fact. It is met with not by way of hypothesis or conjecture, but by way of opposition or resistance. E v e r y t h i n g t h a t happens c o n f o r m s to it, but it of itself does nothing. O u r original illustration is here again suggestive. T h e structural principle of the many areas is a principle to which each of them must c o n f o r m . Figuratively speaking, it sets a limit beyond which they can not go. But it produces no single area, although an infinity of areas is producible. As over against them structure is absolutely inert. And this seems true generally. Structure is the inert principle of all existence. On this fact itself I do not now dwell, although the derivatives of it are interesting and illuminating. I wish r a t h e r to venture one f u r t h e r generalization, namely, the identification of structure with m a t t e r when m a t t e r is metaphysically conceived. W h e n so conceived—and here again we seem forced into paradoxical statements—when so conceived, m a t t e r loses its material qualities. T h e s e qualities, like solidity, fluidity, etc., as well as all the so-called secondary qualities, have long a p p e a r e d to men as convertible into one another and to afford no absolute basis f o r exact determination. Even the conception of chemical elements is seriously attacked on both theoretical and experimental grounds. But the conception of structure remains intact and to this conception still cling the so-called p r i m a r y qualities of m a t t e r like inertia and those which are only quantitatively and relationally expressible, like weight. If the materials of things are convertible, it seems evident t h a t in no sense can any of them be more final and p r i m a r y than any o t h e r ; but if all are con-

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vertible in terms of changeless structural principles, these latter would appear to give us just that absolute conception of an inert factor in existence which has long borne the name of matter. T h i s proposed identification of structure with substance and with matter is here only suggested. I hope at another time to elaborate it. Indeed the points put f o r w a r d in this paper are all in need of elaboration. But it has occurred to me that they might prove suggestive as indicating a field of metaphysical inquiry apparently free from the controversial questions of much recent philosophy. T h e considerations here suggested seem to me to afford scope f o r inquiry and discussion independent of mooted questions about the truth of perception or the possibility of knowledge.

M I N D

DISCERNED*

"WE HAVE said t h a t those objects which can n o t be incorpor a t e d into the one space which the u n d e r s t a n d i n g envisages are r e l e g a t e d t o a n o t h e r sphere called imagination. W e reach here a most i m p o r t a n t corollary. A s m a t e r i a l objects, m a k i n g a single system which fills space a n d evolves in time, a r e conceived by a b s t r a c t i o n f r o m the flux of sensuous experience, so, pari passu, the rest of experience, with all its o t h e r o u t g r o w t h s and concretions, falls out with t h e physical w o r l d and f o r m s the sphere of mind, t h e s p h e r e of m e m o r y , fancy, a n d t h e passions. W e have in this discrimination the genesis of mind, not of course in the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense in which the w o r d mind is extended to m e a n the sum t o t a l a n d m e r e f a c t of e x i s t e n c e — f o r mind, so t a k e n , can have no origin and indeed no specific m e a n i n g — b u t t h e genesis of mind as a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m of being, a distinguishable p a r t of the universe known to experience and discourse, the mind t h a t u n r a v e l s itself in meditation, inhabits a n i m a l bodies, and is studied in psychology." 1 T h i s passage f r o m S a n t a y a n a ' s " R e a s o n in C o m m o n Sense" is quoted f o r homiletical r a t h e r t h a n critical p u r p o s e s . I confess, h o w e v e r , t h a t I h a v e f o u n d no little difficulty in a t t e m p t ing t o construe it intelligibly and systematically. T h e r e is a p t to remain with me a residuum which is a m b i g u o u s and obscure. F o r , if the genesis of mind is the consequence of a discrimination which, in its turn, is m a d e by processes of conceiving and abstracting, t h e r e seems obviously t o be presupposed as a l r e a d y g e n e r a t e d or existing a mind which discriminates in t h a t m a n n e r . A n d if such a mind is t o be p r e s u p p o s e d , it is not easy t o m a k e o u t w h e t h e r it is mind in the t r a n scendental sense w i t h o u t origin or specific m e a n i n g , o r w h e t h e r • I n the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X V I I I ( 1 9 2 1 ) , pp. 337-347. 1 The Life of Reason, by G e o r g e Santayana, Vol. I, pp. 1 2 4 - 1 2 5 .

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it is t h e m i n d k n o w n t o e x p e r i e n c e a n d s t u d i e d in p s y c h o l o g y . B o t h s e e m t o be l o g i c a l l y e x c l u d e d . F o r a m i n d w h i c h discrimin a t e s by c o n c e i v i n g a n d a b s t r a c t i n g c a n h a r d l y m e a n t h e s u m t o t a l a n d m e r e f a c t o f e x i s t e n c e , a n d a m i n d w h i c h , as a consequence o f such discrimination, b e c o m e s a determinate f o r m o f being, can h a r d l y be the m i n d which, by discriminating, l e a d s t o t h a t c o n s e q u e n c e . Y e t m i n d as m e r e f a c t o f e x i s t e n c e a n d m i n d as a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m o f b e i n g s e e m t o e x h a u s t t h e w h o l e d o m a i n o f m i n d as d e f i n e d in t h e p a s s a g e a n d its context. T h e s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s I n a t u r a l l y b e l i e v e a r e as o b v i o u s t o S a n t a y a n a as t h e y a r e t o m e , a n d t h a t b e l i e f m a k e s m e suspect t h a t t h e p a s s a g e w a s n o t w r i t t e n t o p r o v o k e an e x c u r s i o n into d i a l e c t i c . I s u s p e c t t h a t his p r e s e n t a t i o n o f a flux o f e x p e r i ence c o m i n g s o m e h o w t o be d i s c r i m i n a t e d i n t o m a t e r i a l obj e c t s — m a k i n g a s i n g l e s y s t e m w h i c h fills s p a c e a n d e v o l v e s in t i m e — a n d a s p h e r e o f m e m o r y , f a n c y a n d t h e p a s s i o n s , is an a t t e m p t , n o t t o r a i s e m e t a p h y s i c a l p r o b l e m s , b u t t o tell in a f a i r l y a c c u r a t e w a y a f t e r all, h o w , in a n i n d i v i d u a l ' s l i f e , his p e r s o n a l i t y a n d t h e w o r l d he l i v e s in c o m e t o b e s h a r p l y set o v e r against each other. Such, at any rate, w a s m y unders t a n d i n g o n first r e a d i n g t h e p a s s a g e . L a t e r r e a d i n g s b r o u g h t o u t a n d e m p h a s i z e d t h e difficulties t o w h i c h I h a v e g i v e n e x p r e s s i o n . T h e y h a v e l e d m e t o d o s o m e t h i n g m o r e , t o cons i d e r a f r e s h t h e q u e s t i o n o f m i n d in t h e t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense a n d t h e m i n d w h i c h is s t u d i e d in p s y c h o l o g y . A n d it is b e c a u s e they h a v e done this, that I n o w a p p r o a c h the question with this introduction. I t is t o b e e m p h a s i z e d t h a t w h a t n o w f o l l o w s is n e i t h e r c r i t i c i s m n o r e x p o s i t i o n o f t h e q u o t e d p a s s a g e , a l t h o u g h its w o r d s m a y f r e q u e n t l y recur. I can not easily escape their haunting suggestiveness and h a v e no desire to. T h e mind w h i c h i n h a b i t s a n i m a l b o d i e s a n d m i n d in t h a t sense in w h i c h t h e w o r d is e x t e n d e d t o m e a n t h e s u m t o t a l a n d m e r e f a c t o f e x i s t e n c e , set f o r t h a c o n t r a s t w h i c h is n o t e a s i l y e s c a p a b l e w h e n one r e m e m b e r s the w r i t i n g s o f philosophers. M o r e o v e r , reflection quickly leads to the recognition that no m a t t e r h o w absolute the v a r i e d determinations o f being m a y be taken to b e , d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m s o f b e i n g a r e d i s c o v e r e d in t h e c o u r s e

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of one's personal history. T h e universe which we investigate is, in a very genuine sense, a universe of discourse—certainly, a universe discoursed a b o u t — a sort of total object of thought, the totality of which seems to be in no wise impaired by any of the distinctions discovered or set up within it. T h e mind which is studied in psychology as a determinate f o r m of being exists in this universe of inquiry alongside other d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m s of being f r o m which it is distinguished. Both it and they are in some sense objects of t h o u g h t and their being so does not in any way seem to exclude either them or the distinction between them f r o m the total universe of inquiry. In other words, the world of material objects and the mind which inhabits animal bodies lie, as it were, discriminated in a single universe of discourse and may be subjects of t h o u g h t f u l inquiry even if such inquiry may seem never to occur except with the presence of some animal body with a mind inhabiting it. Shall we say then that the total universe of discourse to which all distinctions and discriminations are relevant is mind in the transcendental sense, the sum total and mere fact of existence? An affirmative answer could identify itself with several recognized systems of philosophy. But it is not any such identification which is here sought, but r a t h e r w h a t understanding, if any, is to be given to such an affirmation. L e t us consider the total universe of discourse, t h a t realm in which all determinate f o r m s of being lie, so to speak, side by side in their m a n i f o l d relations. W e may give to this universe other names, such as the world of phenomena or the sum total of experience. N a m i n g it is, however, apt to disclose some prejudice about it or some theoretical construction of it, of which it itself may be innocent. If it is named a world of phenomena, the term " p h e n o m e n a " may imply no m o r e t h a n t h a t it a p p e a r s as just w h a t it a p p e a r s to be; but the term may also imply t h a t its items are phenomena or appearances of something else and thus involve a relation not possibly given within the universe we are considering. F o r clearly the total realm of being does not contain within itself a relation to something not contained within it, and a relation to something wholly exterior to it would not be a relation open to investigation. Propositions involving such a relation would be mean-

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ingless. A g a i n , if the universe we are considering is named the sum total of experience, the term " e x p e r i e n c e " may m e a n only that w e are considering it, talking about it, regarding it in any w a y we can r e g a r d it, o r m a k i n g trial of its many f a c t o r s ; but the term m a y also mean that the universe of discourse is the result of some anterior process by which it is g e n e r a t e d and comes to be the kind of universe it is. In this latter sense " e x p e r i e n c e " is not an item within its boundaries, and can not be explored. T h e expression " t h e total universe of d i s c o u r s e " m a y involve similar difficulties. It has, however, the a d v a n t a g e of suggesting primarily logical considerations. I t brings at once to the f r o n t the f a c t that w h a t we are concerned with are those realms of being which are objects of study and inquiry, the universe of the chemist and the physicist as well as the universe of the moralist and the psychologist. It emphasizes subject-matter as o v e r against speculation and hypotheses. I t calls b e f o r e us the natural attitude of the man w h o finds a purse and looks to see w h a t is in it. So men find rocks and trees, seas and stars, memories and fancies, and look to see what these things are and w h a t can be said about them. A l l inquiry starts in this w a y and not with " p h e n o m e n a " o r " e x p e r i e n c e " or " s e n s e - d a t a . " T h e s e may be a r r i v e d at later as interpretations or explanations of what it was with which inquiry started, but they are not original with its inception. I t is, t h e r e f o r e , in the hope of keeping close to the initial act of inquiry into definite, concrete subject-matter that I speak of the total universe of discourse, using the term " t o t a l " to mean no more than the attempt to leave out no instance w h a t e v e r of such inquiry. T h i s universe in its t o t a l i t y — m e a n i n g by totality what I h a v e just d e f i n e d — m i g h t conceivably be the object of a single individual's consideration. W e h a v e a sense of that whenever we enter a library which contains measurably all that men h a v e ever said o r discovered about this universe. W i t h time and patience enough one might r e a d every book and learn w h a t purses had been f o u n d and what treasures within them. B u t it is not the magnitude of the i n f o r m a t i o n possibly to be derived in this w a y that is in point here, but rather the f a c t that such a reader, w e r e he asked to note it, would observe an under-

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lying continuity in his readings. H e would observe f o r instance that the physicist and the psychologist were both studying sounds even if the f o r m e r said they were waves o f air and the latter sensations; that the moralist and the economist were both investigating goods even if the f o r m e r called them objects o f desire and the latter commodities o f exchange. In sum, he would observe that in all his reading he was confronted with a world to be interpreted and with interpretations o f that world. T h e latter might vary f r o m Genesis to Einstein, but the f o r m e r would seem to be invariable. Such a reader might leave the library with what I conceive to be a very simple, but also a very fundamental piece o f metaphysical wisdom, namely, that in spite o f the varieties o f interpretation, there is, logically speaking, but one subject-matter to be interpreted. T h e physicist and the psychologist have the same subject-matter although they interpret it differently, likewise the moralist and the economist, likewise everybody. T h a t is, all inquiry is ultimately relevant to the same subject-matter, the same universe o f discourse. I t is the continuity o f this subjectm a t t e r , underlying all interpretations o f it, which makes it possible for the reader to detect what he is reading about. T o strip this universe o f every shred o f interpretation is not easy. F o r , in the first place, some interpretation has apparently laid hold o f it b e f o r e one is led to the attempt so to strip it. And, in the second place, any stripping is inevitably fraught with the danger o f being itself an interpretation o f some sort. On this double difficulty one might dwell at length, f o r the search for what is called " t h e immediate" has been long, labourious, and unconvincing. Y e t , as I take it, the search is illadvised. W e are not called upon in our investigations to divorce subject-matter and interpretation in any way which would force upon us two wholly disconnected universes. T h a t puzzling obligation does not as a matter o f fact confront us. W e might with greater truth assert that any attempted divorce would be meaningless, since interpretation itself involves the identification o f the subject-matter to be interpreted. T h i s assertion seems to be valid when followed out in detail. F o r what are sounds? T h e physicist and the psychologist both answer the question and it is quite clear that they are both

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telling us what sounds are. There is no difference of subjectmatter between them. There is something to which their replies, however different, are relevant and that something is identified by them and their hearers. If some lover of the pure immediate should interpose with the claim that to call that something "sound" is already to interpret it, we should have no difficulty in recognizing that he was talking about the same item in the universe of discourse about which the others were also talking. In short, subject-matter needs no divorce, either absolute or relative, from interpretation in order to be identified. If it did, it is quite clear that the visitor to the library could not understand a single book he read, or discover any differences of interpretation or opinion among the authors. Consequently it would appear that we can tell what subject-matter is either by identifying it or interpreting it. Asked what sounds are, we either produce them or refer to physics and psychology. This fact recalls many familiar contrasts of philosophy, such as knowledge of acquaintance and knowledge about, fact and meaning, existence and explanation, object and idea. That such contrasts should so naturally and constantly recur is good evidence that they are metaphysically sound. They indicate that the universe of discourse, that is, again, the universe within which all inquiry occurs and proceeds, is characterized fundamentally by the contrast of subject-matter and interpretation, or, we may say, of object and idea. 2 Although we may be enticed by various considerations to attempt to divorce the terms of this contrast so that they may constitute initially two distinct realms of being which are subsequently united by some secret agency, we never really succeed. Man has contrived their union only through hypotheses which are ultimately either unintelligible or petitones principii. W e might better side with those who say, "What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." For no inquiry into the universe of discourse has ever succeeded in separating it into a universe of objects apart from ideas and a universe of these ideas absolutely apart from objects. In the words of Spinoza: " T h i s I take to be Spinoza's doctrine of the attributes of extension and thought, and the basis of his axiom, " A true idea agrees vrith its object."

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Ordo et connectio idearutn idem est ac ordo et connectio rerum. Since the universe of discourse is a universe of this kind, we might give to it with some appropriateness the name of mind. Such a name would be used in the transcendental sense, f o r it would be used to indicate possibilities, the possibility of knowledge, of inquiry, of discursive thinking. It could not mean that a mind was taking thought of a world. In this latter sense the name could have no specific meaning. Neither could such a mind be said to have an origin. One might reluctantly admit that the universe of discourse itself might have an origin, that it was not self-sustained and self-sufficient, but mind in the transcendental sense could have no origin within it, since mind in that sense is but a name given to the universe's salient character. And that name would indicate the sum total and mere fact of existence as constituting the universe wherein inquiry is active and productive. Clearly this mind is also not a determinate form of being, a distinguishable part of the universe known to experience and discourse. It does not inhabit animal bodies and it is not studied in psychology. N o r does it explain the universe it constitutes, f o r it is not a substance which supports that universe, nor a cause of which that universe is an effect. It is a name f o r the fact that object and idea are already married whenever their union is open to consideration. It is a protest against the divorce courts of epistemology. It may be more, indicating a type of structure which the metaphysician must recognize in any dealing with being in its ultimate character. 3 W h a t then is the mind studied in psychology? Clearly it is not mind in the sense we have been considering. N o argument is needed, I imagine, to support this statement, f o r the mind studied in psychology is a mind which remembers, imagines, perceives, reasons, is disturbed by passions, moved by desires, and, above all else, inhabits animal bodies. It is a biographical and not a transcendental fact. It is a determinate form of being. It has a genesis and an origin. It is studied in psychology and to that study it must largely be left here. Since, however, ' I have suggested this in an article on "Structure." See Journal Vol. X I V ( 1 9 1 7 ) , pp. 680-688. '

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the p a s s a g e f r o m S a n t a y a n a which led us t o it is a s u m m a r y of its genesis, we m a y consider t h a t topic in the light of o u r previous discussion. I a m f a i r l y content t o let S a n t a y a n a ' s account of its genesis s t a n d , f o r , as a l r e a d y indicated, t h a t account calls us t o n o t e h o w t h e s p h e r e of m e m o r y , fancy a n d the passions f a l l s o u t w i t h t h e physical w o r l d , a n d f o r m s a sphere by itself a l t h o u g h still in touch with w h a t it has l e f t . E v e r y individual can, I imagine, discover some such genesis in his own life if he studiously looks f o r it. A n d assuredly t h e things which f o r an individual d o not m a k e up the physical w o r l d a r e the t h i n g s which a r e studied in psychology. S a n t a y a n a ' s account m a y , t h e r e f o r e , s t a n d . W h a t is said in t h e following is n e i t h e r exposition n o r criticism, but only considerations which a r e in line with the previous discussion a n d which a r e p r o m p t e d by t h e s t a t e m e n t t h a t t h e r e is a genesis of mind in the psychological sense. But strictly it is n o t w i t h its genesis specifically t h a t I shall be concerned, but with somet h i n g relevant t o its genesis, namely t h e possibility of it, as a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m of being, i n t e r p r e t i n g the universe in which it finds itself. T h e mind studied in psychology inhabits animal bodies. W h e t h e r it inhabits all such bodies is uncertain, but the question w h e t h e r it d o e s is one of t h e best p r o o f s of its h a b i t a t a n d a clear indication t h a t its definition is ultimately biological. I t is distinguished in t h e b o d y n o t in the way the head, b r a i n , o r any a n a t o m i c a l p a r t of t h e b o d y is distinguished, but in t h e w a y the life of t h e b o d y is distinguished. I t is not a p a r t of the body in the sense t h a t the fingernails a r e a p a r t of it. If we call it a p a r t at all, we tend t o follow A r i s t o t l e and say t h a t b o d y and mind a r e p a r t s of the living individual, and a r e m o r e like an axe and c u t t i n g t h a n t h e y a r e like an axe-head and an axe-handle. D i s e m b o d i e d spirits seem unable t o function without a medium, a n d souls, if t h e y survive one body, seem f o r c e d t o seek a n o t h e r . So t h a t even if we say t h a t the mind is n o t a p a r t of the b o d y in t h e a n a t o m i c a l sense, and even if we fancy t h a t the m i n d can be w i t h o u t a body, it must have a h a b i t a t t o be effective, t o be communicated with, and t o be studied. N o w the animal bodies which mind as a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m

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of being inhabits are items in the universe of discourse. T h e y themselves belong to the total domain of things which can be investigated and are objects of inquiry like all other objects in the same domain. Asking what they are, we say, among other things that might be said, that they are the habitations of mind, and that being such they think and reason. T h e y interpret the world in which they live. T h e y say, among other things, that sounds are waves of air and also that they are sensations; that goods are objects of desire and commodities of exchange. I am not concerned here with their justification in saying these things, but with the fact that they do say them and with the possibility of saying them that lies back of that fact. Of our interpretations of subject-matter we say that some are sound, others unsound, some correct, others incorrect, some true, others false. But it is quite clear that back of such affirmations and fundamental to them is the possibility of making any affirmations at all. On what does that possibility dep e n d ? In other words, how are we to construe the fact that animal bodies, in so f a r as they respond to the world about them by interpreting it, are said to be inhabited by a mind? This question of possibility ought not to be so handled that in place of possibility we have impossibility. Yet this, I suspect, is what is too frequently done when the question is considered. F o r instance, the possibility of interpreting sounds as waves of air can not lie in the initial existence of waves of air as subject-matter to be interpreted. Yet our books are full of attempts to exhibit the possibility of interpretation generally in terms of some specific interpretation which itself rests on that possibility. N o r can we successfully flee f r o m the universe of discourse altogether and say that the possibility is outside of it or arises f r o m the union of factors in themselves alien to it. Yet this too has been repeatedly tried, with only ultimate confusion as a consequence. Indeed just now I can think of only two answers which promise anything like conclusiveness. T h e first is that the possibility resides in the fact that mind as a determinate f o r m of being inhabits animal bodies; and the second is that it resides in the fact of the universe of discourse itself defined as mind in the transcendental sense as we have defined it above.

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Y e t I must regard the first answer with suspicion. Its sole title to accuracy, so f a r as I can discover, resides in the fact that the universe of discourse is considered and inquired into only, so f a r as we know, by animal bodies inhabited by a mind. Because it is bodies of this sort that do the interpreting and write the books in the library, and because without them interpretations are apparently not made, nor books written, it is natural to conclude that the possibility resides in them. But this turns out to be a rather queer conclusion when once it is attentively examined. F o r my own animal body is one of the many objects of my study, and while I may discover that it is different f r o m other objects in many ways, I do not discover that as an object of study it differs at all f r o m them. It lies side by side with them in the total universe of discourse. It is, to be sure, what Bergson calls a privileged object since its movements and activities enlarge the range of my inquiries, but this fact is one of the discovered differences between it and other objects and does not put it in a different universe f r o m them. I know that its health and integrity are prime factors in successful study. A s in imagination I rob it successively of what are called its faculties, I find that the universe of discourse is f o r me progressively impoverished, but I do not find that it ever wholly disappears. I know that to the blind this universe is not luminous as it is to me and that to the deaf it is not sonorous, but I know that I myself neither see nor hear without adequate stimuli thereto. In other words such differences as are thus indicated appear to be differences due to the constitution of the universe as a whole and imply no more than the interdependence of its parts. T h e y are not differences which can be intelligibly construed as ultimately disrupting its continuity. T h e difference between an animal body which can see and one which can not, is like the difference between one which can fly and one which can not. Such facts as these, together with the other that I can not even in fancy abolish the universe and leave anything to consider, make the conclusion look queer to me that the possibility of interpretation resides in the fact that a mind inhabits animal bodies. In other words, I can make nothing intelligible out of the attempt to start with animal bodies fully equipped in their

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animality a n d t h e n by a d d i n g a m i n d to t h e m construe their t h o u g h t f u l consideration of their w o r l d in t e r m s of this addition only. T h e a t t e m p t has been m a d e many times, but it has always been wrecked ultimately by our inability t o exhibit w h a t animal bodies are without any implication at all of mind. T h e a t t e m p t moves wholly within the t o t a l universe of discourse. I t is never f r e e f r o m the distinction between thing and idea. Its enticement, as has a l r e a d y been said, lies wholly in the fact t h a t without animal bodies the a t t e m p t itself is not m a d e , but this fact must be offset by the recognition t h a t t h e r e are o t h e r things, such as digesting f o o d , which are not done without animal bodies, and t h a t we a r e not wont t o construe the possibility of d o i n g t h e m by a d d i n g to the body a f a c t o r in which the possibility resides. Significant, t h e r e f o r e , as the fact may be t h a t w i t h o u t animal bodies inhabited by a mind inquiry into the universe of discourse does not occur and no i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of it is m a d e , the a t t e m p t to construe the possibility of such i n t e r p r e t a t i o n in t e r m s of the inhabiting mind — t h e mind studied in psychology—is here rejected. W e t u r n to the o t h e r locus of possibility, namely the f a c t of mind in the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense. 4 T h o s e w h o deal with the n a t u r a l history of mind in the psychological sense point out h o w t h a t history keeps pace with the n a t u r a l history of animal bodies, but they have never been able to discover a point at which mind may be said definitely t o enter, at which it precisely takes up its h a b i t a t i o n . T h e reason is, p e r h a p s , n o t t h a t they have not been acute enough to discover it, but r a t h e r t h a t t h e r e is no such point to discover. A mind inhabiting a body m a y involve a p r o c e d u r e wholly unlike t h a t of a t e n a n t inhabiting a house. T h e l a t t e r leases his dwelling f r o m an o w n e r w h o has a p r i o r right to possession. I t is difficult, however, to think t h a t a mind leases a body f r o m n a t u r e and then moves in on some appointed day. I t seems to dwell in its h a b i t a t i o n , if we are to keep up the figure, m o r e as the house's outlook dwells in it, something ' I t m a y be u n n e c e s s a r y to point out a g a i n h o w r a d i c a l l y d i f f e r e n t the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l m i n d is f r o m the psychological. T h e f o r m e r can not be defined in t e r m s of conscious processes or b e h a v i o r . It is n e i t h e r s u b s t a n c e nor c a u s e . I conceive it to be, as i n d i c a t e d in t h e article " S t r u c t u r e , " one of the s t r u c t u r a l f a c t s of existence g e n e r a l l y .

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congenital a n d not alien. It w o u l d seem a s if a n i m a l b o d i e s become seeing, thinking, r e m e m b e r i n g , i m a g i n a t i v e , a n d passionate bodies in much the s a m e w a y a s they become d i g e s t i n g , b r e a t h i n g , w a l k i n g , a n d r e p r o d u c t i v e bodies. J u s t how t h e y become this l a t t e r sort of bodies w e d o not v e r y well k n o w , but we do k n o w t h a t in a c t u a l l y being bodies of this sort t h e y do no m o r e than r e a c t to a w o r l d which is itself congenial to their reactions. T h e y react, t h a t is, to a w o r l d which m a k e s the specific c h a r a c t e r of their reactions possible, but this possibility t h e y do not create. C h e m i s t r y m a y be said to inhabit them a n d u n r a v e l itself in digestion, but the possibility of such a d e t e r m i n a t e , i n d i v i d u a l i z e d , a n d o r g a n i z e d f o r m of chemistry clearly resides in the fact t h a t the w o r l d in which t h e y a r e is in a v e r y genuine sense a chemical w o r l d . Should all a n i m a l bodies cease to be, digestion m i g h t a l s o cease, but since the process of d i g e s t i n g did not c r e a t e the chemistry which m a d e it possible, w e could not affirm t h a t w h a t w e m i g h t call the chemical structure of the w o r l d a l s o ceased to be. W e m i g h t r a t h e r v e n t u r e to say t h a t the possibility of c h e m i s t r y a s a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m of being, inhabiting a n i m a l bodies, a n d u n r a v e l i n g itself in digestion r e s i d e d in the f a c t t h a t t h e r e is chemistry in the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense. Our a t t i t u d e t o w a r d the question of the possibility of interp r e t a t i o n , of thinking, of k n o w l e d g e m i g h t a d v a n t a g e o u s l y be s i m i l a r . F o r thinking, like digestion, is a reaction to a w o r l d congenial to it. J u s t as w e do not affirm t h a t by digestion the possibility of chemistry is c r e a t e d , so w e ought not to affirm t h a t by t h i n k i n g the possibility of mind is c r e a t e d . W e o u g h t r a t h e r to affirm that the possibility of mind as a d e t e r m i n a t e f o r m of being inhabiting animal bodies resides in the fact t h a t t h e r e is mind in the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense. Such a view m a k e s of the genesis of the mind s t u d i e d in psychology s o m e t h i n g wholly n a t u r a l — I k n o w of no better w o r d — a s n a t u r a l as digestion or b r e a t h i n g . W i t h the d e a t h of all a n i m a l bodies thinking itself m i g h t cease, but t h a t which m a d e t h i n k i n g possible would not cease. T h i s l a t t e r w o u l d r e m a i n s o m e t h i n g c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of the w o r l d in which a n i m a l bodies h a d come to be. T h a t is, mind in the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l sense can h a v e no genesis. T h e t e r m when so used does not indicate an i n d i v i d u a l

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existence whose days may be numbered. Like mechanism, chemistry, and what in general we call the laws of nature, it indicates a type of structure or a system of connections, a logical structure it might be called, or a system of logical connections. T o this structure living beings conform in much the same way as they conform to other structural facts. As by conforming to the mechanical structure of things they maintain their equilibrium, so by conforming to the logical structure of things they think in propositions, they make distinctions and so finally come to discover themselves as distinct f r o m their world, recognize themselves as the habitations of mind, and undertake the study of psychology.

MENTAL

DEVELOPMENT*

THE habit of conceiving the life of the mind as a development has become fixed through the influence of evolutionary ideas. We speak of stages in intellectual growth with a conviction and naturalness seldom questioned. For we become wiser, it is to be hoped, through experience. W e leave behind us outworn ideas and views of life, and can regard our past as a succession of periods through which we have passed, which form a continuity, each period moving into its successor by a discoverable transition. T o exhibit this transition and show how it has been motived would thus be to write the history of the mind. This done, we might see the events of life as something more than a wonderful spectacle. We might see them rather as an ordered series which we had come to understand because we had discovered its laws. Intellectual development would then be explained in the sense that its stages and their connections would appear to us to be natural because they would appear to be regular and many times repeated. They would appear, that is, to be just the kind of stages and connections which our larger knowledge would lead us reasonably to expect. Our wonder at life might not be abated, but it would be transformed. W e could adapt to it Aristotle's remark that the ignorant are astonished because the diagonal and side of a square are incommensurable while the geometrician would be astonished if they were not. So for us the order and development of life might still appear wonderful, but we should say that it would be more wonderful if life were not orderly. There is much to support this view of mental development. The journey from youth to age has long since been divided into epochs. The parts and scenes of life's drama have passed from poetic imagery to psychological exposition. The child's inheritance has been sketched in lines increasingly more dis• In the Journal

of Philosophy,

Vol. X X I

(1924), pp. 449-456.

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tinct. I t s v a r y i n g r e s p o n s e s t o the play of stimuli upon it have been c o r r e l a t e d with c h a n g e s in its bodily s t r u c t u r e . T h e y h a v e been closely f o l l o w e d f r o m infancy, t h r o u g h adolescence and m a t u r i t y , t o t h e old age in which they end. T h e innocency and sweetness of c h i l d h o o d still c h a r m us, but they can also a p p e a r t o us as the n a t u r a l expressions of t h a t age. T h e y o u t h f u l lover m a y still c o m m a n d t h e affection of all the w o r l d , but he can also be the inevitable incident of the y e a r s of adolescence. A n d so t h r o u g h all the chances and changes of life their typical r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s offer themselves, n o t only as things t o be adm i r e d , b u t also as t h e n a t u r a l o u t c o m e of t h e f a c t o r s and conditions which f r o m d a y to d a y motive a n d control the evolution of life itself. T h e individual grows. T h e g r o w t h is a d e v e l o p m e n t which sufficient k n o w l e d g e m i g h t exhibit as an o r d e r l y e v o l u t i o n . F r o m t h e individual we pass t o the race. T h e picture becomes epical a n d magnificent. Yet the researches of a n t h r o pology w o u l d reduce it t o an orderly series of events, m a r k e d by successive p e r i o d s which u n f o l d , as it were, into one ano t h e r by n a t u r a l a n d discoverable transitions. By o b s e r v i n g s a v a g e s still living a n d by studying the remains of men long d e a d , we f r a m e a conception of m a n in his primitive state. W e f o l l o w him t h r o u g h t h e vicissitudes of the centuries. W e write his h i s t o r y as a continued story, with the c h a p t e r s sometimes e n d i n g in b r e a t h l e s s suspense, but held t o g e t h e r by a plot which discloses t h e i r n a t u r a l connections. N o d o u b t we o f t e n piece out t h e tale, as a novelist might, with an eye t o ¿esthetic fitness r a t h e r t h a n to scientific accuracy, but o u r intention is t o be t r u t h f u l . T h e lapses into r o m a n c e indicate o u r impatience with o u r lack of i n f o r m a t i o n , our haste t o get on, but not any d e l i b e r a t e intention to deceive or any desire t o be e d i f y i n g at the risk of being inexact. T h e story will h a v e to be r e w r i t t e n m a n y times, but we h a v e little doubt t h a t we have discovered the kind of s t o r y it is. H e h a s discovered h o w t o make fire and has f o u n d his natu r a l w e a p o n s , the club a n d the stone. H i t h e r t o he h a d been only an a n i m a l a m o n g o t h e r animals, m e e t i n g n a t u r e as they do, face t o face, and b o d y t o body, the cunningest w r e s t l e r , no doubt, b u t risking his life in every clinch. N o w he h a s put his

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art between himself and e v e r y t h i n g else. I t is no longer his muscles, but the fire which holds the p r e y i n g beasts f r o m his t h r o a t . It is no longer his body, but his club that receives and turns the impact of their spring. H e now w a l k s the earth without an equal upon it. T h e possibilities of civilization h a v e become his, f o r civilization is just that intervention of art of which the fire, the club, and the stone a r e now symbols. T h e height of his civilization will be m a r k e d by the extent and complexity of his art. F o r he g r o w s in p o w e r , not like Antaeus, w h o d r e w his strength directly f r o m the earth with e v e r y f r e s h contact of his body with it, but by keeping his body a l o o f and by indirection unlocking the f o r c e s of nature. H i s possibilities are embodied in the conception of a G o d w h o could create the w o r l d by speaking. F r o m the fire, the club, and the stone, to the creative w o r d — t h u s we may indicate in something m o r e than a figure the reach of man's development. H i s civilization increases just in proportion as he has m a d e nature the slave of his bidding. T h a t means that the original f a c e to f a c e and body to body contact with nature, which m a r k him only as one animal a m o n g many, has steadily decreased. T h e importance of his body has been p r o g r e s s i v e l y minimized. T h e importance of his mind has been p r o g r e s s i v e l y magnified. H e is continually converting nature into a piece of machinery which he can command. H i s development is thus an intellectual development and his history an intellectual history. T o speak of his history as natural is to run the risk of f o r g e t t i n g his civilization. H e r e we play with terms well calculated to trick us. N a t u r e m a y be as much or as little as w e please. So, to deny m a n a natural history m a y be an absurdity. Y e t it m a y also be the means of keeping clear the distinction which w e m a y not wisely a v o i d , the distinction that indicates that he has developed, as no other creature has, through the intervention of a r t between himself and his w o r l d . In so f a r , then, as " a r t " and " n a t u r e " spell a contrast, the history o f man is a history of a r t and not a history of nature. M a n ' s art is v a r i e d . W e use the term when we speak of agriculture and when w e speak of music. W e m a y use it also when we speak of ideas. T h i s extension is not m e t a p h o r i c a l .

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It goes rather to the heart of the whole m a t t e r . F o r art, as we have a l r e a d y seen, is both a kind of instrument and a symbol. It is something which intervenes between man and w h a t he controls. W e may say crudely that it is a sort of substitute for his body, yet touching both his body and nature. T h e club a g a i n may serve us as an illustration. H e wields it with his a r m and it bruises his foe. It does what his body without it would h a v e to do. It is thus a real instrument. And it is also a symbol. It represents combat even when it is not used. A panoply of a r m s on the walls of a museum is as much a picture as a painted canvas. T h e latter we may call a finer instrumentation, but at bottom it is of the same kind. It is a substitute f o r immediate vision, making it unnecessary for the eye to behold directly what the picture symbolizes. Otherwise looking at nature would be the equivalent of looking at pictures. I d e a s condense symbolism as no other material of a r t can. You can pack into one volume the words that express all that has been expressed. Every form of art is supplemented with l a n g u a g e and ideas to prevent it from becoming utterly inarticulate. W i t h o u t this supplementation it reverts to nature simply, becomes emotion and activity directly, and loses all its symbolism. Music which does not symbolize a dance, but which makes one dance, is not art except metaphorically. It is a r t in the power of him who uses it to produce the effect it is calculated to produce. It is not art for the dancer any more than the club is a r t for the bruised animal. Ideas are thus the things that keep art from being only an instrument. But they a r e themselves instruments as well as symbols. T h e y a r e substitutes for the things they signify, so that a sentence uttered may take the impact of a blow. And so between man and nature intervene the whole symbolism and instrumentality of his ideas. T h e y mean and they fend. T h e y suggest and they control. T h e y represent and they operate. T h e y are the supreme intervention of art, at once the highest form of instrumentation and the highest form of symbolism. Once more we glimpse the truth that the development of man is an intellectual development. H i s history is the history of his ideas. It is the exhibition of the way he has put between himself and nature the symbols which are also his instru-

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ments. It is the record of how he has met nature not directly with his body, but indirectly with his mind. In setting forth this history, we divide it into periods. W e ascribe to mind a kind of immortality f r o m age to age, so that we can think of it as a continuous development displaying each stage as the outgrowth of its predecessor. In each we seek the factors which change it into its successor and the laws which these changes follow. T h e items in individual growth are transferred to lacial growth, and thus we come to speak of the childhood of the race, its youth, its maturity, and its age. T h e transfer is supported by many analogies; the savage is like an overgrown child, the intelligent man like a child grown mature. Step by step we trace the progress of the race in all its vicissitudes until we reach the culminating present and then look back upon the long march as a continued and connected series of events in the life of the mind. Psychology would appear to offer us the key to the connections and transitions, and so we seek to solve the problem which confronts us by trying to discover the origin of ideas and the principles of their association. W e piece out our lack of information by conceiving that the individual in some measure recapitulates in his own history the history of the race and by comparing the behaviour of animals under experimental control with the behaviour of man himself. Stages in intellectual development appear to be established f o r the race as well as f o r the individual. Y e t our conviction in this regard deserves scrutiny. It is immediately apparent that in construing the history of man as a continuous development—and it should be remembered that this continuity may admit of cataclysms—we run the risk of an over-simplification. T h e continuity we display is a selected continuity and it is continuous only because it is selected. It is necessary to f o r g e t many things as we pass from age to age if we would picture successfully the growth of intelligence as one process running through time. T o interpret Roman ideas in terms of Greek ideas—as a sort of continuation and modification of them—has its fascination, but in so doing we must forget that the Roman mind did not begin in Greece. In viewing modern civilization as the outcome of ancient civilization with its roots in the East, we must forget that modern

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civilization began in the f o r e s t s of G e r m a n y and not in Palestine. In o t h e r words, the intellectual h e r i t a g e t h a t an academic tradition has preserved and certain Augustinian ideas about the history of mankind have reinforced does not represent, except to the f o r g e t f u l , any actual sequence of events. T h e intellectual traditions with which we have g r o w n familiar are not histories of anything besides these t r a d i t i o n s . T h e boy set at his history books may still begin with the Babylonians, advance to the Greeks and on t h r o u g h the R o m a n s , the M i d d l e Ages, and W e s t e r n E u r o p e to America, but he is not studying the history of man. H e is studying little m o r e t h a n a selected series of events which an historical t r a d i t i o n has correlated with the calendar. I t is this correlation m o r e t h a n any discovered principle of connection t h a t imposes upon him the idea of a continuous history. W e are doubtless in no better case when, helped by the anthropologist, we sketch the primitive condition of m a n and picture his p r o g r e s s t h r o u g h stage a f t e r stage of his evolution up to the highest pitch of his civilization. W e are writing no actual history, but establishing a new historical tradition, no better than the Augustinian, or we are selecting a continuity which we do not find. In still a n o t h e r way the selected c h a r a c t e r of our supposed continuity is a p p a r e n t . W e discover history backwards, so to speak, but we write it f o r w a r d s . W e s t a r t with some event or circumstance and seek its past. O u r guiding t h r e a d is fixed to the thing f r o m which we s t a r t . Clinging to it we make our way a m o n g the m a z e s of the past and on our return do an astonishing thing. W e write the history of our wanderings not only as if they began in the distant past we reach, but as if the event or circumstance we would u n d e r s t a n d h a d there its origin and had moved steadily f o r w a r d t o its c o n s u m m a t i o n ! W e f o r g e t t h a t that event or circumstance has h a d a thousand different pasts and proceed to debate as to which of its histories is correct. Of course, such a s t a t e m e n t as this may easily become e x t r a v a g a n t , but the essential point is t h a t the writing of history is an over-simplification and a process of selection. W h a t , f o r instance, is the history of N e w Y o r k ? Is it a continuous story since the settlement of the Dutch, a true sequence of events single lined to the p r e s e n t ? O r does it r a t h e r con-

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tinue the history of m a n y different places and peoples and find for itself m a n i f o l d beginning in the ends of the e a r t h ? I t s continuity is a product and not an evolution. It is a selection and not a process of development. So, too, with our history of m a n ; when we w r i t e it we w r i t e of the many things he has done or of the m a n y scenes in which he might conceivably h a v e been an actor, but to construe all this as his development is simply to select him as the centre of many converging influences. T h e continuity of his achievements is not the law of his evolution. Comments similar to these about racial development m a y be m a d e about individual development. T h e y m a y seem less apt, at first, because f o r the individual the body serves so a d m i r a b l y and so concretely a s the conserver of the individual's experiences. T h e physical continuity of the race, although no less real, perhaps, than that of the individual body, is not so i m m e d i a t e l y imposing. It is broken up and individualized, as we say, and its parts, h a v i n g become severed and detached, pursue severed and detached careers. It would be meaningless, or little more than a figure of speech, to say that this physical continuity of the race conserved the experiences of the race as the physical continuity of the body conserves the experiences of the individual. F o r to express ourselves a f t e r that m a n n e r involves the conception of the race itself as a kind of individual and the loss of that distinction we would m a k e when we contrast the race and the individual. It means something to say t h a t the Jefferson who signed the Declaration of Independence w a s the Jefferson who became president of the U n i t e d S t a t e s ; but it means little to say that the human race which achieved the constitution of Cleisthenes became the human race which won the M a g n a C h a r t a . T h i s l a t t e r expression is too evidently a striving to conceive as an individual a thing which can exist only as many individuals, to impose upon us as any important truth. Indeed, it is prim a r i l y the physical continuity of the body and the fact that an individual is the offspring of other individuals that lead us to conceive of the race itself as h a v i n g any continuity at all. T h e development of the race is thus metaphorical. T h e conception of it involves a t r a n s f e r of meaning and in that trans-

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fer loses the features that give it distinction. Individual men may grow, but man, being a metaphor, grows only metaphorically. Even the biologist who supposes that the germ cells of a species of living things form a virtual physical continuity, finds it difficult to assign to the germ plasm itself any development in the strict sense. It can not acquire characters. It can not be influenced by its environment. T o assign to it an inherent principle of directive change independent of any stimulus seems preposterous. For all purposes of evolution its changes are accidental. Its variations become factors in succeeding evolutions, but are not the results of the evolutions which precede them. T h e continuity of the germ plasm may be a fact, but if so, it is a fact which has not yet been successfully conceived in terms of evolution. Thus, again, it would appear that while the development of the individual may be real the development of the race is metaphorical. But in what sense, after all, is the development of the individual a real development? In speaking of it as real is there no over-simplification and no selection similar to that which we find in speaking of the development of the race? Individual and racial development have this at least in common, both are the successive interventions of art. This common feature is, in case of the individual, emphatically reinforced by education. He does not inherit the traditions and experiences of his ancestors. H e is taught them. Consequently, he has little development apart from society. It is common enough to observe the effects of a new sky even upon the mature. T h e traditions, habits, and modes of thought of immigrants to this country change with a rapidity astonishing enough when one thinks of the centuries of tradition behind them. The native children of foreign parents are foreigners in every sense to their cousins abroad. W e may call this a development, but it should be more properly called a response to new stimuli. I f it is called a development, where did that development begin? Surely we can not say in the ancestors. It has no continuity with the individuals' past. They rather have become factors which continue a past to which hitherto they have been strangers. T o speak of these continuities as their development is, consequently, highly figurative. It is again the fact of their bodily continuity and

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the possibility of correlating their experiences with their successive birthdays that evoke the inference that we are dealing with processes and events that unfold. T h e child that develops into the man is a child over-simplified and selected. It is a child which is but the centre of many converging lines which have many different beginnings. In speaking of this development as a continuous evolution, we are simply pointing him out as successively just such a centre. It would thus appear that the conception of mental development and of stages in that development is largely metaphorical whether we have in mind the development of the individual or the race. When we speak of the growth of the mind we are, it would appear, speaking really of something else, namely, of the growth of art. W e are setting forth incidents in the life of these beings in whose reactions art is a factor and trying to follow those incidents in their manifold connections. A n d their connections are manifold. T h e incidents f o r m no continuous series unless a selection is made and that selection localized in a centre which is physically continuous—a place on the map or an individual body which may be had when required. But viewed in time these incidents become centres f r o m which radiate into past and future countless series of connections. T h e y have, these centres, no one past and no one future. T h e y are points in which many pasts converge and from which many futures diverge. By the aid of the place or the body to which they are attached and by the aid of the calendar with which changes in that place or in that body may be correlated, we can arrange them in continuous series which we call the histories of a certain people, place, institution, or individual. T h e result is never an adequate account, but always an oversimplified and a selected account. W e should not, however, conclude that these accounts are, therefore, useless, or that they are, therefore, false. It is too evident that they are neither. T h e y have precisely the advantage that simplification and selection have. T h e y introduce precision and clarity where otherwise precision and clarity would be lacking. T h e y promote comprehension and appreciation. T h e simplified and selected continuities which they present should not, however, be construed into an absolute

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evolution which reveals its own causes and f a c t o r s . T h e y do not constitute a philosophy of history or an evolutionary metaphysics of the mind. T h e y reveal r a t h e r that reaction, simplification, and selection are themselves prime f a c t o r s in motivating all change and all succession.

B E H A V I O U R *

THE dependence of the way things behave on the way they are put together seems to be sufficiently proved. Every act, from the movement of a body in space to the movement of thought in an inference, seems to be done by an agent in which can be found a structure, constitution, or organization without which the act is not done. Specific activity and specific structure go together. This, as I have said, seems to be sufficiently proved. Obviously, however, it has not been discovered in all the particular instances to which the general principle might apply. W e are very far from that. It is, therefore, not unnatural perhaps to be tempted at times to see in instances of peculiar difficulty exceptions to the general rule. T h a t certain chemical compounds live while others do not, that germs so evidently alike in their composition produce creatures so radically different in kind and in modes of behaviour, may tempt us to appeal to other than structural determinations for an understanding o f how things behave as they do. And this temptation is reinforced by the fact that the completest analysis of structure affords no indication whatever of consequent behaviour. W e may be convinced that without brains we could not think, but to expect a brain to think seems to be about as unreasonable an expectation as one can entertain. Indeed, Hume's analysis of cause and effect and necessary connection, in spite of its metaphysical, psychological and historical limitations, ought to convince anyone that, while specific behaviour may habitually be inferred from specific structure, there is nothing discoverable in that structure to warrant that inference. Perhaps, were it not for this fact, we should be less tempted to conclude that what we have not yet discovered is proof that we shall never discover it. F o r it is easy to argue that since there is no necessary connection between structure • I n the Journal

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and behaviour, even those cases where the dependence o f behaviour on structure is proved require additional principles to explain how the structures involved behave as they do. I t is not my purpose, however, to try to deal with the problems which this situation is often supposed to generate. T h a t seems to me to be futile. I admit that there is often a r a r e delight in trying to do what can not be done, but there is little or no profit f o r metaphysics in so trying. F o r my own part, I have not found that the conversion o f H u m e ' s analysis into a problem o f epistemology or the attempt to add non-structural principles on to structure in order to explain specific behaviour, have enlightened us in any respect with regard to the subject-matter with which they have dealt. T h e y have historical and biographical interest. But I can not discover that they have any metaphysical interest. T h i s inability o f mine should be recognized in what I have here to say. T h e lack o f what H u m e called necessary connection between what a thing is and what it does is here admitted and taken for granted without suspecting that this lack obliges us to try to make it good in some way or other. In saying this, however, I would avoid, if possible, any suspicion o f giving aid and c o m f o r t to those misguided souls who seem to identify behaviour with structure. I fear that I do not understand them, and may impute to them opinions they do not hold. So incredible does such an identification appear to me that I find it difficult to convince myself that those who appear to make it really do make it. T h a t specific modes o f behaviour may exhibit what may be called specific patterns, I think I can understand. B u t to read these specific patterns into antecedent structural conformations which respond to stimuli is f o r me wholly unintelligible. I t looks to me so much like reading into a man's legs a map o f the walk he takes on the highway that I am left bewildered. Perhaps I have wholly misunderstood the m a t t e r . I am willing to admit that. Y e t I suspect that the current science o f behaviour is not as conscious as it might be o f apparent contradictions which so often m a r its presentation. H o w e v e r that may be, I wish it might be clear that, in refusing to add metaphysical supplements to structure in order to explain behaviour, I am not trying to enlarge spe-

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cific structures by imputing specific behaviour patterns to them. Indeed, I see no real difference between saying that specific structures are animated by a specific directing principle and saying that they possess a specific pattern of response. It seems clear to me that while a man will not walk unless he has legs, his excursions in this world are very little determined by his anatomy. So also, while he will not speak unless he has an apparatus, the pattern of his discourse is very little determined by his vocal chords and his nervous system. A l l this has been said not simply f o r the negative purpose of dismissing certain considerations, but f o r the more positive purpose of defining a point of view. It has been said f o r the purpose of suggesting that since there is no necessary connection between what things are and what they do, an examination of behaviour should be conscious of that fact. It defines a point from which inquiry should go f o r w a r d rather than backward. It gives us a metaphysical datum the consequences of which are perhaps more interesting and instructive than any attempt to get back of it. T o some of the consequences which seem to follow f r o m it, attention is here asked. Although specific behaviour is dependent on specific structure—meaning by dependence here that without the structure the behaviour does not occur—differences in behaviour are not defined in terms of differences in structure. T h i s is only another way of saying what Hume said, that although behaviour may be habitually inferred from structure, there is nothing discoverable in the latter to warrant the inference of the former. But resaying it in the altered manner leads to asking how differences in behaviour are defined. Such differences are recognized and defined, and it is quite clear, if we consider the historical order of our knowing, that they are usually recognized and defined before their relevant structures are discovered. T h e discovery of structure has been slow and labourious. T h e incentive to it is unusual even if the accomplishment of it is always remarkable. F o r our interest in the behaviour of things is naturally more immediate and practical than our interest in their structure. Important as the fact is that only with a knowledge of their structure can the behaviour of things be adequately controlled, the fact has to be learned with much

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disappointment and experience. O u r practical interest is in w h a t things do and in discovering what they can do b e f o r e we discover the mechanism by which they do it. So I repeat that differences in behaviour are not defined in terms of differences of structure. T h e y are defined in terms of what results f r o m the behaviour. T h i s is so evident that I think it needs neither proof nor illustration. But it may need emphasis. It may need emphasis especially in view of the dogma, so readily accepted by many, that teleological considerations should have no place in the mind of a sober and thoughtful man. F o r behaviour is a teleological m a t t e r and without considerations of ends reached no differences in behaviour are recognizable or definable. I would not deny that teleological considerations are tricky and dangerous, nor that they have o f t e n stupidly held back recognition of important discoveries and o f t e n stood in the way of progress. But I am forced to maintain that the behaviour of opium is still defined in terms of what it does and if we wholly disregard that fact we can not distinguish its behaviour f r o m that of any other drug on the market. T h e elimination of teleological distinctions reduces all behaviour to the bare abstraction of activity. I t forces us into the position t h a t there is such a thing as behaviour pure and simple, a position which may indeed be serviceable if it leads us to seek the differentiations of behaviour, but which, if it does not so lead, is quite devoid of illumination and significance. Structure and behaviour may indicate ultimates in metaphysical analysis just as force and m a t t e r may. As such they may tell us where it is wise to stop and where it is fruitful to begin. But they hold no magic. Operation with them involves the specific and the determinate. T h e y themselves are distinguished f o r a purpose, and a purpose which is justified by every analysis and every experiment we make. Since this is so, the moral is to regard and not disregard teleological considerations. If ends attained are essential to the discrimination of types of activity or behaviour, the indication is clear that teleology is something with which we can not wisely avoid reckoning. T h e r e are ends in nature as well as means, eventualities as well as actualities, purposes as well as causes, and the outstanding evidence of it

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all is the fact of b e h a v i o u r itself. O u r business is not to deny the f a c t in f e a r lest w e get mixed in our thinking, but r a t h e r to accept the f a c t w h e t h e r w e get mixed or not. It is h a r d f o r me to see how w e human beings could so ardently strive f o r ends in a w o r l d in which ends themselves are entirely irrelevant. B e h a v i o u r being so pre-eminently a teleological matter, the science of b e h a v i o u r might well be called a teleological science. B u t I am acutely a w a r e of the storm of protest that making such a definition m i g h t raise. I f I m a d e it, I should h a v e to confess that malice l a r g e l y p r o m p t e d it. F o r I am quite willing to confess that the only genuine science of behaviour seems to be that which embodies the discovery of the structures that so behave. I w o u l d a v o i d p r o v o k i n g a discussion of terms only. Y e t it seems clear to me that in so f a r as a consideration of behaviour involves a consideration of ends, we ought f r a n k l y to admit that w e h a v e entered the realm of teleology and that there the analysis of structure is not helpful. T h a t much I would claim and claim it in the interest of our attempts to construe nature intelligibly and to live both rationally and h o p e f u l l y . F o r these are teleological enterprises, sufficiently justified by the f a c t s that the forces which made us m a d e us w h a t we are and that our behaviour, like the behaviour of anything else, is not irrelevant to the w o r l d in which we behave. Behaviouristic distinctions a r e teleological distinctions. T h a t is one thing w o r t h emphasizing. It merits a discussion commensurate with its importance. F a i l i n g that, we may at least recognize the f a c t and f r e e o u r minds f r o m needless confusion r e g a r d i n g it. F o r example, if behaviour is a teleological matter, if it is wholly unintelligible without a consideration of ends, it does not necessarily f o l l o w that we must conclude that ends operate. T h e polemic against final causes, although it o f t e n misconceives w h a t final causes are, is justified in denying w h a t it does deny. I t seems to me foolish to deny that there are ends in nature, but it also seems foolish to affirm that these ends operate to determine the structure and constitution of things. A l t h o u g h it is obvious to me that a spider spins its web in o r d e r to catch flies—and even that combustion occurs in o r d e r to produce h e a t — I can discover in the obvious f a c t no

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reason whatever why spiders should exist or be what they are. Knowing what they do I may discover t h a t their structure is appropriate to their behaviour, but it seems quite clear t h a t this appropriateness does not operate to produce them. Employing final causes to explain the operations of nature has always been futile and for a simple reason—what things do, tells us nothing at all about how they do it. Undoubtedly a thing has the power to do what it does, but this power of doing is not a force resident in it independent of the things to which it reacts. Its power is exercised only in co-operation with other things, and when we examine the means and occasion of this co-operation we discover only structural determinations. T o admit teleology does not, therefore, necessarily involve the admission that ends operate. And it is not wise to be troubled by dialecticians who advise us to consider which is nature's end, the chicken or the egg, the acorn or the oak. F o r it is clear that we are never confronted with such an alternative when we plot out what the behaviour of a given thing accomplishes. Still less should we be troubled by the fact that an egg may end in a chicken or a breakfast. F o r the behaviour of a thing, involving as it does co-partnership with other things, is plotted accordingly. W e may admit that the dialectic is interesting. W e may admit also that it may be useful. But its use is by way of criticism. I t may warn us of legitimate limitations which should be kept in mind when we speak of ends, pointing out that any consideration of ends in general is f o r m a l rather than material and undertaken in the interest of making distinctions, not of destroying them. Indeed, the principle of relativity generally, whether it is applied to ends or other matters, is the clear indication that nature owns distinctions. T h a t the motion of a body is relative to that with respect to which it moves is the absolute fact of motion, not its undoing. So the relativity of ends is the confirmation, not the denial, of their existence. Let us turn to more constructive considerations. T h e teleological character of behaviour constitutes the intelligibility of nature. I am conscious here of considerable verbal difficulty. M o s t of our terms which denote knowing and comprehending are ambiguous in their use, yet we must use them to distinguish

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their ambiguities. But I hope I shall not be misunderstood when I say that we understand what things are only in terms of what they do. W e may understand how a sewing machine is put together, how it works, so to speak, but clearly we have no intelligent understanding of what it is until we know that it sews. R o b it of its use and purpose and it becomes unintelligible. I can not escape generalizing so homely an illustration. Analyze things to their atoms and attempt with the analysis to rob them progressively of their behaviour, and we approach not clearness but obscurity, not order but chaos, not intelligibility, but absurdity. This conclusion, I can not escape. I think it could be demonstrated, although I am not prepared to give that demonstration. I may, however, say this. In our analyses of things we tend constantly to approach the quantitative and the mathematical. N o w , we may say, that just in proportion as we approach the quantitative and the mathematical we understand nature and are able to control it. I am willing to admit that. I am willing to admit even that did we know thoroughly what the structure of things is, our knowledge would have reached its limit. A n d I think we might gain in clearness by saying so. But granted that completion of knowledge, it would still be what the vast mechanism did, what it accomplished, what ends it served, that gave it life and meaning and intelligibility. F r o m the structure alone the finality could never be inferred, but given the finality, the discovery of structure is illuminated and comprehended by it. Otherwise how could we possibly admire the adaptations of nature, find the hand appropriate f o r grasping, and the eye f o r seeing, and why should every explorer of nature, no matter what his philosophical creed, be haunted by some form of the maxim, "nature does nothing in v a i n " ? It is the absence of this vanity which is the presence of intelligibility. T o speak of the purposes of nature is not necessarily to imply that nature is animated by a directing agency which, foreseeing ends, deliberately works for them. Such an implication is beset by difficulties which only increase the farther it is pursued. It involves that conversion of final causes into operating agencies to which I have already referred. It is quite a different implication that is worth considering. If it is be-

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cause of nature's purposes that nature is intelligible, we m a y well be tempted to find in that f a c t some clue to the mystery of our own minds. Sometimes I think we have made our minds needlessly mysterious. R o b b i n g nature of finality, stripping her to the bare bones of mechanism, and reducing our bodies either to a physical machine or a chemical f o r m u l a , we have been driven to account f o r mind and to p e r f o r m miracles in the accounting. A w o r l d without finality would be a w o r l d in which a mind would h a v e nothing to understand. T h a t is a stupid r e m a r k , but I risk it f o r the possible contrast it implies. It is not altogether stupid, h o w e v e r , to r e m a r k that in a w o r l d where ends may be attained a mind would have much to comprehend. P e r h a p s , if we are to account f o r mind at all, we may say that in a w o r l d of final causes mind is a natural consequence of behaviour, a specific concretion of it, so to speak, exercised by a specific structure which, like all other structures, holds no magical resident p o w e r , but which, like them, finds the exercise of its p o w e r in co-operation with other things. W h a t I have just said may sound like a jumble of w o r d s , but this much seems clear to m e — i n a teleological w o r l d mind would be natural and at home, while in a non-teleological w o r l d it would be irrelevant and absurd. Consequently, if we feel ourselves under compulsion to explain mind, it would seem that the explanation could be approached better by some methods of reducing teleology in general to teleology in particular, than by the method of adding on to what is not teleological a f a c t o r which produces only an illusion of ends. T o sum up w h a t has thus f a r been s a i d : starting with the f a c t that w h a t things are is not an indication of what they do, I would observe ( i ) that behaviouristic distinctions are m a d e not in terms of structure, but in terms of the ends accomplished by b e h a v i o u r ; ( 2 ) that behaviour is consequently a teleological matter implying a natural t e l e o l o g y ; ( 3 ) that the admission of natural teleology does not necessarily involve either the doctrine that ends operate or the doctrine that structures contain resident powers by virtue of which they do w h a t they d o ; ( 4 ) that the relativity of ends is confirmation of teleology and not its undoing; ( 5 ) that natural teleology constitutes the intelligibility of n a t u r e ; and ( 6 ) that mind m a y be

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construed as an instance of teleology rather than the cause of it. A n a l y s i s of structure reveals no reason f o r behaviour and the intelligibility of structure resides in the f a c t that ends a r e reached by behaving. P e r h a p s , h o w e v e r , we do not do well when we say that analysis of structure reveals no reason f o r behaviour. W h e t h e r we do well o r not depends on the emphasis. I f the f a c t is emphasized to w a r n us that structure and reasons ought not to be associated, I think w e do well. I f , h o w e v e r , it is emphasized to arouse the suspicion that while structure reveals no reason f o r behaviour, it ought to, and that if we knew enough it would, then I think we do not do well. T h e reason, t h e r e f o r e , f o r saying that structure does not yield reasons is the illegitimate expectation that it ought to o r might. W h a t structure yields is control. T h e r e is no need to p r o v e that. A n d if we would keep this positive profit, there is apt to f o l l o w only confusion of thought if we g o on and affirm that with increased control w e are not better off as r e g a r d s reasons. F o r an affirmation of that kind is ungentlemanly at least. I t suggests a snobbish attitude t o w a r d those w h o spend their lives discovering structure and an estimate of them which is not flattering. I t is also intellectually slovenly. It is the easiest thing in the w o r l d to m a k e much of w h a t w e don't do and to h a r p on the shortcomings of mankind. T h e r e is no r o y a l r o a d to learning f o r those w h o leave structure out of account. M o r e o v e r , the affirmation in question is not true. W i t h increased control we are better off as r e g a r d s reasons. T h i s , too, is in no need of p r o o f , f o r it is plainly evident that increased control reveals the ends, purposes, and uses of nature as nothing else does. T o be sure, it does not make clear to us, as some moralists seem to think it should, what we ought to do, but it does m a k e strikingly clear to us what we might and also what it is utterly useless to try to do. It opens the highway to f r e e d o m . B u t I am here more interested in metaphysics than in morals. A n d that interest leads me to say that the f a c t that control is progressively attained through the progressive discovery of structure, is perhaps the crowning instance of natural teleology. Accordingly, if we ask, as we are sometimes tempted to do, what is the ultimate reason f o r the

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existence of things, the only intelligible answer we can give is something like t h i s : things exist to be controlled f o r ends t h r o u g h the discovery of their structure. If we are t e m p t e d still f u r t h e r to ask why they should so exist, the question is meaningless. F o r any answer to it involves these two absurdities : first, the denial that nature is teleological, and, secondly, the a t t e m p t to make nature teleological in spite of the denial. T h e o l o g i a n s who have solved the problem of G o d ' s last end in creation have solved it by confessing that his last end is himself. T r a n s l a t e d into metaphysics the solution m i g h t well read, the reason why things exist as they do is their existence. T h i s obvious solution of so weighty a problem is valuable only in t e r m s of w h a t is m a d e of it. By itself it is w o r t h no m o r e t h a n any other question turned into its own answer. Applied to relevant subject-matter, however, it may serve t o keep us a w a r e of the fact t h a t it is the structural concatenation of things which determines the limits of possible behaviour f r o m the movement of an ion to the thinking of a man, while only actual behaviour, f r o m the movement to the thinking, discovers w h a t those limitations are. T h i s does not indicate t h a t structure is more f u n d a m e n t a l than behaviour. It indicates r a t h e r t h a t any a t t e m p t to reduce behaviour to structure is futile. Structure and behaviour seem to be ultimate. But if we should, as we sometimes do in the hope of g r e a t e r clearness, suppose things to be differently constituted than they are, we might suppose t h a t structure in all its manifold intricacy came first. T h e n we might conclude t h a t any behaviour in so vast a scheme would search out the possible f r o m the impossible and produce a much diversified world. A n d t h a t is just w h a t seems to happen. W e act and so discover the world to be an intricately complicated structure with a wealth of possibility beyond our dreams. Yet we soon realize that we must d r e a m according to t h a t structure if our d r e a m s are ever to come true. T h a t is why structure tends to become exalted and admired, why necessity puts into a m a n w h a t in ordinary speech we call the love of beauty and the f e a r of God. I t is with a sound instinct that we try to see things sub specie aternitatis, f o r so seen, the possibilities of structure would be completely revealed and behaviour would have been f r e e d to reach its goal.

CREATION*

i IT IS not the aim of this article to add to a popular controversy. It is rather to consider a doctrine which, whether it is sound or not, is worth respectful attention. T h e doctrine is not new. It has commanded respectful attention repeatedly in the past because its foundation is an obvious fact of experience which, when followed f a r , has the power to provoke the consciousness of things spiritual. Creating itself the sense that something has been said which is both significant and profound, it may affect the mind as a revelation, calling for hearty acceptance and averse to doubting criticism. It has had that effect. There is about it a simple yet subtle beauty, which the imaginative are quick to appreciate and which even the dull may feel with a vague sense of a mystery too high for them. It is thus an accessible doctrine. It requires little learning to feel its force and may admit much learning with no diminution of its power. Its aesthetic quality is so high that a connoisseur in doctrines might wish to keep it a precious possession even when he did not embrace it as his faith. A s I have said, the foundation of the doctrine is an obvious face of experience. Its expressions, consequently, have not necessarily been confined to any particular time, place, or people. One might be led to it independently, through reflection, without the bias of dogma or tradition. Scholars have traced its ramifications far. Yet f o r most of us, on account of our history and education, the most popular expression of the doctrine is found in the Bible and particularly in the first chapter of Genesis. " I n the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of •In

the Atlantic

Monthly,

Vol. 1 3 7

( 1 9 2 6 ) , No. 3, pp. 335-342.

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G o d m o v e d u p o n the face of the w a t e r s . A n d G o d said, L e t t h e r e be l i g h t : and t h e r e was l i g h t . " F e w of those to w h o m these w o r d s have been f a m i l i a r since c h i l d h o o d will recall any doubt or difficulty connected with their first h e a r i n g . I can not t r u s t my own m e m o r y of t h e m . W h e n I a t t e m p t to recover their first impression, I am acutely conscious t h a t I am r e a d i n g t h e m in the light of subsequent study a n d reflection. Yet I v e n t u r e to believe t h a t I believed them, not because t h e r e was lacking in my knowledge and experience the g r o u n d f o r a competing belief, but because my experience s u p p o r t e d t h e m . It is, however, p r o b a b l y i m p r o p e r to s p e a k of believing t h e m at all, f o r speaking of t h e m in t h a t way seems t o imply t h a t they were subjected t o scrutiny, m a d e a m a t t e r of reflection, and then accepted because they seemed w a r r a n t e d . T h i s , it is reasonably certain, did not h a p p e n . W h e n I speak, as I just now did, of believing t h e m — n o t because t h e r e was no experience against them, but because experience was on their s i d e — I am speaking as a m a n t r y i n g to recover an impression of childhood and find a n a t u r a l motivation f o r it. V e r y likely if I h a d been told with the c o m p e t e n t a u t h o r i t y of my p a r e n t s s o m e t h i n g else a b o u t the beginning of things, I should have accepted it with a similar absence of questionings. T h e i r business was, a m o n g o t h e r things, to instruct me. T h e y were a living encyclopaedia f o r children, lacking in patience at times and a t times amused over questions asked in no sense of humour, but they were never inadequate in k n o w l e d g e . T h e y knew enough to n a m e the animals when asked, so t h a t a child could h a r d l y be surprised at A d a m ' s similar skill. T h e i r speech was creative. At their c o m m a n d things a p p e a r e d and d i s a p p e a r e d , d o o r s were opened and shut, lights w e r e lit and p u t out. T h e y said, L e t t h e r e be d i n n e r : a n d t h e r e was dinner. L e t us go f o r a w a l k : and we went f o r a walk. L e t us m a k e a house of these c a r d s : a n d of these cards a house was m a d e . T h e y could do w h a t e v e r thev were willing to say they would do, and answer any question they w e r e willing to answer. So while I m i g h t readily have accepted any answer they might have given to a question a b o u t the beginning of things, it could h a v e been no surprise to learn t h a t

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God spake and things were made. T h e creative power of speech has w a r r a n t in the experience of a child. W h e t h e r this is a correct rendering of an experience of my own childhood—its reasonable psychology, so to s p e a k — I do not know. But this I know, that repeated readings of the first chapter of Genesis in later years have progressively exalted its doctrine about God's voice, so that when I now try to recover the impression which the first attentive hearing of it may have made upon me I find myself wondering at its doctrine, undisturbed by problems of natural history. Indeed, in this respect I must confess to what may be considered a prejudice, for I can neither hear nor read a controversy between Genesis and science without feeling that it is a perversion of something essentially sublime. In saying this, I would not be misunderstood. I can not take the chapter as an equivalent or substitute f o r science. I can understand how the unintelligent might, finding a story instead of a doctrine. A n d I can understand how the unimaginative might, tying the doctrine to the literal details of the story. But I must confess again, and this time doubtless with a show of intellectual egotism, that for me a controversy between Genesis and science is one in which only the unintelligent or the unimaginative will engage. I could rejoice in all the trouble and perturbations of mind they will enjoy, were it not for the conviction t h a t they are engaging in something trivial and absurd, and needlessly defacing something beautiful. T h e doctrine that speech is creative, that existence is evoked with words, that chaos commanded is order, is a doctrine so engaging that the first chapter of Genesis impresses me, not with puerilities in natural history, but with sublimity in spiritual insight. II

Under the power of this impression, I can readily believe that, if we are to entertain a doctrine of creation at all seriously, it will be to the doctrine of Genesis that we are ultimately led. For we seek the adequate expression of existence. Like children bringing animals to parents to see what they would call them, we bring the items of existence to the wise

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to see how these items are most appropriately voiced. W e would be told w h a t they are. A n d the wise are supposed to be competent f o r the telling. T h e i r voice brings light. T h i s is an experience so familiar and useful that we may ask questions, go to school, read books, write them, and spend a lifetime in inquiry with little wonder at the simple fact t h a t all this enterprise of learning is an a t t e m p t to get existence into w o r d s — a faith t h a t things are w h a t they are ultimately said to be. T h e y have names—such an astonishing variety of them when we consider the diversity of human speech, and such a preposterous jumble of them when their makers become extravagant, t h a t we can easily assent to the opinion that names are conventional marks, "wise men's counters," but "the money of fools," and yet, when we ask the astronomer what that bright star in the zenith is and he says it is Vega, the most intelligent a m o n g us enjoys the illusion t h a t he has learned something. H e has felt the evoking power of the voice. Even when words are so a r r a n g e d that they mean nothing or are contradictory, it is h a r d to escape the impression that something has been said. Philosophers have invented subsistence f o r the round square, believing that, since the thing can be named, it must somehow be. T h e power of words is great. W e may deny them omnipotence. T h e y are easily stilled, like H a m l e t ' s voice, by a scratch f r o m poisoned steel. But H a m l e t ' s last words are the thrilling commentary on the fact — " t h e rest is silence." Rob existence of the voice, let there be no expression, no utterance anywhere, let nothing ever be said in the beginning; then the rest—is it even silence? T h e voice has to be evoked to name its absence. In a dumb world there may be power, brute and inarticulate. W e have the habit of saying so even when it passes all our wit to tell what t h a t power is, to name it otherwise than in terms of its expressions or in terms like " t h e unknowable," which imply no more than the obvious fact t h a t without expression it is unexpressed. T h e "unknowable," the "infinite," the "absolute," " G o d , " are all imposing words like "the rest is silence." T h e y create in us the vast sense, ushering us into the presence of immensity. U n less, however, they carry with them the implication of possible

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expression and possible utterance, they are empty sounds, or leave us, like the Ancient M a r i n e r , desperately aloof. O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 't was, that God Himself Scarce seemed there to be.

W e may deny words omnipotence, yet without them omnipotence means nothing at all. N o r does anything else. T h e fact is obvious, as obvious as the questioning child who takes a dog to his father to see what he will call it. T h e power of words is evocation, and this power boasts omnipotence when it claims to tell in a book what heaven and earth are. P e r h a p s the writer of the first chapter of Genesis did not have all this in mind, but the reader of it may. I like to think that he did. I like to think of him pondering over what happened in the beginning and being driven to say: " A Voice." T h a t would make him a poet at least. H e would then write a beautiful story of creation, telling how, in the beginning, G o d spoke and there was light, enough f o r evening and morning, enough f o r the first day; enough too, we may say, f o r G o d to see by to do what remained to be done as evening and morning came round again—a week's work, naturally, with the last day to rest in and think it over. T h u s the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. T h e last deed was man, made in God's image, a f t e r H i s likeness, a second voice which would tell again and again to children how heaven and earth are made, and which will never be content with the telling until this vast scheme of things is adequately voiced in human speech. And God saw, by the light H e had first created, everything that H e had made, and it was very good. It is a story which children and poets can understand. And I can imagine the poet's consternation when somebody asked him, in earnest or in scorn, if he seriously thought t h a t God had a voice-box with vocal cords in it. Did God speak to chaos in English? Evidently the poet had not thought of t h a t difficulty. Forced to think of it, I can imagine that he became a little a f r a i d for his story, foreseeing times when some men in f e a r and even in reverence would nickname the story itself

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God's W o r d , while o t h e r s would set it down a s an interesting contribution to the m y t h o l o g y of the race. But, being a very g r e a t poet, he w a s w i l l i n g to let it go its w a y . H e knew it would be r e a d , at least by children and poets, and that w a s a f a i r l y l a r g e audience. H e knew too that, as a doctrine of creation, it w a s sound. Of course these a r e my imaginings, l i t e r a r y devices to win the attention of a r e a d e r . But, d e a r r e a d e r , I have no desire to deceive you or trick you with p r e t t y phrases. I would share my enthusiasm for a doctrine of creation which is the profoundest t h a t I know, but I will s a t i s f y no m a n ' s curiosity as to w h e t h e r I believe it or not. T h a t is not an important m a t t e r . A n d I a m not sure t h a t any doctrine of creation is an important m a t t e r . W h a t things become in the end is much more interesting and probably much m o r e important than w h a t they were in the beginning, a s it is better to die well than to be well born. P e r h a p s heaven and e a r t h w e r e never created, but if they w e r e — i f there w a s once brought into being this solid and substantial scheme of things which all our science is now trying to render intelligible in human speech, fondly believing that, by saying w h a t existence is, d a r k n e s s gives place to light and chaos to o r d e r — b y w h a t name shall we call that omnipotence which w r o u g h t so g r e a t a w o r k ? Saint T h o m a s s a y s : " T h i s is what men call G o d . " But how did God create ? " H e spake, and it w a s d o n e ; h e commanded, and it stood f a s t . " Otherwise how could it ever happen that, by m a n ' s speech, w h a t God had created would be called into the light of k n o w l e d g e ? C r e a t i o n is response to a call. T h i s is the doctrine of saints and poets and philosophers. in If one will not h a v e a doctrine of creation, one need not t h e r e f o r e hastily dismiss the doctrine of the voice. For, whatever else the first chapter of Genesis m a y be believed to be, it is m a n ' s s p e a k i n g glorified. T h a t is a m a t t e r worth attention. T h e g r e a t e s t of all m i r a c l e s is human speech, and he who is convinced of this one will r a r e l y be tempted to ask for another. But we a r e so f a m i l i a r with it t h a t contempt is bred, l e a d i n g us to say that silence is golden, while f o r speech we use the

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m e t a p h o r of the baser metal. T h e vain babblings of men, their silly talk, their absurd opinions absurdly expressed, their sentimental blessings and p r o f a n e cursings, and the shrieking discord of unmusical voices r a g t i m e d with the g e a r of eating, m a y drive us to take r e f u g e in a silence which is really golden. B u t it is their silence, not ours. W e escape to talk with m o r e congenial souls or, best of all, possibly, with ourselves. A n d w h o can fully confess this latter intimate c o n v e r s a t i o n ? I would not suggest that it is unprintable. A t times it may be, but enough has already been printed by c o n f e s s o r s to m a k e f u r t h e r publication of that kind superfluous. I speak of a golden silence. T h e noises of the w o r l d a r e stilled. W e are alone with ourselves. W e speak. W e listen. B e a u t y , truth, goodness, joy, terror, evil, anguish, despair, h o p e — d e s p e r ately trying to say w h a t it is to be, and this in a w o r l d w h e r e atoms combine by l a w — i t is the miracle of the voice. I do not mean by this that we must set it d o w n as an i n f r a c t i o n of w h a t we call the laws of nature. It is sheer w o n d e r that f r o m the w o r l d in which we a r e born and shall die, and in which we are such little bodies, w e m a y escape into that p r i v a t e communion with ourselves in which we sense the limitless reaches of what might be said. I t is o u r voice that speaks. I t speaks with an egotism ridiculous, pathetic, and s u b l i m e — my w i f e , my children, my home, my neighbour, my doctor, my banker, my minister, my publisher, my country, my w o r l d , my life, my f a t e , my G o d l T h e p r i v a c y of our own voice is the possession of what it utters. I talk with my neighbour. T h e r e is public conversation in which good taste w o u l d suppress egotism by t r a n s l a t i n g the personal pronoun into the m o r e objective article even when we distractedly say that the w o r l d is t o o much with us. B u t w e w o u l d speak to our neighbour objectively. W e w o u l d tell him the truth, or at least have him believe that the truth h a d been t o l d ; not my truth, but the truth u n s h a d o w e d by any p e r s o n a l slant. T h a t is w h a t I am doing here. D e a r r e a d e r , you are not at all at liberty to suppose that the w o r d s I h a v e here set down are but the record of my own babblings. T h e y a r e m y w o r d s only because I am the agent of their utterance. T h e meaning they convey is not mine, but something quite independent of

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me. I discovered it and I am expecting you to discover it similarly. You are expected to understand what I am saying f r o m the fact t h a t I am saying it. If you do not, the fault may be mine because I am not clear, or yours because you are stupid. But neither you nor I believe t h a t the t r u t h of what I am saying is ultimately determined by your authority or mine, or, if you will forgive me, t h a t your u n d e r s t a n d i n g has anything to do with the m a t t e r . N e i t h e r has mine. B o t h you and I may not understand w h a t P r o f e s s o r Einstein has to say. Sometimes I am t e m p t e d to think he himself does not understand. But you and he and I are at least under the illusion t h a t he has said something which we might understand and which may be true. I m p e r s o n a l conversation, objective speech, makes its own startling claim. T h e writer of Genesis did not sav, " I t seems to me." W e may test the effect of objective speech by the simplest experiments. " M y heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky." W o r d s w o r t h ' s heart, yes—but how about yours and mine? C h a n g e " m y " t o " t h e " and " I " to " a n y b o d y " with the a p p r o p r i a t e verb to f o l l o w — t h e line then loses in poetic f o r m , but it gains a power it did not have b e f o r e , the logical power of objective speech. It is u n i m p o r t a n t who said it. It is i m p o r t a n t only if true. If true, its truth may be enhanced by the personal f o r m , winning thereby a lyric outburst, but if it is not true the personal f o r m expresses only an idiosyncrasy. H e r e , then, is the miracle of the voice a second time. Changing A a r o n ' s r o d into a serpent pales b e f o r e changing " m y " into " t h e . " T h e f o r m e r smacks of magic, f o r the Egyptians could w o r k a similar miracle; and, although A a r o n ' s serpent swallowed theirs, the change f r o m " m y " to " t h e " swallows his and forces us to look f o r t r u t h . It does not m a t t e r what our tests of t r u t h may be. L e t us be as p r a g m a t i c as we will, the fact still stands t h a t the objective world is called to our attention by the voice. By simply d r o p p i n g personal f o r m s of speech we find ourselves t r a n s p o r t e d into a world which we dare no longer call our own. It is T h e W o r l d . It possesses us. F r o m it we came and to it we shall return. I t holds our family, our doctor, our country, our fate, our God, in the hollow of its

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hand. I speak t r u t h f u l l y with my neighbour, and he becomes no longer mine and w h a t we say is no longer ours. I speak to the w o r l d ; in questions, to be sure, but in the confident belief t h a t , if these questions are properly f r a m e d rightly to guide my eye and hand and t h o u g h t , the w o r l d will answer in its own way and with singleness of meaning. I t is the common belief of men. T h e y seem never to have been t a u g h t it and never t o have acquired it. I t is simply the voice operating. T h e y evidently acquired, d u r i n g their n a t u r a l history, the human sounds and particular w o r d s they use, as we acquired the speech of our ancestors o r learn a foreign t o n g u e ; but the power to m a k e a noise is not the expectation of an answer to a question. I t is not the interrogative mood. Inquisition is as n a t u r a l t o the voice as oxidation is to the air. O u r first w o r d s and even our first inarticulate cries are explorations calling f o r something quite different f r o m their own echoes. Answers will come to them either as yes or no. A n d the answers t h a t have come to m a n ' s questions—his science, his literature, his art, his institutions, his religion—have eventually determined his excellence and his p o w e r . T h r o u g h t h e m he comes into and justifies his dominion. T h i s is a platitude of his pride, but it suggests again the miracle of the voice. But t h a t he should believe it I A l t h o u g h t h a t belief is n a t u r a l , untaught, and unacquired, although it is simply the voice's operation and effect which we habitually accept without scrutiny or surprise, it is the belief t h a t the whole of existence might be rendered in words, t h a t there is possible an a d e q u a t e utterance of w h a t all things are. T h e change of " m y " into " t h e " is p e r h a p s f a r less w o n d e r f u l t h a n the change of things into w o r d s and of w o r d s back again into things. O r if we will have it t h a t words themselves are things, since they are either sounds in the air or the equivalents of these in our bodies, we still face the fact t h a t , a m o n g all the sorts of things there are, there is one sort which presumes to dictate to all the rest, to tell them w h a t they a r e . A d a m ' s success in naming the animals was a trivial achievement compared with that which he would come to believe was in his power. H e would name everything else—the flowers of the field, the stars in the sky, the minerals in the earth, elements, ions, protons, complexes. H i s chief

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interest, however, would continue to be in the animals. B r o o d ing over the chaos of living f o r m s , he would speak, expecting light and o r d e r . H e would put into w o r d s a story of how these f o r m s came to be and call it " T h e Origin of Species" or " T h e Descent of M a n . " IV

It would seem, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t words deserve metaphysical as well as literary and rhetorical cultivation. A t least they deserve m o r a l respect. I gladly give them t h a t because, as the president of the Canadian Pacific once reminded me, I have m a d e my living by them. T h e y have economic value. T h e vendor of them, he who sells this f o o d of the soul, usually enjoys a much higher social recognition than he w h o sells the f o o d of the body. W r i t e r s have always been m o r e preciously esteemed t h a n f a r m e r s , butchers, or grocers, in spite of the fact t h a t without these latter the f o r m e r could not live. A n d yet an i m m o r t a l butcher is a contradiction in terms. T h i s might very well be cited as another illustration of t h e miracle of the voice. T h e w o n d e r of it grows. But I am now trying, as a scientist ought, to strip the voice of its w o n d e r , explain the miracle, and reduce it to the simple fact t h a t it is. W e are done with poetry and are coming to sense. So we stress the economic value of w o r d s as a first step in the direction of sanity. W e must rate it high, but high not as a m a t t e r of economics and not as a m a t t e r of morals or social estimation. T h e exact computation of it has, so f a r as I know, never been made, but it is clear t h a t it would run into billions and exceed that of any o t h e r commodity. W r i t e r s have the false impression t h a t publishers get most of it because publishers are able to pay writers and still have a good deal l e f t f o r their own consumption. But it is bankers and financiers generally w h o profit most. T h a t is why there is so much popular criticism of them. T h e y eventually get the money. And it is n a t u r a l t h a t they should. F o r all this dealing with w o r d s , this buying and selling of them, this asking and paying f o r a loaf of bread at the baker's, is in the last analysis a dealing in promises. I t is a mistake to suppose t h a t the banker makes

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money by dealing in money. H e often has very little of that commodity. H e deals in promises, and promises sometimes come very high and can be negotiated with only a promise to secure them. W e are wont to say that a man's word is as good as his bond, forgetting that proverbs so often reverse the order of experience. A bond is only as good as a word somewhere. If a man has command of that word, only then does he have a bond. This is a natural fact by which bankers profit. They profit by it so enormously—winning, apparently, command of both industry and civilization—that it is not surprising that the rest of us should so often look at them in envy or in fear. A promise is a promise either to pay or to do. Unless the something promised is either paid or done, or unless there is belief that it will be paid or done, the promise is worthless. This fact, however, should not make us blind. It should not lead us so to exalt the things promised that we forget that their viability, their passing f r o m hand to hand, their going here and going there, their proximate and ultimate exchange, are all effected through an elaborate machinery which would crumble to pieces if promises were not kept. It does crumble in part at times, so that men may suffer panic and disaster although nothing whatever may have happened to the material riches of the earth. Men may starve in the presence of plenty simply because a promise has not been kept. T h e reason is that words are the prime medium of exchange. Economists have a habit of saying that money is that, although they know well enough that a dollar may be printed as well as coined. They ought not to be surprised at the childlike faith of the buncoed rustic who, believing that he has bought from his swindler a genuine plate from the Bureau of Engraving, believes also that bills printed from it are not counterfeit, but genuine currency, so that his own moral fault is negligible compared with the benefits he can confer without really harming anybody. Governments in their despair often fall back on this faith as their last financial resource. And it is quite clear that if promises were always kept we should need no other money than recorded words, so evidently are they the medium of exchange.

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T h e i r economic value is but one instance of their logical power. When they are literally bought and sold, like commercial notes, or even this article, they are more than ink and paper. They effect first of all an exchange of ideas. T h e r e is no need of deep philosophical insight to see that this power of them is behind and fundamental to their economic value. It carries us out of the market place into metaphysics. All things are exchanged for words and words for all things, as goods for gold and gold for goods. Old Heraclitus said it long ago. H e spoke of fire, using that element as the glowing symbol of the word, so convinced was he that existence is consumed in speech. W e seem unable to get away from the miracle after all. But we should try. Our spiritual business, the enterprise which we put on top of our buying and selling in the market, on top of our producing things to be bought and sold there, and on top even o f our loving beauty and fearing God, is to render the world intelligible. But how can the world be rendered intelligible if it is not intelligible in the beginning? W h o simply by speaking can create the logic which so holds his words together that his neighbour can understand them and translate them back into their powerful intent? W h o creates the intelligibility of the world by talking to it? Surely neither you, dear reader, nor I. Neither you nor I made understanding, even if both you and I are egotistical enough to believe that we can promote it. T h e r e seems to be but one conclusion. This exchange of things for words and words for things is a very real exchange. T h e world is evidently composed in a manner congenial to it. It is put together on the principle of exchange: oxygen and hydrogen for water and water for oxygen and hydrogen, goods for money and money for goods, food for growth and growth for food, life for death and death for life, things for words and words for things. In this exchange we speaking things are caught. W e are examples of it—fleeting examples, to be sure, but in that fleeting moment darkness gives place to light and chaos to order through the power of articulate speech. Only then can it be said with any sense that heaven and earth are. In the language of metaphysics, being is a predication. T o be is to be something, to be something is to

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be expressed, and to be expressed is to be exchanged, one thing f o r another, with the one intelligible and illuminating medium of exchange, the voice. H e a v e n and earth m a y never have been created. T h a t m a y be l e f t as it was. B u t this remains. W h e t h e r or not they w e r e once evoked by speech in the beginning, in the end and a l w a y s they are evoked by nothing else.

SUBSTANCE*

IN HIS Dialogues in Limbo, M r . George Santayana has made Dcmocritus the spokesman for substance in a manner to arrest the attention of philosophers. T h e case is there stated with simplicity, directness, and clearness rarely, if ever, equalled. T h e statement, as the Dialogues themselves indicate, may not carry conviction to every mind, but, as they also disclose, it can hardly fail to leave upon the mind of an attentive listener an impression of inevitability. Substance is the ground and antithesis of every dream or illusion just as health is the ground and antithesis of every form of disease. And dreams are no more dispelled by further dreaming than disease is dispelled by falling ill again. One must wake up from the dream just as one must get well, if illusion and disease are to depart. T h e waking and the cure are both wrought by substance which itself wrought also the dream and the disease. For dreaming and sickness can not be affirmed to be unnatural since both duly occur in the order of nature, but since they do occur in that way, that order or constitution of nature by means of which they arise can itself be neither visionary nor sick, but is antithetical to them, as substance is to appearance. T o construe the order of nature in terms of appearance is, therefore, madness. T h e way of substance alone is the way of sanity. This is an old doctrine. It is doubtless as old as Democritus, as M r . Santayana would have us believe, even if in individual cases it may not "sit crowned with all the snows and wisdom of extreme old age." Modern philosophers have generously accorded it antiquity. They have, however, often looked upon it as evidence of an immature rather than a ripened wisdom. For they, like Locke, whom they have followed closely or from afar, have seen in substance "something I know not • I n the Journal

of Philosophy,

Vol. X X V

( 1 9 2 8 ) , pp. 685-69i.

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w h a t " instead of something to which the knowing mind clings in the practical interest of a sane and ordered life, or in the theoretical interest of maintaining continuity in an evidently divided and shifting world. T h e difference between the t w o attitudes is considerable. It is easy to reduce knowledge o f substance to p r o f o u n d ignorance of it, if one will adopt a method appropriate to that result. T h e thing has been done many times with always the same bewildering outcome that ignorance is somehow established with no clear indication of just w h a t it is of which we are ignorant. Bradley, f o r example, looking f o r substance in a lump of sugar, could not find it. H e found rather that even in so homely a commodity which the taste acknowledges as sweet, the eye as white, and the fingers as hard, the distinction between a thing and its qualities carries us nowhere with satisfaction. But of w h a t are we then l e f t in ignorance? Bradley's analysis may leave us bewildered. It leaves sugar, however, precisely w h a t it was and something to be analyzed by a chemist in quite a different fashion. A n d the fashion of the chemist does not leave us bewildered and confused. It leaves us rather enlightened both in practice and in theory. T h e analysis of the philosopher and that of the chemist are thus quite different in their e f f e c t s — a difference which one might urge is the rather radical difference between ignorance and knowledge. F o r even the philosopher, when in extremis, seems forced to admit that anyone desirous o f really knowing w h a t the substance of sugar is, must ask a chemist to tell him. K n o w l e d g e as over against ignorance, being awake as over against dreaming, reality as over against appearance, carry us to atoms and the void, to substance as it is actually explored in utter disregard not only of passionate and moral distinctions, but also of those reputed logical distinctions which would force even upon substance itself a division between it and its attributes. In other words, we may dream as much as we like and construe nature in moral or passionate terms which are agreeable to our imagination, hopes, and fears, but we are a w a k e and sane only when we construe her in terms of atoms and the void. T h i s is what Democritus seems to say in the dialogues. A t o m s and the void are terms obviously dear to him and

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ought not to trouble the modern reader w h o m a y suspect that they a r e antiquated. T h e modern disciples of D e m o c r i t u s h a v e other terms equally d e a r to them. But with him and them alike, they are terms f o r substance, f o r that which is determined and determinable with an indifference absolute and complete to any wish or hope or f e a r , to any liking o r disliking, to any g o o d or bad or right or w r o n g , even to any truth or e r r o r , if this last distinction implies anything beyond the acceptance of the f a c t of substance itself. S o D e m o c r i t u s seems to say. A n d all of us, no matter by w h a t adjectives we q u a l i f y our philosophy and no matter to w h a t f a i t h w e give our allegiance, all of us seem driven at one time o r another to say the same thing, even if w e say it in different w o r d s . W e c o n f r o n t and are c o n f r o n t e d with substance, not as a v a g u e hypothesis, nor as an epistemological assumption, nor as a limitation of knowledge, but as something recognized and to be e x p l o r e d — t h e positive f a c t which is negatively expressed by s a y i n g that out of nothing nothing comes. B u t since something comes, something which is a confused collection of g o o d and evil, beauty and ugliness, peace and w a r , truth and e r r o r , that f r o m which all this comes must r e f u s e f o r itself these passionate distinctions which it generates. T h e s e distinctions, no doubt, a r e — f o r do w e not experience t h e m ? — b u t they are as qualities of events that happen, not, h o w e v e r , as qualities of that f r o m which events spring, but qualities of substance which by possessing them makes some vessels f o r dishonour, others f o r honour. F r o m atoms and the void came earthquake and fire upon the city, not in o r d e r to punish its wicked inhabitants while the g o o d also perished, nor yet, by m a k i n g some suffer, to p r o v i d e f o r others an opportunity f o r showing m e r c y ; they came because they came. So w e are driven to acknowledge substance, not that thereby we may solve philosophical problems, but that, thereby, we may keep ourselves a w a k e and f r o m g o i n g wholly m a d . Otherwise we should a w a k e f r o m d r e a m i n g by dreaming again and get well of one disease only by f a l l i n g into another. Substance seems inescapable. B u t consequences of a p r o f o u n d l y interesting sort f o l l o w upon the recognition and acceptance of the inevitability of substance. T h a t recognition may lead one to love, as it led

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Spinoza, to laugh, as it led Democritus. It has diverse effects. In the dialogues the argument o f D e m o c r i t u s is left unimpaired, but its effect on the Stranger is the telling of a beautiful and pathetic story, and on the others, except Democritus, the making of a new religion for which, when he understands it, he supplies the ritual. T h e effect on himself is t o o powerfully expressed to be summarized in a phrase. Alcibiades. Aristippus and Dionysius are enemies of science, and you, Democritus, are a believer in it. Being no judge in the matter, I will not pronounce between you, but I can conceive that a man who has spent his whole long life distilling herbs and grinding stones into powder should believe that he knows something of their substance. Nevertheless, intense study, too, is hypnotic, and might not the lucid theory of nature which you think partly awakens you out of the dream of life, be but a dream within a dream and the deepest of your illusions? My whole career seems a myth to me now in memory; yet when I interpret it in terms of your philosophy and imagine instead nothing but clouds of atoms drifting through a black sky, I seem to be descending into an even deeper cavern of reverie. Suppose I was dreaming of a chariot-race, hearing the shouting crowds, blushing to be myself the victor, and reining in my quivering steeds to receive the crown and suppose that suddenly my dream was transformed, and Olympia and the sunshine and myself and my horses and my joy and the praises of the Athenians turned to atoms fatally combined—I am afraid that, like the child in the Stranger's tale, I should burst into tears at that change of dreams. Democritus. Do you think I should blame you? Is the sublimity of truth impatient of error? I know well the shock that comes to innocence on discovering that the beautiful is unsubstantial. T h e soul, too, has her virginity and must bleed a little before bearing fruit. You misconceive my philosophy if you suppose that I deny the beautiful or would madly forbid it to appear. Has not my whole discourse been an apology for illusion and a proof of its necessity ? When I discover that the substance of the beautiful is a certain rhythm and harmony in motion, as the atoms dance in circles through the void (and what else should the substance of the beautiful be if it has a substance at all?) far from destroying the beautiful in the realm of appearance my discovery raises its presence there to a double dignity; for its witchery, being a magic birth, is witchery indeed; and in it its parent nature, whose joy it is, proves her fertility. I deny nothing. Your Olympian victory and your trembling steeds, spattered with foam, and your strong lithe hand detaining them before the altar of Apollo, while you receive the crown

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— h o w should science delete these verses from the book of experience or prove that they were never sung? But where is their music n o w ? W h a t was it when passing? A waking dream. Yes, and grief also is a dream, which if it leaves a trace leaves not one of its own quality, but a transmuted and serene image of sorrow in this realm of memory and truth. A s the grief of Priam in Homer and the grief of Achilles, springing from the dreadful madness of love and pride in their two bosoms, united in the divine ecstasy of the poet, so all the joys and griefs of illusion unite and become a strange ecstasy in a sane mind. W h a t would you ask of philosophy? T o feed you on sweets and lull you in your errors in the hope that death may overtake you before you understand anything? A h , wisdom is sharper than death and only the brave can love her. W h e n in the thick of passion the veil suddenly falls, it leaves us bereft of all we thought ours, smitten and consecrated to an unearthly revelation, walking dead among the living, not knowing what w e seem to know, not loving what w e seem to love, but already translated into an invisible paradise where none of these things are, but one only companion, smiling and silent, w h o by day and night stands beside us and shakes his head gently, bidding us say Nay, nay, to all our madness. Did you think, because I would not spare you, that I never felt the cold steel? Has not my own heart been pierced? Shed your tears, my son, shed your tears. T h e young man w h o has not wept is a savage, and the old man who will not laugh is a fool. I f , t h e n , w e a r e t o t a k e t h e d i a l o g u e s in w h i c h

Democritus

figures, as a veracious d o c u m e n t — a n d I think w e

must—and

if w e a r e , w i t h a n o p e n m i n d , t o c o n s u l t h u m a n

experience,

t h e r e s e e m s t o b e a n u n e s c a p a b l e c o n c l u s i o n ; s u b s t a n c e is n o t the end of something, but the beginning. I a m t e m p t e d to say t h a t it is n o t t h e l a s t w o r d in p h i l o s o p h y , b u t t h e f i r s t . that, I do not m e a n t h a t the later w o r d s will unsay the

By first

o r s o r e s p e l l it t h a t it w i l l s o u n d w i t h a d i f f e r e n t t o n e . I t is neither to be unsaid o r respelled. A n d I can believe t h a t unless t h i s is g e n e r o u s l y a n d w h o l e - h e a r t e d l y r e c o g n i z e d , t h e r e is n o w i s d o m t o b e s o u g h t b y p h i l o s o p h e r s . S u b s t a n c e is a f i r s t w o r d ; y e t n o t h i n g is c l e a r e r t h a n t h a t t h e r e h a s f o l l o w e d u p o n admitted

spelling such

things

as religion and

laughter

its and

l o v e . G r a n t e d t h a t f r o m t h e i n d i f f e r e n t d e t e r m i n a t i o n s o f substance w e h a v e come t o be w h a t w e are, and, b e i n g w h a t

we

are, w e are c o n f r o n t e d w i t h substance as the first w o r d w h i c h spells all the difference b e t w e e n

dreaming

and

waking,

be-

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tween ignorance and knowledge, there seems to be no intelligible appeal back again to substance for what may then eventuate. On this I must insist in the face of everything that may be alleged against it. It is easy to say that substance is still at work, t h a t what eventuates upon its summons f r o m sleep is still to be credited to its operations, but Alcibiades has the ready answer that this is only t o sink into a deeper dream. T h i s will not do. T h e situation is one which dialectic confuses and does not relieve. Facts are more potent. And the fact is, by whatever standard we apply, that being awake to substance is a liberation. If we ask f o r evidence, it freed Democritus to laugh and Spinoza to love. T o be confronted with substance is to be confronted with an opportunity. W h a t happens a f t e r this experience is not construable in terms of what happened before. T h e recognition of necessity, which is only the recognition of secure knowledge as over against insecure ignorance, opens the door to freedom, to use, and to exploitation. T h e r e are few better attested facts. Secured knowledge does not determine what a man does, but reveals him as determining what follows upon it, f r o m the building of a bridge to the building of a church. This may be a last word, as Democritus and Spinoza would evidently have us believe while still insisting that medicine and society are worth the attention of a liberated soul, not for its own sake indeed, but f o r the sake of the sick, whether they suffer f r o m ills of the body or those other ills which bondage to the passions generates in gregarious mortals. It may be that we should stop here, admitting that liberation happens and that a consequence of it, besides laughing and loving, is service. Yet one may neither laugh nor love, and, doing either, one may not serve, although the instances I have given are actual and daily verified. T h e liberated soul may embrace instant death, which Democritus recognizes as a radical cure for every f o r m of madness, but does not prescribe. H e withholds it for the subtle reason t h a t it substitutes for all blatant errors "one g r e a t mute and perpetual e r r o r : the total ignorance which besets the atoms regarding the patterns and the dreams which in fact they generate." But the choice is possible no matter w h a t logical substitution of error it may imply. Its

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absurdity is, perhaps, the least impressive thing about it. Its impotence is m o r e impressive. T h a t the first exercise of liberation should be absolute surrender looks like something unmatched in futility. It is as if a physician should discover the cure f o r a d r e a d disease only to destroy it t h e r e u p o n f o r e v e r . But it is not wholly like this, f o r the physician might h a v e enjoyed a curious glory in keeping the discovery to himself, or might have concluded it were better f o r men to suffer or t h a t they were not w o r t h release f r o m their pains. Such considerations a r e denied the f r e e choice of instant d e a t h . If t h e embrace of it involved the simultaneous destruction of substance — w h i c h is indestructible—it is difficult to conceive a choice which would have a higher recommendation. But substance, like the old woman in the S t r a n g e r ' s tale, is n o t disturbed by any d e a t h . P e r h a p s we should not stop with the unparalleled futility of the absolute surrender. F o r to be f r e e to die is f o r t h e liberated soul the recognition t h a t substance m a k e s no claim upon it t h a t it should live. T h a t ' s w h a t its liberation means. I t is f r e e f o r laughter, f o r love, f o r service, but it is also f r e e f o r d e a t h ; and the a t o m s and the void yield not the slightest indication of a preference. P h r a s e the fact as we w i l l — a n d philosophers have invented many ways of p h r a s i n g it and turned it into perplexing problems which they have vainly tried to solve—the indifference of substance to us is a genuine indifference only when c o n f r o n t e d with the chance to choose. W h a t possible sense is there in denying p u r p o s e to n a t u r e , or hope or f e a r or care or anxiety or striving or recompense or vengeance, unless in view of the possible exercise somehow of w h a t has been denied? T h e s e operations are denied t o substance although there is some specific a r r a n g e m e n t of a t o m s and the void whenever they occur. T o admit this is to be awake and alive t o t r u t h . It is to avoid illusion and madness. But it is to end nothing. Substance may be the first w o r d in sanity, but it is not the last w o r d either in wisdom or in life. W e might venture a proof of this beyond the fact itself, a l t h o u g h we should have to admit that such a proof was a speculative diversion which b o r r o w e d all its force f r o m the fact it would establish. W e might say, f o r example, t h a t the

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indifference of substance if really native t o it, h a v i n g its original seat in a t o m s a n d the void, would o p e r a t e so t h a t we should suffer w i t h o u t anguish and e n j o y w i t h o u t e n j o y m e n t . T h e energies of substance would simply be exhausted o r t r a n s f o r m e d in w h a t w a s done, just as we imagine t h e m t o be in the m o v e m e n t s of the s t a r s or w h e n an acid e a t s a m e t a l . T h e r e could be b i r t h and d e a t h , g r o w t h and decay, a n d such seethings as when w a t e r boils or chemicals combine t o explode. N a t u r e might then be infinitely diversified, but it w o u l d be indifferent t h r o u g h a n d t h r o u g h . N o place could be f o u n d f o r illusion or f o r the w a k i n g f r o m a d r e a m . T h e indifference of substance would n o t be the indication of a difference, but only a universal c h a r a c t e r a t t a c h e d t o every event. O r we m i g h t suppose t h a t substance was n o t indifferent and affirm t h a t it really cared a b o u t w h a t it g e n e r a t e d . W e should t h e n need m o r e wit t h a n we h a v e to u n d e r s t a n d why its care was not effective, and to k e e p us f r o m imputing t o it either wickedness or insanity. I n d e e d , as we well k n o w , to impute c a r e t o substance is to t u r n substance itself into an illusion. Such p r o o f s as these suggested ones, are, as I have said, speculative diversions. Since, h o w e v e r , we m a y m a k e suppositions c o n t r a r y t o fact, they may help t o show t h a t the indifference of substance is s o m e t h i n g which finds no place in a t o m s and the void. Substance, then, as substance s i m p l y — a t o m s and t h e void, ions a n d electrons, m a t t e r , n a t u r e , necessity—substance is n o t indifferent to w h a t we do. It has t h a t m o r a l c h a r a c t e r in its o w n right no m o r e t h a n any o t h e r . I t is indifferent, t h a t is, not in its own t e r m s , but in t e r m s of s o m e t h i n g else. It is indifferent only when in its t e r m s we seek g r o u n d s f o r a p p r o v a l a n d justification of w h a t we do. T h e n it fails us. A n d because it fails us, o r b e t t e r , when we become well assured t h a t it fails us, we turn it into the uses of l a u g h t e r , love, service, and d e a t h . F o r such uses we find it well a d a p t e d . E v e n D e m o c r i t u s can join in the ritual. Substance is, then, not the end. It is not a last w o r d , even if without it, n o t h i n g can be n o r be conccived. I n d e e d , to t a k e it as such is t o sink into the deepest d r e a m and e n t e r t a i n the g r e a t e s t illusion. F o r in any philosophy of h u m a n life, l a u g h t e r and love a n d s e r v i c e — w i t h o u t which d e a t h is d e f e a t

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— a r e more ultimate words. Spoken by souls liberated t h r o u g h being awake to substance, they have produced—in a sense perhaps more p r o f o u n d than Democritus guessed—that witchery which, being a magic birth, is witchery indeed. T h i s no free man would willingly exchange for atoms and the void unless, perchance, having found in substance the f a i t h f u l servant of his freedom, he had suffused it with his laughter or his love.

T H E

P R O M I S E

OF

P R A G M A T I S M *

T H E conviction g r o w s upon me that pragmatism might have had and still may have a more fruitful influence on philosophical thinking than it has yet enjoyed. A s itself a philosophy, it is now more a memory than a force. It is referred to more frequently than it is celebrated. M a n y of us have become pragmatists in one sense or another, but few of us claim to be pragmatists in the sense that we have found in pragmatism a philosophy of human living, a theory of knowledge, or the key which unlocks the mind. It looks, indeed, as if pragmatism had taken a comfortable and respected place among those intellectual enthusiasms which have historical as distinct f r o m permanent or progressive interest. T h e reason is not hard to discover. Pragmatism originally appeared as an attractive name for a method of clarifying our ideas, " a new name f o r some old ways of thinking," as James himself phrased it. Ideas, we were advised, can be clarified by finding their meaning in the procedure in which they are employed. W e were cautioned against meanings independent of procedure or supposedly antecedent to it. A r b i t r a r y definitions were to confess the fact that they were arbitrary and were not to be allowed to encourage dialectic when it was out of place. Freedom and flexibility in thinking, the habit of seeing how ideas are generated and modified by following the lead of subject-matter, an analysis of how our thinking operates as it passes from station to station in its p r o g r e s s — s u c h as these were the aims which pragmatism professed to further. T h e r e was promise in it. T h i s promise was speedily put into a position of minor importance. Pragmatism became a controversy about the nature of truth. Instead of encouraging analyses of the meaning of terms and ideas in the contexts wherein they occur, it encouraged a debate about the foundations of belief and • I n the Journal

of Philosophy,

Vol. X X V I (1929), pp. 541-552.

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the criteria of t r u t h and falsity. H o w can we d e t e r m i n e when our ideas are true, became a m o r e i m p o r t a n t question t h a n H o w can we determine w h a t they m e a n . T h e p r o m i s e of p r a g m a t i s m had, except in r a r e instances, little illustration of its fulfillment. It remained, f o r the most p a r t , expressed in very general terms, a hope, an aspiration, a piece of advice, but f o u n d little expression in terms of specific analyses of procedures applied to varying subject-matter. T h e reasons why p r a g m a t i s m became a controversy may be l e f t here unconsidered. T h e fact is probably m o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n the reasons, f o r the controversy diverted a t t e n t i o n f r o m w h a t was f r u i t f u l to w h a t was fruitless. I t led t o antipathies between minds which were, ordinarily, not antipathetic. T h e combatants convicted each other of nonsense a l t h o u g h they otherwise respected each o t h e r . T h e y said in their haste w h a t they probably would not have said at their leisure. It has to be admitted, I think, t h a t " t r u t h " is essentially a controversial m a t t e r . W h a t is t r u t h ? T h o s e w h o stay f o r an answer are pretty sure to stay f o r a quarrel. P r a g m a t i s m tried t o alter the question, to ask instead f o r samples of t r u t h s or f o r a consideration of the adjective r a t h e r t h a n the noun. But unhappy and u n f o r t u n a t e p h r a s e s got in the way. T h e slogans of p r a g m a t i s m were perilous. W h e n it w a s claimed t h a t an idea is true because it works, the r e j o i n d e r was ready and well-nigh inevitable t h a t an idea w o r k s because it is true. " W o r k i n g " was something that h a d to be defined, but the best of definitions never seemed competent to settle the question w h e t h e r truth was the consequence of w o r k i n g or working the consequence of t r u t h . U n d o u b t e d l y t h e r e is s o m e t h i n g suspicious about any identification of the t r u t h of ideas with their effectiveness either in discourse or experiment. I t would seem t h a t the effectiveness must be of a p a r t i c u l a r kind. A n d t h a t particular kind, when it takes on an adjective to qualify it, always seems to clamour f o r the adjective in dispute. Beliefs are obviously effective when they are not true, and no " l o n g r u n " of their effectiveness seems a d e q u a t e to r e m o v e them f r o m suspicion. So long as the qualification of effectiveness must be the true qualification, it is difficult to find a n o t h e r adjective which will do as well, even if t h e dear adjective is

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elusive. I t ought not to be said that the opponents of pragmatism were successful in removing that elusiveness. T o equate truth with consistency or with the agreement of ideas with objects, was as perilous as to equate it with effectiveness, especially when a pragmatist was one's opponent. T h e r e were nasty questions to answer. H o w are ideas found to be consistent? H o w are they found to agree with objects? T h e answer seemed to b e : Is pragmatism true because it works or does it work because it is t r u e ? T h e answer was, in other words, to renew the controversy. T h e r e was not settlement of it. It wore itself out. T h e u n f o r t u n a t e consequence was that it left pragmatism to be remembered mainly as a controversy, a debate, brilliant at times and at times bringing with it m a t t e r of importance, but a debate without an issue. T i r e d of trying to tell what truth is, the combatants turned to a more promising occupation, that of trying to tell what other things are. I would not say that pragmatism was nothing but a controversy. Rarely is anything nothing but. I am saying r a t h e r that its effect was controversial and predominantly so. It provoked dissent, and that provocation obscured its m a j o r contention. Instead of leading to an embrace of its promise, it led to a contention about irrelevancies. I think this can now be said. Pragmatism, as a way of thinking, had no more and no less to do with truth than any other way. These ways are known by their f r u i t s — a r e m a r k which sounds like a pragmatic slogan—and their fruits may be truth incidentally, but they are, first of all, clarifications of the procedure of thought. T h e y may clarify t h a t procedure to a point where the question of truth becomes pertinent, to the point where questions find or do not find answers which answer them. T h e clarification is primary. And clearly it was primary in the claims of pragmatism. M o r e o v e r the claim was not of the kind that can be settled by debate or by considerations in general. T h e question, whether the claim that the method of pragmatism can clarify ideas Is a true claim, could be answered only by finding out whether the method did or did not. T h e r e was no other possible answer and the answer was bound to be in specific cases, final. In no other sense had truth anything to do with the matter. T h e important thing was the way of thinking recom-

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mended. Its importance was discovered by trial and should be evaluated by trial. In this respect, p r a g m a t i s m was anything but a controversy. I t was a recommendation to experiment. Rarely did it happen, even in those controversial days, t h a t t h a t recommendation, when studiously followed, was fruitless. It is w o r t h recalling w h a t the recommendation was. I t was not of something new, but of something readily and o f t e n habitually f o r g o t t e n , and of something, too, of which the need of a reminder seems to be periodic. I t was the recommendation to remember that w h a t e v e r m e a n i n g an idea may have independent of a given context, it has a discoverable and o f t e n an altered meaning in t h a t context. Consequently it is clarified by discovering the way it o p e r a t e s in the context given. Pushed f u r t h e r , it was the recommendation to remember t h a t although an idea may always have the same meaning in every context to which it is relevant, it has no m e a n i n g at all a p a r t f r o m any context. Pushed still f u r t h e r , the recommendation may turn into a d o g m a . P r a g m a t i s m , as I understand it, claimed or certainly seemed to claim, t h a t a p a r t f r o m operation in discourse and experiment, ideas not only have no meaning, but are non-existent; and t h a t , consequently, the function of ideas is not to represent, stand f o r , or duplicate objects in some way, but to mediate the processes of discourse a n d experiment. If I am not mistaken, it was this dogma which was the prime m o t i v a t o r of the controversy which ensued. A s I do not wish to revive the controversy, I leave the dogma without other comment than t h i s : It is a d o g m a which might very appropriately submit itself to p r a g m a t i c analysis. M u c h obviously depends on the meaning of " i d e a . " P r a g m a t i s m , then, recommends t h a t we think in t e r m s of w h a t we d o : that we think of measures in t e r m s of measuring, of values in terms of evaluating, of ideas in t e r m s of the way they operate. T h e recommendation was timely when it occurred. It afforded a needed stimulus to a reconsideration of philosophical ideas and problems which persisted more because of the historical m o m e n t u m they h a d acquired than because of their clear relevancy to contemporaneous inquiry. A t the lowest estimate, it afforded a rigorous and interesting diversion, in response to which much that was old was considered anew.

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Its a p p r o p r i a t e estimate d e s e r v e s to be m a d e in other terms, in terms, namely, of its r e p e a t e d application. Its claim to be able to c l a r i f y ideas is, as I h a v e said, a claim to be tested, not by discussion, but by trial. W h a t , f o r example, did E u c l i d mean by a p o i n t ; or, if one will, what w a s his idea of a p o i n t ? H e defined a point as " t h a t which has no p a r t s . " Is this a direction to try to think of something that has no p a r t s ? I s everything that has no p a r t s a p o i n t ? I s a point something physical or conceptual? I s it something concrete or a b s t r a c t ? Is it real or i d e a l ? Is it something f o u n d or something a s s u m e d ? Students of g e o m e t r y a r e f a m i l i a r with such questions as these and with controversies arising f r o m them. In contrast with these questions and controversies, w e may ask the p r a g m a t i c question: W h a t is a point in E u c l i d ' s p r o c e d u r e ? In that procedure, what is it t h a t has no p a r t s as o v e r against other things in that procedure which h a v e p a r t s ? T h e n an answer seems to come of itself. E u c l i d meant by a point, first of all, the ends and intersections of lines. O t h e r meanings, as of " a point above a line" or of " a point without a circle" seem to be derivatives of the o r i g i n a l meaning. N o w the ends and intersections of lines do not h a v e p a r t s in the sense that lines and what is made up of them o r inclosed by them have. A line can be divided, but the end of a line can't. E u c l i d ' s definition does not c l a r i f y his procedure, but his procedure clarifies his definition. W i t h the definition so clarified, one is not likely longer to debate whether a point is abstract or concrete, ideal o r real. Indeed, there are m a n y controverted questions which one will then no longer debate. A similar clarification of other definitions and the application of p r a g m a t i c analysis to E u c l i d ' s procedure generally, h a v e a similar effect. Clearness of a definite and genuine sort is attained. In an example like this there may remain the q u e s t i o n — and a similar question m a y remain in similar e x a m p l e s — whether a point as clarified in terms of Euclid's procedure is a point as E u c l i d conceived it in his own mind or as it ought to be conceived in any mind. A n answer to this question seems to me to be irrelevant to the value of p r a g m a t i c analysis. N o r can that analysis a n s w e r it. B u t it is in just these considerations that the merit of the analysis is discovered. T o turn it into a

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means of revealing hidden t h o u g h t s or into a metaphysical determination of absolute meanings is to distort it. T h e imp o r t a n t thing is that ideas, concepts, categories, definitions and the like, no m a t t e r w h a t meanings may be given t o them independent of their use in the exploration of some subjectm a t t e r , have a discoverable m e a n i n g in every such exploration. T h e y have a meaning when they are at w o r k which can be discovered f r o m the way they work. Example a f t e r example can be given. Chance, f o r instance, is a troublesome category. T o define it first and then seek f o r instances which the definition covers, involves a very ambiguous p e r f o r m a n c e . I t is easy to say there can be no such t h i n g as chance. It is easy to affirm t h a t its recognition is a consequence of ignorance. Yet when chance is used as an o p e r a t i n g category in the various fields w h e r e it is employed, it has a discoverable meaning which rarely permits us to say t h e r e is no such thing or t h a t the recognition of it is due to our ignorance. Multiplying illustrations of the p r a g m a t i c m e a n i n g of ideas is some revelation of their character. Let us believe, if we w a n t to, t h a t in themselves they are as absolute as any ardent Platonist could wish, with fixed and unalterable meanings which we labor t o discover, pragmatic analysis can still convince us t h a t when they a p p e a r in discourse and experiment, they have a w o r k i n g meaning. T h e y expose themselves in connection with very concrete p e r f o r m a n c e s and lead our thought on to very definite implications. Seen in the light of the procedure in which thev are involved, they gain in precision, definiteness, and effectiveness. O u r understanding of the subject-matter about which they are employed is heightened. T h e merit of p r a g m a t i c analysis lies in its f r e e d o m f r o m those entanglements which arise when ideas are otherwise analyzed and defined. T h e illustrations given, sketchy as they are, seem to me to be a clear indication of this merit. T h e controversies to which p r a g m a t i s m gave and may give rise in no way affect the advantage gained by analyzing the meaning of ideas in t e r m s of the procedure in which they are involved. M e a n i n g s derived f r o m context are as genuinely meanings as those derived in any other way. T h e y o p e r a t e and there are discoverable consequences of their o p e r a t i o n . T h e y o f t e n become controlling

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in the p r o g r e s s of an inquiry. T h e y o f t e n lead t h o u g h t t o conclusions which can not be u n d e r s t o o d unless in t e r m s of their o p e r a t i n g meaning. W e are, as a consequence, r e p e a t e d l y c o n f r o n t e d with statements, conclusions, and beliefs which m e a n one t h i n g in their own context and quite a different thing, or n o t h i n g at all, when t r a n s f e r r e d t o a n o t h e r context. T h e p r a g m a t i c analysis is p r e t t y sure t o b r i n g relief in this situation. It is an old way of t h i n k i n g in the sense t h a t logic anciently advised thinkers not t o mix up their universes of discourse. It is new, with a new n a m e , w h e n e v e r the need of its exercise becomes significantly r e c o g n i z e d . I t s need seems t o me to be eminently evident. T h e o u t s t a n d i n g illustration is t h e r a p i d i t y with which ideas have been s h i f t i n g in o u r t h e o r e t i c a l interests and particularly in t h e field of physics. T h a t t h e r e is a b u n d a n t c o n f u s i o n needs no p r o o f a n d t h a t this confusion is largely due t o contexts in rivalry is evident. W h e n , f o r example, P r o f e s s o r W h i t e h e a d w r i t e s : " T h e m o s t successful example of community life exists w h e r e p u r e instinct reigns supreme. T h e s e examples occur only in the ino r g a n i c w o r l d ; a m o n g societies of active molecules f o r m i n g rocks, planets, solar systems, s t a r clusters," 1 a r e a d e r , like myself, m a y be p a r d o n e d if at first he w o n d e r s w h e t h e r P r o f e s s o r W h i t e h e a d is w r i t i n g nonsense or p o e t r y . T h e w o n d e r m i g h t be dispelled by application of p r a g m a t i c analysis. I m i g h t be b r o u g h t t o see t h a t P r o f e s s o r W h i t e h e a d is w r i t i n g n e i t h e r . W h e n the possibility is suggested to me by P r o f e s s o r E d d i n g t o n 2 of sending out messages t o m o r r o w and receiving the answers t o d a y , I am at a loss to k n o w w h e t h e r to laugh o r to cry. T h e laugh, I guess, was expected, but could not one cry if t h e best physics can do is to give us the prospect of a w o r l d so b i z a r r e ? If t h e r e is sense in it, I can see no o t h e r way of finding it t h a n by p r a g m a t i c analysis. W h a t , in the p r o c e d u r e to which P r o f e s s o r E d d i n g t o n is committed, is the m e a n i n g of " m e s s a g e s , " " t o d a y , " and " t o m o r r o w " ? So long as I can not m a k e t h a t out, the book is no m o r e illuminating to me a b o u t the physical w o r l d t h a n is the Shaving of Shagpat a b o u t a b a r b e r - s h o p . A g a i n : in t e r m s of my habitual ideas, it is quite 1 Symbolism, p. 62. ' The Nature of the Physical

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conceivable to me that, when measured, I shall be found to be shorter standing up than when lying d o w n ; but I can not conceive this if, at the same time, I am expected to admit t h a t the rod which measures me is of different lengths in different positions. If I am six feet lying down and five feet ten standing, then the rod which measures me must, when measuring me standing, extend two inches clear above my head. I can readily suspect that when either the rod or my body is turned f r o m a horizontal to a vertical position, something happens to it which should seek expression somehow in terms of measurements of length, but if I am to be clear about t h a t somehow, it is useless f o r me to follow the lead of my habitual ideas; I must find out by pragmatic analysis what "differences in length" mean in a procedure which claims that a rod is shortened when it moves in the direction of its own length. W h a t is "its own l e n g t h " ? W h a t is it to "move in the direction of its own length" ? W h a t is it f o r "its own length to be not so long when moving in the direction of its own l e n g t h " ? H o w can a rod have a length of its own? If it can not have such a length, how can moving it in that direction shorten it? If its length is its length in a context, what is it that is shortened in another context? M y habitual ideas are of little or no help in trying to answer such questions. In terms of them, these remarkable new ideas about the rod are simply silly. I can not, however, believe that they are silly simply because I do not understand them, any more than I can believe that this article is silly if some dear reader fails to understand it. M y trouble—and the dear reader's—is an invitation to try pragmatic analysis. 3 My trouble, however, leads me to say with conviction, even if the expression of this conviction sounds extravagant, that many of the recent attempts to make clear to w h a t is called "the intelligent reader," new ideas about space, time, motion, mass, matter, etc., are misguided and essentially unintelligible. They seriously raise the question whether the authors are clear in their own minds. T h e y are misguided because what " I can r e a d i l y believe t h a t the F i t z G e r a l d c o n t r a c t i o n is real, b u t like P r o f e s sor E d d i n g t o n , I w a n t to k n o w in w h a t context it is real a n d w h a t it m e a n s to be a r e a l c o n t r a c t i o n in t h a t context.

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their authors h a v e to say about space and time can not be said in terms of the space and time with which the intelligent r e a d e r is f a m i l i a r . H i s space and time definitely belie w h a t is said about them. T o be sure, it may be r e p l i e d ; f o r w h a t is said is said not about his space and time, but about the space and time of the physical w o r l d ; he ought to be intelligent enough to see this. I r e p l y — h e is. H e is a l s o — I venture this — i n t e l l i g e n t enough to see that many of the illustrations, and o f t e n the crucial illustrations, that are given to him to help him understand, a r e illustrations in terms of his space and time and not in terms of the space and time of the physical w o r l d . T h a t is w h y he suspects that those w h o offer the illustrations are themselves a little confused. H e k n o w s that t may be + t o r —t o r t2 o r r 1 o r even t, but he knows also that yesterday, today, and t o m o r r o w are not matters of this kind. H e knows that things look different f r o m different points of view, but he knows also that he can not see how an observer w h o sees an e l e v a t o r with its mechanism carry him to the top of a building can construe that ascent as the building going d o w n . T h e building m a y be going down and he not know it, while the o b s e r v e r does, but that is not the difficulty. T h e difficulty is the e l e v a t o r . T h e intelligent r e a d e r strongly suspects that the o b s e r v e r is seeing him carried up in an elevator in a building which is g o i n g d o w n . It may justly be said that such illustrations as are here given ought not to be used. T h e f a c t is that just such illustrations are used. T h e y p r o m o t e confusion instead of clearness. T h e y create the suspicion that there is confusion in the minds of those w h o use them. T h e p a s s a g e in thought f r o m the w o r l d of yesterday, t o d a y , and t o m o r r o w and f r o m the w o r l d in which we g o up and d o w n , in which w e go here and there, and in which we do one thing at the same time another does another thing, the p a s s a g e in thought f r o m this w o r l d to the physical w o r l d is a difficult p a s s a g e . I doubt whether all the strange behaviour of clocks and rods to which attention has been directed has made that p a s s a g e clearer than it was b e f o r e that strange behaviour w a s p r o m u l g a t e d . T h e very f a c t that we speak of the physical w o r l d ought to w a r n us that the ideas which go to make it up ought to be m a d e clear, not by illustrations drawn f r o m

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another world, but in terms of the procedure which is employed in discovering the physical world. In this way alone, as I see it, can we hope to reach a position f r o m which the passage in thought to the physical world can itself be made clearer. I have no doubt at all that there is the physical world, or that explorers o f it are saying, even when they say things very strange to me, relevant things about it. I believe it is a world without which nobody could be born or die. But it is difficult for me to believe that anybody either is born in it or will die in it. Without it, the sun could not go round the earth, nor the earth go round the sun. In it, neither does either. But I should have to use pragmatic analysis to make these unintelligibilities clear. O f all the recent books I have read which have been written for the intelligent reader about the physical world, I like Professor Bridgman's the best. 4 I t impresses me as having rendered a great service in helping to make ideas clear. I t uses pragmatic analysis. I hope I do not misrepresent it when I say that I learned from it that when we speak o f the distance from the earth to the sun and take into account how that distance is arrived at, distance does not mean quite the same thing it means when we speak of the distance between the top and bottom of this page and take into account how this distance is arrived at. W i t h this lesson learned, I thought I saw quite clearly that the distance between bodies at rest, the distance between bodies in motion, the distance between opposite sides of a street, the distance between the earth and the sun, the distance between the Battle of M a r a t h o n and the Battle of Bull Run, the distance between a note and its octave, the distance between white and black, and the distance between good and evil, might all be distances but that distance was probably distance between nothing at all. As an historian, I sensed at once the age-old distinction between the universal and the particular, but under Professor Bridgman's influence, I sensed it in a fresh way. I was not at all ready to deny that there is such a thing as distance which is not a particular distance. Logic had taught me that distance can not be a particular distance, that distance can not be the distance between the 4

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e a r t h and the sun. A n d I have never been able to agree with those who would, t h e r e f o r e , deny being to distance or those w h o try to explain it away by some psychological juggling. I suspected P r o f e s s o r B r i d g m a n of saying that there may be a f o r m u l a f o r distance which is neither the distance between opposite sides of a street nor between the e a r t h and the sun, but f r o m which b o t h these distances, when the proper transf o r m a t i o n s a r e made, can be derived. I h a d long suspected t h a t there m i g h t be such a f o r m u l a , because I h a d been t a u g h t t h a t f r o m D = V x 1 + y 2 o n e could derive either the side of a square or the circumference of a circle and t h a t the f o r m u l a was also a f o r m u l a f o r distance. If I could derive f r o m it or f r o m something like it the distance between the e a r t h and the sun, p e r h a p s I could also derive f r o m it the distance between two events like the Battle of M a r a t h o n and the Battle of Bull Run. W h y not then go on to good and evil? E v e r y t h i n g pointed t h a t way even if I could not follow. Since, however, x and y could be anything and could be held together in such a way as to yield such different things as distances, squares, circles, sines, a n d roots, why should it not yield much besides? A n d it seemed quite clear t h a t the m o r e it yielded the less it would be anything it yielded. In fact it would never be anyt h i n g it yielded. In yielding the distance between opposite sides of a street, it was never t h a t distance. If it yielded g o o d and evil it would never be g o o d or evil. So the distinction between distances and w h a t can yield distances by some operation or o t h e r seemed clear to me. T h e r e was concrete illustration of it, and, I thought, quite unequivocal illustration. It was an easy j u m p to the physical w o r l d — a t least it seemed easy. T h e physical w o r l d is t h a t which can be so f o r m u l a t e d as to yield with the relevant o p e r a t i o n a man's birth or death, but, obviously, in t h a t world he neither is born nor dies, any m o r e than the distance between the e a r t h and the sun is in the w o r l d of V -v2 + y 2 . But I h a d not intended to air my ideas—or the ideas to which my r e a d i n g has led m e — a b o u t the physical world. 5 ' T h e " p h y s i c a l w o r l d " is a n a m b i g u o u s expression, a s one can r e a d i l y detect by p u t t i n g " p h y s i c s " a n d " p h y s i o l o g y " side by side or by reflecting on a c u r r e n t d e m a n d t h a t " p h y s i o l o g y " should be m o r e " p h y s i c a l . " T h e a d j e c t i v e " p h y s i c a l "

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W h a t I have said may be taken as some further illustration of pragmatic analysis. B y the use of that analysis in a variety of cases it has become increasingly obvious to me that the physical w o r l d is a discovery and a discovery which can not be identified with that out of which it is discovered. P r o f e s s o r E d dington's two tables confront me. T h e r e is a table which can be so explored that the explorer is led into the physical w o r l d has not kept a tight and uniform meaning throughout its history. T h e "physical w o r l d " once meant, among other things, the world to which "physics" is relevant. " P h y s i c s " has come to mean, among other things, the systematic measurement of that world. In systematizing the measurements, it would seem that another world has been discovered which is coming to be called, more and more restrictedly, "the physical w o r l d " or "the world of physics." T h e " w o r l d of physics" m a y be that without which nothing can be measured in a coherent and systematic w a y ; but is it anything that can itself be m e a s u r e d ? C a n the measure be m e a s u r e d ? Is not an identification of the measure with w h a t is measured a source of much current confusion? Is not an identification of the " w o r l d of physics" with the "physical w o r l d " made again and a g a i n without sufficient analysis of the meaning of the terms which mediate the identification? T a k e this f o r example: " T h e speed of 299,796 kilometer* per second which occupies a unique position in every measure-system is commonly r e f e r r e d to as the speed of light. But it is much more than that; it is the speed at which the mass of matter becomes infinite, lengths contract to zero, clocks stand still. T h e r e f o r e it crops up in all kinds of problems whether light is concerned or not." A m I quite foolish—thinking of some kinds of problems—if I wonder if my clock is now going with the speed of light because it has stopped? Of course, I know it is out of order and so has stopped. I shift my w o n d e r i n g : if my clock w e r e not at all out of order and should stop, would it be going with the speed of light? Could it go with the speed of light and stand still, with the mass of matter become infinite and lengths contracted to zero, and still be a clock and my clock at that? I can't believe it. Y e t I can still believe that "the speed of light" occupies a unique position in every measure-system. Indeed, I could even venture into the realm of pure rationalism and s a y : since light is essential to every measure system, the speed of light must h a v e a unique place. I find it, however, v e r y difficult to believe that the speed is 299,796 kilometers per second if at that speed lengths—kilometers?—contract to zero. In short, it is easy to believe in the world of physics, but difficult to believe that it is the physical world. How comparable—and in what w a y comparable—are masses, lengths, and times in the world of physics with clocks, kilometers, and seconds in the physical w o r l d ? H o w do w e pass f r o m the latter to the f o r m e r ? Surely not by making the behavior of the latter unintelligible. Nor, as I see it, do we need a theory of knowledge to help us out. T h e passage is made. It is made by doing certain v e r y definite, repeatable, and learnable things. It involves a procedure. W e need p r a g m a t i c analysis of it, and in detail. T h i s w e need f a r more than expositions which try to tell us w h a t the world would look like if we travelled with the speed of light, if we observed it under conditions under which it could not possibly be observed. If there is a w o r l d impossible of observation, it ought not to be exploited in terms of observation, even if it is by observation that w e a r e led to it.

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to discover there something which m a y also be called a table when we keep in mind the manner of its discovery, but which, independent of that manner, would never be called a table at all. T h e physical table is not the table with which we start, but the table at which w e a r r i v e . I t is not the beginning of an exploration, but the end of one. T h e evidence f o r this seems to me to be too strong to be r e f u t e d . T h e table with which we begin has been f a m i l i a r f o r centuries; the table with which we end has taken centuries to discover and may not be the table we discover next week. Y e t the f a c t that we continually discover a second table is g o o d p r o o f that a second table there is. W e might stop here. W e might even generalize the m a t t e r . W e might say that by exploration of a w o r l d constantly f a m i l i a r w e are led into another w o r l d which is not constantly f a m i l i a r , which changes in f a m i l i a r i t y with our explorations, in which, h o w e v e r , w e confidently believe. W e might, I say, stop here. P r a g m a t i s m would advise us to stop long enough, at least, to become quite clear about the situation, to be quite clear that it is a solid outcome of procedure even if it may not be the final outcome. T h e table we write on, when explored, leads to the discovery of a table to which writing on is quite irrelevant as an expression of what it is. T h a t ' s a g o o d place to stop and get accustomed to b e f o r e g o i n g on, because it is so solid and so uncontrovertible. T h e f a c t that when we g o on we so frequently f a l l into controversy and say things astonishingly strange and o f t e n so difficult to believe ought to fill us with supreme caution. One of the commonest things we are apt to do when w e go on is to say and try to believe that the u n f a m i l i a r table is prior to the f a m i l i a r table. In spite of the f a c t that the u n f a m i l i a r table has no discoverable precedence, we o f t e n m a k e it precedent and look upon the f a m i l i a r table as its disguise. W e r e it not f o r the g a r b which the u n f a m i l i a r table w e a r s when we see the f a m i l i a r , w e should see the u n f a m i l i a r t a b l e ! T h i s may be true, f o r it is a mighty curious w o r l d in which w e live. I can not believe it, h o w e v e r , and f o r several reasons. Some of them may be personal, others, I think, are not. A personal reason is that if I believed this, I could believe almost anything; f e w beliefs w o u l d impress me as quite u n w a r r a n t e d . A m o n g other reasons

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is this: every attempt I have made and have found made by others to deal with these tables in terms of priority, results in a controversy. Bias for the unfamiliar table turns the familiar into something called appearance, and bias for the familiar turns the unfamiliar into a convenience for the imagination or practice. Each of these positions becomes a matter of debate, and yet each is discredited by any test which is relevant to a trial of them. If the appeal is to experience, then experience robs neither table of its genuineness. M o r e emphatic still is the reason that the unfamiliar table is discovered by dealing with the familiar one. So I must take both tables as equally genuine. But I can not take the discovered table as identical with the table from which it is derived. Making them identical seems always to lead to saying about the familiar table what is said about the unfamiliar, and this results in something paradoxical and bizarre. If I identified them and were sensitive about it, I should be sensitive about moving my familiar table about even if I am advised that it is not big enough or small enough to be seriously affected by the changes going on in the unfamiliar table. N o : I must, at least pragmatically, keep my two tables from merging into one, if I am not to lose either them or sanity. This may not be the end of the matter, but it seems to be the beginning of anything subsequent that matters. There should be, I suppose, a conclusion to this article. But its conclusion would be its point, namely, that pragmatism held out the promise of helping to clarify our ideas and that promise has been too much obscured by the controversy which made of pragmatism a debate about truth. T h e debate may never be ended, but the promises can be fulfilled; at least, whether it can be or not, is a matter of trial. T h e trial seems to be poignantly recommended when rocks become social, when clocks and rods behave remarkably, and when religion is encouraged by exploration of the nature of the atom. W h a t do all the new ideas mean? It seems useless trying to define them in terms of old ideas. T h e y need definition in terms of their operation in discourse and experiment. One can not begin with space, time, and matter, or with ions, electrical charges, and space-time. One has to begin with something else, with defi-

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nite concrete operations, often with laboratory experiments, and, following them out, find out what the new ideas mean as revealed in and by the procedure. Until this is done, there is no use in asking whether the new ideas are true. Pragmatism may never arrive at truth, but it can minimize confusion. If my illustrations have not illustrated this clearly, the fault is mine, not the method. T h e more the method is tried in specific and limited cases, the more likely is it that we shall be clear in our dealings with cases at large.

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EVEN a misguided c o m m e n t on P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s p h i l o s o p h y m a y be instructive. O p i n i o n s h a v e a social as well as an individual c h a r a c t e r , with the obvious consequence t h a t one m a n ' s u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f a n o t h e r is at least o n e instance o f h o w t h a t o t h e r is u n d e r s t o o d . O t h e r w i s e , why should we c o m m e n t on g r e a t p h i l o s o p h e r s , a n d tell the w o r l d w h a t t h e y t h o u g h t , when they h a v e a l r e a d y told the w o r l d t h e m s e l v e s ? I n t h e present case, malice could suggest t h a t a p h i l o s o p h y should be defined and j u d g e d in t e r m s o f t h e effects it p r o d u c e s , but malice would be c o n f u s e d if c o n f r o n t e d with a multiplicity o f effects, and might find the c r i t e r i o n t h a t a p h i l o s o p h y is w h a t it is experienced to be, f o r c i n g it, in t h e interest o f justice, t o distinguish between a p p e a r a n c e and r e a l i t y . A c o m m e n t a t o r is e m b a r r a s s e d in m a k i n g the distinction, f o r w h a t he finds the philosophy t o be is w h a t he concludes it t o b e . H i s comm e n t a r y is, then, at least as instructive as p e r s o n a l r e v e l a t i o n s usually a r e . H e exhibits h i m s e l f . H e is an a p p e a r a n c e . I f the reality, as it m a y very well do, m o c k s him, t h a t is t h e penalty o f being an a p p e a r a n c e , and, p e r h a p s , some justification f o r being it, some evidence t h a t t h e r e a l i t y is a n t e c e d e n t t o t h e app e a r a n c e and should c o n t r o l it. H a u n t e d by this p e r p l e x i n g circumstance, I p r o c e e d with this p a p e r . I shall s t a t e w h a t I have t o say in s u m m a r y at t h e beginning, a n d t h e n illustrate it in t w o p a r t i c u l a r s . P r o f e s s o r D e w e y h a s h a d an e m i n e n t l y p r a c t i c a l effect. H e h a s p r o f o u n d l y influenced the way m a n y people t h i n k and act and t e a c h . W h e n his writings a r e s t r i p p e d o f dialectic and cont r o v e r s y , and f r e e d f r o m c o n t a c t with c e r t a i n o f the tradit i o n a l p r o b l e m s o f philosophy, t h e r e r e m a i n s a positive and substantial p r o n o u n c e m e n t on human life in its i m m e d i a t e • I n the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X X V I I (1930), pp. 264-272. Read at the meeting of the American Philosophical Association in New York, December 30, 1929.

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practical character. T h i s pronouncement has had on many minds the effect of a genuine liberation f r o m obstacles which w a r p e d their thinking and clogged their action. It proposes to substitute courage f o r uncertainty and hopefulness f o r f e a r . T h a t is a very practical substitution. Certainty, or the claim o f it, might have been offered as the substitute f o r uncertainty, and courage might have been offered as the substitute f o r f e a r . T h i s , however, is not w h a t the pronouncement offers. T h e soul is not to be cured o f uncertainty and f e a r by becoming certain and courageous. I t is to be made immune to its vices by means of a revised alignment o f opposites, an alignment revised in view of the exigencies of living. T h e shift involved is naturally described as a shift f r o m the theoretical to the practical. A n d I suspect that the m a j o r difficulties found in construing the philosophy of P r o f e s s o r D e w e y arise f r o m attempts to justify that shift on theoretical grounds. It is difficult f o r me to think that P r o f e s s o r D e w e y himself does not attempt to provide such a justification. I find this less in w h a t he affirms than in w h a t he denies. H i s affirmations impress me as keeping close to a progressive development of a central theme. H i s denials, however, o f t e n impress me as requiring the acceptance of the opposite of w h a t is denied as the ultimate theoretical ground which supports the practical affirmations. I seem at times to be asked to substitute courage f o r certainty on the ground that there is no certainty, and hopefulness f o r f e a r on the ground that there is nothing of which to be a f r a i d . In such moments I find myself involved in a dialectic of theories of knowledge and existence. I become myself a controversialist, and find myself leaving the solid ground o f experience. T h e r e are t w o sentences in Experience and Nature1 which express concisely and without controversial implications that pronouncement on human life to which I have referred. T h e y are these: Because intelligence is critical method applied to goods of belief, appreciation, and conduct, so as to construct freer and more secure goods, turning assent and assertion into free communication and sharable meanings, turning feeling into ordered and liberal sense, turning 1

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reaction into response, it is the reasonable object of our deepest faith and loyalty, the stay and support of all reasonable hopes. . . . W h a t the method of intelligence, thoughtful valuation, will accomplish, if once it be tried, is for the result of trial to determine.

I have said that these sentences are without controversial implications. T h e y receive, moreover, in P r o f e s s o r Dewey's manifold expansion of them, an emphasis which puts them in a position of philosophical dignity. T h e y are not left without an expert analysis which aims to make them of primary importance, and to exhibit their entire independence of any attitude which can be defined as antecedent or more fundamental. T h i s analysis, when freed f r o m dialectical and controversial entanglements, impresses me as wholly convincing. T h e attempt to bring intelligence to bear on life in the manner described, is an attempt which is, and can be, made, without first having solved any antecedent problem whatever. Least of all does it wait on the solution of such problems as the existence of God, immortality, freedom versus necessity, mechanism versus teleology, and the like. Problems do not exist to be solved b e f o r e we can live: they arise in the process of living, and in that process are solved and resolved. P r o f e s s o r Dewey has driven that fact home with untiring persistence; and he has made that fact the starting point of all f r u i t f u l thinking. As a consequence, he has made many of us intolerant of any other attitude. H e has made it quite impossible f o r many of us to believe that life can generate any problem the solution of which would be life's undoing. And he has made this impossible because he has shown us in a wholly convincing manner that if we are to philosophize profitably we must begin with the concrete operations of intelligence as these promote more satisfactory living, and not with some antecedent scheme of things which is supposed to explain or justify these operations. Life with its exigencies is fundamental, and this fundamental can not be explained by any solution of life's problems, nor deduced f r o m any system of things which our ingenuity may devise. W h a t ever one thinks of all this, it is a very definite and a clearly intelligible philosophy. And it is natural for it to recommend courage in the face of uncertainty and hopefulness in the face of fear.

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It is natural, too, perhaps, that a m o n g its analyses it should give a prominent and even a distinctive place to the analysis of reflective thinking and the operation of ideas. I t s premise, it m a y be said, f o r c e s it to look upon thinking as inquiry, a n d upon ideas as the intellectual instruments of inquiry which find their validity in w h a t they effect o r accomplish. H e r e is a thesis which can stand on its own bottom. It seems to be a m a j o r thesis of P r o f e s s o r D e w e y , which he uses to f r a m e a logic of practice, to give m o r a l tone to actions, and to humanize education. In his development of it, h o w e v e r , he seems to me to support it f a r less by an appeal to its natural source, than by using it dialectically to c o n f o u n d every analysis of knowledge which implies an antecedent reality to which intelligence must c o n f o r m in its operations if it is to be successful. N o w , the question I w o u l d raise here is not whether there is such an antecedent reality, nor whether there are grounds f o r believing that there is. Such questions, like P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s m a j o r thesis, seem to me to stand on their own bottom. Surely w e can ask with as complete intelligibility as we can ask any question, whether or not reflective thinking implies an antecedent reality to which k n o w l e d g e must c o n f o r m to be successful. It is a question to be settled by inquiry f u l l y as much as any other. T o make it a wholly illegitimate question, and to r e a d the whole history of philosophy down to v e r y recent times as if it w e r e vitiated by attempted answers to this question, g i v e to P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s thesis a character e x t r a o r d i n a r i l y difficult to construe. I repeat, the question is not whether there are objects antecedent to knowledge to which knowledge must conf o r m to be successful. T h e question is, rather, whether P r o fessor D e w e y ' s thesis would be vitiated in proportion as one believed in such objects and o p e r a t e d accordingly, and whether, if there were such objects, that thesis would be wholly d e s t r o y e d ? I ask the question because I have f a i l e d to discover that the existence o r non-existence of such objects has anything to do with the essential character of the thesis. I can not find that the problem of their existence has to be settled first, b e f o r e validity can be claimed f o r the thesis. Y e t I am f o r c e d to believe that P r o f e s s o r D e w e y thinks that such a settlement is essential. A s I f o l l o w his settlement, I find

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myself in a dialectic which sets antecedent objects over against eventual objects to the confounding of both. T o be more specific, in The Quest for Certainty2 P r o f e s s o r Dewey says in italics, "only the conclusion of reflective inquiry is known." T h i s forces me to reply, " T h e conclusion of reflective inquiry is currently said to be knowledge; am I then to identify knowledge with the k n o w n ? " If I do this, I am thrown into the arms of the idealists, whose embrace I dislike. So I distinguish between knowledge and its object; I conceive the object to exist prior to its being known. Then I am confronted with the charge that this robs knowing of practical efficacy. T o avoid this I must recognize that objects of knowledge exist only a f t e r the act of knowing; they are eventual objects. T h a t there are eventual objects a f t e r the act of knowing, and that, unless there are such objects, the acting of knowing is futile, are propositions which are for me both clear and acceptable. But if any objects whatever are known, it seems to me to be irrelevant whether they exist prior or subsequent to the act of knowing. W h a t knowing eventuates in is a known object. I suppose no one disputes that, at least no one disputes it so f a r as the intent of knowledge is concerned. If that eventuation is made to depend on the prior settlement of the problem of antecedent as against eventual object, I can see nothing left but a dialectic which settles nothing. I do see, however, that an analysis of knowing as a concrete operation with subjectmatter, makes such a dialectic quite unnecessary. W h y , then, play eventual objects over against primary subject-matter, making of the former reconstructions of the latter, and making these reconstructions the objects of knowledge? I am quite ready to agree that it is the important business of knowing so to deal with subject-matter that more satisfactory objects are substituted for less satisfactory, and that, thereby, greater security, control, and happiness are secured; but I fail to see how this warrants the statement that "only the conclusion of reflective inquiry is known." T h a t statement seems to me to come f r o m another source. T o find that source I am driven back on Professor Dewey's dialectical and controversial arguments. These drive me, in spite of all he says, to try to f r a m e 'Page 182.

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some conception of existence which is wholly independent of the act of knowing, and yet the justification of t h a t act and the source of its efficacy. Y e t this seems to be precisely w h a t I am f o r b i d d e n to d o by t h e dialectic. T h e m a t t e r may be m a d e still more specific. In the c h a p t e r on " T h e Seat of Intellectual A u t h o r i t y " in The Quest for Certainty, P r o f e s s o r Dewey uses the example of a physician called in to diagnose the disease of a patient. H e has the physician do what a physician would do, examine the patient and bring to bear his medical knowledge on the case. But the whole discussion drives me to a s k : M u s t we conclude that it is only a f t e r the physician has f o u n d out w h a t is the m a t t e r with the patient that the patient has anything the m a t t e r with h i m ? So to conclude would be to caricature. Is, I venture to ask, the caricature only the result of the r e a d e r ' s stupidity, or is it the result of being forced to decide w h e t h e r antecedents or consequents are the objects k n o w n ? One must a s k : D o w h a t things are and the ways they o p e r a t e depend on the eventuation of inquiry? M u s t we conclude t h a t they do so depend because intelligence does, as a m a t t e r of fact, participate in the o r d e r of events, and so o p e r a t e t h a t m o r e satisfactory objects are substituted f o r less s a t i s f a c t o r y ? Is this caricature? W h a t saves us f r o m the confusion here involved except a metaphysics of the kind which the dialectic of prior and eventual objects tends to d e s t r o y ? T h e questions are not asked to try to convict P r o f e s s o r Dewey of contradiction. T h e y are asked because one r e a d e r at least finds no clue to an answer to them except in the dialectic, and t h a t clue leaves him in the dialectic. T h e best he can do is to conclude t h a t existence is essentially dialectical, and t h a t the dialectic is incidentally resolved by the practical operations of intelligence. T h i s may be a sound conclusion. I f , now, we try to settle the question w h e t h e r it is or not, we discover in ourselves a close intellectual kinship with Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza, Locke, K a n t , Hegel, and all t h a t a r r a y of names which the history of philosophy holds up f o r admiration. Nature,3 Again I take sentences f r o m Experience and * Pages 68-70.

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A naturalistic metaphysics is bound to consider reflection itself a natural event, occurring within nature because of traits of the latter. . . . T h e world must actually be such as to generate ignorance and inquiry, doubt and hypothesis, trial and temporal conclusions. . . . T h e ultimate evidence of genuine hazard, contingency, irregularity, and indeterminateness in nature is thus found in the occurrence of thinking. T h e traits of natural existence which generate the fears and adorations of superstitious barbarians, generate the scientific procedures of disciplined civilization.

Sentences like these abound in P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s writings. T h e y impress me as being f u l l y as characteristic of his philosophy as the instrumental doctrine of intelligence. A t times, they impress me as m o r e characteristic, because they define an attitude f r o m which instrumentalism m a y be derived, but which itself is not derived f r o m instrumentalism. It is a challenging attitude which nowhere else in my reading h a v e I found so vigorously set f o r t h . It is not unusual a m o n g philosophies to be w h a t is called anthropomorphic. It is very unusual, h o w e v e r , to be that in P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s sense. T h e r e is a vast difference between constructing nature out of human traits and finding in human traits clues f o r inferences r e g a r d i n g what nature is. A c c o r d i n g to P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s attitude, w e are just as much forbidden to put man o v e r against nature as an ultimate contrast as we are forbidden to put the sun, the moon, or the stars, over against it as such a contrast. I f the latter are g o o d grounds f o r inference, so also is man, and every p a r t of man's make-up and activity. I dislike to leave this f e a t u r e of P r o f e s s o r D e w e y ' s philosophy with so b a r e a statement of it. T h e importance of it is so g r e a t that it deserves f a r more attention than it has received. It involves an attitude difficult to describe by those pet isms with which we philosophers love to deal, and in which w e think we feel at home. A n d " n a t u r e " is a v e r y troublesome w o r d . One thing, h o w e v e r , seems clear. L i m i t e d by our location and by our length of days, we do try to f o r m some conception of that context within which we ourselves are so evidently incidents. " N a t u r e " may not be that context; it m a y be only a part of it; but who is going to decide f o r us a l l ?

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Shall we let a w o r d cramp the challenging significance of an utterance which affirms t h a t man, when he tries to pass beyond the limits of the evident situation in which he finds himself, must not neglect anything within t h a t situation? Let us, then, f o r the present at least, accept " n a t u r e " as the name f o r t h a t which includes us as events within itself. W h a t , then, is n a t u r e like? T h e answer is, it is, in some measure at least, like w h a t we are. If we are unstable, there is instability in it; if we a r e contradictory, there is contradiction in it; if we are hopeful, there is possibility—one might d a r e to say, hope—in it; if we err, there is something like e r r o r in it; if we are incomplete, there is incompleteness in it. A n d all this does not mean t h a t we are the exclusive instances of all such traits of nature. W e are samples of them. In short, m a n is a sample of nature, and just as good a sample as the solar system or an atom. Consequently, we should never suppose t h a t the l a t t e r afford better grounds f o r inferring w h a t n a t u r e is like than the f o r m e r affords. H e r e is a r o a d which philosophers rarely travel with unencumbering luggage. T h e acceptance or rejection of this conception of nature is n o t here in question. N o r is the method by which it is approached. T h e s e m a t t e r s are l e f t to the disputatious. T h e thing that troubles me is the limitation which P r o f e s s o r Dewey seems to put upon w h a t we are entitled to infer f r o m the samples of nature which we may study and analyze. Clearly m a n is not the only sample. T h e r e is the solar system also, and, if not the atom, at least t h a t which admits an atomic theory. W h y , then, should inference to anything permanent and unchanging be f o r b i d d e n ? Such inferences may be unsound, but they suggest themselves repeatedly as we explore the varied samples of nature. I do not find, however, t h a t P r o f e s s o r Dewey rejects them because t h e r e is not evidence f o r them. H e seems, r a t h e r , to argue them into illegitimacy. T h e ground of the argument seems to be, I repeat, not lack of evidence; it seems, r a t h e r , to be the conviction t h a t any recognition of the permanently fixed or unchanging is bad. It implies a disastrous preference. The Quest for Certainty seems to me to read the history of philosophy in terms of t h a t disaster, and to turn t h a t history into an argument against the recognition of any-

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thing but r e l a t i v e p e r m a n e n c y . A n d in Experience and Nature4 we r e a d : " O n e d o c t r i n e finds s t r u c t u r e in a f r a m e w o r k of ideal f o r m s , t h e o t h e r finds it in m a t t e r . T h e y a g r e e in supposing t h a t s t r u c t u r e h a s some s u p e r l a t i v e reality. T h i s supposition is a n o t h e r f o r m taken by p r e f e r e n c e f o r the stable over the p r e c a r i o u s and incompleted." A r e we t o conclude, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t t o avoid disaster, we must t a k e a p r e f e r e n c e f o r the p r e c a r i o u s a n d i n c o m p l e t e d ? W h y is one p r e f e r e n c e b e t t e r t h a n t h e o t h e r , a n d why should the question be one of t a k i n g p r e f e r e n c e at a l l ? I get no answer in t e r m s of evidence of the s a m e k i n d t h a t w a r r a n t s t h e e m p h a s i s on change. I get a dialectical a n s w e r , as if dialectic, a n d n o t the m e t h o d by which n a t u r e is i n f e r r e d , is to decide w h a t inferences a r e t o be a d m i t t e d . A n d when I examine the dialectic, I find it mot i v a t e d by t h e insistent claim t h a t the recognition of t h e perm a n e n t gives it a metaphysical superiority to t h e changing. T h i s m a k e s it possible t o play the one off against the o t h e r in the interest of p r o v i n g t h a t the p e r m a n e n t is but t h e relatively stable in a n a t u r e which is change t h r o u g h and t h r o u g h . N o w n a t u r e m a y be just t h a t . I am n o t questioning t h a t conception of w h a t n a t u r e is. I am only pointing out t h a t I find t h a t conception s u p p o r t e d finally, not by empirical evidence, but by a dialectical a r g u m e n t . T h a t , again, m a y be the way to s u p p o r t it. If it is, then I a m f o r c e d to conclude t h a t dialectic is a b e t t e r s a m p l e of n a t u r e ' s processes t h a n any o t h e r . T h i s also m a y be t r u e . T h e n , to consider its t r u t h , I find myself o w n i n g kinship with H e r a c l i t u s and P a r m e n i d e s and their illustrious f o l l o w e r s . I m u s t carry the d e b a t e into t h a t atmosp h e r e ; and w h e n I do, I find no help w h a t e v e r in t e r m s of t h a t practical p r o c e d u r e which m a r k s t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of securer knowledge. Such a r e t h e t w o illustrations I v e n t u r e to give of the general s t a t e m e n t I m a d e in the beginning of this p a p e r . T h e y r e p r e s e n t a conclusion I am led t o by r e a d i n g the writing of P r o f e s s o r D e w e y . It is w h a t his philosophy ultimately looks like in my own m i n d : a philosophy with a doctrine of experience a n d n a t u r e which a d m i t s of a positive and progressive d e v e l o p m e n t in its own t e r m s , which stands, as I have said, on 4

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its own b o t t o m ; but which, in spite of this, is m a d e to depend on a dialectic which runs back in the history of philosophy v e r y f a r indeed. W e should expect, as I see it, a metaphysics which is wholly i n f e r e n t i a l . W e have, instead, a metaphysics which is a m a t t e r of p r e f e r e n c e . A n d this p r e f e r e n c e — w e m a y even say that the empirical f a c t of p r e f e r e n c e — i m p l i e s that nature is essentially dialectical, and that one w a y , at least, by which the dialectic is incidentally o b v i a t e d , is through the practical procedure of intelligence. E x p e r i e n c e a p p e a r s to be, t h e r e f o r e , not something which is justified by its f r u i t s , but which is justified by a dialectic which determines w h a t experience is like.

IMPLICATIONS

OF

THE

GENETIC

METHOD*

THE genetic method is applied to processes which, whether they are planned or not, exhibit a plan which is progressively exposed as the processes continue. Its aim is to discover the factors which operate in this progressive exhibition. These factors are found within the context of the process selected for examination. This fact gives a certain priority to the plan of the process. In terms of the observed plan the processes to be examined are identified and distinguished. In terms of it continuities from origin to product are discriminated. In terms of it the contributions of the factors are analyzed. In all these respects the plan can claim priority, for without it, to begin with, the relevancy of these identifications, distinctions, discriminations, and contributions could not be determined. Genetic inquiries are thus confronted at the outset with an observed teleology in the subject-matter with which they deal. The processes involved go on from origin to product as if they were arranged to produce the results which characterize them. From Aristotle's day to the present such processes have repeatedly suggested a comparison between nature and art, and raised the question whether factors recognized in art are to be recognized in nature also. T h e question has provoked much controversy. The teleology in art seems to be a relatively simple matter, for the plan involved, both in its conception and execution, can be assigned to an artist. There may be difficulty in understanding how a plan conceived can be turned into a plan executed, but, miracle or not, the artist is there to work it. In construing natural processes as processes of art also, the finding of an artist presents a difficulty. It has, however, been • I n Proceedings of the Seventh U n i v . Press, 1930, pp. 65-69.

International

Congress

of Philosophy,

Oxford

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g r e a t l y e x a g g e r a t e d . It seems as easy f o r the plan of a f r o g to be in a f r o g ' s e g g as it is f o r the plan of a house to be in an architect's brain. T h e choice of artists, t h e r e f o r e , does not seem to be restricted. Vitalistic theories, consequently, ought not to be condemned out of hand on the g r o u n d that they m a k e an absurd t r a n s f e r f r o m man to nature. B e f o r e that t r a n s f e r can rightly be called absurd, either of t w o propositions must first be proved. One is that the plans of men are not controlling f a c t o r s in w h a t they d o ; the other is that only in men are plans controlling f a c t o r s . N e i t h e r of these propositions has ever been p r o v e d or d i s p r o v e d . I t is f a r f r o m clear w h a t would constitute a v a l i d p r o o f o r disproof of them. T h e y a r e matters of argument or c o n t r o v e r s y . E x p e r i m e n t a l evidence is not decisive because its p r o b a t i v e f o r c e depends on some antecedent theory of the relation between the f a c t o r s in dispute. I f the term " s o u l " is used as A r i s t o t l e used the term to distinguish a life f r o m any life, the distinction between body and soul c o n f r o n t s the o b s e r v e r at every t u r n ; and what he makes of the distinction will determine f o r him the value of experimental evidence. A t t e m p t s to settle the controversy between mechanists and vitalists in f a v o u r of either seem, t h e r e f o r e , to be hopeless. It is to be noted, however, that the discoveries of the mechanists can not be set aside except by finding e r r o r s in their experimental procedure. Genetic experiments, h o w e v e r interpreted, are like other experiments in this respect. A n d the claim of mechanists that vital f a c t o r s a r e irrelevant to their procedure seems sound and just. T h e i r procedure aims at what can be experimentally identified and m e a s u r e d , and has been so successful that it is not f a i r to b l a m e mechanists f o r not doing w h a t they do not intend to do. T h e terms " m e c h a n i s m " and " m e c h a n i c a l " may be offensive, but their meaning in experimental procedure is f r e e f r o m disrespect. It is not an insult to digestion to explore its chemistry, nor to vision to explore its physics. T h e mechanists rest on the solid f a c t that, no matter how processes a r e labelled, chemistry and physics are discoverable in them. W h a t , then, is it that either p a r t y to the controversy does, to which the other objects? T h e mechanists evidently claim

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that vital f a c t o r s can not, and o u g h t not to be, introduced into experimental procedure because their introduction robs the procedure of experimental control. T h i s claim seems to be just, in spite of the experiments of vitalists in support of their own view. Such experiments seem to do no m o r e than define a context within which experiments may be p e r f o r m e d ; and within this context experimentation seems to r e v e a l precisely the kind of f a c t o r s on which the mechanists insist. T h e claim of the mechanists seems, t h e r e f o r e , to be justified. T h e vitalists evidently claim that the mechanists do not, and can not, solve the teleological problem. T h i s claim seems to be just also. I am not sure that mechanists g e n e r a l l y think they are solving that problem, o r a r e interested in t r y i n g to solve it. T h e y may claim that a solution is irrelevant to w h a t they are doing. M y reading, h o w e v e r , convinces me that an appearance on their part of t r y i n g to solve it, o r the belief or f e a r on the part of others that such an effort is m a d e , is the primary source of the c o n t r o v e r s y . I can not find that the f a c t s brought to light by the mechanists are any m o r e disputable than the f a c t s brought to light by the experimental method generally. T h e dispute seems to b e a r wholly upon the use of these facts to explain that o b s e r v e d teleology without which the genetic method would h a v e no subject-matter to explore. I f this is true the controversy is simplified and set in a m o r e general context. I f an explanation of teleology is sought, it is pertinent to ask what sort of an explanation would suffice. T h e answer seems to me to be the usual one. In all my reading and reflections I find no other. T h e only sort of explanation of teleology which would suffice is one that involves the imposition of a teleological principle upon f a c t o r s which are not teleological in their own right. A g a i n the appeal is to the artist, only now the artist is not a co-worker with the a d a p t a b l e possibilities of his materials, but a s e p a r a t e agency, without which those materials would be quite d e v o i d of import o r possibility of adaptation. I f teleology is not accepted as a metaphysical datum, but requires first an explanation, then it seems that the only sort of an explanation which would suffice is a theory which provides somehow f o r the imposition of teleology on an existence otherwise totally devoid of it.

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I do not find that the genetic method implies any explanation of this sort. It takes the plans of processes as it finds them. Its analyses may lead to a better understanding of the operations involved, and to some control of them, but these consequences are the normally expected consequences of inquiry generally. " E x p l a n a t i o n " m a y be defined in terms of them without at all implying that teleology is thereby accounted f o r . Finding the co-operating f a c t o r s in the production of a result which has a specific character is quite different f r o m finding a principle which produces that character. N o w , as I see it, failure to observe the distinction here involved, or the suspicion that it is overlooked, gives the impulse to vitalistic theories. I t is so clear that mechanism does not account f o r teleology that any suggestion that it does leads repeatedly to a protest. T h e protest is valid enough, but it is not itself a counter-explanation. T h e f a i l u r e of mechanism to explain teleology does not imply that vitalism or anything else will explain it, or even that it is in need of some explanation. Y e t , judging f r o m history, the denial of mechanism is readily turned into an affirmation of vitalism. Something can be said in its f a v o u r , f o r vitalism involves an appeal to specific powers or energies. Such powers are h a r d to deny. W h a t things do, they obviously can do. T h i s , their ability, is their p o w e r . N a t u r e is a domain of just such powers. But there is considerable difference between acknowledging powers and converting them into teleological agencies. T h e eye has the power of vision, but to convert that p o w e r into an agency which produces eyes in order that the p o w e r of vision may be exercised, is a procedure difficult to match in futility. Clearly such an agency would have to create an instrument with which to see, and act, thus, a f t e r the manner of a man who makes a microscope and observes how the instrument works. It leaps the bounds of credibility that an agency must first see in order to make an eye in order to see. W h y make an eye at all, if vision operates without one? Into such strangeness of conception on a total scale vitalism seems to fall when offered as an explanation of teleology. P o w e r s are unmistakably evinced in the operation of their instruments, but this is the f a c t of teleology, the f a c t observed, and not its

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explanation. Since the exhibition of p o w e r s is w h a t is observed in the operation of instruments, the way the instruments w o r k becomes a m a t t e r of the instruments solely. T h e genetic method, then, leaves the fact of teleology precisely where it finds it, as an observed trait of the subjectm a t t e r with which it deals, without explaining teleology, or explaining it away. P e r h a p s it would be profitable t o s t o p trying to explain it, and turn to an exploration of its consequences and implications. A universe—if I may speak a f t e r the manner of p h i l o s o p h e r s — a universe in which plans a r e actually w o r k e d out is probably m o r e interested in w o r k i n g t h e m out t h a n in provoking the question why it is t h a t kind of a universe. T o seek the purpose of a p u r p o s e f u l world looks like seeking the good of w h a t is g o o d , the evil of w h a t is evil, the beauty of w h a t is beautiful, the m e a n i n g of w h a t is meaningful, the t r u t h of w h a t is true, or the divinity of w h a t is divine. A teleological universe merits these adjectives in its own right, without imposing the necessity of finding some principle or principles by virtue of which these adjectives are w a r r a n t e d . T h e s e adjectives express in our human speech w h a t the universe discloses as of importance in its concerns; and man, w h o can only equivocally be called its chief concern, exhibits this importance convincingly. A less massive statement of possibilities is desirable. Teleology may t h r o w some light on the n a t u r e of inquiry itself. T h e r e has been controversy a m o n g philosophers over the relation of inquiry to subject-matter, of knowledge to objects. T o settle the controversy it would seem necessary to exhibit knowledge and objects in a context in which they could be independently identified. Such a context is not accessible. W e can deal only with the operation of inquiry as it f o r m a l l y proceeds. T h e n it is exhibited as itself a genetic process. It is an instance of teleology. A theory of knowledge, t h e r e f o r e , can hardly be expected to reveal a context which is antecedently irrelevant to the teleological character of inquiry itself. Knowledge is not the a t t e m p t to apply a logical f r a m e w o r k t o existence in o r d e r to see w h e t h e r it fits. I t is r a t h e r a genetic process, which, moving within w h a t f r a m e w o r k s there are, discloses them with increasing clarity. A theory of knowledge

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would seem, therefore, to involve something else than an attempted explanation of the relation of subject to object, or an attempted justification of the validity of knowledge. It would do f o r inquiry generally something analogous to what the genetic method does f o r living creatures. It would be as much debarred from beginning with an original antithesis between subject and object, a world to be known and a mind to know it, as the theory of genetics is debarred from beginning with an original antithesis between inorganic matter and an organic principle to quicken it.

T H E

N A T U R E

OF

MAN*

HISTORIANS of philosophy would have us remember Hegel, with honour and thankfulness, during this hundredth anniversary of the year of his death. In the situation in which I find myself, I must remember Fichte. I am compelled to. I know well that H e g e l has influenced the development of philosophy much more and more deeply than Fichte. T o d a y , however, I am not thinking of this development. I am thinking rather of our obligations, our necessities, and above all of our imperative need as men to learn what we can about our nature and our destiny. Surely a philosopher—and I must add, an American—who in Germany would venture to speak about the nature of man, must remember Fichte. H e can not do otherwise. Fichte's time, like ours, was a time when the problem of human destiny lay heavily on men's minds. It is true that Fichte spoke to the German nation, but his voice carried beyond national boundaries and was heard by alien ears. H i s book Die Bestimmung des Menschen has become a book for mankind. It can be read today. It may, however, be read in two ways, either to get an understanding of the philosophical ideas of Fichte's time, or to become intimate with a beautiful spirit. He who reads it in the first way can easily miss the experience which he who reads it in the second way is sure to have. The man Fichte impresses me as f a r greater than the peculiarities of his philosophy. I doubt if there are many thinkers today who can take seriously Fichte's own development of doubt, knowledge and belief. It sounds a little too immature and outmoded. Its social, scientific, and literary background is different from ours. Yet • I n the Columbia University Quarterly, Vol. X X I I I ( 1 9 3 1 ) , pp. 402-419. Ina u g u r a l address as Visiting Roosevelt P r o f e s s o r of American History and Institutions in the U n i v e r s i t y of Berlin, 1 1 November, 1 9 3 1 . English translation, by the author, of his address as o r i g i n a l l y written in G e r m a n .

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doubt, knowledge, and belief remain. H u m a n life is not yet rid of these three. T h e y endure. Fichte wrestled with them to get a blessing. T o illuminate them, he brought the best he knew and the best he could find. A n d he did illuminate them. H e m a d e them live. H e challenged men to busy themselves seriously and deeply with doubt, knowledge, and belief. H e challenges them today, when he is read in the light of his purpose. M a n ' s nature demands a commitment. A man may doubt as he pleases and know what he c a n ; but to be a man involves something more. W h a t do we look like, when we observe ourselves and when, with an emancipated mind, we reflect on our journey in the noisy world and on our companions in that journey? T h e s e are questions f o r philosophy. T h e y are also questions which every man asks who is not content to view his life as a senseless event in the world. H e expects philosophy to give him light and leadership. W h a t may be said then of the philosophy of the present d a y ? I f e a r that it has until recently shown timidity, when these questions a r e asked, and a threefold timidity. First, it has shown timidity when confronted with the belief in something supernatural in the nature of m a n . It is not necessary today to exhibit in detail the powerful influence which this belief has had on all branches of philosophy. It is sufficient to note that it has fixed the controlling terms which philosophy uses when it considers what is peculiar in the nature of man. W e discuss whether we are heavenly or earthly creatures. T o find what is heavenly, we turn to religious doctrines or to the assertion that thinking itself puts man somehow in a position above nature. T o find the earthly, we turn to the natural sciences. T h e s e alone should determine what we are to understand by nature. But the l a n g u a g e of these sciences is not the language of the soul. T h e i r words are not the w o r d s we use when we reflect on life and death. Y e s : we discuss what we are. W e rarely directly and positively inquire. Philosophy, when busied about humanity, is usually controversial. It should cease to be that. It should cease to waver between an idea of man and an idea of nature which are opposed to each other f r o m the start. Is it really possible to believe that

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man is something which must be put into one or the other of two antecedently prepared w o r l d s ? Philosophy has also shown itself timid in the f a c e of the positive sciences. W e are accustomed to boast that these sciences are the greatest intellectual achievement of modern times. T h i s they are beyond a doubt. But this they are because they are positive. T h e y h a v e taught us that w e can hope to find the laws of nature only as we are willing to be impartial t o w a r d events; and that the finding of the laws of nature puts us in a position to plan and enjoy with a purpose. T h e success of the positive sciences could easily raise the suspicion that philosophy itself should be equally positive. T o be sure, there is a wide-spread positivism. It impresses me, however, as not strong enough, as not thoroughly positive, and as not relentlessly carried out. It r e g a r d s human l i f e , and particularly the l i f e of the soul, in much the same w a y s as any idealistic philosophy r e g a r d s them. It sees in the soul a source of e r r o r and foolishness, the moment we r e g a r d the soul as a source of genuine information r e g a r d i n g the laws of nature. Idealistic philosophy, on the other hand, seems to be content with posing as an unanswerable criticism of positivism. T h i s is easy, because it is obvious that we win knowledge and control of nature only through the exercise of the soul's activities. S o f o r decades w e have had systems of philosophy at w a r , and the w a r has always had a cautious eye directed t o w a r d the positive sciences. B o t h sides have been a f r a i d of them. Positivism will do nothing to hurt them, and idealism will let them go their own way in isolation and undisturbed. Only about the beginning of the century has philosophy, with self-consciousness and energy, tried to become fully as independent and positive as the natural sciences. It has begun to be less f e a r f u l of w h a t they have to say and to take them at their f a c e value. It will no longer allow that they alone determine either what man or w h a t nature is. T h e r e is a third example of timidity. W h e n I w a s a student in Berlin in the last century, it w a s common to hear that psychology had become at last a positive and experimental science. Since that time psychology has m a d e e x t r a o r d i n a r y progress. Its pace has been so rapid and its changes so dramatic, that

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one often wonders what will eventually become of it. Until recently, the other sciences were content to leave the study of the soul wholly to psychology. T h e soul lay beyond their territory. Psychology itself has changed this attitude. In its positive development it finds the need of physiology and physics. I t turns to the study of animals, the apes and insects. It would become biological. It seeks help f r o m the new biophysics and biochemistry. Its scope becomes constantly broader and its relations to other sciences increasingly closer. One result of this remarkable development is that psychology seems to have lost the human soul. Perhaps it would be better and more proper to say, that the soul has been progressively transformed, until it has at last become no more than the physiological, physical, and chemical behaviour of human beings. W e no longer have a soul or the soul is no longer a thing we can have. It is rather what we do, our activity as a whole. Philosophy has often regarded this progress of psychology as the progress of a lost son, although few psychologists seem anxious to return to the parental mansion. But we may well ask, has the effort of psychology to become an independent natural science been a gain or a loss f o r philosophy? Faced with this question philosophy seems to be timid. Only recently has it tried with a clear consciousness to see what it can make out of a man without a soul. It is natural to man to f o r m opinions about the world and to try to orient his life within its boundaries. So philosophers have affirmed many times. T h e affirmation amounts to much more and has a deeper meaning than a justification of philosophy. It means that philosophy is in no need of justification at all. It needs a justification as little as do the singing of birds, the blossoming of plants, or the velocity of light. Whatever is natural to anything in nature, is natural to it. In this respect all things and all procedures are equal. There is no privileged procedure. T h i s we should have learned. A s we learn it and value it, we gain a clear consciousness that philosophy is not an answer to the question, W h y is there a world with men in it, but an analysis of such a world, with basal emphasis on the fact that the world contains men f o r the same sort of reasons as it contains birds and plants and light. It holds them all to-

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gether. T h e r e a r e not two worlds, to be played off against each other, one with men and one with all sorts of other things. I find it impossible to think that the w o r l d is divided into t w o the moment a man perceives it or thinks about it. If that w e r e true, then I should have to believe that the w o r l d is so divided the moment the sun shines or an electron swings. I can not look upon the activity of man a s an exception. Our philosophy should be wholly positive. I am not thinking of a revival of the positivism of the nineteenth century. I have a l r e a d y said that kind of positivism w a s essentially a h a n d m a i d of the positive sciences. It w a s also the h a n d m a i d of cherished educational, social, and political theories. It w a s not independent and free. It boasted that it looked upon man as a n a t u r a l being, but when it w a s through with man's life, it saw in all that is most characteristically human little m o r e than visionary dreams, the n a t u r a l sciences alone excepted. M a n lost thereby his natural rights. Yet animals, plants, and atoms were l e f t to go their n a t u r a l w a y in the world. T h e demand that philosophy be positive calls f o r something quite different. It is a demand for independence, freedom, and a release f r o m timidity. T h a t book of Fichte's closed with belief. W e often ask, w h a t should we believe? T h i s is not, I think, as a first question, the question suited to the intellectual temper of the present. W e have accustomed ourselves to disbelieve. W e doubt, and even about knowledge itself. But w h y ? T h a t is the first question. T h e answer is not h a r d to find, although it lies deep down in the history of the western world. W e h e a r of the decay of the western world. But what is it that has r e a l l y d e c a y e d ? It is impossible to find in the whole history of the human race a century which can compare with ours in the m a s t e r y of those m a t e r i a l forces and means which a r e the foundations on which a noble and brilliant civilization can be erected. H e r e there can be no thought of a decay. H e r e we stand on a height of which others have d r e a m e d , but which none has ever reached b e f o r e . T h e suspicion of decay touches only our spirituality. Education, politics, morals, society, the give and take among men, and a r t i t s e l f — a l l exhibit nervousness, vacillation, and folly. T h e y seem to have fallen into an

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extreme of confusion. They are not quickened and inspired by ideals like those—so many believe—that quickened our ancestors, even when they departed f r o m them. It is hard, however, to believe that we are really worse men than our ancestors. T h e evidence may well point the other way. Yet it is not to be denied that daily there are fewer and fewer people who believe as our fathers believed. T o have such a faith has become well-nigh impossible. T h e reason lies, not in a decay of human nature, but in the character of the history of the western world. Our ancestors believed what they were taught to believe. T h e y had to go to school, and to a school wherein they were not taught to consider their own experience and thereby gain ideas and ideals that were appropriate to it, but to a school in which they were taught the ideas and ideals of other peoples, ideas and ideals which had their source in a different civilization and were appropriate to a different experience. These alien ideas and ideals floated before their consciousness as the norms which should determine what their experience ought to be. They ought to think like Greeks, plunder like Romans, and pray like Christians. But they were themselves something different. Every now and then they became conscious of this, and then there was a revolution. T h e history of the western world, intellectually considered, is the history of the education of new peoples, but an education which would compel them to think and to feel like the peoples of a foreign world, and which through this compulsion sowed the seeds of revolution. T h e current opposition between old and new is not the ordinary opposition between parents and children, but something much deeper. It is the opposition between a tradition of foreign origin and the desire to be oneself. T h e western world takes no delight in speaking Latin, it p r e f e r s to speak its own languages. It would lead its own life. It does not seem strange, therefore, that today we would rather free ourselves f r o m history than learn f r o m it. It is not strange that we have become so unsettled and vacillating. W e will have our own experience. But who knows what that experience is or should be? W h a t should we believe? T h e answer can still wait a little.

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W h a t should we not believe, if we would really learn something f r o m our history? W h e n I consider the results of the historical criticism of human opinions, philosophical, religious, or otherwise, and also the results of positive inquiry into n a t u r a l events, I am compelled to conclude t h a t we should not believe t h a t m a n is an exception in the n a t u r a l history of the w o r l d . H e comes f r o m n a t u r e and to n a t u r e he returns. H e comes and goes like any o t h e r event in the w o r l d ; and the world exists f o r his sake as little as it exists f o r the sake of anything else. W e should not believe differently. T h e r e are many who will believe differently. But they will to believe; and the "will to believe," although it may o f t e n be a c o m f o r t , is not an attitude which is intellectually g r o u n d e d . I would not fight about words. A philosopher like W i l l i a m James, f o r example, may hold that all knowledge is at b o t t o m a belief, but the distinction between w h a t is believable and what is not believable remains. W h a t I would affirm is t h i s : in the face of all our discoveries, it has become intellectually impossible to believe t h a t man is not a n a t u r a l being in the same sense as animals, plants, and atoms. W e may put this unbelievable thing away in the interest of hopes and fears, but we can not think it away, when we t h o u g h t f u l l y and purposefully plan f o r our daily life. T h i s negative attitude should be t r a n s f o r m e d into a positive attitude. I t is not enough to believe t h a t we are not otherwise than we are. W e should believe t h a t we really are w h a t we are. T h e development of a thoroughly naturalistic philosophy seems to me to be essential, if philosophy is to point out to m o d e r n men w h a t the love of wisdom really means. N a t u r a l i s m is becoming daily more popular. T h i s fact, however, witnesses neither to its t r u t h nor its solidity. It witnesses r a t h e r to the p r o f o u n d impression, which the results of modern criticism and research have m a d e upon m o d e r n living and popular thinking. W h a t we call " M o d e r n " is no longer a m a t t e r of literary or artistic eccentricity. It is a spirit which has p e r m e a t e d the whole of our social, moral, economic, and religious life. T h e new is sought, the old is discarded. W e repeatedly hear t h a t the age-long institutions of mankind are no longer suited to the needs of the day. T h e y

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h a v e confined and repressed the natural desires and enjoyments of men, although it is only with the fulfilment of desire that l i f e finds s a t i s f a c t i o n . N a t u r a l i s m is becoming increasingly popular. I t is, h o w e v e r , r a r e l y confident and relentlessly carried out. W i t h us it is a y o u n g philosophy and o f t e n y o u t h f u l . It exhibits excitement, r a t h e r than depth. T h e bonds of tradition and authority f a l l a w a y , and there comes a sense of f r e e d o m , which would let e v e r y man lead his l i f e as he pleases. It demands social, m o r a l , and economic arrangements which will insure f a v o u r a b l e opportunities f o r living. Y e s , insurance of living is what is d e m a n d e d , and even government is expected to p r o v i d e it. T h e r e is little serious thought about the question. W h a t does it r e a l l y mean to be a child of n a t u r e ? W h a t is the nature of man ? F e w philosophers and still f e w e r psychologists have attained a clear k n o w l e d g e of the f a c t that this incorporation of man into nature is of the greatest metaphysical significance. T h e y seem to be content with the conclusion, that something thereby has happened to man. H e has been changed. H i s relatives h a v e been changed. H e is no longer a child of G o d and an inheritor of the K i n g d o m of H e a v e n . H i s once high position in the cosmos has been abased. H i s relatives have become the animals, the plants, and the atoms, and this is taken to mean that the nature of m a n is to be f o u n d at last in the nature of the a t o m . T h e r e are a f e w who can find in Heisenb e r g ' s principle of indeterminism the hope that there is yet a P r o m e t h e a n s p a r k of f r e e d o m in the w o r l d , but beyond this the incorporation of man into nature is a p r o f o u n d transf o r m a t i o n of w h a t he is, a change of his destiny and his relationships. T h e popular attitude a g r e e s with this conclusion. It is thought that naturalism gives to men chiefly their animal rights. M a n has become an animal. H i s intelligence is only an instrument of his animal life, to be used to find channels through which his natural impulses may healthfully and f r e e l y flow. T h i s is w h a t both the f o l l o w e r s and the opponents of naturalism usually affirm. In this affirmation the f o r m e r find j o y and hope, and the latter shame and destruction.

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Shall we, however, make haste to become either followers or opponents? I t is still possible, even in these revolutionary times, to find an hour f o r a little deeper reflection on the whole matter. T h e current conclusion from naturalism is not the only conclusion, and perhaps not the most correct, that may be drawn. T h e incorporation of man into nature may well do something to man, but it must also do something to nature. It is impossible that the word " n a t u r e " can mean the same after this incorporation that it meant before. T h e incorporation is really revolutionary. It does not permit us to think of nature as if it were wholly predetermined, irrespective of man's incorporation into it. W h a t has naturalism really done to m a n ? It has most certainly changed him. But how? I t has changed him from an illustration of what nature is not, to a profound illustration o f what nature is. H e reveals what nature is fully as much as any other natural event. T h e nature of man and the nature o f nature go together. T h i s truth is the lesson taught by the whole history of philosophy. Thinking about man and thinking about nature have always gone together. In the history of thought, nature and man have always formed either an opposition or a unity. When they are opposed, then it is obvious that the nature of man can not be found in the nature of nature. W h e n they are not opposed, then it is equally obvious that what nature is, is closely and basically bound up with what man is. T h e failure to recognize this, or the fear of the consequences of recognizing it, has been responsible in large measure for the vacillations and follies o f naturalism. Otherwise how could it be possible for any one to believe that animals, plants, and atoms are better and more important examples of what nature really is than man himself? H o w could naturalism be looked upon as a debasement o f man and not an elevation of nature? H o w could so many naturalists believe that physics and chemistry, rather than metaphysics, reveal nature's character? I must affirm that the incorporation of man into nature restores metaphysics to freedom, independence, and confidence. It regains its position as the primary discipline which lies at the basis of any reflective consideration of existence. T h e nature o f man and the nature of nature go together.

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A thoroughgoing naturalism will not separate them. It will not allow us to think of nature as something first created or first discovered, and then man added to introduce confusion. It forbids the myth of creation and also that substitute for it which is so often constructed on the foundations of what we call the natural sciences. Since there are men and atoms, nature can be no more adequately defined without men than it can be without atoms. M a n himself discloses the kind of nature in which atoms can exist fully as much as atoms disclose the kind of nature in which man can exist. A naturalistic philosophy should not think of nature as something first created or first defined, which only tolerates the existence of man in some mysterious manner. Does nature tolerate the atoms; or the vegetables; or the birds? Such questions are absurd. For nature is equally tolerant of everything that happens and everything that happens is equally tolerant of her. And that means that she can not be something first created or first found, to be followed by whatever happens. She is something quite different. She is what events together disclose in their mutual relations to one another—activity illustrating law. M a n explains nature only in the sense that he discovers her, and he discovers her only as a consequence of the fact that his whole life from birth to death, from waking to thinking, is a genuine co-working with what she is. T h e question why and how man lives, how and why he walks and thinks, is, in principle, the same sort of question as why and how the atoms move. This does not mean that the movement of atoms is the thinking of a man, or that thinking is some curious addition to motion, but that both motion and thinking are a co-working with nature under controlling laws. A thorough naturalism may not think of something already prepared for the happening of events. It demands not only an emancipation from a traditional conception of man, it demands also an emancipation f r o m a traditional conception of nature. I hope I have now made clear my own attitude toward naturalism. When I speak of my own attitude, I do not think of a personal discovery. I mean the attitude to which I have been led by the study of the history of philosophy and the movements of thought in our time. Naturalism is a discovery

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with me only in the sense t h a t it impresses me as the philosophy which thinking men would gladly accept, if only they could believe it. W e d o not like t o look upon nature as our enemy. O u r daily life seems so obviously to be an o p p o r t u n i t y to accomplish something lasting and w o r t h while; and life is the only t h i n g we know t h a t seems to offer such an opportunity. T h i s is fact. It is not speculation or a d r e a m . It is not even a belief. I t is fact. Belief arises only when we reflect on the fact and w o n d e r if it forces us to break the world in two. T w o , we would r a t h e r not have. It is our errors, our difficulties, our e m b a r r a s s m e n t s , which incline us to divide the world. Yet without these we could not be co-workers with n a t u r e . W i t h out t h e m possibilities would be impossible. I would not admit a division, I would believe in a unity. I must believe t h a t nature reveals herself in m a n more adequately t h a n in anything else, t h a t in him her laws come to expression and meaning, t h a t h u m a n life is not set over against nature, but is nature illuminated and inspirited. And then I turn again to history. N a t u r a l i s m is not an historically new philosophy. T h e modern kind is new only in the sense that it is not f o u n d e d on the naturalisms of the past, but is a product of m o d e r n science, m o d e r n psychology, m o d e r n criticism and the technological demands of m o d e r n life. I t is a challenge to us to revolutionize our t r a d i t i o n a l thinking. T h e first consequence is not surprising. M a n feels himself changed, he asks w h a t he has lost and w h a t he has gained. H e does not first ask w h a t nature has lost and w h a t she has gained. But it is just this question which he must ask at last. T h e n he may well turn to history. T h e n he m a y find a genuine interest in the naturalisms of the past. I select f r o m the n a t u r e philosophies of the past, and particularly f r o m t h a t of Aristotle, a principle to emphasize. I would call it the principle of propriety. In his exposition of nature as s o m e t h i n g dynamic and progressive, Aristotle used two principles which have p r o f o u n d l y influenced subsequent thinking, the principle of n a t u r a l powers and the principle of natural proprieties. W e usually think that the principle of the conservation of energy has f r e e d us f r o m the first. I doubt if

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we are right, but that may be left here unconsidered. T o the principle o f proprieties we still hold. O n it depends the discovery o f the lawfulness o f nature. O r I would r a t h e r say, that it is the discovery o f proprieties which leads us to the formulation o f the laws o f nature. W e seek everywhere for what is peculiar or proper to the operation o f things. W h e n we find it we formulate a law. I doubt if examples are necessary. Perhaps it is enough to say that we try to find, not any velocity, but the proper velocity o f light, which can be held to be constant when we formulate the laws o f what we observe. On the discovery o f this proper velocity, much depends. Determinations or characteristics like this together make up the propriety o f nature. W e might t h e r e f o r e define nature as a realm or sphere or even an assemblage o f proprieties. I p r e f e r the word " r e a l m , " not because it is poetic and suggests a government, although these are good reasons enough, but because it carries with it all that law implies. W h e n , however, I define nature as such a realm, I do not imply that nature was once upon a time teleologically arranged. I am fond o f teleology, but not o f a teleology o f that sort. T e l e o l o g y is what the events o f nature reveal and without it these events would not be intelligible to us. W e understand a thing when we have discovered what it can do in relation to other things. I n different relations it acts differently, but in every case with a definiteness in accord with its propriety. I t s operation in specific cases is a specific operation which none the less illustrates its proper action. I f this is riot teleology, I wonder what teleology can be. In this kind o f teleology, we find the usefulness and usability o f things; and the source o f these characters is not in us, but in the proprieties o f nature. N o w what have these observations, which are f o r the most part obvious and naive, to do with man and the nature o f m a n ? M u c h , I believe. Guided by the philosophy o f naturalism we have incorporated man wholly within nature. T h i s now means that, with respect to human life, there is propriety in nature fully as much as in any other instance. M a n , from his lowest physiological functions to the highest aspirations o f his thought, illustrates the propriety o f nature. T h e world

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in which he lives is controlled not only by physical and chemical laws, it is controlled also by logical, m o r a l and spiritual laws. O t h e r w i s e h o w could m a n doubt or k n o w or b e l i e v e ? W h e n a m a n walks, we readily admit t h a t n a t u r e is a p p r o p r i a t e to his walking. W h e n he sees or thinks, should we say something d i f f e r e n t ? Should we say something different even when he p r a y s ? H e is doing w h a t is n a t u r a l . A t h o r o u g h g o i n g n a t u r a l i s m can not avoid the conclusion t h a t n a t u r e is as a d a p t e d t o the life of m a n as it is to animals, plants and a t o m s . T o be so a d a p t e d , n a t u r e must be so a r r a n g e d and o r d e r e d t h a t the spiritual life of m a n is not alien to her. T h e n a t u r e of m a n and the n a t u r e of n a t u r e coincide. It seems possible, t h e r e f o r e , t h a t philosophy can d e v e l o p a valid positivism, a valid realism, a valid naturalism, which will teach t h a t the w o r l d does not exist f o r o t h e r p u r p o s e s t h a n its own. I t exists as something to be experienced in order t o discover the possibilities its existence offers. M e t a physically considered, the w o r l d is very much like w h a t children, poets, and the m a n in the street t a k e it to b e — s o m e t h i n g out of which something can be m a d e ; and t o m a k e something out of it is w h a t everything in it seems bent on doing, f r o m a t o m s to m a n . N a t u r e is not a creation, but the challenge and t h e o p p o r t u n i t y to create. She is the enemy of nothing. She is like a G o d w h o loves all his children equally, in o r d e r to show his love unequal only as the impulse to create extends wider and wider. W e m a y well r e m e m b e r the w o r d s of A r i s t o t l e : " E v e n the stone would become a d o o r s t e p ; and all things strive a f t e r the divine." Such a philosophy m a y be lightly dismissed as childish and poetic. But t h e r e are children and poets in the w o r l d as well as h y d r o g e n . I t may be condemned as a n t h r o p o m o r p h i c . O l d X e n o p h a n e s is credited with the r e m a r k : " I f oxen and lions had h a n d s a n d could paint, oxen would paint g o d s as oxen, and lions as lions." H e f o r g o t the i m p o r t a n t m a t t e r , namely, t h a t neither oxen nor lions have hands. T h e y do not paint. H e w h o has h a n d s and can paint is a man. A n d w h o d a r e s affirm t h a t oxen and lions exist in o r d e r to cheapen m e n ? T h i s childish and poetic philosophy is of t h a t kind which has always quickened and inspirited the strivings of men. A n d I o f t e n

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wonder why some of us seem to be uncomfortable when confronted with the childlike and poetic. It is not, however, because this philosophy is childlike and poetic that I turn to it. It is because it impresses me as grounded in the nature of things. W h a t I have here expressed in poetic language, could also be expressed in language which would sound scientific. But the language which sounds scientific does not reach to the full extent of man's nature. T h e birds can be scientifically analyzed. Still they sing. T h e y are machines, if we will; but they are singing machines, and he who forgets the singing has not discovered what birds naturally and really are. I believe that naturalism is a good philosophy f o r mankind. T o have a philosophy of some sort belongs to the nature of man. When, however, we consider the leading nations and peoples of the present world, what do we find? D o they see eye to eye? A r e they at one in the desire to honour man and to care f o r him? H a v e they the same respect f o r him as they have f o r chemistry? H a s the modern world a vision, like that of Christendom, which can inspire men even when they depart from it and sin against it? Perhaps some will say yes. T h e r e is democracy, there is socialism, there is communism, there is capitalism, there is fascism. But what do these names name? Surely not ideals of human life, but different methods of administration. T h e r e is no doubt that our happiness and wellbeing are bound up with methods of administration, but there is also no doubt that the successful carrying through of any method depends, not on its character, but on the character of its administrators. Communism as well as capitalism can ruin mankind. One can not overlook the fact that the modern world cries to heaven f o r a strong, orderly, and wise administration. With that which is current we have not gone very f a r . W e are suffering from eccentricities, fears, and egotisms. W e are suffering f r o m the common human failing of blaming others f o r our own negligence. Mankind always suffers when it has neither a religion nor a philosophy to quicken and inspire. D a s W a h r e w a r schon längst gefunden, Hat edle Geisterschaft verbunden, Das alte W a h r e , fass es en.

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Yes, we suffer f r o m administration and f r o m conditions which are socially, politically, and economically extraordinarily complicated. But who can be so foolish as to believe that any administration can be invented which will automatically free men once f o r all f r o m suffering? W e must hold f a s t to the old truth. H u m a n salvation lies in inspiration, in a conception of the nature of man, which rises above his daily life to become its ideal and its judge. M a n must see something in the sky, which illuminates his earthly pilgrimage and criticizes it. W h a t can a man see in the s k y ? A naturalistic philosophy should teach that he can see all that the astronomer sees through his telescope and elaborates with the help of mathematics. But that is not all. H e can also see how the sky affects his sensibility—the impression of infinity upon infinity, the consequent lifting and humbling of his spirit, the impulse to reflect and reflect until he feels himself incorporated in the whole, the consequent awakening in him of the suspicion that his life is committed, committed to possibilities which reach f a r beyond his daily joys and sorrows, hopes and fears—he can see that it is this kind of seeing that makes him a man, and reveals to him what it really means to live with other men and to live with nature. L o o k i n g through a telescope is not the only valid experience which nature allows. Spiritual experience is also an experience of nature, and it is this experience alone which quickens and inspires living. So should naturalism teach when it tries to be a philosophical guide to mankind. Perhaps I should say something about the practical applications of a philosophy like this. But I have thought, that on. this occasion an expression of my philosophical point of view would be expected. I can bring this together in a sentence: It has become impossible for me to believe, that a world in which perceiving and thinking and longing actually exist as facts can be a world which must be philosophically divided because these facts exist in it. So f a r as practice is concerned, I will emphasize only the obvious. W e should learn from what our experience of nature is. T h a t is our duty. It is a real duty, because our inclination is to have experiences, instead of learning f r o m them. Really to learn involves the setting aside of what is visionary or deceptive or only egotistical. It involves;

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the sustained criticism of life in the presence of life's emergencies. I venture to use the w a r as the best example that could today be chosen. W i t h good reasons we speak of it as the W o r l d W a r . T h a t means something f a r deeper than the fact that nearly all the peoples of the world became involved in it. It means that through the war we have all had a profound common experience which should teach us something about the needs of the modern man. Historians may search f o r the causes of the w a r . T h a t is undoubtedly interesting and important. But what the war has to teach does not depend upon its causes. Causes concern its beginning, but not its end. In 1 9 1 4 , the observer asked, who started the w a r and why, who would be victor and what would the victor g a i n ? In 1 9 1 8 , where were observers to be f o u n d ? T h e n the question w a s : T o what purpose? T h e nations feared not only each other, they were a f r a i d of themselves. H o w could this terrible disease be brought to an end? H o w could the exhausted nations recover? Such were the great questions. T h e y remain the great questions still. When they are forgotten, the terrible disease again threatens. T o be sure the w a r revealed the rivalry and selfseeking of the nations, but there was no need of a war to reveal that. T h a t we knew well enough without seeking a proof of it. T h e important thing which the war revealed was that rivalry and self-seeking of nations are things unsuited to modern times and to modern life. T h e w a r showed that they are antiquated. Against them are arrayed the forces of our time, which are daily growing and which will control in the end. T h a t dreadful and common experience has demonstrated that the claims of men have passed f a r beyond the claims of nations, and that the nations must change their mode of thinking if they are to save and to serve the modern world. T h i s is easy to say and it is often said. M e n dreamed long a g o of a parliament of the world, but it has been of a parliament that they have dreamed. Is it really any longer possible to believe that a parliament like those of the past is really suited to our needs? If we would learn f r o m the experience of the w a r and f r o m its consequences, we should begin with

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men. W e should go f r o m the home to the nation and not from the nation to the home. I do not doubt that questions of national boundaries, national armies, national navies and national security are weighty questions, but I doubt much more whether these are the questions with which the modern world should begin or which concern its permanent good. We are a f r a i d of another war. But is it not worth while to ask if it is not really dangerous to let the opposition between war and peace be the determining principle of our thinking and planning? Shall we discuss the carrying of guns when we sit around a table? W e should think of other things, of labour, of business, of education, of the nature of man. W h a t advantage does the modern world get f r o m victory or defeat? T h e victors may easily go to ruin and the defeated become a sore. T h e war has clearly shown that labour, business, and education are the things on which the welfare of the modern world depends. These are the things which are determining more and more the internal and external policy of the nations. The history of mankind has brought us to this position, and the war has made this movement of history clear. I t was a terrible experience, but it ought not to be profitless to have had it. W e should not think in terms of having it again, but in terms of its lessons. This is what philosophy should teach. But it should be taught inspired by an ideal of human life which, like a vision, will reveal that labour, business, and education are good, because through them man comes nearer to what he calls divine. And to be divine is not to conquer other men or even nature. It is to honour both. A new w o r l d — t h a t we would gladly have. T h e forces of our time are bent on having it. These forces have their source, not in political theories, but in the occupations and needs of human life. Mankind will have a new world. Its will is set upon this with increasing clearness and increasing power. But what kind of a new world? Shall philosophy sit still and leave mankind to be enticed by all sorts of administrative theories, theories which encourage the hope that, through their adoption, we shall automatically come to happiness and salvation? Shall philosophy not rather teach that no administration can be successful if it is not inspired by a consciousness of

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the natural destiny of man which reveals that human life is a commitment, that nature has so determined it, because she has disclosed in man what can be made out of her adaptability ? In man she has revealed what her forces can accomplish; in him she has become visible; in him she has become knowable; in him she has awakened the desire to bring his life to a consummation which justifies itself and over which a G o d might rejoice. In him she has fostered the belief that life itself is a demand and a need of nature. T h e s e are the foundations on which philosophy should build. W h a t should we believe? T h e voice of Fichte still speaks. It summons us to consider our character and our destiny, and to believe that these can never be divorced f r o m the character and destiny of nature at large. T h e y g o together; and in the hearty acceptance of their going together is to be found the quickening of the human spirit.

T H E

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LIGHT*

SIR WILLIAM BRAGG has given to a book on optics a brilliant title, The Universe of Light.1 T h e opening sentences of the first chapter are these: "Light brings us the news of the Universe. Coming to us from the sun and the stars it tells us of their existence, their positions, their movements, their constitutions and many other matters of interest. Coming to us from objects that surround us more nearly it enables us to see our way about the world: we enjoy the forms and colours that it reveals to us, we use it in the exchange of information and thought." T h e reader's attention is then called to the rightful and reasonable extension of the meaning of the word "light" to cover the wide range of invisible radiations, the great conveyor of energy from place to place, radio transmission, Rontgen rays, rays from radio-active substances, and, possibly, cosmic rays. These greatly differing phenomena are all manifestations of one principle, the magnificent inclusiveness of which has grown clearer continuously as w e have studied the nature of light. . . . Even the atoms themselves seem to fall, in certain aspects, within the same great category. Light, therefore, using the full meaning of the word, transmits energy which is the mainstay of life, and gives to living beings the power of observation: and it is akin to the matter of which all things animate and inanimate are made. T h e universe is its sphere of action. W e do it no more than justice w h e n w e speak of the Universe of Light.

Clearly we do it no less, if light is a principle of such magnificent inclusiveness. After reading the book, however, I am prompted to ask whether it should be read in the light of the title or the title read in the light of the book? What is it that • I n the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X X X I ( 1 9 3 + ) , pp. 1 5 - 2 1 . Read at the meeting of the Eastern Branch of the A m e r i c a n Philosophical Association, A m herst College, December, 1933. ' N e w Y o r k , M a c m i l l a n Company, 1933. xi + 283 pp.

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has been illuminated and made clearer and more understandable, the universe or the messenger that brings us the news of it? Is the book about the messenger or does it contain his message, in part, at least? If the latter, what then is the universe like? T h e book leads me to ask these questions, and not this book alone, but books on light generally. Sir William's book, by its suggestiveness and his competence, has made them more interesting than ever. I do it and him, I hope, no injustice by using it as a text f o r comment. T h i s particular book is chiefly about the messenger's way of travelling. I t is essentially an introduction to optics f o r the general reader and is a revision and enlargement of the Christmas Lectures of 1 9 3 1 , given at the Royal Institution by the author, under the same title. I have taken as the thread of m y story [ S i r W i l l i a m w r i t e s in the P r e f a c e ] that old r i v a l r y between t w o theories of light which has been one of the most p o w e r f u l contributions to the development of

science.

T h e corpuscle and the w a v e , associated a l w a y s w i t h the names, respectively, of N e w t o n and H u y g e n s , have each in turn seemed to be f i n a l l y victorious. T h e s t r u g g l e is ending in a m a n n e r as unexpected as it is is to be a reconcilement of hypotheses w h i c h

we

had t h o u g h t to be m u t u a l l y e x c l u s i v e ; and the f a c t w a r n s us of

illuminating. T h e r e

the

d a n g e r of a l l o w i n g o u r mental imaginings to become fixed beliefs.

We

still find it difficult to understand h o w these t w o theories can both be t r u e ; yet w e are forced to d o so by the mass of good evidence w h i c h can be brought f o r w a r d in support of each of them. W e conclude that w h a t at one time m a y be beyond our understanding m a y later become clear, not only t h r o u g h the acquisition of fresh knowledge, but also by the training of our m i n d s to n e w w a y s of thought.

A theory of the way a messenger travels may have little to do with the news he brings. T h e radio brings us news f r o m the ends of the earth, but a theory of radio transmission would hardly be that news. There is considerable difference between the way a messenger goes from one place to another and the message he brings. T h i s seems to be conspicuously true in the case of light. Whether it travels by way of wave or corpuscle or by way of both together, its message, at least f o r those who see, is that the visible world is the chief object and source of all their knowledge. In this world light and dark-

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ness alternate, and it is easy to think of light travelling in it and dispelling the darkness, although, since Aristotle, w e have been repeatedly cautioned about thinking so. P r o f e s s o r B r i d g m a n has said that " l i g h t as a thing travelling must be recognized as a pure invention." 2 Y e t it is natural to think of light as travelling, f o r lamps, when lit, seem so evidently to send out their light, m i r r o r s reflect it, prisms r e f r a c t it, and lenses focus it. T h e lantern to our f e e t carries its horizon of illumination a l o n g as w e w a l k . S h a d o w s f a l l . T h e r e are opaque bodies through which light does not seem to pass. Something that t r a v e l s , although we never see the traveller, is a conception of light difficult to a v o i d when we consider the beh a v i o u r of a lighted w o r l d . It is, h o w e v e r , the conception of something not identified. T h e distinction between w h a t w e ordinarily call light and darkness is like the distinction between day and night, one which does not reveal an agent which m a k e s the difference, unless the agent be something like the sun o r other g l o w i n g o r radiant bodies. T h e y are not the light of theory. W e are consequently f o r c e d , in dealing with light as something that travels, to deal with it indirectly, not with it itself, but with its manner of t r a v e l l i n g . D o e s it t r a v e l like a projectile o r like a w a v e ? H e n c e the rival theories and the current attempt to reconcile them. T h i s is the story the book tells. One can not r e a d the story, even in the condensed f o r m in which Sir W i l l i a m relates it, without being p r o f o u n d l y impressed by the brilliancy and skill shown by those w h o h a v e contributed to it. H e r e is one of the masterpieces of modern physics. C a n I be p a r d o n e d the apparently impudent question, W h a t is it all a b o u t ? I intend no impudence. I w a s once content with the a n s w e r that it is all about light, but am no longer content, and the m o r e I read, the less content I am. M y admiration f o r the intellectual skill which has m a r k e d the development of the theory and the r e m a r k a b l e experimental verification of deductions f r o m it is g r e a t e r than it was when I took my first lessons in it y e a r s a g o . I do not put such matters in question. W h a t I h a v e seen done b e f o r e my eyes and r e a d in books written by responsible men is too evident to be * The Logic of Modern

Physics. New York, Macmillan Co., 1927, p. 153.

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gainsaid. It is the success of the theory which baffles me—the success attained by dealing with modes of travel without an identifiable traveller. A projectile that flies through the air like a bullet f r o m a gun, the movement of waves in a pan of water, the impact upon balls in series, and all the many means, aided by mathematical calculations, which are used in building up the theory, make clearer and clearer modes of travel, but obscurer and obscurer the traveller itself. M y knowledge of corpuscular and wave propagation increases, but as knowledge of light it is like knowledge of a light that never was on sea or land. T h e Light, the light that warrants our speaking of the Universe of Light, although it remains unidentified as corpuscle or wave or both somehow together, is that which reveals t h a t there is a visible world accessible to observation and experiment. Its actuality is declared by the alternation of day and night and by opening and closing the eyes. It is that which brings us news of the universe. If the news, or p a r t of it, is optics, what then is the universe? T h e answer seems to me to be this: it is something whose f r a m e w o r k , when we attempt to model or conceive it, is modelled and conceived in an optical way. In other words, if optics is news, then models, maps, plans, patterns, designs, systems, or conceptions of what the universe is like, as containing all that is, are bound to be of a sort which an observer might possibly see. Otherwise considerations of shape, size, distance, position, motion, orbit, and the like seem to lose meaning. Space seems to disappear. If it is characteristic of the universe t h a t the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection, the model must be congruent with that principle. If we consider whether the universe is contracting or expanding, whether it is limited or unlimited, it is an optical model which gives point to the consideration. In short, if optics is valid news, then models and conceptions of the universe are f o r m e d in terms of an optical system. T h e universe, whatever else it may be. is optical. T h e acceptance of this conclusion raises many interesting questions. I would mention a few of them. One of them is the sort of question Professor Royce dealt with in his World and the Individual. I ask it with reference to the conclusion just

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reached. W h a t is to be said of a system o r universe which is delineated and conceived in an optical w a y ? A n y answer to this question seems t o me to be, in principle, like P r o f e s s o r Royce's answer, irrespective of the p a r t i c u l a r use he m a d e of it. M o d e l l i n g and conceiving such a system in optical t e r m s are themselves d e t e r m i n a t i o n s or d e l i n e a t i o n s of w h a t such a system is. T h i s strikes me as both obvious and p r o f o u n d . It is obvious t h a t optical systems are t h o u g h t of in optical terms, angles in t e r m s of angles, distances in t e r m s of distance, positions in t e r m s of position, and so on. T h e r e p e t i t i o n s and correspondences which a r e therein involved, m a k e it impossible, however, to limit and f r a m e the system itself in t e r m s of angles, distances, positions, and so on. Such t e r m s are limited in their application in such a way t h a t they a r e not applicable to the system itself. T h i s is, p e r h a p s , p r o f o u n d . W e a r e dealing with a system which, if delineated a t all, m u s t be delineated in t e r m s of optical models which its c h a r a c t e r imposes, but which are not replicas of t h a t c h a r a c t e r . T h e s e models can not be placed side by side with the system a n d then c o m p a r e d . T h e y serve in exploring the system, but they d o not embrace it. T h i s does not mean t h a t the system is so vast t h a t no model can embrace it, nor t h a t it is g r e a t e r t h a n any conceivable model. It m e a n s r a t h e r t h a t optical f r a m e w o r k s are in the system, but the system is not in any f r a m e w o r k at all. Space is in it, but it is not in space. F r o m this conclusion, a n o t h e r seems t o f o l l o w , namely, t h a t t h e r e can be in the universe no uniquely privileged observer, no observer, t h a t is, w h o can c o m p a r e w h a t he observes with the universe itself. A l t h o u g h light b r i n g s us t h e news, it does not send it. T h e difference is considerable. T h e acknowledged and evident effect of its coming is its m e s s a g e a n d t h a t message is not about a t r a n s m i t t i n g station which we m i g h t occupy and then observe w h e t h e r the message received w a s the one intended t o be sent. Optics f o r b i d s such a privileged station. W h y , then, I would rhetorically ask, a t t e m p t to construe the universe as if t h e r e were a uniquely privileged observer somew h e r e ? If t h e r e is no such observer, why suppose t h a t optical perspectives are a n y t h i n g else t h a n necessities of an optical system? W h y imagine t h a t the intellectual extension of the

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t e r m s of delineation like s t r a i g h t line, angle, rotation, etc., reveals w h a t such an observer would see if there were o n e ? W h y suppose t h a t the universe can be spatial without at the same time being optically i n s t r u m e n t e d ? I leave the questions in their rhetorical f o r m . If optics is news that the universe is optical, it seems to me to be quite superfluous to try to get back of the news and find an observer who can tell us w h e t h e r the news is correct. It seems futile to ask w h a t the news would be f o r an observer independent of the types of the optical behaviour of an optical w o r l d . T a k i n g optics, then, t o be news of the universe, I would venture to a m e n d one of the sentences quoted f r o m Sir W i l liam B r a g g ' s book. Speaking of light he says: " T h e universe is its sphere of action." I would s a y : Its sphere of action is the universe. L i g h t acts; then the universe is a sphere whose centre is anywhere and whose circumference is nowhere. H e n c e space as optically determined, hence the inevitability of optical models and f r a m e w o r k s without an embracing f r a m e work, and hence the absence of a uniquely privileged observer. Light brings us o t h e r news besides that of a universe optically instrumented or schematized. " C o m i n g to us f r o m the sun and the stars, it tells us of their existence, their movements, their constitutions and many other m a t t e r s of intere s t . " It lights up the universe, makes it visible at least in p a r t , revealing t h a t there a r e sun and stars in the sky, and minerals, plants, and animals on t h e e a r t h . P e r h a p s this kind of news is not the m o r e important, but it is certainly the kind which most absorbs o u r attention. It is a d r a m a t i c kind of news, as if light were exhibiting w h a t it can do to waves and corpuscles by illuminating modes of travel. T h e n there is splendour and scenery t o behold and the d r a m a of life and death. O n e o u g h t not to expect to find this vision in a book on optics, but books on optics rarely fail to mention it. Vision is too evidently the m a j o r consequence of letting light be. W i t h o u t this consequence we should never speak of a universe of light or of getting news of the sun's existence; books on optics would never be written. T h e books do vision no more than justice by making at least a bow. W h a t this particular book says about vision, I have found

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perplexing and exciting. It says the usual thing, but not in the usual w a y . T h e usual thing is that there is a device in the eye " w h i c h g a t h e r s together the w a v e s coming f r o m each and every external point, and converges them upon a corresponding point on the retina. T h u s all the details of the view are impressed upon the retina in their p r o p e r places relative to one another, and each with its proper character. T h e whole is then r e f e r r e d to the brain by w a y of a complicated system of nerves, and is there i n t e r p r e t e d " (p. 3 8 ) . If this w e r e all, it would be the usual thing, leaving the question open whether the " i n t e r p r e t a t i o n " is vision. B u t light as a newsbringer is constantly stressed and stressed in such a w a y that I can not r e g a r d the expression as a pretty metaphor. " W h e n light enters the eye it brings news of the source f r o m which it has come, and of its experiences on the w a y . In particular it tells of the last encounter with a m a t e r i a l object b e f o r e entry into the eye, and so enables the o w n e r of the eye to 'see' that o b j e c t " (p. 3 8 ) . Such expressions make it hard f o r me to identify vision with an interpretation in the brain. I can think of light as i n f o r m i n g the brain that there is a sun in the sky, but I find it difficult to think of the brain as seeing a sun in the sky. A n d I should find it just as difficult if I substituted f o r " b r a i n , " " m i n d " o r "consciousness" or " s o u l . " I find this difficult because I must believe that eyes and not brains are the organs of seeing, just as ears and not brains are the organs of hearing. Consequently, to identify interpretation in the brain, or in the mind, with vision seems to me to be curiously unintelligible. I say curiously unintelligible because such identification would involve either vision without eyes or the reversal of the process which generated the interpretation, going back to the retina, through the lens and ending with that last encounter of light with a material object b e f o r e entry into the eye. In the latter case, it would seem as if the brain looked back o v e r the course by which light had come to it, and looked back not with the eye, but through it. N e w t o n 3 thought that G o d had vision without eyes and M o l y n e u x 4 e x c l a i m e d : " H e that made the eye shall s e e ! " It * Optics, Queries 28, 31. 1 Dioptrica Nova, Part I, Prop. 28.

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is, p e r h a p s , possible that a being having vision without eyes could m a k e them, but he could hardly make them in o r d e r to see. T h a t would be a little ridiculous. I f , h o w e v e r , he lived in a w o r l d w h e r e eyes w e r e necessary f o r vision, it w o u l d not be surprising if he invented a microscope. I can readily accept brains without a visible w o r l d , but I can not similarly accept eyes. A n d it is neither brains nor eyes that make the w o r l d visible, but the light itself. S o f a r as I can m a k e out, all that the brain does with the help of the eye is to co-ordinate our activities in an optical w o r l d m a d e visible by the light. I t is that w o r l d that is interpreted and not a nervous disturbance in the brain. A c c o r d i n g l y , with little reservation and with possible misconstruction, I can repeat the w o r d s : " W h e n light enters the eye it brings news of the source f r o m which it has come, and of its experiences on the w a y . In particular it tells of the last encounter with a material object b e f o r e entry into the eye, and so enables the o w n e r of the eye to 'see' that o b j e c t . " Y e s : the m a n w h o has eyes and brain sees the visible w o r l d , but that w o r l d quite evidently is not in his eye, or in his brain, o r in his " m i n d . " I t is in the light.

AN

APPROACH OF

TO

T H E

T H E O R Y

N A T U R E *

WESTERN philosophers have inherited f r o m ancient Greece the idea of theories of nature. T h e y were prevented by the course of history from discovering it themselves and from using a language of their own f o r its approximate expression. T h e y have employed Greek words which expressed thoughts often novel to them and have spent no small part of their time in trying to find out what the words they use really mean, f o r the domestication of an alien speech is difficult. T h e Greeks seem to have been more fortunate. Their language had attained remarkable transparency in the social use of it before it was turned to professedly intellectual purposes. T h e y knew what they meant before they understood it and considered understanding to be the development of their ordinary knowledge into a comprehensive view of it. This came to be called 6tupia and Aristotle could think of the theoretical life as not unlike the life of a god who beholds existence without interfering with it. Theory is thus a Greek word and its exaltation to such a height is a fine example of the passage of a word from social to philosophical usage, from the theatre to the study and the laboratory. So it passed in Greek. A spectator at a play and the spectator of existence were kinsmen in attitude. Detached from what they beheld, they had a clearer and more comprehensive view of it than would be possible otherwise. Could a man see the spectacle of existence as he sees a play in a theatre, he might understand what existence is, get the gist of it and in the moment of that beholding be like a god who sees the world wag, but keeps himself aloof. T o know what theory is, a Greek had only to go to a theatre. T o make the * H o w i s o n M e m o r i a l L e c t u r e , g i v e n at the U n i v e r s i t y of C a l i f o r n i a , B e r k e l e y , C a l i f o r n i a , F e b r u a r y 8, 1 9 3 5 .

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w o r l d a stage and behold a t o m s p l a y i n g in the void, o r earth, w a t e r , air, a n d fire, those well-known levels of existence, p l a y i n g with one another true to their characters, w a s to attain the theoretical vision. A b o y o r g i r l in school t o d a y , studying Euclid's g e o m e t r y and seeing how figures d r a w n with rule and compass illustrate the control of principles, m a y see what a theory is without being told and get a glimmering of that theoretical l i f e which can m a k e a m a n f o r g e t that he is human. T h e G r e e k s , in spite of an abundant egotism, d i d not n o r m a l l y f o r g e t their humanity. A r i s t o t l e h a d something to say about the effect of g o i n g to the t h e a t r e upon the spect a t o r s . T h e moment of divine a l o o f n e s s with its cleansing of laughter and tears or of pity and f e a r is f o l l o w e d by a return to existence s h a r e d with others. Only G o d can keep his isolation intact and serene. M e n must w o r k , get on with one another, and m a n a g e cities. P e r h a p s they can do all this better a f t e r they h a v e h a d the theoretical vision. A t least they ought to understand better w h a t they a r e about and be wise about it instead o f f o o l i s h . T h e y can get on without the vision just as they can get on without the theatre, but it is unlikely that they will get on as well. M e n may k n o w how to run a city as they w a n t to, but they m a y run it better if they understand w h a t a city is. M e n can not help k n o w i n g nature because, like plants and animals, they live with it the whole course of their lives, but they m a y live better if they understand what nature is. N a t u r e is not a G r e e k w o r d , so it is idle to ask w h a t the G r e e k s meant by the use of it. W e m a y use it, h o w e v e r , to indicate what they w o u l d comprise in a complete theoretical vision. T h i s w a s no less than w h a t w a s contained within the f a m i l i a r horizon of their daily lives, earth and sky with all that goes on within the sphere they ostensibly f o r m . T o the going-on they g a v e the name of MaXXop

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THE

DISCOVERY

OF T H E

MIND*

"MEN are strangers to that with which they are continually familiar." Heraclitus, the Dark, used these words apparently to express his opinion that, while men have minds, they are not ordinarily aware of it. His opinion seems to have been the result of his observation. H e saw men speak and act as if mind were a stranger to them, the sort of thing at which dogs bark. Since the barking of dogs is his figure, it is apparent that his words are not the dispassionate statement of his observation. Looked at, however, in the light of the many centuries which have followed them, they may be cited as the simple record of a fact, the fact, namely, that the inind needs repeatedly to be discovered. It is continually there, f r o m the beginning to the end—as Heraclitus says, using H o m e r ' s word for a tale fully told—it is continuously there, but it must be found. History might be written in terms of its finding, marking its discovery and loss as the crises of civilization. For such a history the case of Heraclitus himself would be typical. With each new discovery to be recorded one would find an enthusiasm like his possessing the discoverer, the consciousness of insight and of having beheld a great vision, the sense of a new and unlimited power, the laying hold of a new confidence. One would find, on the part of those who had not made the discovery, incredulity, the insight suspected, the vision described as visionary, the power denounced as impotence, and the confidence held to be misplaced. All of which goes to show that the discovery of the mind is a characteristic human experience. Heraclitus is, perhaps, too remote a figure to touch us of • I n the Columbia University Quarterly, Vol. X V ( 1 9 1 2 ) , pp. 1-10. A d d r e s s delivered at the opening exercises of the one hundred and fifty-ninth academic y e a r , September 25, 1 9 1 2 .

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today very intimately. So I repeat a common observation of historians that the discovery of the mind on a large scale was one of the striking events that marked the beginning of modern times. Our historians would, perhaps, be more acute if they said that times are modern when the discovery is made. T h e finding of the mind is not something incident to an artificial period of time. It is the one event which makes it possible to regard the past as antiquity, the sum of things accomplished, to view the present as opportunity, and to see the f u t u r e fluid. I t is not a characteristic of modernity, but its essence. Open the books of men like Roger Bacon, Galileo, Francis Bacon, Descartes, Hobbes, Grotius, Newton, and a host of others, and while one finds striking evidence of advances in knowledge along old and established lines, one finds also the consciousness of a new age at its morning. One finds the spirit of inquiry exalted above any admiration of what has been already done. One finds an uncontrollable desire to go on and to progress. One finds an unbounded confidence in the possibility of improving the life of man and of lifting him to the heights. One finds visions of a transformed society without vice, without crime, without idiocy or disease, without poverty or want. One finds these things because those who express them have discovered the mind. T h e y are conscious of the discovery. I t is t h a t consciousness which has fired their imaginations and kindled a new insight and a new faith. F o r how is it that such men as these commend their hopes to o t h e r s ? By their attainments, by their positions, by their inventions, by their wisdom, by their authority? N o t at all; but because the mind is discoverable, and to discover it is to share with them the thing t h a t has awakened them. Let the contrasting picture be unlined. Let us forget, on this occasion, the incredulity which they met and the opposition they aroused. Let us not remember that words spoken in the interest of human progress were heard as the cry of revolution. Because it is on the discovery that our emphasis would fall. W h a t , then, is that discovery? It may be expressed by saying: it is the discovery that the world, although it is moved by its own forces and according to its own laws, is yet con-

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ADDRESSES

trollable just in proportion as it is understood. By itself, it is solid and unyielding; penetrated by the mind, it is fluid and convertible. By itself, it is man's m a s t e r ; through his mind, it is his servant. Expressions of the discovery vary. Heraclitus, taking his figure f r o m the sea, says: "One thing is wisdom, to understand how all things are steered through all things." Bacon puts it bluntly: "Knowledge is power." And our own Emerson, with a prophet's voice, exclaims: Every jet of chaos which threatens to exterminate you is convertible by intellect into wholesome force. Fate is impenetrated causes. T h e water drowns ship and sailor like a grain of dust. But learn to swim, trim your bark, and the wave which drowned it will be cloven by it and carry it like its own foam, a plume and a power. T h e cold is inconsiderate of persons, tingles your blood, freezes a man like a dew-drop. But learn to skate, and the ice will give you a graceful, sweet, and poetic motion. T h e cold will brace your limbs and brain to genius, and make you foremost men of time. Cold and sea will train an imperial Saxon race, which nature can not bear to lose, and after cooping it up in yonder England for a thousand years, gives a hundred Englands, a hundred Mexicos. All the bloods it shall absorb and domineer: and more than Mexicos, the secrets of water and steam, the spasms of electricity, the ductility of metals, the chariot of the air, the ruddered balloon are awaiting you.

T h a t is all very familiar, continually familiar. I t is proclaimed as a discovery to men who are strangers to it. Schools exist, I suppose, because the mind has been discovered. T h e i r obvious purpose is to keep us acquainted with the mind and to promote the intelligent penetration of things. T h i s purpose is often obscured, and there is little doubt that the word "school" itself has facilitated the obscuration. It is a foreign word, which is one disadvantage; and it is a metaphor, which is a second disadvantage. Long ago a Greek observed that it is in leisure moments, when men are free f r o m the stress of affairs and have time to think, that the mind is discovered. T h e observation caught the fancy. " T o enjoy leisure" came to mean " t o go to school." It was a happy conceit, we may say, and indicated much nobility in its author, since he could think of leisure as time which intelligence may claim. But the serpent is always in the garden. T h e perilous sugges-

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tion lies coiled in the m e t a p h o r — " t o go to school is to enjoy leisure." You can write the history of education, its reforms, its reactions, its revolutions, and its progress, in terms of t h a t t r a n s f e r of emphasis. Our thinking on scholastic matters has been controlled too much by a metaphor. T h e coupling of intelligence and leisure, although we may recognize it as a happy conceit in the man who made it first, gives a poor pair of categories in terms of which to discuss the business of the mind. I t renders our propositions ambiguous and controversial, r a t h e r than simply true or false. It arouses an initial suspicion regarding what lies back of our programs. Our vision is not single with one eye on culture, refinement, manners, and a rich familiarity with nice things, and the other eye on intelligence, discipline, control, and creative curiosity. I f , f o r instance, I express my conviction that education should be liberal, there will be those who approve and there will be those who dissent, while I shall probably be found working, not with those who approve, but with those who dissent, incurring thus the enmity of my friends and the friendship of my enemies. If I affirm that it is the great business of man to live his life to the full, but to live it to the full with intelligence, I shall, doubtless, win applause even if I am credited with stating the obvious impressively. But if I go on to propose to teach young men how to till the soil successfully and young women how to cook and sew admirably, there will be many who will ask first, not is it worth while in the interest of intelligent living, but is it education? D o you intend to give them the bachelor's degree? I may reply that degrees were not in mind, but I shall be warned to be very careful. Naturally, when I say these things, I do not wish to be misunderstood in r e g a r d to the intent with which I say them. I am not proposing to discuss educational programs or to take sides in the controversies besetting them. I am proposing something different, namely, the recognition of an emphasis. If it is true that the discovery of the mind is our reason for being here, f o r taking up again the complicated work of an institution like this, and also the reason why educational p r o g r a m s are things of importance for us; then I am insisting that that

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ADDRESSES

discovery should be the source of our p r o g r a m s and the criterion by which they should be judged. N o tradition, however sanctified by a beautiful a n d suggestive metaphor, can be sacred to us if in any way it weakens our important task. A r e we m a k i n g intelligence p r e v a i l ? A r e we invading with the spirit of inquiry every d e p a r t m e n t of life? A r e we letting no chance slip to bring under the control of reason the least as well as the greatest undertakings of men? Of such a type are the questions which those who believe that the mind has been discovered will ask first; and they will insist that their labors be judged by the s t a n d a r d s such questions suggest and by no others. T h e r e a p p e a r e d recently in one of our daily papers an editorial entitled " N e w Ideas of a University." I t sees in the rapid expansion of our universities, as shown in the increasing number of courses undertaken and of new degrees offered, a response to a genuine demand on the p a r t of large numbers of our people. I t believes t h a t this expansion is "bringing light into d a r k places," but t h a t it is also "ousting older and more deeply thought-out ideas of education." H o w "the older idea of a university" is consequently affected may be seen by considering the diminishing p r o p o r t i o n of the degree of bachelor of a r t s a m o n g all degrees now conferred. I t finds that " t h e strength of the courses in which first degrees are granted in law, medicine, engineering, agriculture, and household science is a sign t h a t the f u t u r e typical university of America is not likely to bear much resemblance to O x f o r d and Cambridge." I t affirms t h a t w h a t many people want is "a college where the buildings exemplify the latest advance in sanitation, and the laboratories are within six months of the latest discovery in applied science." I t declares that "it is only in a new country t h a t dietetics, the fine arts, the art industries, music, and physical training, can be m a d e to lie in the lap of one university" ; and it finds "consolation" in the "belief t h a t the students who follow these new courses will go into those subjects anyway, and t h a t it is better f o r the community t h a t they should be half educated in them than wholly ignorant." I t closes with this w a r n i n g :

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If universities and men who should know better allow themselves to reckon elementary and cursory training in the application of scientific or artistic principles on the same level of honor with exhaustive and exact knowledge, they are doing wrong to the country. It may be that for a time we may have to see through a glass darkly; but if they declare that the imperfect vision is just as good as the perfect they are sapping standards. In education the idea of the best is the touchstone of all sound judgment.

T h i s editorial is typical o f many recent utterances on education. I t reflects a current searching of the heart and a genuine questioning o f methods and results. Its statements o f fact may remain unchallenged, but what o f its emphasis? I f the future typical university o f America is not likely to bear much resemblance to Oxford and Cambridge, is that, considered in the light o f history and o f present needs, a misfortune or a blessing? Is it the end of an argument or the beginning of one? W h y , I ask, if it is better for the community that certain of our people should be half educated in certain subjects than wholly ignorant, why should that fact be a consolation for attempting to educate them? W h y is it not a command and an obligation? Does the expansion of our universities mean that we are in grave danger o f wronging the country by allowing ourselves to reckon elementary and cursory training in the application of scientific or artistic principles on the same level o f honour with exhaustive and exact knowledge; that we are seeing through a glass darkly; that we are sapping standards? O r does that expansion mean that we are raising standards in every walk of life we touch, seeing more clearly, and widening the sweep of exhaustive and exact knowledge? I f the mind has been discovered it is time that people stopped looking to the past for standards and to the present for consolation. T h e y should look to the past for experience, for guidance, for instruction, not that they may restore the past, be like it, ape its achievements or its culture, but that they may entertain their own visions with a chastened enthusiasm and press on to make them real. No one who has discovered the mind can take his standards from an alien time. M o r e than the past ever held awaits him.

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It is possible, t h e r e f o r e , t o see in an increasing n u m b e r of intelligent f a r m e r s s o m e t h i n g else t h a n a decreasing number of p r o m i s i n g philologists. O r , t o p u t the m a t t e r in general t e r m s , it is possible to see in t h e expansion of our universities something else t h a n a m e n a c e t o culture. In strictness of s p e e c h — or, one m i g h t say, m e t a p h y s i c a l l y — t h e r e can be no new idea of a university which is n o t a w r o n g idea. F o r t h e r e is something P l a t o n i c a n d e t e r n a l a b o u t t h a t idea, a changeless essence which m a y shine t h r o u g h m a n y changing things. T h e onlv sense in which it can be called new is the sense in which we indicate t h a t some one h a s seen it f o r the first time in his own experience. T h e r e m a y be n e w courses, new m e t h o d s , and new degrees, and these m a y displace older and long established institutions, but t h e r e can be no new university. T h e accidents are old o r new, t h e substance, n e v e r ; f o r the idea of the university is t h e idea of t h e o r g a n i z e d discovery of the mind. T h e university is, t h e r e f o r e , n o t simply a place w h e r e a number of people a r e e n g a g e d in teaching and being t a u g h t a n u m b e r of subjects of g r e a t e r or less importance. It is much m o r e t h a n a collection of different schools b r o u g h t t o g e t h e r under one a d m i n i s t r a t i o n f o r p u r p o s e s of economy or size. It is much m o r e t h a n a h a p h a z a r d a r r a n g e m e n t of different courses l e a d i n g t o different d e g r e e s and f r a m e d to meet dem a n d s of t h e m o m e n t , o r t o illustrate passing fashions, or to compete w i t h rivals. T o see no m o r e is to see with myopic vision. T o be sensible of no m o r e is to be insensible t o o p p o r tunity. T h e university is always at the beginning of a g r e a t e r career w h e n it finds a r e g i o n which intelligence can invade and m a s t e r , f o r t h a t m e a n s p r o g r e s s in o r g a n i z i n g the m i n d ' s discovery. I t looks with a j e a l o u s eye on every educational enterprise a n d every a t t e m p t t o a d v a n c e learning which seek an i n d e p e n d e n t existence. A g e n e r a t i o n a g o t h e r e w a s not a university in the land t h a t paid any significant a t t e n t i o n to the a r t of teaching as a subject w o r t h y of special inquiry and of a special technic. T h e r e w e r e t r a i n i n g classes f o r teachers connected with local high schools a n d n o r m a l schools scattered h e r e and t h e r e . But t h e r e is a v a s t difference between setting up a n o r m a l school, h o w e v e r excellent, by itself or in connection with the

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schools it serves, and setting up such a school in a university. In the one case you leave it isolated and disconnected, in the other you bind up its destinies with the career of productive scholarship. T h e r e is a vast difference, and the same sort of difference, between setting up a law school even in the heart of a great city, under the shadow of courts of law and in sound of the strife of men, and setting it up in a university. In the one case you link it with its necessities merely, the contingencies it has to meet. In the other you link it with progressive ideas in economics, politics, sociology, ethics, and the scientific investigation of human institutions. And you quicken the life of the university, too, by demanding that it respond to questions which must be settled now. T h e r e is a vast difference, as has been abundantly demonstrated, between setting up a medical school in a hospital and setting it up, hospital and all, in a university. T h e r e is a vast difference between setting up a college of liberal study in some beautiful country place where cloister and landscape, friendship and study, invoke alma mater, the nestling divinity whose charm makes " o l d " the dearest of adjectives, and setting up such a college in a university, where the many things in which it is possible to substitute knowledge f o r ignorance, intelligence for stupidity, reason for irrationality, find a place and demand that culture be more than an ornament, that it be rather a power to quicken, beautify, and ennoble the things men have to do. H e who has seen these differences steadily and seen them in the light of the mind's discovery will not think of the university as a place f r o m which a glory is passing away. These things are said here deliberately and unblushingly for purposes of enthusiasm, to enhance the belief that the university is in idea and shall be increasingly in practice, the most important of human institutions. It sets faith in the controlling power of the mind in contrast with faith in any other power. It insists that a technic of curiosity, criticism, and control is superior to every other kind of technic, because it is applicable to every undertaking. It demands, since there is always an intelligent and rational way of doing what needs doing, that that way be found and followed, not only in mathematics and philosophy, in literature and science, in industry

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and the arts, but also in public life, in business, in politics, in society, in morals, and in religion. T h e proposition that we must think one way in the cloister, but must live and behave a different way in the market, is to it intolerable. T h e notion that we are the products of our ancestry, it supplements with the notion that we are the ancestors of posterity, making us thus indebted to the past, but obliged to the future. It aims to be the place to which men can look f o r judgments which are disinterested and therefore just. It is content only as it sees ignorance, prejudice, passion, partizanship, superstition, and privilege progressively giving place to the life of reason. If the prospect tends to make enthusiasm spontaneous, that which has been accomplished may make it sane. F o r the discovery of the mind is annually turning more and more of the world's wealth into lines of beneficient research; it is spreading education and enlightenment; it is making clear t h a t only in its interest dare human life be held cheap; it is adding a deepening sense of the responsibility f o r vice to the personal obligation to be virtuous; it is subduing enemies as the armies and navies of the world have never subdued t h e m ; it is making daily clearer the truth that the rational conquest of the whole of nature means the happiness of men. Y e s : these things have been said f o r purposes of enthusiasm, to see in the expansion of the university a prospect of goods to be won and not a prospect of goods to be lost; and to set faith in the mind squarely in opposition to every philosophy of life which disparages intelligence and feeds our inherited romantic fascination for the mysterious, the obscure, and the vague. History may be written in many different ways and our philosophies of life are individually characterized by the type of history we p r e f e r . T h e rise and fall of states, the conflicts between nations, the political upheavals of the peoples of the earth, may possess the imagination, so t h a t history becomes political and military. W e then count the decisive battles of the world, and scan the types of political organization, seeing in man a political animal with a political destiny, one hand grasping the sword and in the other withdrawn behind the shelter of steel a scroll half unrolled on which is written the law and constitution of a state. O r the character of coast lines, the

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d r i f t o f currents and prevailing winds, the number and courses o f rivers, the productivity o f soils, the presence o f mineral stores in the earth, the varieties o f climate—such may be the things on which we seize, and then we shall see civilization under the control o f economic needs and economic laws, and find the gold o f A r a b i a m o r e significant than the B a t t l e o f M a r a t h o n . O r we m a y see in the political and economic animal m o r e o f the noun than o f the adjective. An animal he is and like all animals a product o f variation, struggle, selection, and heredity, one species in a vast evolution o f life, subject to one cosmic law which he illustrates in every adjective by which he is described: biped, because the variation into hands outran the two additional feet o f his ancestors; social and political, because a variation in the direction o f interdependent living turned out to be advantageous; and rational, because the development o f his nervous system holds his responses to stimuli in check so t h a t when he does act, he acts as a creature who has had experience and profited by it. H i s future will illustrate the same law as his past and continue his career as an evolution. W e may give to this conception a romantic colour, veiling providence in our terminology or deifying evolution into a creative energy m o r e profoundly real than any o f its manifestations and m o r e satisfying to the spirit o f man than any o f its accomplishments. T h e s e things we may do, and, reading history in the terms they set, find profit in the reading. But we may also read history in terms o f the discovery o f the mind. W e may see man rising f r o m the ground, startled by the first dim intimation that the things and forces about him are convertible and controllable. Curiosity excites him, but he is subdued by an untrained imagination. T h e things that frighten him, he tries to frighten in return. T h e things that bless him, he blesses. H e would scare the earth's shadow from the moon and sacrifice his dearest to a propitious sky. It avails not. But the little things teach him and discipline his imagination. H e has kicked the stone that bruised him only to be bruised again. So he converts the stone into a weapon and begins the subjugation o f the world, singing a song o f triumph by the way. Such is his history in e p i t o m e — a blunder, a conversion, a con-

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quest, and a song. T h a t sequence he will r e p e a t in g r e a t e r things. H e will r e p e a t it yet and rejoice w h e r e he now despairs, c o n v e r t i n g the chaos of his social, political, industrial, and e m o t i o n a l life into wholesome f o r c e . H e will sing again. But t h e discovery of the mind comes first, a n d then, the song.

PLACES

AND

MEN*

IT IS because we reflect that our living becomes a life. Since we do not count the passing days as a mere succession of isolated events, but weave them into something other than an aggregate, into a kind of unity which we can think of as present and enduring through all changes, colouring them with the reflections of a personality which is not itself one of the incidents it owns—since we do this, we are led to make that distinction between soul and body, between a man and his place, between ourselves and the world, which is the pivotal distinction of human life. Thereby we demonstrate our spirituality. F o r a span of time which must be construed biographically, and not simply as a body's duration and incidents through a term of years, has surpassed the matter to which it clings, and evoked that new interest which we call spiritual. Thus it is that in all the crises of life the soul and not the body sets the terms in which those crises receive their most characteristically human expression. Thus it is that death is sad, for it involves the soul's departure. N o longer will that span of time, those daily incidents, those engaging enterprises, all that made the man's work, be unified into his personality or filled with his spirit. T h e matter of his body remains, but the place that knew him shall know him no more. W e sometimes say that a man's place can not be filled, but that may only express our conviction that his successors will not equal him. It does not indicate that places have a memory. It does not endow them with any concern for the life which vivified them. Places are heartless. They count no man indispensable. T h e y receive his successor without prejudice, regret, or expectation. Strip the world of personality, the body of its soul, and it is an indifferent, a careless world that remains. • I n the Columbia University Quarterly, Vol. X I V ( 1 9 1 2 ) , pp. 1 1 3 - 1 1 9 . Address delivered at the Commemorative Service held in St. Paul's Chapel on Sunday, December 10, 1 9 1 1 .

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A p r o l o n g e d absence f r o m his work will bring to any man an acute sense of his local unimportance. C a n affairs g o on without h i m ? M u s t not everything be stayed, expectantly awaiting his co-operation? T h e n he realizes that while a few may count on his return and d e f e r matters f o r his advice and assistance, he has been p r o v e d to be unnecessary. T h e world can get on without him. T h e students will come and go. H i s friends will p e r f o r m their tasks. T h e issues of the day will be settled. S o m e compensation m a y be extracted f r o m the reflection that the work is g r e a t e r than himself. H e may try to lighten the ignominy he feels by telling himself that it was a high privilege to have been e n g a g e d in g r e a t concerns that will outlast h i m ; yet it is the feeling of ignominy he is trying to lighten and f o r which he is seeking a substitute. It is a privilege to be busied with labour that shall not fail when we are gone, but it is not a privilege to be idle or to have been busy. If under such circumstances the heartlessness of places is felt acutely, how much m o r e acutely is it felt when one thinks of the permanent absence f r o m his work, of the time when in grim truth the place that knew him shall know him no more. T h e contrast between a man and his place may sound the depths of human despair. Y e t it also evokes a spiritual enterprise. M e n everywhere h a v e their sacred places, not only where the bush burned and was not consumed, or where the ladder stretched f r o m earth to heaven, or where divinity was glimpsed with startled eyes, but also where other men have moved and worked. Florence has been called a d e a d city. She knows no m o r e the illustrious men who made her g r e a t centuries a g o . But it is not the d e a d city which the traveller goes to see, but the sanctified city. M e a s u r e d by our current standards, the place on the A r n o is not progressive. Its houses are not c o m f o r t a b l e . Its streets are not clean. Its people are not prosperous. Y e t the traveller lingers there because he is dwelling in a spiritual city, the home of the illustrious. N o ghost walks there. Y e t should the visitor meet Michelangelo upon the crumbling walls or D a n t e on his threshold, he would not start and find it strange. Florence knows them no more, but her heartlessness, her lack of memory, count f o r nothing since men ever since have sanctified her into an eternal city. W e

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call it her influence, but she has none while she lacks souls to create a civilization and still a world. Spirituality is not a power which can work f r o m behind, pushing on and controlling by its own momentum. I t lives t h r o u g h its recovery by other spirits. W i t h o u t that it is impotent and dead. T h e r e could be no Florence to stir men's minds now, quicken their imaginations, fire their creative zeal, had not men turned Florence into a sacred place, stretching their living personalities to possess her and call her their own. A n d this place—let us risk the c o n t r a s t — t h i s place where the hammer still rings, but not at the w o r k of repair to arrest decay; this hill not yet fully crowned with its citadel of learning; these buildings which point, not backward to a past accomplished, but f o r w a r d , fuller of promise than of retrospect; this city throbbing with life, teeming with multitudes whose eyes, however bewildered, see visions, whose wills, however blindly, stir with unmeasured power, and whose minds, however irrationally, construe the past as a failure—this place, does it know only the lust of the eye and the pride of life? Is it materialized, taunting the souls of men with the pitiless words, " t h e place that knew him shall know him no m o r e " ? I do not ask the question to provoke an answer, to give voice to discontent or eulogy. I ask it to suggest once more the contrast I have made my theme, the contrast between places and men, between the remorselessness of m a t t e r and the spiritualizing enterprise of personality. And I have used my chance illustration to make that contrast vivid by putting side by side a place that is dead, yet sacred, and a place that is living, so full of energy and the dreams of conquest, that to step aside f r o m its business and pause, even f o r one brief hour, to call to mind the times accomplished, and the dead men t h a t live no longer, may seem but the p e r f u n c t o r y recognition of a pious duty. T o remember our dead—you know the scene of M a e t e r linck's Blue Bird, the frightened children in the graveyard waiting the hour when the graves will open and the ghosts appear, the expected hour struck, and then under a new and beautiful light a garden of living flowers and the boy's words, " T h e r e are no d e a d " — t o remember our dead is to be num-

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bered among the living. W e are not met together here to see ghosts, to behold the men we honour pass by in solemn procession while their deeds are called to mind. W e are not tourists reading inscriptions on memorial tablets. W e are the place's continuing soul. T h e spirit of the University is not an idol to be worshipped occasionally, to be called upon to justify our deeds, or to be made a substitute f o r rational enthusiasm. W e may personify it, calling it alma mater, we may embody it in forms of art, sing of it, voice it in boisterous shout, we may hallow it so that nooks and corners are shrines and trees whispering oracles, but this is all the operation of a living spirit, the enlargement of personality to include every fragment of the place and every detail of its history. If the remnants of the past can become so sacred t h a t travellers f r o m the ends of the earth will visit ruins to find them quickened into life by that occasional act of piety, who would venture to estimate the power of a living place with a memory still unbroken, the possibilities of vision and achievement, the opportunities f o r enduring friendship, that mighty solidarity of a continuing group of men engaged in the highest human undertaking, the conquest of matter by the spirit of m a n ? T o remember all those who during their lifetime advanced the honour of the University is thus much more than to remember the past. It is that undoubtedly. I t is a summons to piety, to visit sacred places, to rejoice in good works done, to take holy pride in ancestry. But it is more. It is to be conscious of the spirit of the University, self-conscious, if you will. It is not to look upon Columbia as some external thing which men have honoured, to which they still sacrifice their lives, or give their gifts of money and enthusiasm. I t is to look upon Columbia as the personality continuously vivifying these grounds and halls, replying to that taunt of matter, "the place that knew him shall know him no m o r e , " with the boast of the spirit, "the place that knew him shall have known him through all our years to come." Places and men—the contrast may carry us beyond any local and incidental illustration of it. W h a t is this division of body and soul, of matter and spirit when naturally construed, when taken as a thing to be considered rationally? Or, to put

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the question in another f o r m , imputing design to nature as men are wont to do when they speak o f her, f o r what purpose is m e m o r y denied to places and imagination given to m e n ? Shall we say, T h a t men may f o r a brief season find their way about in a strange world, discover the chemistry and physics o f their bodies, learn the animal affinities o f their passions, discover t h a t t h e i r hopes a r e born in superstition and their religion in the f e a r o f m a t t e r ; and t h a t so enlightened, they should live a literally-minded existence, sobered at last by a steady and unenthusiastic contemplation o f their origin? O r shall we r a t h e r say, T h e purpose was sublime? I t was that nature would keep herself inflexible, true to unchanging laws and yet work an astounding miracle. T o u c h e d by imagination she would become plastic, material f o r a r t and industry, capable even o f t r a n s f o r m i n g a stone into a god. M a t t e r may have produced imagination, but we may say it did so at its cost. A f t e r t h a t it could still obey what we call its laws and be the subject o f physical science; but it had to submit to a process o f idealization. T h e rising sun would still illustrate the principles o f celestial mechanics, but it would shine on places where men would welcome it with ceremony. Buildings would rise subject to gravitation, but would embody an idea and symbolize an enterprise. M e n would die, but ancestors would be worshipped. Places where imagination dwelt would become sacred and the men, who during their lifetime advanced the honour o f those places, would be remembered. N o w all this, I would affirm, is not simply matter for pleasing speculation. I t is not idle fancy. I t is natural history, the simple truth about places and men. I t may be turned into superstition. Because men idealize the stars, they may incorrectly look to the stars to settle the destinies o f men. Because they worship the dead, they may irrationally except the dead to interfere in nature in their behalf. But it is only the stupid and the literally-minded who can not distinguish between the natural function o f the imagination and the imputing o f physical causality to the operation o f the spirit, or who would insist that because the operation o f the spirit has no physical causality, the natural function o f the imagination ought not to be exercised, or if exercised, is trivial and misleading.

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I f there is a place where stupidity and literal-mindedness ought not to dwell, it is in a university like this with its history and its situation. Surely the place is propitious. It has been splendidly endowed by nature, by the accidents of civilization, by the lives and bounty of men. A n d surely the enterprise to which it is committed is human. I t is a place f o r imagination and f o r piety. A n d it is pre-eminently a place f o r these things because of its devotion to science. T h i s I would emphasize. I would emphasize it because devotion to science is so o f t e n thought to be incompatible with the idealizing tendency of the imagination. T h e serious, laboured, renunciatory effort to maintain a steady and true perception of external things, to master the mechanism of nature and of history and of art, destroys many an illusion. Y e t it would be a pity if it destroyed imagination as well. T o be sure w e want to be sane, we want to avoid cant, hypocrisy, and sentimentality. W e want to take ourselves to witness and say that w e have L o v e d no darkness, Sophisticated no truth, Nursed no delusion, A l l o w ' d no fear! 1

But I can not call it sanity to take the k n o w l e d g e that matter is heartless, or that mechanism is careless o f results, or that the fittest survive and the dead are dust, as the organon f o r the enthusiasm of men. So to take that k n o w l e d g e , is to deny to man a thing of which he is capable, the thing that turns his life into an epic. A n d , believe me, there is an epic in this universe of ours as surely as there is an evolution. A sound philosophy, sensible of the contrast between places and men, will confidently behold the larger vision and " l o o k to science f o r its view of the facts and to the lives of men on earth f o r its ideals." 2 W e are met, therefore, to p e r f o r m a pious duty, and we are met also to quicken and deepen the sense o f piety within ourselves; to remember the past without affectation, to worship the dead without superstition, and to rejoice that the place k n o w s and has known men. 1 2

Matthew Arnold, "Empedocles on Etna." G. Santayana, Three Philosophical Poets, p. 5.

T H E

PRACTICE

OF

PHILOSOPHY*

WE ARE often told to be philosophical or to take things philosophically. It is supposed that we rarely are this or do this. Indeed, I suspect that each of us would hesitate to profess that he was a philosopher or that he took things as a philosopher ought to take them. W e may heartily admit that to be this or to do this is an excellent thing, but we hesitate to exhibit ourselves as examples of this excellence, because we are a little afraid of the effect which the exhibition will produce in those who are bidden to observe a rarity. The confession is too naked. I have sometimes found myself in this predicament when among strangers who, as conversation became general, have expressed curiosity about my business or profession—on a journey, for example, when the incidents of travel bring people together who have not met before. For a while, I can hide behind the anonymous title of Mister, as my fellow strangers do, exhausting the weather, prohibition, and the general follies of mankind. If, however, the conversation grows sprightly or a little intimate, curiosity is born in us. W e want to discover who each of us is, what road in life we individually travel. On such occasions, I find that men are quite willing to confess that they are doctors or lawyers or engineers or clergymen or business men or artists, and so on through the generally recognized occupations or professions. But I hesitate to confess that I am a philosopher and still more that I am a professor of philosophy. I have experimented with the confession, but have not been sure about the effect it produces. There is always surprise. As to the rest of it, I am left wondering whether it is disbelief or amusement or a sense of deep waters. A shyness • I n the Institute Magazine, Vol. I l l ( 1 9 3 1 ) , pp. 8-22. T h e second D a v i e s Lecture in Philosophy, delivered before the Institute of Arts and Sciences, M a r c h 2, 1 9 3 1 .

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seems to settle upon my fellow strangers who, before the confession, were anything but shy. If it is not a sense of deep waters, it is, evidently, a sense of strange currents or uncertain winds which makes f u r t h e r conversational sailing h a z a r d ous with a philosopher on board. It may be a compliment to be called a philosopher by others, but to own up to being one actually, is quite a different matter. Between "You are a philosopher" and " I am a philosopher" there is much more than a change of pronouns. T h e r e is a decided change of atmosphere. T h e r e are, perhaps, fair, if not good, reasons f o r this. F r o m lectures I have heard before this Institute and f r o m books I have read, it is clear that much is expected f r o m philosophy and f r o m philosophers, much more than is expected f r o m ordinary men. Plato, you may remember—and everybody says that Plato was a philosopher although he seems not to have said so himself—you may remember that Plato made Socrates say that we should never have good government until philosophers became our governors or our governors became philosophers. Imagine what the Senate would be like if either of these things happened! I have had, however, to point out to my classes that the young men to whom Socrates said these hopeful or hopeless words greeted them with laughter. T h e s e young men had seen philosophers and were quite sure they would not do. Socrates changed their minds, however, by telling them that he did not mean the fellows they knew; he meant genuine philosophers. T h e young men would be glad to have the genuine, but not the existing philosophers. And it has to be admitted that existing philosophers such as you and I could name would not do much better than the Senate. Mankind, generally, has sided with those young men of old and I and my colleagues are still waiting f o r political recognition! W e must admit, if we are honest, that we are human, r a t h e r than genuine, and as much in need of philosophy as anybody else. And philosophy may be said to be something which the governed need more than their governors, the people more than the Senate. A nation of genuine philosophers might not need a governor at all. Another circumstance is worth noting in this connection.

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W e frequently hear it said or read it in books that philosophy is expected to decide all the ultimate questions raised by science and faith. T h e expression " t h e philosophy o f " is familiar — t h e philosophy o f art, o f politics, o f science, of morals, o f religion, of education. T h e expression implies that unless we have the philosophy o f these various matters, we do not have them as they ought to be. One may be religious, for example, but one really ought to have a philosophy of religion to be sure about it. Or one may be a teacher and a good teacher, but one ought really to have a philosophy o f education, if one is to teach the right subjects in the right way and for the right end. Schools are often thought to be in a bad way if there is not a philosophy in them which shapes their courses of study and defines their purposes. T h i s is a popular idea. W e see new schools and new philosophies springing up about us. Now, when it is said that philosophy should give us all this expected assurance and solidity, it is clear that it can do so only through the mouths o f philosophers. And this means quite definitely through my mouth, or Professor Dewey's, or Professor Whitehead's, or M r . Bertrand Russell's, or M r . W a l t e r Lippmann's, or, perhaps, Professor Eddington's, or Sir J a m e s J e a n s ' , or Professor Einstein's. All the members of this distinguished company are in the habit, now and then, of telling others what is right and proper in certain respects. But we are all human beings, men o f like passions with the rest o f men. W e were once crying babies, and although we may have modified the method o f complaining with the world, we are still infants in knowledge when one thinks o f the vast store o f knowledge which must needs be ours if we are to utter those final words which are expected o f philosophy. W e may write confidently and speak confidently, but we dare not profess that we are those genuine philosophers who never provoke laughter or distrust. W h a t I have said has not been said to disparage philosophy or to bring contempt on philosophers. I t has been said, rather, to disparage a certain attitude towards philosophy. I think it is idle to suppose that there is a particular group o f men, called philosophers, who have that superior ability and knowledge which philosophy is supposed to give them. T h e r e are, o f

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course, men of superior ability and knowledge in all the walks of life and they ought to be better leaders to follow than others, but no man is competent to settle f o r others those ultimate problems of life and mind which are settled only by living. I think it is also idle to suppose that there is a body of knowledge called philosophy which, when acquired, will make all the d a r k places in the world clear and bright. F u r ther, I think such a supposition is dangerous. It is dangerous because it fosters the habit of letting life wait until philosophers and philosophy have had their say. T h a t makes life wait too long. W e have the untimely habit of dying before we hear those final words. In saying all this, however, I do not want to be misunderstood. Philosophers and philosophy have wisdom to impart. I t is not, however, their own wisdom. I t is that wisdom which the centuries during which man has lived in the world and thought about it, have been trying to make more habitual than it is in the minds and hearts of mankind. T h e r e is nothing secret about this wisdom and nothing abstruse about it. I t is not difficult to understand although it needs attention to practise it. It is not something f o r a select few to possess in order t h a t they may tell the rest of us where to get on and where to get off. I t is something for everybody to possess. I t is not something to live by; it is a way or habit of living. I t is a thoroughly practical matter. It has long been, so f a r as its expression in words is concerned, a human possession. W e do not have to wait f o r its discovery. But the possession of it in words is worthless unless it is also possessed in practice. T h e r e are, to be sure, theoretical philosophies and many of them. F r o m time to time, great minds, and little minds too, impressed by the strange wonder of the world in which we live, a t t e m p t to make some comprehensive account of it all. T h e y are impatient with partial and f r a g m e n t a r y pictures of it. T h e y want to see it as a whole. So they make systems of the world and we are in the habit of calling these systems philosophy. Some of them are among the most impressive creations of the mind of man. One has only to recall great names like Plato, Aristotle, St. Thomas, Spinoza, Hegel. It is decidedly worth while to become acquainted with such

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minds. One could greatly lengthen t h a t brief list, including many a thoughtful mind whose speculations have enlarged our vision and elevated our imagination. T h e y can save us f r o m pettiness and widen our sympathies. But there is need of an antecedent philosophy to learn f r o m them profitably, the kind of philosophy which the word "philosophy" implies, the practice of t h a t wisdom which the experience of the ages has been trying to teach us. W i t h o u t it, systems of philosophy are apt to be bewildering, to confuse r a t h e r than enlighten. T h e i r appeal is to the disciplined mind. So it is the practice of philosophy which needs cultivation first. If we are not to be swept off our feet by every theoretical wind t h a t blows, old winds and new, if we would live well and not hastily or experimentally, it is of first importance that we take note of t h a t wisdom which the experience of mankind recommends. Philosophy, as you know, is a Greek w o r d . I can not believe t h a t it is only an interesting accident t h a t this word has found a place in almost all the languages of the civilized world without undergoing translation. People have liked it when they have caught its meaning. It gets over into daily speech and will not let itself be monopolized by some to the exclusion of others. W h e n we translate it, we speak of the love of wisdom and recognize that it is apt and worthy to speak t h a t way. W i s d o m is a thing to be loved, to have and to hold. P l a t o went so f a r as to say t h a t if we saw wisdom with our eyes as we see beauty, it would, like beauty, fill us with a longing to possess it. But I leave the praise of it to others. I would speak about the loving of i t — n o t about the theories of philosophers, but about the practice of philosophy; not about a philosophy of life, but about philosophical living. T h e r e are principles of it which can be cultivated and which make less easy the practice of being a fool. L e t me begin with the principle which the Greeks, who coined the word "philosophy," laid down as f u n d a m e n t a l to everything else. T h e y had a story to tell about their Seven Wise M e n , whom they delighted to honour as bright examples of wisdom. These men, so we are told, once made a pilgrimage to the oracle at Delphi. N o w it was the custom of pilgrims to commemorate their visit to that shrine by making a g i f t of the

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best they had to give, a kind of offering of first fruits, as it were. T h e s e men offered the first fruits of wisdom, and the first of them was the maxim: " K n o w thyself." Self-knowledge is the first principle of the practice of philosophy. T h e best definition of self-knowledge I have come upon is the one made by Santayana. H e says it is to know one's own mind or to discriminate clearly what one means and loves. I should like to illustrate this by the old story of our first parents, A d a m and Eve. One can learn something f r o m one's parents, and the older, perhaps, the better. You will remember that only one thing was originally required of our first parents, namely, obedience. T h e y were given a beautiful garden to live in where an abundance of food and drink was provided and where there was no need of artificial clothing or shelter. T h e y were not ashamed. But they were told not to eat the fruit of a certain tree in the garden under the penalty of death. T h e y did not know what death was because they had not experienced it. A serpent visited them. H e told them that he thought they would not surely die, at least not right away, if they ate of the tree. Something else would h a p p e n ; they would become like gods, knowing good and evil. Our first parents were innocent and inexperienced, but they had seen the L o r d and so had some idea of what the serpent was talking about. T h e y had heard what the L o r d had to say, and now they heard what the serpent had to say. Eve looked at the tree and saw that it was good to look at and that the fruit was to be desired to make one wise. So she ate of the f r u i t and gave some of it to A d a m . T h e y did not die at once. Indeed they lived much longer than we do now-a-days—Adam, nine hundred and thirty years. But they became frightened and hid themselves when they heard the L o r d coming. T h e y told him that they hid because they were naked. H e knew t h a t this could not possibly be true unless they told themselves so; so he asked: " H a v e you eaten of the t r e e ? " T h e n Adam's excuse was the woman and Eve's excuse was the serpent. T h e y did not know their own minds. T h e y did not clearly discriminate what they meant and what they loved. If they had, instead of being frightened, they could have said: " W e ate of it to become like thee." T h a t was ap-

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parently why they ate o f it. T h e story says: " W h e n the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took o f the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with h e r ; and he did e a t . " Those, clearly, are excellent reasons for eating fruit even when told not to. But our first parents did not give those reasons to the Lord. Adam's excuse was the woman, and Eve's the serpent. Our first parents fell, not because they disobeyed, but because, having disobeyed, they did not know their own minds. I hesitate to enlarge on so simple and so profound a story. I t is obvious enough that a woman is a poor excuse for what a man does, and a serpent is a poor excuse for what a woman does. I t is needless for us to ask whether the events recorded in the story happened a long time ago. T h e like o f them happens every day in the week. T h e story is evidently true in that realm o f ideas which throws light on human life. T h e fall o f man is a recurring event. W e may take the story of the Garden of Eden as a tale to tell us one thing that is the matter with us. T h e n we should read it in its current setting. W e are frequently advised by serpents that experience rather than obedience is the best teacher, advised, that is, by those who, like the serpent was said to be, are subtle. I have no doubt that this advice is sound, but I think it is also serpentine. F o r experience is no teacher at all unless its lessons are obeyed, unless we are quite sure in our own minds that it is teaching rather than experience that we want. Now the practice of philosophy in this matter of self-knowledge would foster the habit of being clear in one's own mind just which it is one wants when trying something out—experience or teaching. Do we want to have something or learn something? T h a t is a question which searches our minds pretty thoroughly. It can readily be reduced to particulars. W h a t , then, do we want? Love, or what can be learned from love? D o we want marriage, or what can be learned from marriage? D o we want to be divorced, or what can be learned from divorce? W a r , or its lessons? Peace, or what peace can teach? A college experience, or what can be learned from a college experience? Riches with what they can buy, or the les-

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sons of riches ? Pleasure, or the instruction it can give ? W h e r e shall I stop? I must stop somewhere, but I a d d : Religion, or what it teaches? T o live f o r e v e r , or the lessons of immortality? T h e r e is nothing which escapes the searching question. It forces upon us a scrutiny of our choices. Philosophy does not tell us which of the alternations we ought to choose. I t puts the question, but leaves the decision to us. Only it would have us clear in our minds what the decision is which we make. T h e L o r d told our first parents not to eat. T h e serpent advised them that experience is the best teacher. W e like to blame them f o r listening to the serpent instead of to the L o r d , just as A d a m blamed the woman and E v e , the serpent. T h e trouble was, however, that they did not know whether they ate because the tree was pleasant to the eyes or because it was to be desired to make one wise. T h e y were confused and made excuses. I often wonder what would have happened if they had known their own minds and had truthfully told the L o r d why they ate. I often wonder what would happen today, in the home, in society, in schools and colleges, in the nation and in our relations to other nations, if we really knew our own minds and should truthfully tell ourselves, at least, what we really want in leading so abundantly the experimental life, in "living dangerously," as we sometimes say. Is it experience, or the lessons of experience? I have said that philosophy in the practice of it does not tell us which we ought to choose. A n d certainly it does not suggest that we always ought to choose one rather than the other. I t has no objection to having a good time. But it has something to say on the matter of choosing. H e r e it makes its great distinction between wisdom and folly. H e r e it does not hesitate to say that he who in the choice pays no attention to the lessons of experience is a fool. L e t his experience be what it may, he is still a fool. Wisdom is born out of attention to the lessons and grows as that attention grows. J u s t having one experience a f t e r another, no matter how rich and full they may be, philosophy says is the best illustration of a foolish and wasted life. Goethe wrote his great " F a u s t " to illustrate it. But he who chooses experience in the light of its lessons is on the w a y to wisdom. H e needs and has no other guide, but he

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can go f a r . T h i s strikes me as a most f o r t u n a t e circumstance. W e do not have to wait f o r some philosopher or f o r some revelation to tell us w h a t to do. W e can begin to find out without their help. And when we begin, we find at our disposal the great storehouse of the experience of mankind. T h e great lessons of that experience are written so large that one must close one's eyes not to see them. One must make excuses f o r one's ignorance. T h e practice of philosophy has the power to free men and women f r o m the need of a mentor to hold their hands or lead them about. T h e r e was a second m a x i m — t h e r e were only two—which the wise men enshrined at Delphi, the second of the first fruits of wisdom: " N o t h i n g in excess." I t sounds like a practical maxim, one that has to do with conduct. I t is t h a t and, as such, recommends temperance and moderation in whatever one does. But it is also an intellectual maxim and, as such, recommends steadiness of outlook on the world. So we may put down steadiness of mind as the second principle in the practice of philosophy, self-knowledge being the first. T h e two do not go well apart f r o m each other. T h e y are supplemental. T h e first is a direction inward and the second a direction o u t w a r d . T h e y define, thus, an attitude towards the self, on the one hand, and t o w a r d s the world, on the other. T h e y combine to give unity to the practice of philosophy. T o have a steady mind is to keep one's balance or not lose one's mental equilibrium when confronted with w h a t the world seems to be when it is explored and contemplated. I might illustrate this by a story, but I admire t h a t story of our first parents so much that I would leave it without a rival. I could, f o r example, use the story of Job, f o r t h a t thundering voice f r o m the cloud: " W h e r e wast thou when I laid the foundations of the e a r t h ? " was certainly a challenge to J o b to have a steady mind. I begin, however, with a quotation f r o m a letter which a friend, interested in philosophy, recently wrote f r o m the desert of Arizona. H e r e is the quotation: " A f t e r a heavy rain, which comes about twice a year, all sorts of beautiful wild flowers spring up in the sands and rocks, primroses, verbenas, and lilies. T h e y have been latent in the desert all the time, and only need the life-giving rain to make them blossom." T h e s e

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words bring a delightful picture before the imagination. I do not quote them f o r that reason, however, although the delightful picture is worth sharing. I quote them to illustrate steadiness of mind. Desert and flowers and rain may be taken as symbols of many things. W e have only to put other words in their places to get a variety of illustrations. W o u l d one have a steady mind in a desert if one saw the desert only and not also the possibilities of flowers a f t e r r a i n ? T h e illustration is poetical and I always hate to m a r what is poetry by trying to reduce it to some general principle, stated barely and robbed of its appeal to the imagination. W h e n a thing is seen poetically, a general principle rarely looks lovely. Yet I must say, in the interest of developing my theme, t h a t there are many possible pictures of the world and that the practice of philosophy would counsel a steady mind and not a f o r g e t f u l mind when looking at them. T h i s principle also is in need of some reduction to particulars. T h e r e are many people today, as there have been in times past, who, like artists, are busy painting pictures f o r us to look at, pictures of the universe, of E u r o p e , of America, of Russia, of India, of the G r e a t W a r , of education, of marriage, of love, of religion, of sex. T h e y are painted in all sorts of colours and with the evident intention of making a particular impression on those t h a t look at them. T h e r e is need of great steadiness of mind in wandering through that a r t gallery. T h e emotional experience can readily be blinding. T h e r e is need of the cultivated habit of seeing what is on the canvas and what possibilities are l e f t o u t — t h e desert and the flowers or the flowers and the desert. T h i s means much more than seeing both sides of a question, f o r desert and flowers are not two sides of any question. A desert is a desert and a flower is a flower. T h e world contains them both as quite genuine in themselves a p a r t f r o m contrast. T h e one is not one side of something of which the other is the other side. Steadiness of mind sees, not disjunctions but conjunctions, not "either, o r " but "both, a n d . " If one paints the world as a desert, he has left out the flowers, and if he paints it as a flower, he has left out the desert. T h e same is true of Russia and sex. Both are desert and flower. T h i s is important if there is not to be too

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much of something or other. I f e a r that I am getting seduced by poetry, f o r I was about to say that what is needed, is neither desert nor flower, but rain. Perhaps I ought not to have quoted f r o m that letter, f o r a f t e r desert and flowers and rain have been said, it seems that the essential thing about steadiness of mind has been said. But let us forget desert and flowers and rain—only please don't quite f o r g e t them. I want to say something about adjectives and about the universe. Adjectives can be great disturbers of steadiness of mind. I sometimes wonder if the grammarian who invented the name f o r them was not conscious of this, f o r an " a d j e c t i v e " is something which is thrown at something else. Of course all adjectives do not impress one as being hurled at the things or people to which they may be attached, but there are certain of them which, f r o m time to time, are so thrown about that people seem to be either merrily engaged in catching them or warily engaged in dodging them. Different times have their different favourites. T h e r e is just now, f o r example, the adjective " A m e r i c a n . " It is thrown at people and things promiscuously both by ourselves and foreigners. T h e r e seems to be interest in it pretty much all over the world. Foreigners come here to tell us what it means and write books in which we and their compatriots can read about it. Some of us are engaged in confirming by our own actions and books what these foreigners say and others of us try to set them right by telling them what we ourselves think the adjective means. T h e r e seems to be a widespread notion that whatever it means, it is always one hundred per cent. It is a theme f o r many lectures instead of f o r a part of one. But this is an institute of arts and sciences. H e r e it is pertinent to ask if it is a mark of wisdom either in ourselves or foreigners to throw the adjective " A m e r i c a n " as it is so currently thrown, with a scope mounting to one hundred per cent, at art, literature, culture, philosophy, manners, morals, money, and murders? Does it promote steadiness of mind in us when we look at ourselves and our world neighbours, or in them when they look at us and themselves? Is not most of it nonsense and triviality? A n d a kind of nonsense and triviality of which no people on the face of the earth is anywhere near a one hundred per cent illustration? F o r our part, it is

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natural and human to let the h e a r t glow with pride when an American distinguishes himself in any walk o f life. I t becomes us to love our land as others love theirs. B u t it seems at times as if a great part o f the world and many o f our own members were turning an adjective which we love and honour into a missile to make us dizzy. T h e r e is plenty o f room here f o r the practice o f steadiness o f mind. Once started with adjectives which are used like missiles to shake our judgment and not as words to qualify what we mean, where shall we s t o p ? Freudian, conditional, psycho-analytic, Victorian, mid-Victorian, Bolshevik, revolutionary, reactionary, conservative, Puritan, ascetic, liberal, modern, materialistic, sexual, d e m o c r a t i c — a l l such are challenges to have a steady mind. T h e y are fighting and frightening adjectives. T h e y rarely qualify in any helpful way w h a t we do. T h e y tend to make people either timid o r reckless. T h e r e is something both silly and pathetic in seeing in the natural affection between children and parents an Oedipus complex and in looking upon self-restraint and discipline as an ascetic practice which robs life o f its buoyancy. Steadiness o f mind would let the fighting and the frightening adjectives go by and selfknowledge would make it clear whether an adjective was used to steady or to frighten or to unnerve. N o w I turn to the universe. I t is news. Journalists have discovered it. W e are no longer surprised on reading in the morning paper a dispatch from E u r o p e or California that the picture o f the universe has been retouched. Eddington, J e a n s , Einstein, D e S i t t e r , Millikan, Heisenberg, Michelson, and M o r l e y are names that make news and the portraits o f these men appear in the papers. V a s t distances, light-years, the galactic system, gravitation, cosmic rays, the velocity o f light, the structure o f the atom, with such colours as these, the pictures o f heaven and earth are painted. E v e r y effort seems to be made to make us cosmically conscious, to make us conscious o f the world in which we live, in terms o f physics and astronomy. T h e universe around us and even the table at which we write or eat our b r e a k f a s t are described in terms o f ions, electrons, rays, quantums, mass, and so on, terms we do not ordinarily use in describing N e w Y o r k City. I t is an extraordinary

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description. It calls f o r great steadiness of mind. T h e picture of the universe is a very imposing picture and in looking at imposing pictures there is danger of being imposed upon. T h e seat of that danger is not in the picture, but in ourselves, in letting ourselves be so impressed by the picture that we forget what is not there, or, remembering the excluded things, turn the picture to the wall as not worth looking at. Neither of these actions is a sign of wisdom. A mind that cultivates the habit of steadiness would gladly welcome these pictures and try to understand them, but it would never be so deluded or so frightened that it would suppose that they change the face of nature or the character of human life in any essential respect. T h e y are pictures of the world in which we live, but not at all pictures of our living in it. T h e y create no conflict between science and life. T h e y enable man, they do not belittle him. T o say this, to affirm that there is no conflict between science and life, is not to express a hope or a faith, not to offer a comfort to troubled souls. I t is to express a fact. T h e universe is a pretty large thing, much larger than the United States of America. T h e r e is no doubt in my mind— and I do not see how there can be any doubt in anybody's mind—that it contains atoms or something very much like them. T h e evidence f o r that is good. T h e universe contains much more. It contains people, f o r example. N o w what people do is just as interesting and just as important as what atoms do. F o r the people it is f a r more important, f o r , when we think of people, the burning question about the atom is W h a t will people do with it when they find it? T h e atom will not and can not tell them. It may reveal to them a new world of possibilities, but it will never tell them what to do with that world. T h e actions of people as people are not the actions of atoms. Y o u have only to read a book about atoms to discover that this is so. Y o u will not find that the actions of the atoms are described as going to church or to school or to congress. But that is just the way the actions of people are described. Describe people in terms of the atom and we learn absolutely nothing about going to church, school, or congress. Describe the atom in terms of these goings and we learn absolutely nothing about it. T h i s is not theory or faith

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or c o m f o r t . I t is just f a c t . W e m a y wish t h a t we had a t h e o r y to explain why this is just so, but if we suppose t h a t we must have a t h e o r y first b e f o r e we can recognize t h a t it is so and act on t h e recognition of it, it would be a blessing f o r us to hear a voice t h u n d e r i n g f r o m the c l o u d s : " W h e r e w a s t thou when I laid the f o u n d a t i o n s of t h e e a r t h ? " T h a t m i g h t help to steady our minds. T h e o r i e s of life and t h e w o r l d which are called philosophical, a r e one t h i n g ; the love of wisdom, which is called philosophy, is a different thing. T h e theories call f o r much knowledge. T h e love calls f o r practice a n d the answer to this call does not h a v e to wait until the k n o w l e d g e is acquired a n d the theories h a v e h a d their say. N o t h e o r y is required in o r d e r to practise k n o w i n g one's own mind or to practise steadiness of o u t l o o k on the w o r l d . T h e s e , the first f r u i t s of wisdom, may be eaten by every A d a m and every E v e without disobedience or shame and w i t h o u t the f e a r of losing p a r a d i s e .

THE

PREFACE

TO

MORALS*

THERE is on page nine of W a l t e r Lippmann's A Preface to Morals a sentence which as the preface to morals has no rival whatever. A f t e r portraying the modern man who has ceased to believe without ceasing to be credulous, hanging as it were between heaven and earth, and at rest nowhere, M r . Lippmann has this to say of h i m : " T h e r e is no theory of the meaning and value of events which he is compelled to accept, but he is none the less compelled to accept the events." T h a t sentence interrupted my reading of the book. It lost its context. It made me forget the modern man and made me think of every man. It took on the character of an oracle, the authoritative utterance of a god of whom pilgrims had asked a revelation to end their perplexities: " T h e r e is no theory of the meaning and value of events which you are compelled to accept, but you are none the less compelled to accept the events." T h u s personally addressed, this oracle did not prompt me to question its t r u t h ; it prompted me to follow its lead. I became so occupied with this that it seemed that I was not reading a book peculiarly relevant to the modern situation, but that I was reading about a great episode in which every man plays his part in response to that oracle as his cue. W e are compelled to accept events. T h e r e is no doubt of that. They are what they are and they operate as they do. W e deal with them as best we can. They clamour f o r attention. T o get out of the way of one is to get in the way of another. T h e r e is no escape f r o m them while life lasts, and we often wonder if there is escape f r o m them when life is over. They make of living a mixture of good and evil, happiness and misery. W e assign to them degrees of importance as they affect our well-being. Yet our fate seems to be in their hands, for it is by events we are mastered in the end. Yes, • I n the Yale Review,

Vol. X X ( 1 9 3 1 ) , pp. 691-704.

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we are compelled to accept events, but a m o n g their number is to be counted the oracle itself as an eventual issue of trying to think the matter through. I am sensible of some trouble with the verb " c o m p e l . " Obviously w e are not compelled to accept events without doing something about them. W e do o r can g o to a doctor when we a r e ill o r to the experienced when we need guidance. W e are not helpless in the hands of events, but our f r e e d o m here is, in the end, no more than the acceptance of one set of events as against another. W e are helped only by being in their hands, and this is w h e r e the compulsion resides. A g a i n , beliefs are sometimes said to be compelling and f o r c e d upon us against our will. T h e o r i e s of the meaning and value of events h a v e been, and are, held with unshaken and perhaps unshakable confidence by many w h o find them irresistible. Indeed, it m a y be said that some such theory, even if inarticulately expressed, e v e r y man is compelled to h a v e . T h e moment he begins to j u s t i f y himself, either to himself or others, he is set on its w a y . T h e s e f a c t s need not be doubted. T h e y would convict the oracle of e r r o r and p r o v e it to be no oracle at all were it true that the compulsion here did not v a r y in its character, its motivations, and its results. F e a r , desire, shame, hope, the pressure of authority and tradition, the conventions of society and the intellectual temper of associates m a y compel acceptance when acceptance would otherwise be denied. E v e r y m a n — c e r t a i n l y I m y s e l f — c a n confess that he has sometimes accepted a theory because he was a f r a i d of w h a t w o u l d be said of him if he did nbt, and sometimes because he w a s a f r a i d that a g l o r y might leave the earth. Some f a i t h to cling to may o f t e n be a poignant necessity in one's life, but the character of the f a i t h is determined by the character of the necessity. F a i t h s born of exuberance and the fullness of l i f e are born in that w a y . Circumstances may compel and the character of their compulsion determine the character of the theory accepted. A n d this is abundantly confirmed when w e examine the results of these compulsions, the theories which spring up as a consequence of them. T h e y are all equally acceptable if we d i s r e g a r d the circumstances which produced them. T h e y become r i v a l s f o r acceptance when these circum-

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stances are taken into account. If among them all there were one which of itself compelled and forced the intellect to assent, so that by it the meaning and value of events were m a d e unmistakably clear, it might be read even by him who runs. Such a theory may be desired, but it is not possessed in human experience. T h e oracle is, then, to be read in the light of this experience. W e are compelled to accept the fall of the apple, but we are not compelled to accept the theory of gravitation. W e are compelled to accept the rising and setting of the sun, but we are not compelled to accept either the Ptolemaic or Copernican astronomy. W e are compelled to accept the events made evident by scientific research, but we are not compelled to accept a theory of these events. Experience and history are the proof of all this. And the same contrast between facts and events on the one hand and theories and interpretations on the other, confronts us when we pass f r o m such impersonal illustrations to those more personal. Sex we must accept, but no theory of it; a soul in each of us, but no theory of it; the moral differences and conflicts in human society, but no theory of t h e m ; the religious beliefs and practices the world over, but no theory of them. All such facts and events define in clear and unmistakable terms the kind of circumstances under which we have to lead our intimate and personal lives. W e can not escape them and still live. But when it comes to dealing with them in terms of a theory of their significance and value which is as clear and unmistakable as they are, then history and experience have none to offer. They give us the oracle instead. And it may now be seen that the oracle is no respecter of theories. It recognizes no distinction between the scientific, the moral, and the religious. It embraces them all and casts suspicion on the habit of mind which fosters the belief that the adjectives "scientific," " m o r a l , " and "religious" make a mighty difference in the matter of acceptability. Suppose, I find myself asking, there were a theory of the meaning and value of events which we were compelled to accept, what would be the consequence? Questions contrary to fact are difficult to answer. T h i s one, however, is somewhat relieved by the circumstance that adoption of any

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theory o f meaning and value has consequences which can be examined. Once adopted, the theory does compel. T h e r e are many such theories, each with its company o f adherents. T h e y may have much in common. T h e y may o f t e n be tolerant o f one another, but at the last, each has its exclusive particularity, without which it would lose its character. H e r e it demands all or nothing. H e r e it is stubborn and imparts its stubbornness to those who hold it. T h e y obey, not because they choose, but because they must. T h e y are compelled to accept. Such is the effect o f a compelling theory. A t the extremity, there is no choice under it. T h e r e is a choice only between it and some other. I have been told, but I do not know whether it is true, that under the theory t h a t events are all for G o d ' s glory, candidates for the Christian ministry were sometimes asked as a crucial test o f their faith if they would be willing to be damned f o r the glory o f G o d . I t was a crucial test, f o r with a negative answer faith in the theory vanished. A n affirmative answer in a particular case might be eased by the egotistic expectation that G o d would not demand a sacrifice so extreme, but there were the damned to witness to God's glory. T h e ultimate consequences o f a compelling theory are thus hazardous for the theory itself. T h e y demand the virtue o f consistency, but they provoke the prudential question o f transferring that virtue to another allegiance. T h i s is the story o f human experience. Choices tend at last to ultimate breakingpoints. It is a familiar story. I o f t e n wonder at the way we play with it, finding delight in its representation in literature and on the stage. W e dramatize it, bringing laughter to our lips and tears to our eyes over the fate o f imaginary creatures caught in the entanglement o f their own choices. T h e broken promise, the broken vow, the broken faith, which are comic or tragic enough as realities in the day's work, become themes for an ideal sublimation to enchant us in our moments o f leisure. A r t comes to rival nature in our enthusiasms so t h a t we sometimes give g r e a t e r honour to him who paints life well than to him who lives it well. Although the business o f life is living—the compelled acceptance o f events and the dealing with these for better or w o r s e — w e love commentaries on it, philosophies o f it, and even agonized renderings

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o f it. W e know w h a t living i s — b i r t h , food, sleep, work, joy, sorrow, love, death, yet we want to be shown what it is. I t s natural opposite is death, but our favourite opposites are art, literature, science, morals, and religion. And not content with dramatizing our own lives, we dramatize the universe and tell stories o f its entanglement in its fate. I must not, however, f o r g e t the oracle and be diverted from it by letting a picture o f our idiosyncrasy possess my imagination. Picture and oracle may be put side by side and the question asked whether the picture could be drawn if the oracle were not sound. I f there were a theory o f the meaning and value o f events which we were compelled to accept, would there be any interest whatever in the picture or any excitement about i t ? W o u l d there be any interest even in the t h e o r y ? I t is, doubtless, b e t t e r to be certain than perplexed in a perplexing world, but in a world o f certainty, there would be nothing t o be perplexed about. I f there were a theory o f the meaning and value o f events which we were compelled to accept, it seems certain that there would go out o f life the elements which give it the meaning and value which it evidently possesses without any theory at all to support them. T h e absence o f such a theory seems, therefore, to be a matter o f some importance. I confess that I grow more and more astonished at those who seem to find in the oracle the last word in despair and fondly suppose that we should be much better off if the oracle were not true. I must believe that they have not sounded the m a t t e r to the bottom. T h e r e is a popular literature o f disillusionment and defeat. T h e r e is much publication o f the devastating effect o f modern science and modern criticism on man's moral and religious life. Old illusions are now gone, and there are no new illusions to take their place. Achilles ponders in his tent. T h e kings of modern thought are dumb. Silent they are, but not content, A n d wait to see the future come.

All this may describe a mood. W e may, with M r . Krutch, label it " t h e modern t e m p e r , " when we forget the many

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who do not share it and who may yet claim to be intelligent and modern and t o have emancipated minds. B u t a show o f hands in a m a t t e r o f this kind is not proper. Dispute about a label is unprofitable. I t is, however, pertinent to ask whether the oracle is the last word in disillusionment and despair or the first word in sanity and wisdom. Is it the end of the philosophy o f life or the beginning o f i t ? T a k i n g it as a beginning one may discover in it a very precise definition o f what morality is. A precise definition is never discovered by comparing the shifting laws, customs, rules o f conduct, or religions which diversify mankind into alien groups the world over. T h e s e are what they are, instruments o f administration and control or o f edification and spirituality. T h e y are brought to bear on the moral situation in the interest o f regulating or sanctifying it. But the m o r a l situation is there first. T h e verbal kinship between the words " m o r a l s " and " m o r a l i t y , " or the f a c t t h a t a logician may see in the latter the abstract o f the f o r m e r , ought not to be allowed to obscure a very concrete and a very evident distinction in the facts to which these words are relevant. T o be obliged to accept events, to work with them and adjust them in order to live well, and to do this without being compelled to accept a theory o f their meaning and value, is something very real and very concrete, and something very different f r o m having shifting opinions and beliefs, o r living up to a code or worshipping a god. I t is this compulsion which makes men make morals and which makes them religious. It is not the other way around, as if this compulsion were the product o f legislative authority or priestly c r a f t . H u m a n history can not be adequately read in that fashion, for it is the initial compulsion to morality in us all t h a t gives the king and priest their power. T o get the distinction between morals and morality, the situation defined by the use o f power and the situation defined by the oracle should be put side by side. T h e r e is then no mistaking the difference. M o r a l i t y is then self-revealed. In view of this revelation it is very f a r f r o m a just and realistic picture o f human beings to see in them ultimately the victims o f caprice, folly, or illusion, desperately trving to decide whether they ought to be Puritans or libertines,

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object; here is the subject. T h e r e is all possible experience; ¿ere is my actual and incomplete experience. " T h e r e " and "here" is the basal c o n t r a s t ; a n d as " h e r e " is " n o w , " time is genuine, but it is never " t h e r e , " f o r if it were, all would be "here" and " n o w . " The picture of the w o r l d which the notable achievements of knowledge lead us to f o r m t o d a y is the picture of a w o r l d in the making, an incomplete and unfinished world, a w o r l d which has had a past and will have a f u t u r e . I t is almost needless to say t h a t this picture is f o r m e d under the controlling influence of biological and evolutionary conceptions. I t is the picture of the w o r l d as a t h i n g with a history. A n d this history discloses not the possible successive a r r a n g e m e n t s o r relations of the elements of one vast whole which is always there, but, if we m a y speak of a whole at all, it discloses t h a t whole as itself changing and growing, as a t h i n g which could never be grasped by any mind as one single f a c t and one g r e a t t r u t h . The possibility of permanence in the w o r l d is not space, as with Kant, but time, f o r we can say of things t h a t t h e place which knew t h e m knows t h e m no m o r e . Only t h a t is p e r m a n e n t which lasts, but space held much which it holds no longer. Thus time tends t o become as d o m i n a n t and controlling a factor in our thinking as space w a s f o r m e r l y . I t is D a r w i n ' s picture which tends to replace t h a t of N e w t o n . A w a r n i n g should doubtless be sounded lest philosophers, with their imaginations fired by the m o r e recent vision, should forget t h a t t h e r e is the spacious firmament on high, lest they should exalt the w o r l d ' s ceaseless flux, but neglect its stable factors. Yet, even so, it needs little wit to see t h a t the newer vision means a radical t r a n s f o r m a t i o n of philosophy. M o s t radical, I think, is the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n likely t o be w r o u g h t in our conception of t h o u g h t and its relation t o the rest of things. I t seems to me very difficult f o r one t o believe t h a t consciousness is an event in the w o r l d ' s history and still hope to u n d e r s t a n d t h a t event, still hope to t h r o w light on the relation of t h o u g h t to the rest of things, if he follows the traditional lines of m o d e r n epistemology and psychology. H o w can one longer deal with the old antitheses between the ego and the non-ego, subject and object, the mind and the w o r l d ,

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T h e practice o f f r a m i n g some system o f things, in which man and everything else have their ordered and appointed places, is very ancient and very human. T h e story o f the world is an interesting and fascinating story. T h e attempt to write it ought not to be set down as wholly futile, for history and experience prove that it is not. I t is pertinent to ask, however, how f a r the solution o f human problems is, as a matter o f fact, dependent on the solution o f cosmic problems. I t is all the m o r e pertinent in view o f the current promulgation of the opinion t h a t our m o r a l s must be all at sea because an inherited system, a cosmology, which made the earth and man the centre o f things, has been so progressively shattered since the days o f Copernicus. I t can be a healthy exercise f o r any man with a tendency towards cosmology to review a typical day o f his life, f r o m the time he gets up in the morning to the time he goes to bed at night, asking himself how much the solution o f cosmic problems has had to do with the solution o f the human problems he has met in that one day. L e t him review his actions f r o m the most trivial to the most important, neglecting neither the claims o f his body nor the propinquity o f his neighbour. L e t him not neglect the claims o f his soul. L e t him be saint or sinner, but let him be thorough. L e t him search diligently f o r every instance o f which he can truthfully s a y : " H e r e my conduct was m o t i v a t e d by the claims o f a cosmology which I or others have f r a m e d . " I t is a healthy and an illuminating exercise. T h a t he will admit some such instances is fairly certain, but it is equally certain that they will be few. And it is likely that the m o r e he examines these few, the m o r e clearly he will see t h a t cosmological problems are important f o r human problems only because human problems are important first. J u s t because there can be loss o f faith and t h a t loss is perilous, just because there can be enfeebling disillusionment, blank despair, excessive exuberance, and cruel bigotry, the moralist needs repeatedly to advise us how little an antecedent cosmology has to do with the concrete business o f human living. H e renders us no service by pointing out t h a t the cosmologies which science makes leave us hopeless, and the cosmologies which religion makes are illusions.

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Indeed, if he is profoundly conscious o f t h a t intellectual f r e e d o m and moral power which the oracle uncovers, he may profitably pass from human life to life at l a r g e . H e will insist that every system o f things, to be worth the paper it is written on, must make room f o r living beings since they with all their peculiarities are just as much and just as fully events in the cosmos as the flashing o f electricity or the concentration o f the hydrogen ion. H e will call the natural historian to his aid. U n r o l l i n g before us the a m a z i n g p a n o r a m a o f life, he will drive home the most obvious o f all cosmological facts, namely, t h i s : since the cosmos is equally responsible f o r everything it produces, none o f its products is less a product than any o t h e r , and every one o f them throws some light on what the cosmos is. W i t h a mixture o f malice, irony, and wisdom, he will put to cosmologists such naive questions as t h i s : I s a mosquito's bite or a bird's song cosmically any m o r e futile, trivial, or meaningless than the polarization o f l i g h t ? Old X e n o p h a n e s is credited with s a y i n g : " I f oxen and lions had hands and could paint, oxen would paint gods like oxen, and lions like l i o n s . " T h e r e m a r k has been considered profound. I t s profundity is m a r r e d by the f a c t t h a t neither oxen nor lions have hands and neither o f them paint. T h e y lack this ministration to their lives and yet live like oxen and lions. T h e y , like the lilies o f the field, may have a m o r a l lesson to teach man, the lesson o f life at large, the lesson o f possibility. I n the m a t t e r o f cosmologies, the choice is not between a scientific cosmology and a religious cosmology, but between no cosmology at all and one which allows life to have precisely the significance and value which it has as a m a t t e r o f fact. T h e light that human living throws upon the cosmos is as g o o d a light as we have. W e can not better it. I t is part o f the cosmos and the cosmos is, obviously, competent to produce it. I t can be exceptional o r miraculous only when p r o j e c t e d against a background which requires it to be exceptional or miraculous. I t is natural when nature is conceived to include it. I t is supernatural when it and nature are conceived to be ultimately and unintelligibly antithetical. T h i s alternative appears to me to be unescapable. I f we do not take human life as a natural event in precisely the same way as we take any

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other event as natural, then we are forced to deal with it in other terms than the terms of nature. T h i s fact needs more deliberate attention than it often receives. In a good deal of current thinking suggestions of the supernatural are taboo, in spite of the fact that it is just this kind of thinking which involves a distinction between what is and what is not nature. T o insist that life is only accidental to natural processes and that these pursue their inevitable way entirely irrelevant to the fact that they none the less support life, is definitely to exclude life f r o m the realm of nature. T o those who take this view, there is a realm which is nature and a realm which is not nature. Into the latter, they contend, go man's thoughts, his literature, his poetry, his morals, and his religion. Since he thinks and writes, and dreams and worries and prays, it ought not to surprise anybody that when he turns cosmologist, he invents a scheme of things which finds no place or date in nature's space and time. I f between him and nature there is only separation and indifference, it is not likely that he will look to nature f o r light on his own separate capacity or on the things which to him are anything but indifferent. I f , as against nature, his life is a dream, he can find no possible advantage in being awake. I do not propose to question this divorce between nature and life, nor to examine the arguments which support it. I am willing to let it stand, f o r it is by letting it stand that the importance and significance of its implications are disclosed. T h e moment the processes of nature are defined to be wholly antithetical to the quality and character of life, the distinction between the natural and the supernatural is factually made. If f r o m the point of view of nature, life is without significance and value, no consideration of nature can lend it value and significance. L i f e deals with these in wholly different terms. It may be true, as William J a m e s somewhere suggested, that " w e do not cry because we are sorry, but are sorry because we c r y , " but then the value and significance of sorrow in human life will never be discovered by the study of physiology. Sorrow will do as it does and find expression in language which can not possibly describe the lachrymose glands. It seems to me, consequently, to be anything but sur-

ADDRESSES prising that scientists should often be religious or that physicians should sometimes go to church. Nature can not be left wholly free from the language of the emotions without leaving that language relevant to something which is not nature. And the language of the emotions is a good part of the language of men. But "nature" is a slippery term. In spite of our efforts to restrict it to that field of inquiry which demands the language of quantity and number only, it returns to mock us, as I myself now illustrate by saying that we fall naturally into personification. We habitually speak of nature as "she" instead of as " i t , " owning a mother who does nothing in vain although she follows lines of least resistance. It is difficult indeed so to describe her or conceive her that she becomes wholly alien in character to our character. Neither this difficulty nor the natural habit, however, is any proof that there is not something to be called "nature" which is wholly impersonal and which can be discovered by those methods and expressed in that language which are neither the methods nor the language we employ when dealing with life as a mixture of good and evil, of success and defeat. Yet both are proof of something none the less. They prove, and it seems to me that they prove conclusively, that a wholly impersonal language is not adequate to what the scheme of things is. What can be said in such a language is very f a r from all that can be said. Indeed it often seems as if nothing said in that impersonal language is wholly intelligible until it is translated into another. W e must learn, for example, that 2 + 2 = 4. But what does that expression mean as something numerical only? I confess that I have spent weary hours and read dreary books in an effort to find out. Yet a child two years old can be led to some suspicion that in two more years it will be four. By operating within the framework which the arithmetical expression describes, the child finds memory, significance, and a prophecy. A language in itself impotent has been translated into a language of promise and power. Here is a type of event we are compelled to accept. The more I consider it, the more it impresses me as the only kind of event in the scheme of things wherein significance and value are found. It is not

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limited to human experience. I t is not limited to things that live. It seems to be found e v e r y w h e r e . T h e impersonal lang u a g e of an impersonal nature describes nothing that happens. It describes only the f r a m e w o r k o r f r a m e w o r k s within which something may or can happen, and it is only as something happens that significance and value can be at all. T h i s m a t t e r may be put in a different w a y . O u r experience and our inquiries are ample p r o o f that the l a n g u a g e of quantity and number alone, a l a n g u a g e , that is, which deliberately eliminates f r o m its vocabulary terms like " s e e k i n g , " " f i n d i n g , " "joy," "sorrow," "triumph," "defeat," "purpose," "design," " p r o p h e c y , " " p o w e r , " is a l a n g u a g e inadequate to the f a c t s and uses of existence. It does not and can not express to the f u l l w h a t existence is. T h e recognition of this does not impugn the validity or the p o w e r of t h a t l a n g u a g e . It does, howe v e r , make other languages legitimate. T h e r e are f a c t s of existence which can be expressed only in such terms as the languages of poetry, art, m o r a l s , and religion employ. I t is difficult to see how these l a n g u a g e s could be if there w e r e nothing in existence to support them. A n d it is also difficult to see how they could h a v e the character and exactness of the language of quantity and number, and then remain unspoiled. T h a t character w o u l d ruin them as effectively as their character ruins it. So f a r as we seek to get existence p r o p e r l y expressed, we find that our seeking is r e w a r d e d only by the use of more languages than one. T h i s also is an event we are compelled to accept, and its acceptance is our most precious possession. In times like ours, o r like w h a t ours are said to be, times of unhappy m o r a l perplexity, w h a t is needed is not some new theory of the meaning and v a l u e of events which will banish perplexity f o r a season, but a renewed contemplation of what existence is like. I t is the simple and the obvious that needs emphasis, not the complicated and the obscure. A n d the obvious here calls f o r a sane and liberal cultivation of the languages of life, a cultivation which recognizes that the purposes these languages s e r v e can never be expressed in a l a n g u a g e that says only 2 + 2 = 4. Recently I made a p i l g r i m a g e to t w o shrines, M o n t Saint M i c h e l and C h a r t r e s . It is true that I did not g o like the

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pilgrims of old, on naked or sandalled feet, with a burden on my back and a staff in my hand. I went in luxury, a luxury at which they would have marvelled and which they would have despised, seeing in me an affront to their devotion instead of an illustration of it. Yet I went as a pilgrim. M y purpose was devout even if my approach was luxurious. E v e r since my reading of the book by H e n r y Adams, M o n t Saint Michel and C h a r t r e s have been shrines in my imagination. I had not seen them before. I had read of them and talked of them, and I had been led to believe t h a t if I went there something would happen to me. H e n r y A d a m s had invested them with a quality which I had found elsewhere, as in the moving ruins of T i n t e r n Abbey, but had never found with quite that mastering effect which he had led me to believe was to be felt in their presence. A t C h a r t r e s everything that needs forgiveness seems to be forgiven, and at M o n t Saint Michel everything that is difficult seems to find a triumph in its difficulty. Both were built by men, but by men possessed by what they built, men who were but instruments in the hands of forces t h a t mastered them. U n d e r the spell of these shrines, it seemed as if man had never produced them by his art, in an effort to embody his imagination in a structure, but as if nature had produced them, using man for her subtle purposes, as she uses soil and moisture and sunlight, to diversify existence with illustrations of her power.

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AGAIN.

Vol. X X X I I I ( 1 9 3 6 ) , pp. 561-568. • A p p e a r s in this v o l u m e .

Journal

of

Philosophy,

INDEX

INDEX

Absolute: philosophy of the, 374, 376 Absolute surrender, 212 Absolutism: revolt against, 320 Accessibility of nature, 424, 426 Accidental advantage, 116 Action, defect in: cause of deception of the senses, 392, 395, 399 Adam and Eve, story of, 462 Adams, Henry, 483 Adaptation, 65 ff.; of nature, 113, 1 1 $ , 118 ff. Addison, Joseph, 375 Adjectives: abuse of, 467 Administration, wise, 259, 262 Advancement of Learning, The, 429 n i^schylus, 419 Alembert, Jean le Rond d', 376 Algebra, universal, 292, 295 Alteration, 51, 52 American: abuse of term, 467 Analysis: explanation from, 3 1 ; pragmatic, 219, 226 Ancestors: intellectual history, 251 Ancient Mariner: excerpt, 197 Andronicus of Rhodes, 96, 98 Animal Intelligence, 40$ n Antaeus, 175 Antecedent reality, 233 Antecedents, 138 ff.; discovered after the event, 422 Appearance and reality: distinction between, 39, 390 ff. Appearance and Reality: excerpt, 373 Apprehension: see Awareness Archimedes, 85 Argument from design: see Design Aristotle, 4, 9, 10, 1 1 , 38, 48, 52, 62, 120, i«7, 173. 23S, 240, 241, 272, 273, 292, 424, 460; definition of reality, 316; indebtedness to, 3, 5, 2 1 ; metaphysics, 22 ff., 95 ff.; principles of natural powers and of natural pro-

prieties, 256; quoted, 96, 2$8, 439; theory of mind and body, 333, 372 Arizona desert, 465 Arnold, Matthew: quoted, 9, 13, 419, 456; social influence, 88 Art: and nature, 114 ff., 240; defined, 176; racial developments the interventions of, 175, 180, 1 8 1 ; use the finality of, 1 1 5 ; value to, existence, ,s6

.

Association of ideas, 17 Astronomy: elevated to ideal of knowledge, 376 Atoms and the void, 207, 212 Attainment and desire: contrast between, 332 Auditory nerve, 367 Augustinian ideas about history, 178 Automatism, 327 Awareness, 340, 369 Background of civilization, 79 ff. Bacon, Francis, 441; on learning, 429, 433 Bacon, Roger, 441 Behaviour, 183-92; connection between structure and, 183 ff.; distinctions in terms of ends accomplished, 190; a teleological matter, 186 ff.; the thing which psychology investigates, 405 n Being conscious, 420 ff. Bent stick, 390 ff. Bergson, Henri, 169, 420 Berkeley, George, 8, 105, 323, 328, 329, 42'. 422, 425; quoted 356, 360 Bestimmung des Menschen, Die, 246 Bible: story of creation, 193 Biology: determination of structure, 1 5 1 ; relation of logic to, 64 ff. Blue Bird, 453 Body: and mind, 167 ff., 174, 333, 403; distinguished from soul, 24t, 451 ff.

5oo

INDEX

Bois-Reymond, Emil du, 376 Bradley, Francis Herbert, 207; quoted, 373

B r a g g , Sir William: optical theories, 264 ff. B r a i n : interpretation with vision, 270, 2 9 1 ; service, 370 Bridgman, Percy Williams, 224, 2 2 5 ; quoted, 265 Browning, Robert: social influence, 88 Bruno, Giordano, 105 Bush, W. T., 147 n, 419 Categories: doctrine, 77, 323, 344 Causation, 369; category of, 120 ff. Causes: final, 104; of being and becoming, 2 1 ; of evolutionary progress, 140, 144 Certainty, 231, 232 Chance: and necessity, 116 ff.; doctrine, 52 Change, 51, 52 Chartres and Mont Saint Michel, 482 Chemistry: discovery of structures, 1 5 0 Child: speech a creative power to, 194 Cicero: quoted, 80 Circle: appearance and reality, 400 Civilization: changing background, 79 S.; modern, 250 ff., 434; the result of mental development, 175 Cogitation, 406 Cognition: and consciousness, 297-426; deception of the senses not significant for, 392; problem, 359; tangling, 414-17 College: appraisal of, 430; basal functions, 432; ideals for, 431. See also University Colour: existence when not perceived, 7 ; sensations of, 403, 407, 409, 412 Columbia University, 454 Compulsion, 472 Comstock and Troland, The Nature of Matter and Electricity, 151 n Conflicts, human, 12 Confusion: passage from, to order, 325 Consciousness, 6$, 276; akin to space, time, and species, 308; and cognition, 297-426; and object, 382-88; as a receptivity, 326; basal misconception in modern theories of, 386; biological expression of nature of,

371 ; cognitive relation between being and not being conscious, 422, 426; conception, 321 ff.; definition confused, 403 ; dependent existence, 3 1 2 ; an epiphenomenon, 381, 386; essential features, 344; the existence of logical relations, 36 s ; initial concept, 341 ; isolation of individual, 309; nature of, 307-15, 372; not definable in terms of the qualities of which we are conscious, 403, 412 ; objects in, 307; problem of, 321-45, 334 ff., 418-26; processes, 2 9 9 8 . ; reducing manifestations to combinations of elements, 301 ; relating different consciousnesses, 3 1 0 ; relational theory, 335 ff., 387; sensations not the primary objects of, 403, 406 ff. ; the sense organs, and the nervous system, 365-72; states of, 314, 320, 324, 336; states of, obey only mental laws, 329; successive, 3 3 7 ; teleology of, 129 ff.; Thilly's theories of, 381 ff. ; what being conscious is, 420; whether a function of the stuff of experience, 418, 426 Continuity, 47 ff., 3 1 5 ; in development of race, 1 7 7 ; of man, 179 Continuum of objects: consciousness defined as, 309 ff. Control: attainment of, 191 Copernicus, 85, 375, 478 Corpuscular theory of light, 265 Cosmic evolution, 136 Cosmos in light of human living, 479 Courage, 231, 232 Creation, 193-205; doctrine of, 193-98 Culture a treasure of humanism, 88 Daily life as opportunity, 256 Dante, 98 Darwin, Charles, 64, 333, 377 Death, 451 ; influence lives after, 452, 453; instant, 2 1 1 Decay: present-day, 250, 259 Deception of the senses: see Senses Deduction, 343 Democritus, 105, 1 1 7 , 347; on substance, 206 ff. Descartes, René, 16, 37, 105, 278, 283, 284, 321-22, 420, 441

INDEX Design: argument from, as affected by the theory of evolution, 29-36; in nature, 116 ff., 130 Desire and attainment: contrast between, 332 De Sitter, Willem, 468 Dewey, John: exposition of the real, 316 ff.; influence, 230; philosophy, 2JO-39; quoted, 231, 234, 235, 238, 317 Dialectic and experience, 230-39 Dialogues in Umbo, 4, 206 Dioptrica Nova, 270 n Discourse, 292 ff.; total universe of, 162 ff. Disillusionment, 475 Distance, 224 Doubt, 6 Dreams and illusions, 410, 489 n Ear, 367 Ebbinghaus: quoted, 13, 14; methods, 14 Economic value of speech, 202 Eddington, Sir Arthur Stanley, 221, 222 n, 226, 279, 459, 468 Education: appraisal of, 442 ff.; basal function, 429 ff. Edwards, Jonathan: quoted, 24 Efficiency in age of naturalism, 80 Einstein, 199, 459, 468 Emerson, Ralph Waldo: quoted, 442 Emotional poverty, 88 Emotional responses to nature, 132 Emotional richness, 89 "Empedocles on Etna," 456 n Empiricism, 5, 14 ff.; immediate, 316; radical, 3 2 1 ; Spinoza's freedom from, 19 Ends: in nature, 187 ff. End-term conception of mind: see Mind Enterprise of learning, 429-39 Environment: interaction between organism and, 387 Environment, exclusive: individual existence the definition of, 280 Epiphenomenon: consciousness on, 381, 386 Epistemology, 278 ff., 335, 346-64; central problem, 354; doctrine of ideas, 325; does not alter methods of positive knowledge, 357; distinguished

501

from metaphysics, 43 ff. See also Knowledge Essay concerning Human Understanding, 346, 408 Essays Philosophical and Psychological in Honor of fFilliam James, 9 Eternal : philosophy of, 376 "Ethica Nicomachea," 439 Ethics : significance of metaphysics for, 106; Spinoza's, 20 Euclid: pragmatic analysis of procedure of, 219 Events: antecedents discovered after, 422 ; compulsion to accept, 471 ff. ; contrasted with theories and interpretations, 472 Evolution, 134-48; antecedents and causes, 138 ff.; as history, 134ff.; causes, 140, 144; cosmic, 136; expectations, 137; intelligence a factor, 146; method of, 134; modifies conception of body, 333 ; modifies conception of ideas, 334; place in consciousness, 34s ; progressive, 144; science of, 143 ; theory of derived consciousness, 332 Evolution, theory of: argument from design as affected by, 29-36 ; compared with Platonic theory, 33 ; conception of mind and, 321 ; influence upon philosophical method, 64; intelligence, 110 Evolutional Ethics: cited, 30 Exclusive environment, 280 Existence, 97, 107; search for adequate expression of, 195 ; seeking vs. finding, to Expectations, 137 Experience: and dialectic, 230-39; and ideas, 5, 14ft., 2 1 ; and reality, 378; choice between teaching and, 463 ; cognitive, 316-20; constitutes no distinction between knower and known, 374; idealistic doctrine, 323; kinds, 318 ff., objective and subjective: physical and psychical, 3 1 3 ; personal, 278, 279 ff. ; pragmatism a recommendation to, 218 ; reflective, 365 ; relation to what is experienced, 414 ff.; sensory content, 370; a time affair, 380; a time span within a timeless whole, 375; unconscious,

502

INDEX

Experience—(Continued) 3 1 9 ; u n i t y of, 9 ; u n i v e r s e t h e sura total of, 163 Experience and Nature: excerpts, 231, 235, »38 E x p l a n a t i o n f r o m analysis, 31 E x p l a n a t i o n of w o r l d , 10 " E x t e r n a l w o r l d , " 288 Eye, 270, 367 ff. F a c t s : c o n t r a s t e d w i t h theories a n d i n t e r p r e t a t i o n s , 473 Faculty, college, 430 " F a u s t , " 464 Fichte, 1 0 1 ; a b e a u t i f u l spirit, 246; v i e w s on t h e n a t u r e of m a n , 246, 250, 263 Finality, 124 F i t z G e r a l d c o n t r a c t i o n , 222 n F l o r e n c e a sanctified city, 452 Flux, 372 F u t u r e a n d p a s t , 129, 130, 132 G a l i l e o , 85, 86, 441 G a r d e n of E d e n , 462 C a r m a n , P r o f e s s o r , 9 ; quoted, 15 G e n e s i s : c o n t r o v e r s y b e t w e e n science a n d , 1 9 5 ; story of c r e a t i o n , 193, 195, 198 G e n e t i c m e t h o d : a p p l i e d to t h e teleological p r o b l e m , 241 ff.; implications, 240-45 G o d , 10, 15, 103, 175, 270, 474; c r e a tion a r e s p o n s e to call of, 19$, 197, 198, 294; no l o n g e r b l a m e d f o r evils, 86, 92; S p i n o z a ' s conception, 19 G o e t h e , 464 G o v e r n m e n t by philosophers, 458 Grammar of Science, 354 G r e e k s : concept of m a n ' s place in n a t u r e , 84; idea of t h e o r i e s of n a t u r e , 2 7 2 ; l a n g u a g e , 2 7 2 ; o r i g i n of philosophy, 4 6 1 ; source of t h e i r intelligence, 89; story of Seven W i s e M e n , 461 G r o t i u s , 441 G r o u p s , 342 G r o w t h , m e n t a l , 174 ff. H a m l e t : quoted, 196 H e g e l , 8, 1 1 , 15, 38, 64, 105, 23s, 246, 321 ff., 334, 423, 4 6 °

H e i s e n b e r g , W e r n e r , 253, 468 H e r a c l i t u s , 106, 204, 238, 426, 440, 442 H e r i n g : book on m e m o r y , 420 H e s i t a t i o n : principle of, 6 H i s t o r y : m a y be w r i t t e n in d i f f e r e n t w a y s , 448; a process of selection, .78 Hobbes, 14, 105, 441 H u m a n n a t u r e : distinguished f r o m nature, 290. See alio M a n Humanism, compared with naturalism, 79-94; culture, 88; emotional richness, 89; cause of decline, 89 H u m e , D a v i d , 15, 16, 48, 286, 323, 324, 328; quoted, 2 5 ; t h e o r y of c a u s e and effect, 183, 184, 185 H u x l e y , 65, 3 3 2 ; conception of consciousness, 307; quoted, 83, 328, 351 H u y g e n s , 265; quoted, 270 I d e a a n d object, i 6 j I d e a l : relation to the n a t u r a l , 4 Idealism: artificiality, of modern, 328 ff.; development, 3 2 7 ; D e w e y ' s s t a t e m e n t of, 3 1 7 ; f u n d a m e n t a l p r i n ciples, 322 ff. ; initial assumption, 330; motive, 326; p r o b l e m of m o d trn > 335 ! systems losing interest, 321 I d e a l s , 304 ff. I d e a s , 233 ; a n d experience, 5, 14 ff., 21 ; as i n s t r u m e n t s a n d symbols, 176; association of, 1 7 ; doctrine, 323 ; e x c h a n g e of, t h r o u g h speech, 204; external and i n t e r n a l m e a n ing' 376 ; find place in m i n d alone, 324; obey only m e n t a l l a w s , 329; the only objects of k n o w l e d g e , 3 2 5 ; p r a g m a t i s m a method of c l a r i f y i n g , 215 ff. ; s p a t i a l a n d t e m p o r a l o r d e r , 326 Illusions and d r e a m s , 410, 489 n Imagination, 372; idealizing tendency of, 455. 456 Implication, doctrine of, 59. See also Meaning I n d i v i d u a l : see M a n I n d i v i d u a l i t y , 46; a n d continuity, 47 ff. I n e r t i a : an a t t r i b u t e of s t r u c t u r e , 158 I n q u i r y a genetic process, 244 I n s t a n t death, 2 1 1 I n s t r u m e n t a t i o n , 291 Intellectual g r o w t h : see M i n d

INDEX Intelligence, 109 ff.; development of, the basal function of education, 432 ff., 446; a factor in evolution, 146; in nature, 1 2 1 ; instrumental doctrine of, 231 ff.; leisure coupled with, 443; »uperiority of, 29 ff.; not lawless, 34; attitude of, 35 Interaction, 327; between organism and environment, 368, 387 Interpretation of subject-matter, 164, 168 ff. Introduction, Paulsen's, 39 Introspection and the belief in sensations, 4 1 1 James, William, 38, 2J2, 313, 420; controversy about consciousness, 4 1 8 ; quoted, 95, 2 1 J, 404, 406 480 J a p a n : cause of modern civilization in, 92 Jeans, Sir James, 459, 468 Jesus of N a z a r e t h : revealed man's spiritual and moral possibilities, 305 Jevons: quoted, 9, 364 J o b : story of, 465 Journal of philosophy, 418 Judgment, 33; knowledge character of, 68 ff. Justice, 1 3 1 Kant, 8, 16, 19, 72, 75, 105, 23s, 322 ff., 3a4> 3*9, 334. 34». 375, 398; conception of consciousness, 307; doctrine of time and space, 325, 373; metaphysical conclusions, 41, 43, 48, 109; quoted, 376 Knowledge, 16 ff., 43 ff., 52> 54! a n d its object, 57 ff., 233, 234, 244; biological account of, considered, 66 ff.; bodies of, 349 ff., 380; consciousness the determining factor in existence of, 3 1 2 ; definiteness of, 62; diminution in influence of philosophy, 3 2 1 ; divergent views of, 6 1 ; distinction between philosophical theory and logical, scientific, or pragmatic theory, 397; epistemology does not alter methods of positive, 357; experimental character of bodies of, 352; growth through specialization, 96; limits of attainable pictured, 376; limits of realm indeterminable,

503

3 1 1 ; mathematics as the universal method of, 56; not an end in itself, 302; of structure, 1 5 5 ; one mode of experiencing, 3 1 8 ; perception made a problem of, 425; processes, 357; reality and validity of, 335; relation to reality, 375; results of mechanical conception of nature, 92; secured, 2 1 1 ; speculative theories, 392; a synthesis of ideas, 325; theory of, 244, 277, 285; theories of, independent of evidence derived from deception of the senses, 389 ff.; transcendence of, 3 1 7 ; valid, 70. See also Epistemology Kritik der Reinen Vernunft, 375 Krutch, Joseph Wood, 475 Language, 24, 292 ff.; for the facts and uses of existence, 4 8 1 ; Greek, 272. See also Speech Laplace, 85, 105, 375 L e a r n i n g : basal function of education, 429; the colleges, 430; development of intelligence, 432, 446; the enterprise of, 429-39; from experiences, 260; the life of reason, 439; the universities, 444, 454 Leibniz, 13, 105 Leisure and intelligence: coupling of, 442 Lessons in Logic, 9 ; excerpt, 364 L i f e : initial emphasis on, in approach to theory of nature, 275 ff., 289, 292 ff.; interpretation, 305; no conflict with science, 469; relation of science to, 302; whether divorced from nature, 480 Life, h u m a n : contrasted with place, 451-56. See also M a n Life of Reason, The, 3, 160 n Light: corpuscular and w a v e theories, 265; meaning, 264; nature without, 292; universe of, 264-71 Lippmann, W a l t e r , 459; quoted, 471 Literature of disillusionment, 475 Living, 474; becomes life, 4 5 1 ; cosmological problems in light of, 478 Living structures, 1 5 1 Locke, John, 61, 63, 206, 235, 274, 278, 283, 284, 309, 321 ff., 348, 359, 368, 378, 409; conception of conscious-

504

INDEX

Locke, John—(Continued) ness, 307; doctrine of mind, 330; empiricism, 5, 14 ff.; indebtedness t0 > 3» 5. ' ¿ I OD r e a ' knowledge, 1 7 ; quoted, 72, 324, 346, 408; synthesis of ideas, 32J Logic, 3$o; and the argument from design, 29; basal problem, 7 5 ; relation to mathematics, $6-60; to psychology, 60-63; to biology, 64-78 Logic of Modern Physics, The, 224 n Machinery: effect upon modern civilization, 86, 92 Maeterlinck, 142, 453 M a n : as part of nature, 93, 237, 256; contrasted with place, 451-56; illustrates the propriety of nature, 257; incorporation of, into nature, 252 ff.; mental development, 174 ff-; natural history, 1 7 5 ; natural importance, 82 ff.; naturalism a philosophical guide to, 259; nature of, 246-63; realization of his unimportance: spiritual enterprise evoked, 452; the supernatural in, 247. See also Life Marcus Aurelius: quoted, 477 Mathematics, 19, 342; relation of logic to, 56-60 Matiire et memoire, 420 Matter: identification with structure, 1 5 8 ; perception of, 376; relation to mind, 360; remorselessness, 453, 456 Meaning: consciousness the relation of, 342, 365; relation of, among things, 339 Means and ends: distinction between, 120, 123 ff. Means to end: adaptation of, ir3, 1 1 5 , 1 2 1 , 126 Mechanical conception of nature, 85; effects, 91 Mechanical processes of nature, 104 Mechanics: discovery of structures, 150 Mechanism: controversy with vitalism: discoveries, 2 4 1 ( 1 . ; failure to explain teleology, 243; relation to result of perception, 359 Mechanism of Mendelian Heredity, 151 n Memory, 372, 420

Mental and vital: distinction between, 152 Mental states: doctrine, 337 Metaphysics, 9 5 - 1 1 2 ; Aristotle's book, 95; his philosophy, 9 6 8 . ; conception of, derived from Aristotle, 22 ff.; conflict with science, 109; definitions, 95; distinguished from epistemology, 43 ff.; doctrine of final causes, 104; experimental, 350; general bearings, 98 ft.; the great systems, 38, 1 0 5 ; historical oppositions, 1 0 1 ; independent of science and religion, 40; intelligence, 1098.; Kant's philosophy, 109; newer tendencies, 37; problem of, 37-55; procedure, 379 ; realism the basic dogma, 6 ff.; significance for ethics, 106; for theology, 107 Meyer, A d o l f : quoted, 366 n Michelson, Albert A., 468 Millikan, Robert Andrews, 468 Mind: and nature, 3-25; as a determinate form of being, 160; as seen by modern philosophers, 436; behaviouristic theories, 183-92; conceived as an end-term of a relation, 321 ff., 3 3 7 ; conceived as originally empty: idealistic conception, 330; construed as instance, not cause, of teleology, 190, 1 9 1 ; continuity of growth, 177, 179; development 17382; discerned, 160-72; discovery of, 440-50; elements in correlation 303; goes from product to origin, 423; ideas, 176, 309; inhabits animal bodies, 167 s . ; interpretation with vision, 270, 2 9 1 ; Kant's philosophy, 109; mental structure, 1 5 2 ; the mind studied in psychology, 160, 162, 166 ff.; nature's completest realization, 372; relation to body, 174, 326, 333. 403; to matter, 360; to reality, 374; response to stimuli, 174, 180; stages in growth, 173, 1 7 7 ; steadiness of, 465; training of, the basal function of education, 432 ff.; transcendental, 160, 162, 170 ff.; why and what it is, 366 n. See also Consciousness "Missing Link in Epistemology, The," 414

INDEX Modern

spirit, 2 5 2 ; background, 80,

«3 M o d e r n times: beginning of, 441 M o d e r n w o r l d : conditions, 2 5 0 , 2 5 9 ; intellectual status, 4 3 4 ; lesson of the World War, 2 6 1 Montague, W . P., 4 0 9 n M o n t Saint Michel and Chartres, 4 8 2 M o r a l character of world, 1 3 0 M o r a l possibilities, 303 ff. M o r a l i t y : function, 3 0 3 M o r a l s : compared with morality, 4 7 6 ; preface to, 4 7 1 - 8 3 M o r g a n , T . H., 151 n Morley, E d w a r d W i l l i a m s , 4 6 8 Motion, J1, 5 2 M y t h o l o g y : place among doctrines of evolution, 1 3 5 Names, bestowal of, 1 9 4 , 2 0 1 Nations: modern, 2 5 9 ; lesson taught by W o r l d W a r , 2 6 1 ; things on which w e l f a r e depends, 2 6 2 Natural, the: relation to the ideal, 4 N a t u r a l l a w , 3 0 ff. Natural sciences: see Sciences Natural symbolism, 2 8 6 Natural teleology: see T e l e o l o g y N a t u r a l i s m : belief in, 2 5 5 , 2 5 9 ; compared with humanism, 7 9 - 9 4 ; controlling factors, 8$; a good philosophy f o r man, 2 5 9 ; history of, 2 5 6 ; incorporation of man into nature, 2 5 3 ff.; increasing popularity, 2 5 2 N a t u r e : accessibility of, 4 2 4 , 4 2 6 ; adaptations of, 1 1 3 , 1 1 5 , 1 1 8 ff.; analogy between art and, 1 1 4 8 . ; and mind, 3 - 2 5 ; category of causation, 1 2 0 ff.; category of use, 1 1 4 - 1 3 3 ; comparison with art, 2 4 0 ; consciousness, 1 2 9 ff. ; diversification and co-operation, 2 8 2 ; the fact of instrumentation, 2 9 1 ; factors in our conception of, 8 5 ; goes f r o m origin to product, 4 2 3 ; incorporation of man into, 2 5 2 ff. ; indifference to human concerns, 13; man a part of, 9 3 ; man as highest revelation of, 2 5 6 ; natural history of man, 1 7 5 ; of man (see M a n ) ; perversity, 1 1 6 , 1 1 7 ; purposes, 1 8 9 ; realm of proprieties, 2 5 7 ; results of mechanical concep-

505

tion of, 9 2 ; the term, personified, 4 8 1 ; whether dialectic the best sample of her processes, 2 3 6 ff.; whether life divorced from, 4 8 0 ; w o r k s miracles through imagination of man, 4 5 $ Nature, theory of, 2 7 2 - 9 ; ; individual existence the definition of an exclusive environment, 2 8 0 ; influence of Greek thought, 2 7 2 ; initial emphasis on life, 2 7 5 , 2 8 9 , 2 9 2 ; theory of knowledge, 2 7 7 , 2 8 $ ; of time, 2 9 3 Nature of Matter and Electricity, The, 151 n Nature of the Physical World, The, 221 n Nervous system, 3 6 5 - 7 2 ; structure and functions, 3 6 6 ff. " N e w Ideas of a University," 4 4 4 Newton, 8 5 , 1 0 5 , 2 ( 5 , 2 7 0 , 2 8 8 , 3 3 0 , 375, 377, 4 4 ' "Nothing in excess," 4 6 J Object: and consciousness, 3 8 1 - 8 8 ; and idea, 1 6 5 ; relation of knowledge to, 233 ff-, 244 Objective experience, 3 1 3 Objects: distinguished from perceptions, 3 0 8 ; in consciousness, 3 0 7 , 3 1 1 ; in space, 3 0 8 Omnipotence: meaningless without words, 1 9 7 Optic nerve, 3 6 7 Optics: observations on Bragg"s treatment of, 2 6 4 - 7 1 Optics, Newton's, 2 7 0 n Optimism, creed of, 8 0 O r d e r : in things, 1 7 ff.; progress f r o m confusion to, 3 2 5 Organism, 3 6 6 ff.; equipment, 3 7 1 ; interaction between environment and, 368, 3 8 7 ; necessary to consciousness, 3 1 3 ; reaction to stimulus, 3 7 0 ; stability given by nervous system, 3 7 2 Ormond, Professor: quoted, 4 1 Pain, 3 4 0 ; whether a sensation, 4 1 1 Parallelism, 3 2 7 , 4 0 3 Parliament of the world, 2 6 1 Parmenides, 2 3 8 Past: and future, 129, 1 3 0 , 1 3 2 , 1 3 9 , 1 4 6 ; consciousness of, 4 1 9

5O6

INDEX

P a u l s e n , F r i e d r i c h , 14, 39 P e a r s o n , K a r l , 3S4 P e r c e p t i o n , 346-64; m e c h a n i s m , 348; p r o b l e m , 358; processes, 361 ff. ; relation b e t w e e n m e c h a n i s m and the result of, 3 5 9 ; relation b e t w e e n process and content, 353 ff-; s p a c i a l and t e m p o r a l d i s c r e p a n c i e s , 363 ; theories, 337. 4 * 4 P e r c e p t i o n s : d i s t i n g u i s h e d f r o m objects, 308 P e r s o n a l e x p e r i e n c e , 278, 279 ff. Personality, 299-306; psychological a n a l y s i s , 300 ff. ; r e a l i t y o f , as a psyc h o l o g i c a l f a c t : as a m o r a l possibility, 303 ; s p i r i t u a l i z i n g enterprise o f , 451 ff. P e r v e r s i t y of n a t u r e , 116, 117 P h e n o m e n a l i s m , 39, 323 P h i l o s o p h e r s : a s g o v e r n o r s , 4 5 8 ; expected to h a v e s u p e r i o r ability and k n o w l e d g e , 458 ; hesitate to a c k n o w l e d g e profession, 457 P h i l o s o p h y : attitude t o w a r d the posit i v e sciences, 248 ; b a s a l conception, 3 2 1 ; the business o f , 3, 4 ; c e n t r a l p r i n c i p l e of modern, 309; controversies, 375, 380; in no need of justification, 2 4 9 ; K a n t i a n : German systems, 321 ; m o d e r n , 435 ; n a t u r a l i s tic, 252, 255 ff.; need of reconstruction, 334 ft.; o r i g i n of term, 4 6 1 ; p o s t - K a n t i a n , 324; the practice o f , 4 5 7 - 7 ° ; p r o b l e m s o f , 1 2 ; public attitude t o w a r d , 4 5 8 ® . ; r a d i c a l transformation, 377; self-knowledge, 462; steadiness of mind, 4 6 5 ; systems, i j , 4 6 0 ; theoretical, 460; t h i n k i n g vs. systems, 1 5 ; timidity of present day, 247 ff.; transition, 322 P h y s i c a l experience, 313 P h y s i c a l science: in philosophical thinking, 278, 283, 288 P h y s i c a l w o r l d , 288; i d e a s about, 223 ff. P h y s i c s , w o r l d of, 226 n P l a c e s : contrasted w i t h men, 451-56 P l a t o , 81, 105, 235, 458, 460, 4 7 7 ; Republic, cited, 101 P l a t o n i c theory of u n i v e r s e , 33 P l e a s u r e , 340 P o i n c a r é , H . ; quoted, 355

P o s i t i v e sciences, 248, 250 P o s i t i v i s m , 248, 250 P o s s i b l e : r e a l m of the, 303 P o t e n t i a l i t y , 51 P r a g m a t i s m , 64, 3 2 1 ; c a u s e o f cont r o v e r s i e s about, 3 1 7 ; c o n t r o v e r s i a l effect, 215 ff.; e a r l y l e a n i n g s tow a r d , 1 3 ; its t h e o r y of r e a l i t y , 3 1 6 ; a method of c l a r i f y i n g i d e a s , 215, 2 1 9 ; the p r o m i s e of, 2 1 5 - 2 9 ; a recomm e n d a t i o n to e x p e r i m e n t , 2 1 8 ; v a l u e of its a n a l y s i s , 219, 226 Preface to Morals, A, 471 Principia Mathematica Philosophiae Naturalis, 288 Principles of Psychology, 404 n, 406 n P r o b l e m s : existence and solution, 232 P r o g r e s s , 128, 144 P r o m i s e s : e c o n o m i c v a l u e , 202 P r o p r i e t i e s , n a t u r a l : p r i n c i p l e o f , 256 P s a l m , E i g h t h , 82 P s y c h i c a l e x p e r i e n c e , 313 P s y c h o l o g i c a l p a r a l l e l i s m , 403 P s y c h o l o g y : a s a science, 4 0 4 ; b e l i e f in sensations, 402, 406 ff.; c o n f u s i o n and ambiguity, 402 ff.; d e v e l o p ment, 248; d o c t r i n e of i d e a s , 3 2 5 ; the m i n d s t u d i e d in, 160, 162, 166 ff.; of p e r s o n a l i t y , 299 ff.; p e r f o r m a n c e s and a c h i e v e m e n t s , 404; r e l a t i o n of logic to, 60-63; terms, i j i , 4 0 2 ; t r a n s f o r m s soul into b e h a v i o u r , 2 4 9 ; w o r k i n g hypothesis, 403 P u r p o s e , 42, 49®., 112 P u r p o s e s of n a t u r e , 189 P y t h a g o r e a n s , 97 Q u a l i t a t i v e f e a t u r e s of w o r l d ,

122

Q u a l i t i e s : p r i m a r y and s e c o n d a r y , 369 Quest

for

Certainty,

The,

234,

235,

237 Race:

continuity,

178;

development,

174, "77 R a m s a y , Sir W i l l i a m : quoted, 433 R e a l i s m : p r i n c i p l e of, 6 ff. R e a l i t y , 72 ff., 379; and a p p e a r a n c e , 39, 390 ff.; and e x p e r i e n c e , 378; a n tecedent, 2 3 3 ; concept o f , 99 ft.; d e fined, 316 ff.; k n o w l e d g e of, 63; m i n d ' s r e l a t i o n to, 3 7 4 ; n a t u r e o f ,

INDEX R e a l i t y — (Continued) 44 ff.; three basal facts, 4 9 ; true and false reals, 316 Realm of Mind, 18, 19 Reason, the life o f : best for man, 439 Reasons not yielded by structure, 191 Reflective thinking, 233, 234 Relation: tee Interaction Relations, 342; intermittent, 343 R e l a t i v i t y : of ends, lit, 190; of sensation, 409 Relativity, doctrine of, 66 R e l i g i o n : distinguished f r o m metaphysics, 4 1 ; function, 303; significance of metaphysics for, 107; v a l u e to existence, i j 6 Representation, 361 Republic, 101, 477 Review of the System of Ethict Founded on the Theory of Evolution, A, 30 n Rey, M., 67 R o s e : colour when not perceived, 7 Royce, Josiah, 267, 268; quoted, 374 Russell, Bertrand, 459 San Francisco earthquake, 86 Santayana, George, 286, 420, 462; indebtedness to, 3 ff.; on mind, 160, 167; quoted, 4, 21, 109, 129, 356, 456; v i e w of substance, 206 Saying of things, 24 School: origin of w o r d , 442 Science, 247; and metaphysics, 40, 109; attitude t o w a r d mind, 321; concepts, 354; controversy between Genesis and, 1 9 5 ; devotion to, not incompatible with imagination, 456; no conflict with life, 469; of evolution, 143; raises doubts of idealism, 331; relation to life, 302; theory, 338; value, 355 Science of Knowledge, 101 Sciences, positive, 248, 250 Secondary qualities, 340 Seeing: see Eye Self-knowledge, 462 Sensation, 3 5 1 ; interaction between, and surroundings, 368 "Sensation and the Sensiferous Organs," 307 Sensations: belief in, 402-13; discov-

507

ered to introspection? 4 1 1 ; find place in mind alone, 324; immaterial entities, 329; not the primary objects of consciousness, 403, 406 ff.; question of dreams and illusions, 410; of pain, 4 1 1 ; relativity of, 409; term analysed, 406; Woodbridge's v i e w , 381 Sense organs, 365-72; structure and functions, 366 ff. Sense-perception: relation of consciousness and object in, 388 Senses: deception of the, 389-401; distinction between appearance and reality, 390; significant not f o r cognition, but for action, 392. See alio Experience Sensory nerve, 367 Seven W i s e Men, 461 S k y : w h a t man can see in, 260 Socrates, 24, 458 Solidity, 16, 21 Solipsism, 279 ff. Soul, 300; distinguished from body, 241,451 ff.; Locke's theory, 1 5 ; transformed by the sciences, 247, 248; by psychology, 249 Space, 300; as a relation, 342; consciousness akin to, 308; external sense and, 373; Kantian doctrine, 325; not environment, 280; spacetime relations, 338, 376; synthesis in, 341 "Spacious Firmament on High," 375 Specialization, 96 Species: consciousness akin to, 308 Speculation: confuses experimental knowledge, 351 Speculative theories of knowledge, 392 Speech: creative power, 193-205; economic value, 202. See also L a n g u a g e Spencer, Herbert, 13, 64, 101, 105, 322, 333 Spinoza, 105, 209, 211, 235, 460; indebtedness to, 3, 5, 19; on ideas, 165; the man and his philosophy, 19 Spirituality: contrasted with place, 451-56 States of consciousness, 314, 320, 360; representations of other things, 361 Steadiness of mind, 465 Stick, bent, 390 ff.

5O8

INDEX

Stimuli: produce internal systematization of connection, 3 7 1 ; reaction of organism to, 370 Strong, C. A . : quoted, 4 1 4 , 4 1 5 Structure, 18, 1 4 9 - 5 9 ; connection between behaviour and, 1 8 3 - 9 2 ; a discovery, not an hypothesis, 1 5 3 , 1 5 ; ; function of art and religion, 1 5 6 ; identification with substance, 1 5 7 ; with matter, 1 5 8 ; inertia, 1 5 8 ; logical, 1 5 2 ; no explanation o f , 1 5 4 ; a s a t i s f y i n g knowledge, 1 5 s ; spatial, 149, 1 5 8 ; temporal, 1 5 0 ; unity of, the world, 1 5 7 ; yields control, not reasons, 1 9 1 "Structure," 18, 166 n Subject-matter, interpretation of, 164, 168 ff. Subjective experience, 3 1 3 Subjective states, 404 Subjectivism, 39 Substance, 2 0 6 - 1 4 ; a w a r e n e s s of, a liberation, 2 1 1 ; identified with structure, 1 5 7 ; indifference to us, 2 1 2 ; not end, but beginning, 2 1 0 , 2 1 3 Surrender, absolute, 2 1 2 Supernatural in nature of man, 247 Symbolism, 221 n Symbolism, natural, 286 Syntheses, 341 ff.; beginnings of doctrine, 3 2 5 ; immaterial, 3 4 0 ; material 339 T a b l e s of Eddington, 226, 279 T e a c h e r s : college, 430 T e a c h i n g or experience w a n t e d ? 463 Teleological universe, 244 T e l e o l o g y , behaviour a matter of, 186 ff.; category of use, 1 1 4 - 3 3 ; of causation, 1 2 0 ff.; of consciousness, 129 f f . ; explanation of, 242 ff., 2 5 7 ; in art, 240; mind as instance, not cause, of teleology, 190, 1 9 1 ; natural, 113-33 T h e o l o g y : see Religion T h e o r i e s of the meaning and v a l u e of events, 471 ff. T h e o r y : meaning, 272 T h i l l y , F r a n k : theories of consciousness, 381 ff. T h i n g s : what they are, not an indication of w h a t they do, 184, 185,

1 9 0 ; contradictory appearances o f , 398 ff. See alio Objects T h i n k i n g , 15, 6 ; ; in terms of doing, 2 1 8 ; mind not created by, 1 7 1 ; reflective, 233, 234 T h o m a s , Saint, 460; quoted, 198 T h o r n d i k e , E. L., 405 n T h o u g h t : connection with object, 5 7 ; transformation in conception, 377 Three Philosophical Poets, 456 n T i m e : and experience, 380; as a relation, 342; conceptions dominated by space conceptions, 3 7 6 ; consciousness akin to, 308; consciousness of, 3 3 6 ; in modern philosophy, 3 7 3 - 8 0 ; in perpetual flux, 376; internal sense and, 3 7 3 ; K a n t i a n doctrine, 3 2 5 ; space-time relations, 3 3 8 ; structure a matter of, 1 5 0 ; synthesis in, 3 4 1 ; tends to become dominant f a c t o r in thinking, 3 7 7 ; theory of, 293 T o t a l universe of discourse, 162 ff. T r a n s c e n d e n t a l mind, 160, 162, 1 7 0 ff. T r u t h : inquisition of, as enterprise, 429 ff.; pragmatic controversy about nature of, 2 1 5 ft. Truth-experience, 318 "IJeber die Grenzen des Naturerkennens," 376 U n d e r s t a n d i n g : synthesis in, 341 U n i v e r s e : of discourse, 162 ff.; of light, 2 6 4 - 7 1 ; picture of, daily retouched, 468; qualitative differentiation, 366 n ; teleological, 244 Universe of Light, The, excerpts, 264, 265, 269, 271 U n i v e r s i t y : Columbia as the personality of those who made her, 4 5 4 ; idea of, a changeless essence, 446, 4 5 4 ; the most important of human institutions, 4 4 7 ; new ideas of, 444. See also College U s e : category of, 1 1 4 - 3 3 ; c o m p a r a tive v a l u e , 1 2 0 ; progressive use, 1 2 8 ; specific use, 1 1 4 Value of Science: excerpt, 355 Variety, 102 Vision, 269, 291, 292

INDEX Vital and mental: distinction between, 152 Vitalism: as an explanation of teleology, 243; controversy with mechanism, 2 4 1 ; experiments, 242 Voice, power evoked by, 195 ff. Void and atoms, 207, 212 Watson, John, 405 n Wave theory of light, 265 Western world today, 250, 259; intellectual history, 2 5 1 ; lesson of the World War, 261 Whitehead, Alfred North, 459; quoted, 221 Williams, C. M . : Evolutional Ethics, cited, 30 Wisdom: imparted by philosophy, 460 ff.

509

Woodbridge, Frederick James Eugène: Essays . . ., 9 ; Realm of Mind, iS, 1 9 ; "Structure," 18, 166 n; father's character, 1 3 ; view of nervous system, 381 Words: power evoked by, 196 ff.; economic value, 202 Wordsworth : quoted, 200 World: exists for purposes of its own, 258; "external world," 288; problem of the continuity and homogeneity of, 361 ff. ; a system of structures, 152, 157 World and The Individual, 267 ; excerpt, 374 World War, lessons taught by, 261 Xenophanes, 258

141,

142, 479 ;

quoted,