An introduction to the science of thought

/

THE

" CIENCE

OF

s

THOUGHT

AN INTRODUCTION

TO THE

SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

3

g S^V^HEBBERD.

3

MADISON,

wis. :

TRACY, GIBBS & CO., PUBLISHERS.
1892.

h»

■Fter*

*%■«>■*

THE LIBRARY
OF CONGRESS

WAIHINOTOW

l8Q2.

Copyrighted by S. S. HEBBERD.

V

PREFACE.

Knowing how little interest the present age takes
in philosophy, I have compressed this book *into the
smallest possible compass. What might well have
been expanded into a volume, I have condensed into
a chapter, and often into a page. I shall probably be
accused, upon this very account, of a slight and pre-
sumptuous treatment of great themes. It is right,
therefore, for me to add in self defense that I have
spent a quarter of a century in the discovery and
demonstration of what is here presented in less than
a hundred pages.

S. S. Hebberd.

Viroqua, Wis., Aug. 12, iSp2.

CONTENTS.

Chapter I. Self-Consciousness.

II. Perception.

III. Space.

IV. Concepts.
V. Science.

VI. Morality.

VII. Art.

VIII. Pagan Civilization.

IX. Christian Civilization.

SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

CHAPTER I.
SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS.

All thinking is a relating of cause and effect.
The present treatise is designed to demonstrate this
simple principle — to show that every perfect thought,
from the simplest to the most complex, contains two
elements related to each other as cause and effect;
and that whenever either of these elements is sup-
pressed, thought thereby becomes vague, one-sided,
fatally defective. In this synthesis, the very nature
of thought consists.

But although this principle is so simple, it will be
found to be of immeasurable value. It will put an
end to the chief disputes which have heretofore di-
vided and distracted human speculation; it will furnish
a basis for true theories of science, morality and art;
it will explain the course of human civilization and so
provide a genuine philosophy of history.

To verify our principle we must begin with self-con-
sciousness, the most immediate and universal of all
forms of thinking.

Seeking an unassailable definition of self-conscious-
ness, I affirm it to be the immediate knowledge of our
mental states as onr own. They are thought of as our

8

SCIENCE 01 l BOUGHT.

own, not only in the sense of mere possession but of

active control; up to a certain point they come at our
call and go at our bidding; we are, partially at least,
their producing and controlling cause. It is this im-
mediate reference of mental states to self as their
cause, which forms the very essence of self -conscious-
ness, distinguishing it from all other kinds of activity,
mental or physical. And in this process are manifestly
the two factors which our law demands. Self-con-
sciousness is the relating of self to mental states as
the one, permanent cause of many, transitory effects.

It follows, therefore, from our principle, that nei-
ther of these two elements which together form the
conception of self-consciousness, can be fully thought
or known apart from the other. The cause can be
known only in and through its effects; and conversely,
the effect only in and through its cause. Self in itself,
a mental state in itself, each of these is but a half-
thought, vague, mutilated, unintelligible. Every the-
ory of self-consciousness which attempts to suppress
either of the two elements must end in incoherent and
divisive thought. This deduction is wonderfully ver-
ified by the history of speculation, as we shall show
by two leading instances.

(i). Hume's famous formula thatthere isno conscious-
ness save of a series of mental states, attempts to
eliminate the causal element. But his statement, in
the effort to expunge the conception of self, has taken
all meaning out of the conception of conscious states.
For, firstly, it ignores memory, the very core of con-
sciousness— the power present in every mental state

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 9

of reproducing the past; secondly, in suppressing the
sense of identity, it takes away all that can distin-
guish a conscious from an unconscious state; thirdly,
it is in the last resort an altogether unintelligible state-
ment— to speak of a disconnected series as aware of
itself as a series, is to utter a combination of sounds
without a shred of meaning.

But why waste time in arguing against a definition
of conscious states which even its author has confessed
to be unintelligible ? "All my hopes vanish," Hume
said, "when I come to explain the principles which
unite our successive perceptions in ourconsciousness."
J. S. Mill, although adopting the same view, goes
even further and admits that the theory "involves a
paradox;" that "it cannot be expressed in any terms
which do not deny its truth." He does, indeed, at-
tempt to qualify this confession by adding that self-
consciousness is an ultimate fact and therefore inex-
plicable, but even if a fact is ultimate and inexplic-
able, it by no means follows that the statement of
the fact must be unintelligible. By no such salvo can
Mill break the force of his admission that any exposi-
tion of conscious states which does not refer them to
self as their cause, is so utterly unintelligible that it
cannot even be expressed in any terms which do not
deny its truth. Effects cannot be known except in and
through their cause.

(2). Kant's exposition, on the other hand, wonder-
fully confirms the second part of our law, that in re-
gard to the knowledge of causes. He affirms, in a
somewhat bewildered way, the unity of self-conscious-

io scn.v !■; oi- Tiiorcii r.

ness. But he hastens to add that this unity is purely
"logical," or "formal," that "the notion of self is an
altogether empty one." And to prove this, he argues

long and laboriously that self cannot be conceived as
substance. Hut when he has established this point,
he has done- nothing but confirm our law that a cause
cannot be known in itself, but only in and through its
effects. A substance can be known not in itself,
but only through the sensuous attribute or effects
which it produces. .And similarly, self can be known
only in and through its effects — through that vast and
varied host of mental states which it creates or con-
trols. It is in vain, therefore, that any one at-
tempts to define self in terms of substance, or in any
other way, except as the one permanent cause of our
many transient, mental states.

Our law is verified in both its parts so far as self-
conciousness is concerned. It is necessary, however,
to lay the chief stress on that part which relates to
the knowledge of effects. Ever since the days of
Kant, thinkers have found it easy to perceive that a
cause in itself — self, substance or thing — is unknowable.
Hut they have not been taught to perceive also that
effects in themselves — conscious states, sensuous attri-
butes or phenomena — are equally unknowable. The
future of philosophy depends upon the clear recogni-
tion of the fact that no complete thought or real knowl-
edge is possible unless both elements — the cause and
the effect — are combined in that synthesis which the
nature of thinking demands.

CHAPTER II.
PERCEPTION.

Philosophy in its search after a true theory of per-
ception has been driven to a strange pass. The most
universal and unconquerable conviction of mankind —
the belief in the reality of an external world — proves
to be the very one which most completely defies phil-
osophic explanation. Speculation has finally split in-
to two schools, the one regarding the belief in external
reality as a mere illusion, the other regarding it as an
utter mystery, an inexplicable intuition or instinct
coming no one knows whence or how. No wonder
that philosophy is in disgrace.

But surely there must be some way out of this
wilderness of controversy and bewilderment; and we
hope to show that there is.

Certain of our mental states are, mainly at least, the
products of our own activity; we imagine, we remember
we will this thing or that as we please. But our per-
ceptive states are not thus self-produced; we are con-
scious that they are given to us, not formed by us;
there is a regular recurrence of the parts and a fixed
order of the whole which no mental effort can change.
And therefore we are compelled by the very nature of
thought to ascribe these perceptive states to some
causality not our own.

This conviction of an external causality is absolutely
universal, immediate and primordial. It is not an

12 SCIENCE OF THOUCIIN.

intuition- one of those instinctive beliefs or innate-
ideas of which the world long since grew weary. It
is not an inference, since there is before it, no prior
judgment from which it lias been derived. It is but
a restatement of the fact given in consciousness that
certain states are not produced by self; and the
equivalence of the two statements is involved in the
very nature of thought. It lies at the beginning of
consciousness; it is enfolded in the first completed act
of perception.

Let me not be misunderstood. Consciousness in
itself, gives us nothing beyond this fact of a causality
not our own. What that causality is — what are its
defining characteristics — cannot be thus primordially
and infallibly determined, but must be learned through
the processes of the understanding. This external
source of perception may be the supreme spirit of the
Berkeleian metaphysics; it maybe the famous "Thing
in itself" of the Kantian philosophy; it may be that
bright world of living reality which common sense is
so loath to give up. These questions pure conscious-
ness does not pretend to settle.

It may seem that we have made but slight progress
towards the attainment of a complete theory of per-
ception. But at least we have put an end, forever,
to subjective idealism. This paradoxical doctrine,
under whatsoever elusive forms it may veil itself, is
essentially nothing more than a denial of all external
causality. But as we have seen, the fact of a causal-
ity not our own, is immediately and universally given
us in self-consciousness; and therefore it cannot be

PERCEPTION. 13

really disbelieved by any one. Hence subjective
idealism is but a verbal negation of what no one can
actually doubt; its doctrine cannot be fully thought
out or expressed except in terms which deny its
truth. All the subjective idealists — like Fichte for
instance, with his "limitations of self-consciousness" —
have been finally compelled to assume what they
were attempting to contradict.

To recognize that external causality is immediately
given us in consciousness — this is the first step to-
wards a true theory of knowledge. The second step
consists in clearing away the difficulties and perplex-
ities that have been raised by objective idealism.
That doctrine, — at least in the fully developed form
given it by Kant, — denies, not the existence, but the
knowableness of external causality. It teaches that
substances, things in themselves, lie beyond the limits
of human knowledge. We can know only phenomena,
attributes, the effects produced by the unknowable
cause or causes.

We can gladly accept that part of the idealistic
doctrine which affirms the unknowableness of sub-
stance or things in themselves; for that*is but an an-
ticipation of our own fundamental law. A cause can
be known only in or through its effects. Nothing is
more utterly unknowable than "pure existence," a
"thing in itself," a substance divested of all its at-
tributes.

But idealism has been utterly blind to the other
half of this fundamental law; it has not seen that

14 SCIENCE OF THOUGH! .

effects also are known only In and through their
causes. While insisting that substances or things

in themselves are unknowable-, it has silently claimed
to have a clear, sun-lit knowledge of effects — attri-
butes, phenomena, sensations — in themselves. Rut
this, as I shall now show, is an amazing illusion.
So far as there can be any difference of degree, the
sensation or effect in itself is even more inscrutable
than tlie cause in itself.

Firstly, let us consider sensations in their general
nature. In vision, for instance, we have some dim
glimpses of a process of causation passing from the
object seen to the mind. Rut this causal process
ends in complete mystery. We have not the slight-
est knowledge of the effect finally produced upon the
mind. The perfected perception has no character of
internality or ideality; on the contrary, the vision ap-
pears to be entirely external and spatial. Somehow,
the cause and the effect have come to be inexplicably
conjoined.

• Secondly, consider sensations in their specific char-
acteristics. Do we know aught of the difference be-
tween them? The effect produced upon the mind by
a round object, for instance, is this sensation itself
circular? Is the sensation of sweetness itself sweet ?
Is the sensation of a mountain any taller than the sen-
sation of an ant-hill? In a word, sensations in them-
selves have no definable characteristics; they are
knowable only when related to their causes. In a
complete and distinct perception, two vague, unin-

PERCEPTION. 15

telligible half-ideas — the one of a producing cause,
the other of its effect — are inseparably combined.

Thirdly, consider the grouping of sensations. Two
or more sensations are brought to the mind through
different channels; one, for instance, through the
sense of sight, another through that of touch. Their
union in one perception must ever remain unintelli-
gible, unless we conceive of them as different effects
of a common cause or object.

Fourthly, the same fact is shown in the recurrence
of sensations. Every sensation carries with it the con-
viction that it will be invariably repeated under simi-
lar circumstances; and this characteristic also remains
incomprehensible except we regard all these actual or
possible sensations as the many transient effects of one
permanent cause.

It has been proved, then, in this four-fold way, that
we have just as little knowledge of effects or phenom-
ena in themselves as we have of causes or things in
themselves. Thus the whole ground of idealistic ag-
nosticism is swept away. We see that so long as we
disrupt the two elements of thought and insist upon
regarding either apart from the other, we can have
only mystery, confusion and unknowableness. Knowl-
edge begins when we combine substance and attribute,
the "thing in itself" and its phenomena, in the rela-
tion of cause and effect. To doubt the existence of
the one is as irrational as to doubt the existence of
the other.

in SCIEN( I. < >I THOUGHT.

A third step still remains before reaching a com-
plete theory <>f perceptive knowledge. The question
is continually asked: How do we know that our per-
ceptions correspond with external reality? The qu
tion is unanswerable; and that for the simple reason
that there is no such correspondence. 1'erccptive
knowledge does not consist in the tracing of resem-
blances between objects so diverse as mental states
and the external world.

Perception, on the contrary, is a process of discrim-
ination. Consciousness, as we have seen, gives to us
the infallible assurance of an external causality. It is
the province of perception to break up this causality
into its constituent parts, each duly related to its ap-
propriate effects.

But what guarantee have we, it may be asked, of
the accuracy of this discriminating process? I an-
swer that the guarantee is five-fold. First, there is
the uniform recurrence of precisely similar perceptions,
and thereby we are enabled to relate them to the same
permanent cause. Secondly, we are able to repeat
perceptions at will, and thus to experiment, as it were,
upon their producing causes. Thirdly, we can com-
pare perceptions received through one organ of sense
with those received through another — those of sight
with those of touch, for instance. Fourthly, and most
important of all, we soon learn to discriminate with
ease and certainty, between our own bodies and the
rest of the external world; and thus are provided with
an instrument and an unerring test of all subsequent
discriminations. Fifthly, all these guarantees may be
combined so a,s to strengthen and support each other.

PERCEPTION. 17

The evidence of the senses, then, is strong and
overwhelming, but let us remember that it is not in-
fallible. Too great confidence in perception has ever
been one of the chief causes of human ignorance. And
a certain idealistic distrust of the senses, as will be
shown hereafter, has been the indispensable prepara-
tion for that scientific research which changes the first
crude perceptions of mankind into a more exact but
still defective view of the universe.

Corollary 1. A certain school of philosophy declares
perception to be an ultimate, indecomposable act de-
fying all analysis. But we have now analyzed it. And
besides upon its very surface perception appears as
exceedingly complex. There is first the idea of a per-
ceiving self, then of a peculiar mode of mental activ-
ity, then of an object perceived; and all these inter-
acting in an endless variety of subtile implications.
To pronounce all this complexity to be simple is plain-
ly the last refuge of distressed philosophers.

Corollary 2. Sir Wm Hamilton and others assert
that they are conscious of external objects. This
amazing doctrine must not be confounded with that
of these pages. I have taught that we are conscious
of a certain element in our perceptive states as not
produced by self; and that, therefore, we are com-
pelled— not by any instinct or intuition, but by the
very nature of thought — to instantly and infallibly as-
cribe this element to a causality not our own. But
that is very different from teaching that we are con-
scious of stars, or sticks, or pictures upon the retina.

CHAPTER III.
SPACE.

The idea of space has long been one ol the chief

battle-grounds of philosophy. By one party it has
been regarded as a mere mental creation, by the
other as the idea of something actually existent; and
even the last must be conscious that their conception
of space as a reality is, somehow, exceedingly vague
and elusive. Let us see now what light our principle
can throw upon this darkened field of debate.

The conception of space is evidently compounded of
two elements. On the one side is the idea of pure
space, one, continuous, unchanging, unlimited; on the
other we have the idea of positions, distances, figures
and all the other countless spatial relations.

Furthermore, these two elements are related to
each other as cause and effect. All possible spatial
or geometrical relations can be reduced to one gen-
eral formula; each of them is, essentially, a separation
of points or things by space. These countless separa-
tions between bodies cannot be thought of or made
intelligible save as resulting from the existence of
one continuous and infinite space; they are the many,
transient effects of one permanent cause.

But it will instantly be objected that spatial rela-
tions are not effects, but merely parts of space. A
figure, it will be said, for instance, is but a certain
definite part of space cut out from the indefinite re-

SPACE. 19

mainder. But the objection is grounded upon a
strange, although quite universal oversight. It is
forgotten that space can really have no parts; we are
compelled to think of it as absolutely continuous, and,
therefore, indivisible. If space could be separated
into two or more parts, what would separate them ?
The so-called parts of space are pure fictions, invented
by the mind for its own convenience in measuring
bodies; but, while using these fictions, the mind is
fully aware that parts of space cannot really exist.
Therefore, spatial relations cannot be clearly and
exactly conceived as parts of a whole, but only as
effects of a cause. Distances, positions, dimensions,
directions and all other geometrical properties are the
many, ever-changing relations established between
bodies by infinite, continuous and unchanging space.
Once again then our doctrine has proved impreg-
nable. Every spatial conception has been shown to
contain two elements. And only thus does space —
that obscurest and most perplexing of words — gain a
clear, consistent meaning.

Is space then actually existent? May it not be,
after all, a mere abstraction — an ideal phantasm
which floats in nothingness? The mind, it may be
said, establishes spatial relations between bodies, and
if the bodies cease to exist, so will the relations be-
tween them. All that is true enough; but it shoots
far and wide from the mark. The bodies may vanish
and with them their spatial relations. But the space
which produced that relationship will remain undis-

20 SCIENi i l >\ i BOUGHT.

turbed. Two stars might burn themselves out; but
the- immensity of distance, the extent of space which
once separated them would not be changed a hair's-
breadth. And if the whole material universe should
be blotted out, infinite space would still remain, one,
continuous, unchanging, as before. In fact the ol
ion serves only to bring out vividly our view of spatial
relations as the many transitory effects of one perma-
nent cause.

It is then absolutely impossible to think of space as
non-existent. Let us understand the full force and
sweep of this declaration. If it was merely some
mental instinct or "intuition" or Kantian "form of
sense" that compelled us to think of the world as spa-
tial, then it would be easy enough to conceive of some
higher grade of mind as free from this mysterious
compulsion imposed upon us; and so it would be very
far from being impossible for us to think of space as
non-existent. But we have shown that we are compel-
led, not by any intuition or form of sense, but by the
very nature of thought, to conceive of space as a cause
of all spatial relations. And to think away whatever
is demanded by the very nature of thought, is, in the
fullest sense of the term, absolutely impossible; not
even archangels could accomplish that feat.

Any thoughtful reader arrived at our present point
of view, can readily meet Kant's proofs of the ideality
of space. But it may be well to briefly notice one of
these alleged proofs — the geometrical argument.

SPACE. 2 1

Experience, Kant urges, concerns only the con-
tingent; it can therefore never give the universal and
necessary judgments of geometry. It can assure us,
for instance, that two lines are parallel so far as we
have examined them, but not that they would con-
tinue to be parallel if prolonged through infinite
space. Such judgments are possible, only because
space is not objective — for then we could know it only
contingently through experience — but purely subject-
ive, a merely ideal construction imposed upon things
by the mind.

But this, besides being paradoxical, explains noth-
ing. It is flat tautology. It simply asserts that that
must be true for us which we are compelled by the
mysterious conformation of our minds to think as true.

From our present point of view the real explana-
tion is easily found. Pure space is never the cause of
change; on the contrary it is the cause or ground of the
very opposite of change — that is, of separation and posi-
tion or relative fixedness. Therefore, the ideal rela-
tions of pure space, with which geometry deals, are
invariable; and that for the simple reason that by
hypothesis all causes of change arc excluded. Two
parallel lines will maintain their parallelism through
the whole infinitude of space, unless we should some-
where mentally change the direction of one of them
and so make three lines instead of two.

Geometrical necessity has long been the great
stumbling-block of both the rival philosophies. The
sensationalists' doctrine that necessary truths come
from " irresistible association " seems almost farcical.

SCIENCE 01 I HOUGH! .

The idealists having generally lost faith in their
"innate ideas " and "intuitions," have taken refuge in
Kant's paradox that space is ideal. Dispensing with
all such strange devices, we have found geometrical

isity to depend solely upon the nature of spa
neither changing nor causing change.

Corollary /. Dugald Stewart pointed out and it is
about the only real gleam of light heretofore thrown
upon the problem — that we more readily and clearly
perceive the truth of the- particular instances embraced
under an axiom, than the truth of the axiom itself. Now,
if axioms were intuitions the converse of this would
surely happen. Hut our doctrine explains the fact
just as it stands. We clearly and instantaneously
perceive the truth of the particular instance because
it depends upon nothing but the nature of thought
dealing with the idea of space-. The axiom, which is
but an abstract and generalized statement of the par-
ticular instances, comes later and is less clearly recog-
nized.

Corollary 2. Time is to be explained precisely as
space has been. By following the explanation of
space just given, the reader can readily work out the
problem of time for himself.

CHAPTER IV.
CONCEPTS.

Every concept has two meanings. The one is its
meaning in intension, pointing out the characteristics
of the class; the other its meaning in extension refer-
ring to the different individuals or objects included
within the class. All logicians have recognized and
used this familiar distinction; but they have been
strangely blind to its supreme importance as disclos-
ing the inmost nature of the concept. It remains for
me to show that these two meanings — these two con-
stituent elements of every general notion — are related
to each other as cause and effect.

For, firstly, the intension of a concept determines
its extension. What objects may be included within
a class, depends upon the attributes of that class.
The extension gives us objects classified; the intension
points to the ground or cause of their classification.
This by itself would be sufficient to prove our thesis;
but we can go farther. We can show that the inten-
sive meaning points to a dimly disclosed unity and
permanence, the properties of causality; that the ex-
tensive meaning points to a clearly apparent multi-
plicity and change, the properties of effects.

For, secondly, the intension is always a unit. That
is so, of course, when the concept has but one at-
tribute. And although a natural kind may have a
countless number of attributes, they are always con-

2 | S< IENCE I »i I HOUGHT.

ceived as one set as a co-ordinated system as a
unit}- so definitely fixed that from the presence oi a

few of the attributes we can always infer the rest.

The extension, on tin- contrary, refers to a mere mul-
tiplicity, a multitude which never has hem and never
can hi' brought together at one time <>r place.

Thirdly, the intension is permanent* The set of
attributes does not change from century to century;
it is a combination of qualities fixed and uniform for
every possible member of the class. Hut the exten-
sion of a concept is the very type of variablene
includes both the actual and the possible, things past,
present and to come; it designates a multitude in
continual flux.

Fourthly, the intensive meaning is less apparent
than the extensive. Hast}- and superficial thought
always conceives of a class merely as a collection of
objects; it continually loses sight of that deeper
meaning of the concept, without which the first would
be but mere nonsense. The history, of logical specu-
lation for centuries has proved that.

Every concept, therefore, contains two meanings
related to each other as cause and effect.

The exposition just given of the concept, has many
uses. But above all else, it puts an end to that most
ancient and perplexing of all logical controversies —
the dispute between the Realists or their modern suc-
cessors and the Nominalists. For it can now be shown
that both of these rival systems are equally at fault,
both equally one-sided and defective.

Each of the two meanings of a concept must, by it-

CONCEPTS. 25

self, be vague, elusive and incomplete. Each forms
but one-half or one side of a perfect concept; each be-
comes fully intelligible only when related to the other.
Now, both of the rival logical systems ignore, so far
as possible, this double import of the concept. Nom-
inalism lays an exclusive emphasis upon the meaning
in extension. Realism orConceptualism — for the two
differ in degree, not in kind — lays its emphasis upon
the meaning in intension. Each, therefore, fails to
give a true and adequate explanation of general no-
tions.

Realism and Conceptualism, revolving around the
intensive meaning of the concept, have spun an amaz-
ing web of subtilties. But the incomparable skill of
Berkeley proved long ago that we cannot form any
clear and complete idea of any attribute or set of at-
tributes, isolated from the idea of some concrete ob-
ject possessing that attribute or set of attributes. By
no effort of thought can we form a full and distinct
idea of "man" or of the human attributes apart from the
idea of some individual man; or of "motions" inde-
pendently of the idea of some moving body. All that
is irrefragably true; and thereby the whole ground of
Realism is swept away. These isolated abstractions,
— these scholastic universals and "quiddities" and the
more modern "bundles of attributes" — are but half-
ideas which can exist in thought only in conjunction
with their complements. Causes in themselves, un-
related to their effects, are unknowable and unthink-
able.

26 SCIENl i 01 I HOUGH! .

The Nominalist goes to the other extreme. In his
zeal for the meaning in extension he paradoxically
affirms that there are no general notions only gen-
eral terms or common names for different objects.
He forgets that a name could not be common to differ-
ent objects unless they resembled each other in cer-
tain respects. Therefore, even the common name
has a double import : on the one side it points to dif-
ferent objects; on the other to the respects in which
they resemble each other. All this the Nominalist
ignores; and so offers an explanation of the classify-
ing process as utterly inadequate as it is paradoxical.

Both the rival systems, then, are equally defective.
Their controversy is a wrangle over opposite sides of
the same truth. We shall never gain a true theory
of classification until we recognize the double import
of the concept, and remember that each of its two
meanings is fully intelligible only when related to the
other.

We have proved our law, then, so far as concepts
are concerned, and this would be sufficient, by itself,
to prove it in regard to all processes of thought.
For all thinking is carried on by means of concepts.

Corollary i. This law of the complexity of con-
cepts explains why language is indispensable for gen-
uine thinking. On account of its double import, a
concept cannot be clearly held before the mind, ex-
cept through the intervention of a verbal sign.

Corollary 2. Brutes have no language because
they have need of none. They receive impressions
from the outer world and doubtless these impressions

CONCEPTS. 27

are combined and transformed by something like the
laws of association. In fact, I am inclined to believe
that what "the association-philosophy" describes and
explains as thinking, forms a pretty faithful picture of
what takes place in the brain of the animal. . But
there is no shadow of proof, or even of probability
that a brute can form an idea — that is, a general no-
tion with its synthesis of cause and effect. Therefore
animals have no need of speech; nor could use it if
possessed.

CHAPTER V.
SCIENCE.

In considering the theory of reasoning, I shall pass

by many minor questions to come to the most difficult
and important one. What is the inductive or scien-
tific method? That question has been often asked
and never answered. Although the scientific method
has been used so long and with such magnificent re-
sults, there is something about it that has heretofore
eluded description and defied analysis. And it may
seem mere arrogance to attempt in four or five pages,
the solution of a problem that has baffled the logical
skill of centuries. But the light which has led us so
far, will not desert us here.

There are but two kinds of reasoning, deduction
and induction; and both of them have a certain ap-
pearance of imperfection and inadequateness. Deduc-
tion, as every logician knows, has long labored under
the reproach of being essentially nothing more than a
begging of the question. The inference, it is said,
really infers nothing; all that is affirmed in the conclu-
sion has been already affirmed in the premises. The
objection is difficult to answer; and even if we set it
aside, we must still admit that deduction is an incom-
plete and inadequate process. The chief value of
syllogistic reasoning depends upon the accuracy of the
premises, and with that the deduction has nothing to
do. The deduction by itself is a singularly simple, a

SCIENCE. 29

purely formal and mechanical act which could proba-
bly be done by a machine as well as by a human being.
In mathematics, indeed, deductive reasoning has done
marvelous things; but the* marvel is due to the human
ingenuity which has combined a great number of sim-
ple and trivial deductions into a complicated and
splendid chain of reasoning; just as a beautiful build-
ing may be constructed out of rude and diminutive
stones. And the whole history of thought proves that
outside the mathematical sciences, pure deduction
tends to vain disputations and idle subtilities rather
than to the discovery of truth. Thus logically and
historically a syllogism is shown to be by itself a most
imperfect and futile act of reasoning; it takes its prem-
ises for granted, and then does nothing but formally
and mechanically assert in the conclusion what it had
already assumed in the premises.

Pure induction is still more obviously defective. It
carries a fallacy upon its very face; to conclude from
particulars to universals is a plain violation of all logi-
cal rules. The ingenuity of ages has failed to clear
induction from this appearance of utter irrationality.
No one has yet shown how in the actual, physical
world purely contingent experience can be logically
transmuted into universal and necessary law. More-
over, history proves that pure induction is fatally mis-
leading: the greater part of human ignorance and sup-
erstition has sprung from this tendency of the mind
to conclude from particulars to universals.

Both deduction and induction, then, are equally de-
fective and misleading. Logicians have long been

30 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

dimly aware of this fact, although for the credit of
their science they have been inclined to ignore it or
to obscure it by futile explanations. Hut there is no
need of being alarmed at this, as if the very founda-
tions of truth were about to be undermined. On the
contrary, by the recognition of this fact, we are brought
face to face with that fundamental law which governs
the whole realm of thought and gives it perfection.
Both causes by themselves and effects by themselves
are unknowable; the effort to know them thus, results
only in vague, inadequate half thoughts. And it inev-
itably follows from this, that both pure deduction, or
reasoning from causes alone, and pure induction, or
reasoning from effects alone, are essentially imperfect
and invalid processes.

And thus we arrive at the long-sought definition of
the scientific method. Exact knowledge or science
can be attained only by a synthesis of deduction and
induction whereby each of these two processes, by it-
self defective, is strengthened and supported by the
other. The scientific method consists in such a syn-
thesis.

The first process is one of pure induction from par-
ticulars to universals. We observe that a certain co-
existence or sequence of phenomena is uniformly re-
peated; and this observed uniformity we boldly trans-
form into a law. Thus empirical rules are formed,
often crude and dubious, but sometimes attaining to a
high degree of certainty. Hut still something is lack-
ing. The deep chasm between an empirical rule and

SCIENCE. 31

a universal law can be closed only by the second pro-
cess of the scientific method.

The second process is deductive; it seeks the cause
of these observed uniformities; in otherwords it strives
to deduce the empirical rule from some more univer-
sal law. Now, if this wider law has been already es-
tablished, the matter is simple enough; but in many
cases this is not so. Often the cause is but hypothe-
tical, merely a mathematical formula from which the
empirical rules or facts may be deduced. And the
question arises, how scientific certainty is gained
through this subsumption of the minor laws under the
more universal one? I answer, firstly, a wider interde-
pendenceof phenomena is thereby established; and thus
mere co-incidence is less apt to be mistaken for invar-
iable and necessary order. Secondly, exceptions are
gotten rid of; what is inexplicable by the minor empir-
ical rule, often admits of ready explanation under the
light of the universal law. Thirdly and most impor-
tant of all, qualitative laws are thus converted into
quantitative ones. It is the noblest characteristic of
nature— one to which we owe almost all our real knowl-
edge of her secrets — that her deepest and widest laws
are mathematical. In chemistry, for instance, the
most intricate and obscure qualitative differences have
been almost magically resolved into simple equa-.
tions of quantity. Thus, a vast increase of cer-
tainty is gained. For uniformities of quantity, of
weight or distance can be measured with the utmost
minuteness; so that a single observation agreeing with

32 SCIENCE « »i I M< lUGHl .

a mathematical computation becomes of far more value
than a hundred co-existences oi mere quality.

Such then is the scientific method. It is com-
pounded of two elements or processes induction and
deduction— each by itself imperfect and invalid, but
together forming a perfect act of scientific reasoning. '

In a word, the scientific method is like an arch, nei-
ther side of which could stand if it were not supported
by the other.

To follow out all the applications of this theory
of science would demand a volume instead of these
few pages. I can pause only to note that our doctrine
will be signally verified in the chapters upon civiliza-
tion. It will then be found to solve that chief prob-
lem in the history of science — the utter failure of ar-
tiquity except at Alexandria, in the study of Nature;
and the swift, wondrous triumph of modern scientific
research. But our present object has been fully ac-
complished. The principle that thinking is com-
pounded of two elements, each inadequate without the

lIt may be objected to our doctrine of the inadequacy of deduction;
that mathematical science is entirely deductive. But, that is, although
a very common, an erroneous view. The chief toil of the mathe-
matician is inductive or inventive, the finding of his premises.
In algebra, for instance, and generally in the higher and applied math-
ematics— the work is nearly done when the proper equation is formed;
that is, when the particular instance or problem has been put under
some universal formula or equation. And the resolution of a com-
mon equation — that is, the deductive part — is an almost mechanical
process. In geometry all this is greatly obscured, because its ordinary
study is confined chiefly to following and memorizing what has been
already done. But in the formation of geometry — and in its proper
study too — the chief matter was the statement of its problems, the
finding out by experiment of the premises from which to deduce.

SCIENCE. 33

other, has been vindicated so far as scientific reason-
ing is concerned. All perfect thought from the sim-
plest act of perception up to the most elaborate pro-
cesses of scientific research, has been found to have a
common nature and to be governed by one fundamen-
tal law.
3

CIIAI'TKK VI.

MORALITY.

Morality is compounded of two elements — the con-
sciousness of causality and the foresight of conse-
quences. A true ethical system would hold both of
these elements in that perfect synthesis which the
nature of thought demands. But instead of that we
find moralists divided into two rival schools, each of
which emphasizes what the other ignores. On the
one side are the realists ignoring and even denying the
consciousness of causality ; on the other are the ideal-
ists eager to construct an ethical theory that shall
ignore, so far as possible, the consequences of conduct.
Thus both systems become equally one-sided and de-
fective ; controversy and confusion reign everywhere
in ethical philosophy.

Seeking now a way out of this confusion, let us be-
gin with the doctrine of the realists. These deny the
human consciousness of self-causality, upon two gen-
eral grounds which we will consider in turn.

(i) The realists assert that self-causality is incon-
ceivable. The self, according to Jonathan Edwards
and others of his school, cannot be the determining
cause of its own volitions, because "it is inconceivable
that the same cause in the same circumstances should
produce different effects at different times. " The mind
can act only in that way in which it has been deter-
mined to act by antecedent circumstances.

MORALITY. 35

But this alleged inconceivability is a mere prejudice
and an utter delusion. It is true enough that no
material thing can act in different ways under the
same conditions ; for, being unconscious, it cannot
present before itself the two courses of action between
which it would have to decide. Its act must be de-
termined for it by something beyond itself. But it is
simply absurd to assume that because this is true in
regard to unconscious being, it must also be true in
regard to conscious being. Does the fact that beings
without eyes are unable to see, prove that beings with
eyes are also unable to see? No more does the fact
that the unconscious cannot determine itself, prove that
the conscious cannot determine itself.

The assertion that self-causality is inconceivable,
has its origin in a double error. In the first place,
the realist mistakes the incomprehensibility of a
method for the inconceivableness of a fact. It is, in-
deed, incomprehensible how a conscious being deter-
mines itself to either one of two possible courses of
action. But it is equally incomprehensible how the
unconscious is determined to act by something without
itself. In the last resort it is always inscrutable how
things happen ; we only know that they do happen.

The realist, in the second place, is infatuated with
a passion for annulling all distinctions between mental
and physical phenomena. It is unendurable, he thinks,
that there should be such a contrast between physical
and moral causation. But he forgets that this differ-
ence is necessarily involved in the difference between
the unconscious and the* conscious. The first, as we

36 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

have seen, cannot determine itself, because it is uncon-
scious ; the second can determine itself, because it is

conscious. Surely then, there is nothing anomalous
and much less anything inconceivable — in tin's differ-
ence between physical and moral causation.

There does not appear to be the slightest ground,

then, for the assertion that free causation is inconceiv-
able. And yet this assertion is continually being
made as if it were a self-evident truth.

(2) A second argument exultantly used by those
who deny self-causality is the argument from motives.
They affirm that every moral act must be preceded by
a motive ; as Sir William Hamilton has tersely said :
"A motiveless act is rationally and morally worthless."
All that may gladly be conceded. But because every
moral act must have a motive, it by no means follows
that the act must be determined or necessitated by
the motive. And secondly, if it were thus determined,
it would have no moral worth. If an act without a
motive is morally worthless, so also is an act mechani-
cally determined by a motive.

This refutation is summary, but it is unanswerable.
The object of this volume, however, is not to merely
refute fallacies, but to explain them ; and so something
must here be added. Every volition contains, in fact,
is developed from, a motive1 ; but the mind itself de-

1 This explains that favorite catch used by the determinists as a
last resort : I cannot act so and so unless I wish to ; the wish or desire
therefore is the antecedent (See Mills Examination of Hamilton's
Philosophy II. 285 and Logic 524, for examples). Of course I cannot
will unless I wish to ; since the volition is but the developed wish.
But it by no means follows that I cannot will unless I am compelled to.

MORALITY. 37

termines whether that development shall take place or
not. This the necessitarian denies ; he considers the
development of a motive into a volition to be a problem
in mechanics. The motive, he thinks, passes into the
volition mechanically, because it is "stronger" or
"weightier" than any other desire present in the mind.
But why does he make this strange assumption? Con-
scious experience certainly tells him nothing about the
mechanical strength or weight of motives, or that they
are thus mechanically developed into volition. It
teaches the exact contrary.

Why then, I repeat, does the necessitarian make
this assumption? Simply because he is still entangled
in the meshes of the first fallacy treated in this chap-
ter. It is inconceivable to him how the conscious can
act differently from the unconscious — how the conscious
self can act at all unless it is mechanically determined
to act by something not itself. And therefore he goes
on repeating that it must be the superior "weight" or
"strength" of the desire which compels the mind to
develop it into a volition.

The whole necessitarian argument thus resolves it-
self into a single fallacy. All its elusive proofs and
winding subtilities revolve around the assumption that
conscious or free causality is inconceivable. In a
word, necessitarian morality is but a phase of that
one-sided realistic tendency which ignores the cause
and dwells only upon the effect.1

1 I have not noticed a third necessitarian argument — that from
the predictibility of conduct — on account of its excessive vagueness.
It is true that when a person's character is known his future conduct

38 S< IEN< l. OF THOUGHT.

The idealists, then, arc right in affirming that the

mind is conscious of its own causality. And in affirm-
ing this they furnish the basis, at least, oi a true moral
system.

For, the idea of right and wrong, as distinguished
from the idea of the expedientand the inexpedient, is
necessarily involved in this consciousness of self-caus-
ality. Because we arc the free causes of our actions,
we know that we arc responsible for them ; and that
not in the merely legal sense that we are liable to
punishment, but in the moral sense that we deserve
punishment. We not only fear that we shall be pun-
ished, but we recognize that we ought to be. To the
mere fear of consequences is added the bitterness
remorse or self-reproach. We say to ourselves : It is
just ; I deserve this suffering ; I have brought it upon
myself. In this feeling of moral responsibility or
desert, the idea of right and wrong is rooted.

No system, whi'ch denies our consciousness of self-
causality, can ever logically pass from the idea of the
expedient to the idea of the right. It can give to us
the foresight and fear of consequences, but never the
sense of desert and true moral responsibility. All its
ingenious sophistries can never bridge the impassable
chasm between the mere fear that we shall be punished
and the conviction that we ought to be punished. If
we are driven into suffering, as the winds and stars

may be guessed — not by any means predicted in the scientific sense of
the word. But this proves only what no one denies. The mind is
continually yielding to these influences, habit, heredity, or environ-
ment. But the sane mind is never compelled thus to yield.

MORALITY. 39

are driven in their courses by causes beyond their
control, we may shrink from the pain, but we shall
have no more sense of guilt than the winds and stars
have. Recoil from pain is not the sense of desert.

Up to this point then, idealism is abundantly justi-
fied. But it is fatally defective and one-sided in that
it ignores, so far as possible, the other element of mor-
ality, the foresight of consequences. For moral laws,
just as much as physical ones, can be established only
by experience, by" the study of effects or consequences.
One cannot but smile at the futile endeavors of the
idealists to evolve ethical precepts from their inner
consciousness, from "intuitions;" or some other mys-
tical a priori process of thought. All history demon-
strates the vanity of such endeavors. Everywhere,
among different races and in different ages we behold
a vast diversity and variation of moral judgments.
And such uniformity as we do find, is manifestly the
result, not of "intuition," but of that moral training to
which society subjects its members from childhood to
old age.

The utilitarians or realists, then, are right when
they insist that the only test or criterion of conduct is
its consequences. The consciousness of causality gives
us the universal idea of right or wrong ; but it does
not tell us how that universal idea is to be applied to
particular actions. In regard to that, experience is
our only teacher. True moral laws can be established
only by closely observing the effects of conduct upon
human happiness. A morality that attempts to estab-
lish its precepts in any other way, will necessarily be

40 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

wreak, vague, confused and fantastic. It will lack a
correct appreciation of the different virtues. It will
not have that moral vigor which comes only from clear
and exact perceptions of moral truth. It may be per-
vaded by a deep sense of sin and of responsibility to
the higher powers, but it will be very poorly fitted to
meet the actual needs of human life. All that is clearly
evident from the very nature of the case ; and it will
be remarkably verified in the chapters upon the history
of civilization.

Our fundamental law, then, is again vindicated.
Both the old ethical theories are mutilated, one-sided
systems, because each ignores one or the other of the
two indispensable elements of thought. The true
theory will combine both elements, cause and effect.
It will recognize the consciousness of causality as fur-
nishing the only basis of morality ; and the foresight
of consequences as establishing moral rules and thus
providing the ethical superstructure. The result will
not be a barren eclecticism selecting its doctrines at
random, but a true ethical system governed by that
law which rules the whole world of thought.

CHAPTER VII.
ART.

Hardly any one will deny that there is as yet no
science of the beautiful. Many aesthetic theories have
been advanced, received with favor by some, rejected
by others, and then have passed into oblivion. But
despite all these failures, an aesthetic science is still
possible. The principle which has been found to rule
in every other realm of thought, rules here also. And
it will enable us to define the nature of beauty, to
discover that common characteristic in all beautiful
things which imparts to them their charm. Thus we
shall have, at last, the basis of a true aesthetic science.

We have seen that there are two intellectual tenden-
cies, each representative of one side or element of
perfected thought. The one tendency is absorbed in
the contemplation of effects, is intent upon that ap-
pearance of multiplicity and change so visible upon
the very surface of things ; the other tendency seeks
rather for causes — for that manifestation of power,
unity and permanence which is not so apparent indeed,
but still is exhibited in every part of the universe.
Both of these forms of mental activity are to a certain
extent pleasurable ; and the pleasures attendant upon
them, we may call for lack of better terms, the one,
realistic, the other, idealistic emotion.

Let it now be noted that each of these pleasures is,
by itself, transient, and so essentially imperfect that

42 SCIENCE OB THOUGH I ".

it is ever liable to pass into a pain. We arc pie;
for a while, by variety and novelty ; but the mind
grows bewildered, distracted and irritated by the con-
fusion and din of mere change. There is a certain
charm also in the recognition of causal power with its
unity and invariableness ; but very soon this uniform
order becomes for us a tedious, Oppressive and insuf-
ferable monotony. Each feeling, then, by itself, is
defective, spasmodic, powerless to impart full and
abiding enjoyment. Hut when the two feelings are
combined, so as to relieve and support each other, we
have that most exalted of all emotions— tranquil and
sustained delight in the beautiful.

These two balanced feelings, it will be remembered,
differ ; firstly, in their objects, power, unity and per-
manence upon the one side, multiplicity and change
upon the other; secondly, in the fact that the percep-
tion is more obscure in the one case than the other.
This understood, we have the definition so long sought
but never found. The beautiful is that which harmon-
izes realistic and idealistic emotion.

It remains now to verify this aesthetic theory by
showing, first, that it will explain the chief aesthetic
rules and convictions which have long been empirically
recognized in the world of art ; and secondly, that it
will also satisfactorily account for the emotions of the
ludicrous and the sublime — those half-sisters, as it
were, of the beautiful.

(i) The curve has always been recognized as the
line of beauty. This first and most comprehensive

ART. 43

rule of aesthetic form has heretofore been empirically
accepted as an ultimate, inexplicable fact ; but from
our present point of view it readily submits to analy-
sis and explanation. For, the curve has two essential
characteristics; first, it is a line continually changing
its direction; second, these incessant changes are gov-
erned by a simple and invariable law. It is thus the
perfect type of that balance between the two elements
of thought which our law demands. It is neither
straight nor crooked, nor partially the one and par-
tially the other, nor any other absurd equation of con-
tradictories. It is perfect order and perfect change
related to each other as cause and effect. The curved
line, in a word, is the visible embodiment of the prin-
ciple of all beauty and of all perfected thought.

We may go farther in our analysis and thereby ex-
plain the different aesthetic values of different kinds of
curvation. Thus, according to Hogarth, "the serpen-
tine line" is pre-eminently beautiful; while straight
lines are too lean and poor and circles or lines nearly
circular are too gross. The rules thus laid down by
the great artist are manifestly true; but the explan-
ation of them is rather that of a portrait-painter than
of a philosopher. Circles displease not on account of
their grossness or fatness, but because they violate,
in one chief respect, the principle of beauty. For, in
them the element of uniformity is so obtrusively mani-
fest as to completely obscure the element of variety
and change; it requires no little thought to perceive
the continuous change of direction involved in a circle.
Thus the law of beauty is exactly reversed. That

44 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

law demands, as we have seen, that the element of
variety and change should be clearly and superficially
apparent, while the element of unity and invariableness
must be more obscurely presented. This relation be-
tween clear and dim perception is of the very essence
of the beautiful.

(2) What constitutes that charm of color felt at
once by the savage and the civilized, but which has
never been explained except as inexplicably "organic''
or "primitive"? But the scientific explanation is now
not far to seek. For, firstly, color is the most vivid
manifestation possible of change or contrast; in fact,
all visible differences are exhibited to us, only through
the medium of differently colored lines or surfaces.
And, secondly, all these variations are governed by a
simple law of unity or gradation whereby one shifting-
hue passes into another with infinite grace and deli-
cacy. The rainbow revealed that to the commonest
mind, long before there was any science of optics.
And color is beautiful because it is thus capable of
fully satisfying the realistic delight in change or con-
trast and the idealistic passion for unity and order.

We can also easily explain why savages, children
and the uncultivated take such delight in gaudy,
glaring colors. Fdr such minds are captivated by the
realistic element in beauty ; they love the contrast and
novelty so vividly displayed by bright colors. But
the idealistic element, that obscure revelation of unity,
gradation and repose can be fully appreciated only by
the thoughtful and the artistic. Compare, for in-
stance, the gradated tints of the rainbow or of a blush

ART. 45

mantling a fair cheek with the paint on the face of a
savage.

(3) The beauty of sounds manifestly depends upon
the same law of synthesis. Music gives us, on the
one hand, an ever changing succession of fleeting
sounds ; on the other, a sense of regularity pervading,
more or less obscurely, this mass of vocal changes.
The first element, by itself, would be but mere noise,
irregular and flitting, which would soon become in-
tensely irritating; the second, by itself, would soon
pass into a dull and oppressive monotony. But the
two are combined even in the crudest forms of savage
music, and far more perfectly in the triumphs of mod-
ern musical art. And the eternal charm of music
consists in its wonderful capacity for thus combining
those realistic emotions which stir and excite the soul,
with those idealistic ones that soothe and tranquilize
it by their suggestions of power, unity and repose.

(4) Our law is then fully verified in regard to those
three grand divisions of aesthetic theory, the beauty
of figure, color and sound. We come now to the the-
ory of the Fine Arts. And here we need only to
complete Schiller's celebrated definition of Art as play.
That definition precisely expresses one side or element
of all artistic production.

For, play has three essential characteristics, first, it
is unconstrained; if it was carried on not for its own
sake, but under the constraint of some useful end, it
would be work. Secondly, play is imitative, it cares
only for appearance, lives in a feigned world copied
from the real one. Thirdly, its pleasure is that af-

46 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

forded by change, novelty, release from the dull toil
and monotony of common life. Now, we have already
seen that these three characteristics -delight in free-
dom or in the absence of constraining and regulative
power, delight in appearance or show and delight in
novelty — are precisely the characteristics of realistic
emotion. This is the philosophic truth involved in
Schiller's definition.

But the Fine Arts are something more than play.
They contain also an element of seriousness, of pro-
found thought, of strenuous although exalted toil.
True art must give at least some suggestion of that
regulative power, unity and repose which obscurely
pervades the apparent world of hap-hazard, show and
change. It was the recognition of this deeper element
in art which made Aristotle say so grandly that poetry
was a more serious and philosophic matter than phil-
osophy itself. In a word, Art must combine the spirit
of play and of seriousness ; it must gratify both realis-
tic and idealistic emotion.

I can here note, very briefly, a few of the many
applications of this doctrine. First, it avoids the fatal
defect of Schiller's theory, in that he was never able
to precisely define the difference between the Fine
Arts and other kinds of play that are anything but
artistic. Whatever gratifies merely the delight in free-
dom, mimicry and change, is play and nothing more.
Beautiful play or art begins when the deeper and more
serious element is added.

Secondly, it shows that art is something more than
imitation. There may be the utmost realism, the

ART. 47

most vivid and photographic copying of nature and
still no genuine art. Beyond the mere play or imita-
tive fancy, there must be that creative work of the
imagination which idealizes common things, imparts
the charm of unity and order to apparent chaos,
breathes, as it were, upon the dead, incoherent mass
of details and transforms it into living and immortal
beauty. As a corollary to this, comes also Lessing's
famous law that the more perfect the imitation effected
by any art, the narrower is its range. Sculpture, for
instance, is thus confined to a very narrow class of
objects. And the explanation is now easy : the more
perfect the realistic imitation, the less chance for ideal-
istic suggestion.

Thirdly, another essential characteristic of art is
that its noblest efforts transcend all rules and technical
processes. This too, can now be readily explained.
The realistic imitation of the apparent is largely me-
chanical. But the other, or idealistic element, is more
dimly perceived, and therefore in the treatment of it
rules and mechanical processes are of little avail ; it
can be known and expressed only by the subtle power
of artistic genius.

(5) That distinction between fancy and imagination
so much discussed by modern criticism, can be fully
explained only by our theory. The difference between
them I find to be that the one clings to the realistic
element, the other to the idealistic element in beauty.
For, firstly, fancy is pure play; she has no depth of
feeling or earnestness ; but imagination is ever serious,
intense, speaks from the heart to the heart. Secondly,

48 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

the fancy is imitative ; she delights in appearance,
.md pictures the exterior. The imagination is
creative, reveals the inmost nature of things. Third]}',
the fancy is clear, brilliant ; her metaphors play like
Lambent flames over the mere surface ol things. Hut
the imagination is prone to obscurity ; with a word
sin- dimly suggests things unutterable ; with a few
grand strokes, she opens up exhaustless thoughts that
flow on forever. Fourthly, the fancy works by rule,
is accurate, elegant. But the imagination cares little
for laws or conventional forms ; she breaks the casket
in order to get the jewels. Fifthly, the fancy delights
in multiplicity and details; the imagination has the
secret of unity and comprehends the whole with a
glance. Sixthly, the fancy is fond of change ; is
less, feverish, thirsts for startling effects. But the
very essence of the imagination is a sublime repose,
quivering with the pulses of a hidden power.

Xo one, conversant with the great, incoherent mass
of criticism about fancy and imagination, will deny
that the essential differences between the two are cor-
rectly portrayed above. And they obviously corres-
pond to what we have before seen to be the differences
between the realistic and the idealistic element in
beauty.

(6) The ludicrous has been generally defined as the
incongruous. But there is evidently something lack-
ing in this definition, for the incongruous is by no
means always laughable. Many unavailing efforts
have been made to supply what is so plainly missing
here. Bain, for instance, following in this other

ART. 49

eminent thinkers, has described the essence of the
ludicrous as consisting in the degradation of some-
thing worthy. But that plainly is to confound pure
and sweet laughter with hateful derision and ghoulish
glee. Evidently the true definition remains still to
be sought, and T now define the ludicrous as that
which produces an excess of realistic emotion.

Realistic emotion, as we have seen, depends upon
the perception of variety and change. When both
of these are in a certain excess, when variety has be-
come incongruity and change has become sudden,
even abrupt, we have the ludicrous. A tumble into
the mud is made ludicrous by the incongruity of the
position and, above all, by its abruptness and unex-
pectedness. A skilled jester wears a grave face, in
order to make the perception of incongruity as ab-
rupt as possible. We smile at a momentary discord,
but when long continued it becomes a torture. A
drenching is ludicrous, if sudden and unexpected
enough. We laugh at an unexpected act of folly,
but not at persistent foolishness. Wit must come in
flashes. Repetition wears away the point of every
joke, and converts the ludicrous into the painful.

Laughter, then, is intense realistic emotion — de-
light in variety and change, carried to the extreme of
abrupt, unexpected incongruity. The full force of
this definition appears in its explanation of humor or
laughter made beautiful. Humor is intense realistic
emotion tempered by idealistic seriousness. The
true humorist is quick to perceive the incongruous
and unexpected, but he is equally quick to perceive
4

50 SCI] \< E OF THOUGHT.

that latent power and ideal unity of human

nature hidden beneath these superficial and fleeting

aspects of weakness and folly. And among all the

fine arts there is none finer than that which thus
harmonizes the spirit of laughter and play with a
genial, loving sympathy for mankind.

(7) What, now, is the sublime ? The definitions
heretofore given seem almost ludicrously inadequate.
Many, including even so great an artistic genius as
Hogarth, have described the essence of sublimity as
consisting in magnitude. But a whale is not sub-
lime. Others assert that the essence of sublimity is
heighth. But the sublimity which we find in the
Pyramids we should not find in a pole twice as high.
Passing by other equally unsatisfactory answers, we
present the solution given by our fundamental law.

Idealistic emotion we have found to be delight in
the dim perception of power, unity and permanence.
Sublimity is this feeling carried to the highest in-
tensity, but still relieved by the counter-feeling. The
delight in power, unity and permanence — the ideal
of action, space and time — must be relieved by de-
light in change and contrast ; otherwise we should
have only the dull, depressing sense of laborious
effort, sameness and monotony. Instead of a sense
of sublimity we should have only an unbalanced and
painful feeling. The sublime, then, is that which
produces the utmost intensity of idealistic emotion
compatible with realistic emotion.

Countless examples might be given to show that
both emotions must be present. The ocean, per-

ART. 51

fectly and perpetually calm, would be but a "big
pond"; but with its ever changing waves and storms,
it becomes ineffably sublime. The immeasurable
vault of heaven would be dull enough, if its sameness
were not relieved by the glitter and seeming disorder
of the stars. The mountains are made sublime' by
their eternal repose amidst scenes of incessant change.
Acts of heroism and self-sacrifice gain their grandeur
from their contrast with the common level of human
action. The thunder-storm, above all else, with its
awful display of illimitable power, producing the
most vivid changes and contrasts — its sudden out-
burst of tremendous energy throughout the whole
vast and stable vault of heaven, its thick darkness
relieved by swift flashes of lightning, the deep roll of
the thunder gradually dying away in the far distance
— all this furnishes a perfect type of sublimity. But
perpetual thunder and lightning would be anything
but sublime.

It may be well to specially note one element of
sublimity — mystery. The objects of idealistic emo-
tion, as we have repeatedly seen, are dimly perceived;
and as dimness passes into mystery, that emotion
rises in intensity. Therefore, mystery promotes the
sense of sublifhity; and on the other hand, clearness
is essential to the ludicrous. The obscurity which
would be fatal to the excellence of a joke, intensifies
the sublime.

Still another gleam of light must be thrown upon
the relation between the sublime and the ludicrous.
The sublime we now know to be that which produces

52 SCIENCE OF THOUCHT.

the utmost intensity of idealistic emotion delicately
balanced by realistic feeling; and that evidently must
be a state of most unstable equilibrium. In other
words, it is a state extremely liable to sudden collapse.
But from the definitions already given, it is obvious
that* the sudden collapse of the sublime would form a
perfect type of the ludicrous. This is the philosophic
explanation of the proverb that it is but a step from
the sublime to the ridiculous.

The opposition between realism and idealism in art
has long been recognized: but only in a vague, em-
pirical way which has resulted in nothing but endless
disputes. But now for the first time these two tend-
encies have been analyzed and their respective char-
acteristics fully described. Now also the exact
relation between them has been stated — not of an-
tagonism but of reciprocal need of each other in the
perfect balance of thought. And thus a law of the
beautiful has been formed whereby we have been able
to explain those aesthetic judgments and principles of
art which have heretofore been despairingly re-
garded as ultimate, inexplicable facts given to men by
some magic of instinct or intuition. And this law of
beauty we have derived from a still wider law, simple
and universal as gravity.

CHAPTER VIII.
PAGAN CIVILIZATION.

The nature of thought, then, is everywhere the
same. All processes of thinking, from the simplest
perception up to the splendors of physical, moral and
aesthetic science have one common characteristic and
obey one universal law. It remains now to show that
this law will explain the course of human civilization
and thus give to us a true philosophy of history.

Beginning with ancient civilization, we find there
two distinct types of development, the Oriental and
the Classical. The first of these is ruled by the ideal-
istic impulse, the other by the realistic: each thus un-
duly emphasizes one element of thought and ignores
the other. And each thus becomes fatally defective,
because it is the development of a one-sided and ex-
aggerated tendency of the human spirit. To prove
this let us consider, first, the characteristic features
of Oriental civilization.

(i) It has long been well understood that the pre-
vailing philosophy of the Orient was an extravagant
idealism. For Oriental thought, the whole visible
universe shrivels into Maya or illusion. Even per-
sonality is recognized only as a transient form of be-
ing, which finally fades into the abstractness of Brahma
or the nothmgness of Nirvana. Everything is
sacrificed to the passion for gazing into the depths of
pure existence, the absolute cause, the unity and per-

54 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

manence underlying all multiplicity and change. Along

with this go all the minor marks of an excessive ideal-
ism. The disdain of experience, the constant appeal
to intuition or ecstacy or some other mystic, a priori
process of thought, the slavish deference to authority,
the absence of free inquiry and of the critical spirit —
all these are well known features of the Oriental mind.
(2) Oriental religion has six essential characteris-
tics. First a pantheistic conception of the universe;
all finite existence is but a mode of the absolute.
Secondly, fatalism; human life is everywhere enmeshed
in the bonds of an infinite causality. This is very
different, however, from that modern denial of moral
freedom which is based upon the ignoring of all con-
scious causality whatever; the two opposite tendencies
of the human spirit frequently reach the same abyss,
through different roads. Thirdly, sacerdotalism; for
man, a mere waif of weakness and sin, there is no way
of salvation save through priestly intervention. Fourth-
ly, the sacrificial element overwhelms the moral; man's
weak striving after righteousness is in vain; piety con-
sists not in virtue but in sacrifice, not in what we do,
but in what we surrender to the Infinite. Fifthly, the
complete subordination of reason to faith; the soul
cannot attain to truth through its unaided efforts, but
only through revelation and ecstacy. Sixthly, a wild
supernaturalism; man disdaining the present world of
illusions and changes, gives himself up to dreams of
futurity. These are the manifest characteristics of
Oriental religion; and they all are the evident products
of that idealistic tendency which sacrifices theindivid-

PAGAN CIVILIZATION. 55

ual, the many and the transitory, in order to lay all
emphasis upon the thought of one, unchanging and
eternal cause.

(3) Oriental morality is under the same pitiless
law of one-sided development. The sense of causal-
ity is pushed to fatal excesses. The feeling of respons-
ibility to the higher powers forms the almost exclusive
rule of action. The practical consequences of con-
duct are so completely ignored that the moral ideal is
made to consist in the sacrifice of happiness, in the
cruel tortures of asceticism.

At the conclusion of the chapter upon ethics we have
described the inevitable results of a morality which ig-
nores the consequences of conduct; and the Orient is a
living witness to the truth of that description. The
Oriental spirit, weighed down by the sense of sin
and responsibility, is manifestly lacking in moral tone
and vigor. It is obedient, very scrupulous about mi-
nute things, but strangely neglectful of the weightier
matters of the law. Veracity in the East seems hardly
to be numbered among the virtues. Justice is but an-
other name for the whims of a despot. Benevolence,
confining its care to bugs, monkeys and other beasts,
has but slight concern for the misery and agony of
men. In a word, Oriental morality, vitiated by the
lack of the utilitarian or realistic element is unpracti-
cal, incoherent and fantastic.

(4) Idealism, as we have seen, is essentially deduc-
tive. The Orient has consequently made no slight
contributions to mathematical science, wherein deduc-
tion preponderates. But in physical or experimental

56 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT,

science there has been but little progress on account
of that disdain for experience, lack of free inquiry and
the clinging to the authority of the past which are so
characteristic of extreme idealism.

(5) That Oriental art is intensly idealistic, probably
no one will deny. Its straining after the sublime in
the guise of the colossal, the aspect of repose and
permanence which pervades its creation, its passion
for mystery, for Sphynx-like obscurity and the dim
suggestion of deep truths — all these we have seen to
be the essential marks of idealistic art. But it is ideal-
ism in excess. Its seriousness often sinks into a dull,
depressing solemnity. It lacks that realistic sense of
measure and proportion which comes from exact ob-
servation. It cares little for the close imitation of re-
ality. And thus its vague and shadowy conceptions
are always apt to become painfully grotesque.

The chief triumphs of Oriental art have been archi-
tectural. And the reason is now evident. For arch-
itecture, employing the most rigid materials in great
masses, and forced to adapt itself to utilitarian de-
signs, gives less chance for the vagaries of an extrav-
agant idealism, while affording full scope for the ideal-
istic delight in power, repose and mystery. This is
the truth which is partially and empirically recog-
nized in Hegel's famous formula of architecture as the
symbolic art — the art best fitted to express "the ob-
scure ideas" of the Orient and the Middle Ages.

Another characteristic — and a very noble, although
little noticed one — is its idealistic love of Nature. Of

PAGAN CIVILIZATION. 57

this we shall have more to say in treating of classical
civilization.

(6) Social organization in the East is ruled by the
same one-sided impulse. Its aim is the complete sub-
ordination of the many to the one. The freedom of
individuals, personal rights and private interests are all
ruthlessly sacrificed to the idealistic demand for power,
unity and permanence in the social system. Hence
came the colossal empires which once ruled the East.
Hence, also, the institution of castes, that overwhelm-
ing sacrifice of the individual to the universal. And
hence the peculiar character of Oriental laws, which
are minute restrictions imposed upon every detail of
human conduct; secondly, are divine revelations, as
the institutes of Menu, for instance, declare; and
thirdly, must from age to age be sacredly preserved
from all change or innovation. In the land-laws there
is even a communistic tinge; the right of property
floats loosely between the individual holder, the vil-
lage community and the state. Everywhere the ten-
dency is to centralize; the centripetal forces completely
over-power the centrifugal. In a word Oriental so-
ciety caring solely for unity and permanence, is the very
incarnation of an excessive and unbalanced idealism.

As Oriental life was idealistic, so classical life
was realistic to excess. This is the philosophic
formula for that deep and wide contrast between the
two, which has been universally recognized.

(1) Greek philosophy is essentially realistic. Pla-
tonism, at first view, seems to directly contradict this

58 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

statement; but the genius of Plato was diametrically
opposed to the ruling tendencies of classical thought.
That is proved by several considerations. First the
Platonic philosophy did not thrive until after many
centuries it was transplanted to Alexandria where
Oriental influences were supreme. Secondly, the
great master himself seems to have been a somewhat
wavering supporter of his own principles; in his later
dialogues there is an evident recoil from an idealism
so repugnant to the native bent of the Greek mind.
Thirdly, his absolutism and contempt for liberty, his
communistic scorn of all individualism, and above all,
his disdain for art, show how far he had separated him-
self from the ruling impulses of his race. Plato, indeed,
is a protestant against, rather than a representative
of the prevailing tendencies of classical life.

Looking then at the entire movement of Greek and
Roman speculation, we see that it became more and
more realistic and at last ended in thorough skepticism.
The protest of Plato and his few followers was but an
eddy in the current.

(2) The realistic impulse engrossed with the phe-
nomenal, neglectful of those higher conceptions which
bind all things into unity and permanence, can give
but a feeble support to religion. And such was sig-
nally the case in Greek and Roman history. We have
there presented before us the unique example of a re-
ligion without a revelation. The supernatural is re-
duced to its minimum. The idealistic conception of
the Infinite is almost wholly wanting; the gods are
immortal men, glorified types of humanity, but as

PAGAN CIVILIZATION. 59

thoroughly finite, especially in morals, as any ordinary
mortal. Religion became merely a function of the
state; the priests were simply public officials; and wor-
ship a beautiful custom to be maintained in the inter-
est of law and order. Under such condition criticism
and doubt had an easy triumph. The simple child-
like piety of earlier times was saved from utter extinc-
tion only by that counter-tendency — that idealistic or
causal impulse — which, however repressed, still ob-
scurely pervades the human mind, because it is in-
volved in the very nature of thought.

(3) Classical morality also was ruled by the realis-
tic impulse. Socrates always indentified virtue with
wisdom; and from that thoroughly utilitarian view
classical thought — even among the Platonists and
Stoics — never departed. There is hardly a trace of
that Oriental conception of virtue as obedience to im-
mutable law supernaturally imposed. The Greek
gods, in fact, were very poorly fitted to act as teach-
ers of morality. The wisdom in which virtue consisted
was to be gained by experience, by study of com-
mon opinion and immemorial custom, by free and
critical inquiry into the relative worth of sensuous and
intellectual consequences.

The morality thus attained had many charms. It had
hardly a tinge of the hateful Oriental asceticism; its aim
was not to repress but to educate, not the ascetic sacri-
fice but the free, artistic development of human nature.
By patient processes of observation and free inquiry,
the moral code became clear, precise and practical.
And there was imparted to classical life, for a time at

60 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

least, that moral tone and vigor which can be gained
only by vivid perception of the consequences of
conduct.

But it was still a fatally defective morality. It
was narrow and inadequate, in that it had no place
for those virtues of obedience, patience, humility and
loving sacrifice which form the nobler half of human
aspiration. It was superficial in that it did not sat-
isfy the deepest needs of life. It was almost a stranger
to the idealistic sense of desert, responsibility and guilt;
from the days of Homer downward, sin was but folly, or
a passing fit of madness. In a word, it was a morality
without. a basis — without any deep laid conviction of
the eternal difference between duty and self-interest,
the right and the expedient. And hence it soon suc-
cumbed to the mighty forces of doubt and human
passion.

(4) We have seen in a previous chapter that the
progress of science depends upon the equilibrium of
the realistic or inductive and the idealistic or deduc-
tive tendency. Hence realistic Greece and Rome
made such slight scientific advance. Something
more was needed than intellectual ardor and the acut-
est powers of observation; great thinkers like Aristotle
for instance, might go on forever, scrutinising the
obvious and superficial aspects of things without gain-
ing-the least insight into the hidden laws and secret
processes of nature. But at Alexandria the needful
equilibrium of impulses was, for a brief period attained.
That great city, lying at the gateway of ancient
commerce, became the focus of the Oriental influen-

PAGAN CIVILIZATION. 6 1

ces, that were streaming in upon the west; and in her
schools there was, for a time, an eclectic commingling
of the two tendencies of the human spirit.

Hence it happened, just as our law would demand,
that classical science was almost exclusively Alexan-
drian. We need only point to the immortal discov-
eries of Hipparchus and Eratosthenes in astronomy
and geography, of Euclid in geometry, and Archimedes
in mechanics — to show how much was done for science
in that eclectic city, and how little outside the circle
of her influence.

But this synthesis was purely fortuitous ; it was the
temporary product of fortunate but fleeting conditions.
Alexandrian idealism soon passed into the wildest
Oriental mysticism and was cast aside by the realistic
common-sense of the Greek and Roman mind. Hence-
forward classical life went on in its own empirical way
and science made no farther progress.

Thus our law is not only verified, but it solves one
of the chief enigmas of history — -the failure of the
acute, inquiring intellect of antiquity to make any
scientific progress except under the Alexandrian
influence.

(5) Classical art also was intensely realistic. It
has, of course, an idealistic element, or else it would
not have been genuine art ; but the idealism is sup-
pressed, suggested rather than boldly presented.
There is no taint of Oriental extravagance and dreami-
ness, no straining after the sublime, the mysterious or
the profound. Greek art was content to imitate real-
ity exactly as it appears ; with critical and observant

62 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

gaze, it strove to see things in their true measure and
proportion. The Orientals failed because they at-
tempted so much ; the Greeks succeeded so gloriously
because they attempted so little.

Our doctrine illumines the whole history of classical
art. But I can only note a few particulars. First,
it explains the peculiar charm of classical mythology
— the fading of the wild, grotesque dreams of the
primitive nature-worship before a realism which
cared more for the correct imitation of actual life than
for the mystic meaning of the myth. Secondly, it
explains the position of sculpture as preeminently the
classical art ; for that is the most imitative of all the
arts, the one which depends most upon realistic ac-
curacy of observation and least upon idealistic depth
of thought. Thirdly, it explains the Greek lack of
that intense, sympathetic feeling for Nature which is
so vivid in Oriental poetry and art — that slight sense
of the mysterious power, unity and tranquil order per-
vading all natural phenomena. The Greeks regarded
all natural scenery with a practical, utilitariar spirit,
not with reverent idealistic love. The landscape
formed but a minor feature of their art. Fourthly,
our doctrine accounts for the quick decline of classical
art. The period of artistic perfection lasted for not
much more than a century, in those early Greek times
when Egyptian and Oriental ideas were making their
first, strong impression upon the native realism of
Greece. But thenceforward, from century to cen-
tury, art became more and more realistic — precise,
mechanical, imitative. Roman elegance took the
place of Greek beauty.

PAGAN CIVILIZATION. 63

(6) Classical society incarnates the realistic im-
pulse toward individualism, The rights of the indi-
vidual were not sacrificed, as in the Orient, to the
demand for social unity and permanence ; on the
contrary, they were made the supreme consideration.
Government, in theory at least, was reduced to its
minimum ; it existed solely for the protection of per-
sonal liberty and private rights.

Classical law thus became the exact reverse of
Oriental. First, its origin was not revelation, but
human reason ; it was the concentrated wisdom and
will of the people. Secondly, its object was not to
lay minute and grievous restrictions upon human
life, but simply to protect the rights of the many
against the violence of the few. Thirdly, its form
was not rigid and immutable ; without the Oriental
dread of innovation, it was continually changing to
adapt itself to the varying needs of human life.
These characteristics — of origin, object and form —
fully describe classical law, and the essence of them
all is evidently realistic emphasis upon the rights of
the individual.

The intense patriotism of classical antiquity in its
best ages can also be readily explained. The Greeks
regarded the state as the citadel of his rights and
liberties ; the Oriental regarded it as an altar upon
which he must sacrifice all individual claims and in-
terest's. Obviously, a far more fervent love of the
state would arise in the former case than in the
latter.

64 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

The social development thus attained was for a
brief period, very grand and beautiful ; but it was
one-sided, fatally defective and doomed to speedy
decline. Among many proofs of this I can note only
the existence of slavery. That has always been re-
garded as an anomaly, but, in fact, it was a natural
and necessary product of the classical spirit. The
fierce passions of an unchecked individualism will
always reduce the weak to some form or other of
servitude. When all emphasis is laid upon rights
rather than upon duties the strong will never doubt
their right of property in human flesh.

It was also inevitable that the classical regime
should end in a military despotism. For realism is
purely divisive. No wisdom or patriotism can long
restrain the strife of individualism, the bitter struggle
between the rich and the poor, the strong and the
weak. For a social system like that of classical
antiquity, brute force is the only enduring bond of
union.

CHAPTER IX.
CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION.

The law of Pagan life, then, is the unchecked,
exaggerated development of one or the other of the
two conflicting impulses of thought. Christian civil-
ization is under an altogether different law. Its aim
is to convert, to regenerate, to transform the human
'spirit. Finding one impulse abnormally developed
into fatal excesses, it arouses the counter-impulse of
human nature ; it awakens a new spirit, a new life to
struggle with the old, and thus effects the intellectual
and moral regeneration of the race.

Mediaeval or Catholic civilization found itself con-
fronted with a life thoroughly realistic. The real-
ism of Germanic savagery differed from that of Latin
culture only in being cruder and fiercer. There-
fore, according to our law, Mediaeval Christianity
must seek to arouse the counter-impulse, the ideal-
istic spirit; in a word, it must strive to Orientalize
the West. That it did so we shall now attempt to
prove.

(i) The dominant philosophy of the middle ages,
despite the misleading name which it happened to as-
sume, is thoroughly idealistic. Orthodox scholasti-
cism, caring little for the individual, the phenomenal,
ever soars away into the super-sensuous realm of
universals, ideas, causes. Its long struggle against
5

66 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

Nominalism was a battle in behalf of the logical prin-
ciples which underlie a true Oriental idealism.

The other features of Mediaeval thought are of the
same idealistic or Oriental cast. Subordination of
reason to faith, slavish submissiveness to the authority
of the past, endless commenting upon ancient works,
delight in abstraction and in the spinning of subtile
distinctions, credulity, dread of criticism and free in-
quiry— all these intellectual traits are as prominent
in the middle ages as in the Orient. Catholic Chris-
tianity had completely transformed the intellectual
life of Europe.

(2) Mediaeval religion is marked by every one of
those six essential characteristics, which we have
found in Asiatic faith. In fact, there are so many
striking resemblances between Catholicism and Ori-
ental religion — especially Buddhism — that some have
thought that one was copied from the other. But
this is historically absurd. The two systems have
so many points of similarity, because they are crea-
tions of the same idealistic tendency.

I can note here but one other distinctive feature of
Mediaeval religion, but that a most significant one.
In the East religion has ever been in harmony with
the ruling tendency of popular life, in fact, one of
the forms of its development. But Catholic religion
began as a reformatory and regenerating movement
against the realism that had ruled the Germanic and
Latin races ; and for many centuries so continued.
Hence came that long struggle between the temporal
and the spiritual power that forms the most unique

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 67

and striking feature of Mediaeval history. On the one
side was the Catholic church, that marvelous creation
of the idealistic craving- after unity and permanence
— all its chief institutions, the hierarchy, the mon-
astic discipline, the celibacy of the clergy, the con-
fessional and the inquisition being inspired with the
common design of repressing individualism and in-
fusing into the Middle Ages a true Oriental spirit of
unity, obedience and faith. On the other side stood
the temporal power, the military class, the anarchy,
first savage and then feudal, the heresies and unbe-
lief— all the secularizing forces of such realism as
still survived. From century to century the struggle
went on, until Christendom had been completely
transformed ; and then the mission of the Mediaeval
regime was at an end.

(3) The revolution effected in European morality
was equally sweeping. Classical utilitarianism per-
ished utterly; conduct was judged not by its prac-
tical consequences, but by its conformity to a divine
code upheld by supernatural sanctions. For the
Greeks, the essence of virtue was wisdom ; for the
Middle Ages, it was emotion. Ecstasy took the place
of reason. The estimate of different duties was
exactly reversed. Benevolence, which Plato had not
even named among the virtues, rose to the highest
place of all ; while prudence, justice and veracity
sank correspondingly in the scale. The Asiatic ideal
of ascetic repression was substituted for the Greek
ideal of free self-development.

Still the moral revolution did not reach to the full

68 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

height of Oriental excess. The idealistic impulse was
reacted upon by the counter-impulse which it was
subverting.

(4) Mediaeval idealism, deductive and averse to ex-
perience, could make no scientific progress; but it
furnished the indispensable preparation for such prog-
ress. There was first needed an idealistic age which
should train the European intellect to distrust mere
appearances, to understand that the inner constitu-
tion of things is seldom revealed by their most obvi-
ous characteristics, to seek with unconquerable faith
after the unity and unchanging order hidden within
the seeming chaos of Nature. Then scientific research
became possible. Without such a preparation, the
modern age of free inquiry would have ended just as
the Greek age did, in crude and barren empiricism.

It has long been recognized that alchemy was a sort
of forerunner to modern science. But this is only a
dim, empirical recognition of the law here, for the
first time, disclosed. Alchemy and the other occult
and mystical arts were but incidents in that idealistic
development which ruled the Middle Ages and pre-
pared the way for modern science.

(5) The parallelism between Mediaeval and Oriental
art seems perfect at every point. In both architect-
ure is the supreme art, the one attracting the greatest
attention and reaching the highest excellence. In
both there is the same striving after sublimity, an aim
more fully attained, perhaps, in the great cathedrals
than in any other work of man. In both there is the
same spirituality, depth of thought and vagueness of

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 69

expression that together form what Hegel calls sym-
bolic art. In both there is a high degree of that
idealistic love of Nature so strangely lacking in classi-
cal art. In both there is the same obscurity which
seeks more to stimulate the imagination than to
clearly and closely imitate reality. The poetry of
Dante and the forest-like gloom of a Gothic cathedral
are the most perfect types of this idealistic delight in
dim suggestion.

(6) Mediaeval society was based upon three prin-
ciples. The first principle was that of a true, Oriental
absolutism which must be understood as the exact re-
verse of the military despotism with which classical
life ended. The latter was purely materialistic, the
crushing of the human spirit by brute force; the for-
mer sprang from a voluntary surrender to the ideal-
istic craving for social unity, permanence and order.
The Mediaeval regime began with social chaos. But
from century to century the idealistic desire of unity
increased; the thought of a common language and
country grew more potent; the Oriental virtues of
obedience, resignation and faith or loyalty were more
firmly woven into popular life; and thus- the great
kingdoms of Europe were founded, not by force of
arms, but by a universal impulse.

The second organizing principle was feudalism,
which consisted essentially in the feudal tenures of
property. These are obviously the outcome of an
idealistic sacrifice of rights to duties and services. As
in the Orient, so in the Middle Ages, a full right of
property is lodged nowhere; it floats about like a mist

/O sell \< i. ' >i i lion, in .

between the crown, the feudal lord and the vassal.
The abstract right was restricted and belittled in every

possible way, and it was made entirely dependent
upon a complicated network ot services, aids, reliefs
and other feudal duties.

In practical life, the Mediaeval impulse could not go
farther than this mere restriction of the rights of pro-
perty. Hut at heart idealism is always communistic.
The great idealists of antiquity, Plato, Pythagoras and
their followers were all communists. The same
theory ruled the higher types of Oriental religion,
preeminently Buddhism. So it did in Mediaeval re-
ligion, which glorified poverty and felt that men
really owned nothing and owed everything. And
this theory working darkly upon practical life as best
it could, gave rise to the feudal tenures so strangely
hemmed round about by all manner of restrictions.

The third social principle was that of serfdom.
Slavery we have found to be the natural product of
realistic individualism with its fierce emphasis upon
the rights of property. As these rights dwindled,
slavery perished. But the freedom thus gained was
restricted in every way ; the serf was even fixed to
the soil, and had no legal redress against his lord.
In a word, serfdom and the Oriental system of castes
were of the same essence : both were grievous restric-
tions upon human rights in the interest of social order
and stability.

The three essential characteristics of the Mediaeval
regime, then, all have the same origin. The idealistic
and Oriental demand for order, unity and permanence

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 7 I

had triumphed over the old classical and Germanic
delight in individualism and change.

The Mediaeval movement had fulfilled its mission.
European life had been transformed ; the West was
being rapidly converted into a new Orient. If the
movement had gone on unchecked much longer, abso-
lutism, superstition and a true Oriental torpor would
have enslaved Christendom ; and human progress
would have been at an end.

But Christianity was true to its fundamental law of
regeneration. Against the old order of things, there
suddenly rose a mighty outburst of protest and reform.
The tendencies of European life were reversed; indi-
vidualism and progressive change became the ideals
of civilization. Thus began that modern period whose
characteristics we have now to describe.

Before going into details, however, one general
characteristic must be noted. Although the pendulum
oscillates from one side to the other, it marks a con-
tinuous, forward movement of time. The Mediaeval
period formed an indispensable preparation for the
modern. The really valuable results gained in the
Middle Ages were not lost ; the conquered handed
over many treasures into the possession of the con-
querors. This retention of Mediaeval results has caused
that complexity of modern life which every observer
has noted. It is a complexity so great as might seem
to render all analysis impossible ; but the exceeding
simplicity of our fundamental law will enable us to
unravel it all.

72 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

(i) The complex movement of modern speculation
can be reduced to a very simple formula. The real-
istic impulse has passed through four phases of ever
increasing power; the idealistic impulse has passed
through four correspondent phases of waning. Mod-
ern realism began as a sober protest against the
wildest vagaries of the scholastic idealism then domi-
nant. Thence it passed into the sensationalism of
Locke; then into the crude materialism of the
French Encyclopedists ; fourthly and lastly, into the
abject agnosticism of Mills, Spencer and the great
mass of modern thinkers. The realism which began
as a modest, reforming impulse, ends as pure destruct-
iveness and negation.

The four waning phases of modern idealism are as
follows: It began as an ontological idealism, thorough-
going and mystical, which had been inherited from the
middle ages. The second period was ushered in by
Descartes and Leibnitz, who gave up the ontologic
basis for a merely psychologic one, confining them-
selves to the defense of ''innate ideas," or "intui-
tions," or "universal and necessary truths." Kant
introduces the third period, teaching a merely ethical
idealism founded upon certain postulates assumed by
"the practical reason," because they are supposed to
be morally useful. In the fourth period, the ethical
basis has been given up and idealism has become
purely imaginative. This final phase is represented
in England by Hamilton, whose doctrine is based
upon "the impotence of thought"; in France, by
Cousin, who rests everything upon "the spontaneity

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 73

of reason" — that is upon an unreflective and therefore
unreasoning reason ; and in Germany by Hegel whose
idealism is founded upon the amazing fancy that con-
tradictories are identical.

This sketch of modern philosophy compresses into
a page what might have well been expanded into a
volume; but its truthfulness cannot be successfully
impugned. How utterly idealism has waned before
the counter-impulse is further proved, firstly, by the
extreme smallness of the remnant who adhere to the
doctrine; secondly, by the character of the practical
conclusions finally attained, which do not seem to be
essentially different from those of the rankest realism.
But still let us give all honor to the genius of these
great German thinkers — to Hegel especially, who
dimly discerned the essential duality of thought, al-
though rather as a dark prophet than as a discoverer.

(2) It is a mere common place to say that modern
morality is intensely realistic or utilitarian. True,
we have not wholly reverted to the naive child-like
egoism of classical antiquity: our souls still respond,
at least faintly, to the more spiritual influences which
have survived from the Middle Ages. In fact, we
seem to have two ethical codes — an idealistic doctrine of
self-sacrifice, humility and resignation which we pro-
fess, and a realistic doctrine of self-interest and indi-
vidualism which we actually practice. But it is to be
feared that our sentimental professions serve only to
blind us to the mighty power with which the utili-
tarian morality rules over our modern life.

(3) Modern religion began as a splendid protest

74 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

of individualism and realistic good-sense against
mediaeval priest-craft and superstition. The mag-
nificent results achieved by this reformatory and re-
generating movement are too familiar to need recount-
ing here. Still, this realistic development was one-
sided and long ago passed into fatal excesses. The
old ideals of unity, obedience and reposeful faith have
departed, although their shadows yet linger with us.
The old content of religion — revelation, sacrifice, the
supernatural — has gradually dissolved. Nothing ap-
pears to remain but the erotic element — the one word,
love, which means anything from the spiritually sub-
lime to the sensuously low. In a word we are draw-
ing closer and closer to a secularism, like that of
classical antiquity, wherein religion still survives as
a sentiment and a social institution, but without
depth or intensity of faith in spiritual things.

In the Middle Ages, morality was but a phase of
religion: but we have completely reversed this, and
reduced religion to a mere phase of the ethical.
Piety, with us, is our utilitarian morality tinged with
emotion. It is as a setting sun diffusing its radiance
over those western clouds which after all are naught
but the cold gray mists of approaching night.

(4) Out of the torpor of the Middle Ages, a new
era of free inquiry, intensely practical and realistic,
suddenly burst upon the world; and modern science
began its swift progress. But mediaeval idealism
with its deep distrust of the phenomenal and its faith
in the cosmic order hidden beneath the surface of
things, furnished the indispensable preparation for

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 7$

this scientific advance. The founders of science,
Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, Descartes and Newton,
were all idealists — men who retained the best of the
past while yielding themselves to the new spirit of
free inquiry and observation. And ever since all the
great scientific discoverers, unconsciously — or rather,
through that instinct of genius which always shuns
extremes and one-sidedness — have exemplified the
law that scientific progress depends upon the har-
mony of the two conflicting tendencies of thought.

This law also explains the retardation of the scien-
tific movement. The grandest triumphs of that move-
ment, as every one knows, were gained ir the first cen-
tury of the modern era, while the influences of idealism
were fresh and vivid. Ever since, as realism has in-
creased, the rate of progress has been less and less.
At present the age of scientific discovery has given
way to one of mere mechanical invention. The pure-
ly empirical part of scientific work goes bravely on;
the great mass of facts collected by patient observers,
constantly grows vaster and more chaotic. But the
further progress of true science depends upon a new
out-burst of idealistic genius which shall reduce this
chaos to the unity and order of universal law.

(5) Just as oursesthetic theory would demand, Chris-
tian art culminated in that period of transition when
mediaeval influences werestill strongbut werebeingper-
vaded and modified by the modern spirit. And ever
since, as realism has increased, art has declined. Every
one knows, for instance, that in this period of transi-
tion, painting and sculpture became more sensuous,

j6 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

exactly imitative and classical; and what an incom-
parable splendor was thus imparted to the works of a
Michel Angelo or a Raphael. Hut subsequent centuries
have shown that this splendor was that of decay, the
beauty of autumnal leaves, the soft hue of roses with
which consumption at first tinges the cheek of its vic-
tim.

At the close of this age of transition when night and
day intermingled, stood Shakespeare, the crowned
head of all human art. Since then there has been
idealism in art and life, but it has assumed a peculiar
form. It has become purely emotional; driven from
the field of thought, it has found refuge in that of feel-
ing.

And herein lies the explanation of what is univer-
sally recognized as the chief characteristic of the modern
mind — that passion for introspection of which the mad
Hamlet was the wonderful prophesy. For all this pain-
ful brooding over the inner life is the evident result of
that pitiable conflict between feeling and thought —
between what men fondly dream of and what they
really believe in. And out of this comes that lack of
repose, that fever of unrest and discontent so percept-
ible in all our art and life.

Music, alone of all the Fine Arts, has made a glori-
ous advance in the past two centuries; and the explan-
ation thereof is now easy. For music is the most sens-
uous of the arts; it appeals to feeling rather than to
thought; its office is to stimulate vague, although ex-
alted emotion, rather than to express definite ideas.
Therefore, it is an art peculiarly enchanting to an

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. TJ

age in which, as we have just seen, the lingering
remnants of idealism are emotional rather than intel-
lectual.

Other causes have aided the triumph of music, such
as the great improvement of musical instruments in an
inventive and mechanical age. But the cause given
above is the primary and comprehensive one.

The supremacy of the novel in modern literature
can also be now readily explained. For the very name,
novel, is suggestive of the realistic element in art —
of the delight in novelty, in variety of incidents, in
mimicry of real life, in that restless play of ' 'fancy which
loves to follow a long chain of circumstances from link
to link."

Another chief characteristic of the age is what a
great critic calls "its mean and shallow love of jest
and jeer;" and this is easily accounted for, by recall-
ing our definition of the ludicrous. The passion for
comicality is especially wide-spread in America, the
most realistic of all countries. Burlesque and horse-
play abound; but there can be no humor where there
is no idealism.

(6) Our social life also has been completely trans-
formed. The devotion to secular interests, the fierce
assertion of rights rather than duties, the passion for
liberty, the ever changing whirlwind of innovations —
all these are the familiar characteristics of the classi-
cal spirit returned to earth again.

Leaving the reader to pursue this plain parallelism
between the classical and the modern age, I shall dwell
only upon what is at once the most conspicuous and

yS SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

the most unique feature of our social life. I mean, of

course-, that great industrial movement which has
brought such incalculable benefits to mankind. I [ardly
any one will claim that the origin of this movement
has ever been satisfactorily explained; and it our doc-
trine is found to lull) account lor the mysterious dawn
and the swift noon-tide: glory of modern industry, we
may consider our work as triumphantly ended.

The first great characteristic of modern industry is
its motive. The love of wealth is, of course, natural
to man; but only as one among many impulses. And
the aim of the Middle Ages was to reduce this pas-
sion to its minimum, by glorifying poverty and teach-
ing men to despise the fleeting and illusory vanities
of earth. It is the same in the Orient where Brahmin
beggars or the mendicant monks of Buddhism stand
at the summit of the social scale. Hut modern real-
ism, sensuous, utilitarian, lias cast aside these ascetic
ideas; it has developed the sordid passion into a mad-
ness burning in the very bones of mankind.

But why, it may be asked, did not the same spirit
in antiquity attain to the same results? Because slav-
ery rendered a true industrial system impossible; and
therefore classical energy could find no outlet save in
military life, plunder and prodigality. But since the
mediaeval abolition of slavery, the economic impulse
has had full room to run its course unchecked. In
the singleness, the intensity and the ever increasing
power of its motive; the modern industrial system is
unlike any other social system ever founded upon the
earth.

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 79

Mechanical invention has been a second great factor
in the industrial movement. A realistic age, unhamp-
ered by slavery, is experimental, inductive, inventive;
it*cares little for general principles and looks only to
results. Mechanical genius abounds. And so by
continued experiment, by minute attention to details
and successive adaptation of means to a desired end,
those wonder-working machines have been invented,
which form the very bone and sinew of the industrial
system.

A third factor is specialization; and this has two
causes. In the first place, realism attends minutely
to details and has an antipathy to everything wide and
comprehensive; in the second place, it fosters indi-
vidualism, cuts away the restrictions of law, or custom
or caste, and leaves men free to follow their special
aptitudes.

Fourthly, there is an ethical factor which has entered
largely into industrial progress. As we have seen,
realism tends to foster the practical virtues at the ex-
pense of the religious ones. And it was this develop-
ment of such homely virtues as prudence, veracity and
justice, that has rendered possible that vast and com-
plicated system of credit so essential to modern industry.
It is strange to see how minutely historians have
described the rise of this system in its external features,
without giving the slightest thought to the moral
causes upon which it depends.

A fifth factor is liberty. Every one knows how
much industrial progress owes to the removal of re-
strictions like the mediaeval prohibition of usury, for

80 SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

instance. It is a movement which appears to prosper
most when regulated least.

Such then is the philosophy of the industrial move-
ment; in its every part it is seen to be a product of
the realism which rules modern civilization. Observe
furthermore how signally our law of exaggerated ten-
dencies is verified here as everywhere. Each of these
industrial factors, after having so grandly benefited
mankind, has developed into fatal excesses — the
greed of gain which tortures mankind, the mechanical
habit which stunts the nobler energies of the soul, the
division of labor which converts men into machines,
the cold, calm morality of self-interest which is prov-
ing to be a very Vesuvius of stony vices and red-
hot passions. See, above all, how the passion for
liberty, the struggle of individualism for its rights, has
ended just as it did in antiquity, in industrial servi-
tude— in a tyranny which does not beat or behead
the unsubmissive, but merely starves them and their
families. In a word, the stream of tendency which
once enriched and rejoiced the earth has become a
destroying flood.

The whole world awaits a change. Everywhere
there is the presage of a new reformatory movement
which shall check this evil development and open up
new paths of progress. And in this universal expect-
ancy is the final and supreme verification of our doc-
trine. For all genuine philosophy is but the scientific
expression of what is vaguely felt by the common
sense of mankind.

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 8 1

CONCLUSION

All science involves a certain degree of prevision.
We have discovered the law of human progress: and,
beyond all doubt, that law will rule so long as prog-
ress continues. Every detail of our previous study
has helped to demonstrate that the realistic impulse
can lead henceforth to naught but evil; and therefore,
the counter impulse must become supreme and begin
its regenerating work. Not, by any means, that we
will return to the dreams and torpor of the Middle
Ages; humanity is not about to pass into a period of
* 'second childhood." But the idealistic impulse,
taught and chastened by the past, will once more hold
sway over the human spirit. The search and rever-
ence for causes will take the place of our present en-
grossment with the superficial, the multifarious and
the transitory.

Let us see, so far as our narrow limits and the
complexity of the phenomena to be investigated will
permit, what the law of civilization promises for the
future.

In religion we shall have a new age of faith. But
let me not be misunderstood: faith is not credulity or
superstition. Nor is it the foe or even the rival of
reason; the past antagonisms between the two have
been engendered by mental one-sidedness and lack of
balance. Faith is a moral impulse whose office it is
to preserve the equipoise of the reason. For, the hu-
man soul, weighed down by its connection with the
body and the passions thereof, is ever inclined to take
6

82 SCIEN4 i: OF THOUGHT.

the more superficial and sensuous view of things; and
therefore there is always need of a certain moral ef-
fort to keep the reason balanced and leave it free tor
its highest work — tlic devout search for causes and
eternal unity and order. True faith, then, is never
the enemy of reason or does any violence to it; any
more than one does violence to a bird when he opens
her cage and lets her forth to sing and soar.

Superstition is a disease of faith. But normal faith
is ever the cause oi free inquiry. It was the idealistic
faith of Copernicus and Kepler that led them to their
great discoveries. ] And above all, he who does not
take pains to keep his reason unclouded by sensuous-
ness, will never have any deep interest or think wor-
thily concerning spiritual things.

A great moral regeneration is also impending. The
ethics of duty and self-sacrifice will no longer be a
mere sentiment, a pious profession : they will become
the real standard of human conduct. Not that
Comte's wild dream of altruism will ever be realized.
Human nature will never be so transformed that men
will live for others rather than for themselves ; so
stupendous a miracle is neither to be expected nor de-
sired. But the incoming of idealism will gradually

(x) Copernicus expressly avowed his obligations to the Pythagorean
idealism. See De Revolutionibus Orbium Celestium. Lib. i , Cp j et 8.

He was constantly inspired by his idealistic faith in the symmetry of
the universe and the harmony of the celestial motions. So also Kep-
ler, as see Forster. Kepler und die H<irmo>iie </er Spharen, j. Frisch
in his edition says, "nam per haec studia immortalem suam tertiam
"legem invenit quae proportiones illas simplicissime exprimit et New-
"tonii de gravitatione doctrinae quasi fundamentum putandaest."
{A'ep/eri Opera, Tom. VIII, p. ioij.)

CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION. 83

close the present chasm between the law of self-sacri-
fice and that of self-interest. It will do so in three
ways: first, it will teach men that even the present
antagonism between the two principles is not so great
as it superficially seems; that even now obedience to the
universal law, — "the golden rule" — tends to promote
the happiness of the individual, although too often this
result fails through the interference of other causes.
Secondly, it will weaken the sensuous motives and
vastly strengthen the idealistic ones — the power of
conscience and of the religious and social sentiments
— and thus make self-sacrifice far more conducive to
individual happiness. Thirdly, it will strive to so re-
organize society that every man shall enjoy the reward
of his own labors, that millions shall not bear the bur-
dens in order that a few may reap the benefits. In
that ideal state, the old contradiction between duty
and self-interest will have vanished, virtue and hap-
piness will be harmonized ; and the moral order of
the universe will seem to all something more than an
idle dream.

Art, in its present estate, can well afford to wel-
come any change — especially a change from mere play
and mimicry to seriousness, imaginative power and
depth of thought. Science, also, as we have already
seen, stands in great need of a new out-burst of
idealism.

The character of the social regeneration to come
has been foreshadowed in our previous survey. The
trend of idealism, in the Orient, the Middle Ages,
and the speculations of philosophy, has ever been

S..| SCIENCE OF THOUGHT.

towards solidarity, community of interests, the subor-
dination <>1 rights tO duties, service, sacrifice. Its
very aim is to unify or organize. And its triumph
must inevitably lead us from an age of individualism

to one of social and industrial organization.

Hut let us remember that organization is not interfer-
ence or restriction or suppression ; it is not a pr<
from without compacting the many into one unre-
sisting mass. It is a force acting from within ; and so
far from interfering with, it is the cause of the diver-
sity, the changing activity and the freedom of the
parts. To this ideal the coming organization of
industry will strictly conform. Every member of the
industrial order will take part in the administration
of its affairs, and all will cooperate towards its com-
mon ends ; and the world-wide unity and regulated
concert of action thus attained will produce a fuller
liberty and a more joyous activity than human toil,
heretofore, has ever dreamed of.

These are but hints and vague outlines. The
utmost power of the scientific imagination, even when
guided by our demonstrated law, can do little more
than to dream about the possibilities which are now
beginning to open before mankind. This new age of
faith, sacrifice and social order is like that new world
which was first seen, just four hundred years ag(
a little island in the ocean, and which even yet has
not disclosed the full extent of its treasures and its
promise.

[THE END.]

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