Full text of "The Journal of speculative philosophy"

PRESENTED

The University of Toronto

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIAE rilILOS(Jl'll\.

VOLUME XIX,

EDITED BY WM. T. IIAKRIS.

NEW YOEK:
D. AITLETOX AND COMPANY

LONDON ■ TrObncr aud CompsDy.
1885.

Entered, accordinji to Act of Congresi', in the year 1886, by

WILLIAM T. HARRIS,
In the Office of the Librarian of ConRrcsp, at Washington.

l$oyl_

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Albce, John, In Lot>cnstluthen, 99

" " Book Xoticfs, 434

Alcott, A. BronsOD, Love, a Sonnet, 107

" " Inimortalitv, a Sonnet, . . • 221

" " Ion : a Monoiiy, 315

Aljier, W. R., Two Statements of a Thought, 224

" Milk of the Word, 224

Atom, The, ami the Void Hev. Dr. R. A. ffollaiid, 318

Barrett, J. F., In Memoiiam W. £. Channing, 219

Block, L. J., Platoiiisiu and Its Relation to Modern Thought, 33 -

Blow, Susan E., Dante's Purgatorio, 61

" " C. F. Goeschel on the Immortality of the Soul (Tr.), . . . 172,299

Books Received, List of, . . 440

Bradley, F. U., Trineiples of Logic, S. W. Dijile, 1

Channing, William Ellery, To Edith, 102

" " " .'N'ntences in Prose and Verse, 108

" " " In Memoriam, J. F. B., 219

" " " Sentences in Prose and Verse, 222

'• " " A Tribute to the Heroes Grant and Garfield, .... 429

Cheney, Ednah D., !?onnets of Michael Angelo (noticed) 437

Concord School of Philosophy, 220

Cooke, George Willis, The Dial, 225

The Dial, Corrigenda, 322

Dante's Purgatorio Swsan E. Blow, 61

Dial, The, Oeorffe Willis Cooke, 225, 322

Dyde, S. W., Bradley's " Principles of Logic," . . . . . . . . '-'t ^ . .. j,^ . 1

Elective Affinities, Analysis of Goethe's, Mrs. C. K. ShermAu, 310

Ever«.-tt, C. C, D. D., Fichte's Science of Knowledge, . . . . Y 331

Fichtc's Science of Knowledge C. C. Everett, D. I)., 331

Giirlield, Grant and, A Tribute to the Heroes, . . William Ellery Channinff, 429

Gennan Philosophiral Classics for English Readers and Students, . il. I. Sicifl, 329

German Philosophical Classics, Advertisement of Griggs and Company's, . . . 334
Goeschel, C. F., on the Immortality of the Soul (Tr.), . . . Susan E. Blow, 172, 299

Goethe's Elective Allinitics, Analysis of, Mrs. C. K. Sherman, 310

Grant and Garfield, A Tribute to the Heroes, . . . William Ellery Channing, 429

Griggs and Company's Advertisement of German Philosophical Classics, . . . 334

Harri.s, W. T., The Immorality of the Individual, 189

" " Is Pantheism the Legitimate (jutcome of Modern Science? . . . 406

Hegel, Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion (Tr.), . . . . F. L. Soldan, 266

Hulland, R. \., Immortality, 113

" " Atom and the Void, 318

Holland, F. SI., Stories from Browning (noticed) 434

Uowison, G. II., Hume and Kant, .... 85

" " Is Modem Science Pantheistic? 363

Human Form Systematically Outlined and Explained, . . William H. Kimball, 79

Hume and Kant, 0. U. llovison, 85

iv Contents.

PAGE

Immortality R. A. Holland, 113

Immortality, a Sonnet, A. Bronson Alcott, 221

Immortality of the Individual, W. T. HarrU, 189

Immortality of the Soul, C. F. Goeschel on (Tr.), Sman E. Blow, 299

Ion: a Monody, A. Bronson Alcott, 315

James, Henry, the Seer, Caroline Eliot iMckland, 53

" " Literary Remains (noticed), 436

Japanese, Character of, Benjamin Smith Lt/man, 133

Kant, Hume and, O. H. Howison, 86

Kant's Critiq\ie of Pure Reason, George S. Iforris, Ph. D., ... (J/. /. Swift), 330

Kimball, William H., The Human Form Systematically Outlined and Explained, . 79

Lackland, Caroline Eliot, Henry James, the Seer, 53

Langley, Alfred G., Leilmitz's Critique of Locke (Tr.), 275

Lay Sermons, Two, Rirhard Randolph, 89

Lebensfluthen, In, John Alhee, 99

Leibnitz, Critique of Locke (Tr.), Alfred G. Langley, 276

Locke, Leibnitz's Critique of (Tr.), Alfred G. Langlet/, 275

Love, a Sonnet, A. Bronson Alcott, 107

Lvman, Benjamin Smith, The Character of the Japanese, 133

Mead, Edwin D., Martin Luther (noticed), 434

Milk of the Word, W. R. Alger, 224

Montgomery, Edmund, Is Pantheism the Outcome of Modem Science '?.... 352

Morris, George S., Ph. D., Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, . . .{M.I.Swift), 330

Pantheism, Is it the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science? Andrew P. Peabody, 337

" " " " " " Edmund Montgomery, 352

" " " " " " George H. Howison, 363

" " " " ir. T. Harris, 406

Peabody, Andrew P., Is Pantheism the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science? . 337

Perception, The Facts about External, Payton Spence, 384

Pestalozzi's Leonard and Gertrude (noticed), 439

Philosophique, La Revue, January-December, 1880, 323

Philosophy, Concord School of, 220

Platonism, its Relation to Modern Thought, L. J. Block, 33

Randolph, Richard, Two Lay Sermons 89

Religion, Hegel's Introduction to the Philosophy of (Tr.) /'. X. Soldun, 265

Rousseau's Emile (noticed), . 435

Schelling on England, J. H. Stirling, 103

Science, Modern, Is it Pantheistic ? George H. Howison, 363

Science, Modern, Is Pantheism the Legitimate Outcome of? Andrew P. Peabody, 337

" " " " " Edmund Montgomery, 352

W. T. Harris, 406

Sentences in Prose and Verse, W. E. Channing, 108, 222

Soldan, F. L,, Hegel's Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion (Tr.), .... 265

Spence, Payton, The Facts about External Perception, 384

Stirling, J. U., Schelling on England 103'

Swift, Mi I., Notice of German Philosophical Classics, 329

Two Statements of a Thought, W. R. Alga; 224

Wallace, Edwin, Obituary, 101

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY

Vol. XIX.] Jakuaet, 1885. [No. 1.

BRADLEY'S "PRINCIPLES OF LOGIC"

BY S. W. DTDK.

{Conclitded.)

e. There is one other topic, the discussion of which will reveal
the nature of Brailley's standpoint, but we miojht well hesitate to
enter upon any consideration of it. That is the nature of the
cateirorv of Subject and Attribute, M'hicli introduces us into the
realm of inference. One mii^ht be disposed to think that already
the nature of Bradley's fundamental doctrine had been taken from
its concealment, and its connection with the i)rinciple laid down
in the prolegomena ascertained. But while it can scarcely be ex-
pected to receive much new light, yet hitlierto the question has
been concerning judgment alone, and not inference. The work
would be somewhat incomplete if the whole of inference were
passed over in silence. Consequently, it will be our task in this
section first to outline the connection of judgment with inference,
and then to discover the general law whicii operates in every
case of inference. Both of these will be in large measure but a
repetition of what Bradley has himself done. Lastly, it will l)e

' "The Principles of Logic." By F. H. Bradley, LL. D., Glasgow, Fellow of Merton
College, Oiford. London : Kegan Paul, Trench k Co., 1 Paternoster Square, 1883.

XIX-1

2 TTie Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

shown how Bradley has, in his peculiar conception of the one cate-
gory of subject and attribute, failed to grasp the true theory in its
entirety. It is at once apparent that much will be said which
properly belongs to the third portion of the essay. The excuse is
that we are now nearing the third portion, and are oidy anticipat-
ing a few things that probably, after all, find a more fitting place
here than anywhere else. First of all, tiien, as to the nature of the
connection between judgment and inference.

Inference, as distinguished from judgment, maj' roughly be
called manner as distinguished from matter. Wiien we judge we
deal with propositions as in a sense formed materials. The propo-
sitions are held apart from our judging of them. We behold what
we have done, not that we have done it. The result is of more
importance than the process. If we could believe that matter was
independent of mind, and that mind only arranged the materials
given to it from without, and had to arrange them in a certain
way, because, in fact, they were found to be in reality so arranged,
then we could not know of such a process as inference. In a
s^'llogism, judgment seems to be the external and particular side,
■while inference is the universal side, or the side of the thinking
subject. If we examine the process through which we go in order
to bring about such and such a result, we find that it is our mode
of inference. Inference is no doubt found already in the material
given to thought. The work of the mind may be said to be crys-
tallized, and so in a manner materialized. It can thus be analyzed
as though it were so much given material. No doubt, again, as
we examine the product of thought, while we admit that in order
to there being that product at all the thinker must have inferred,
yet we have in the very examination made use of inference. The
discovery gained by analysis, that in order to have the material
before us the thinker must have inferred, is a new inference.
Popularly speaking, the inference we discover may be styled a
result, and the new inference a process. Or, again, we might say
that the inference discovered was a result, that the process through
which we went in its discovery was a process of inference, and
that finally, by means of that process, we arrived at a new infer-
ence. But these distinctions are of no consequence. Inference
may be looked upon as a process or as a result, according as we
emphasize the thinking subject in the former or the thought object

Brndlei/a ^'■Principles of Logic." 3

in tlic latter. However, it is important to bear in mind tliat,
whether it is loolied on as a process or as a result, it is in the one
case a process of thought, and in the other case a result of thought.
But, we may he asked, what of tlie materials given to inference,
upon which thought works and out of which is to be obtained the
new inference ? And this is a question of considerable moment.
These materials are themselves inferences, the results of former
thought. They are not independent of consciousness, and thrust
upon us from a world without, but they are facts, truths, thoughts.
When we examine them we discover that they in turn have been
obtained by inference from previously obtained facts, truths,
thoughts. Of course, it is plain that our very examination of them
proves conclusively that they are not now independent of our con-
sciousness, and the very fact that they can be examined by our
consciousness shows that they are not independent of conscious-
ness. But, apart from that, they are actual results deduced from
thought data. We may go back farther, and still farther, but no
otiier result will be obtained than that, after our latest experiment,
we have what we had at first — facts still complex, still reducible.
If we have been looking for something which would serve for a
starting-point, wliich would be itself simple and irreducible, we
have failed. The very nature of the inquiry would predict our
failure. If a thing can be absolutely simple, it can never be aught
but that wliich is absolutely simple. If a point is without parts
and without magnitude, one thousand points are still without parts
and without magnitude. If a point is without magnitude, we
might keep moving it forever, and (if we can understand the para-
dox) it would never move at all. But we have taken a compound
and endeavored by a certain ])rocess to reach the simple. If the
complex lias been based upon the simple, it could not be a com-
plex. Or, again, to say that a simple is based upon a simple is an
absurdity. To speak of antecedent and consequent is to destroy
the simplicity of the antecedent and of the consequent. Besides
that, we are caught in the toils of our own process, for the more
we analyze and subdivide, the more complex does our result be-
come. Every new step backward is a new relation, and a discov-
ery of still more primitive inferences. There is always this irony
of thought manifesting itself at every attempt to get rid of thought.
The more we simplify, the more complex our product becomes.

4 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

For, as we have just hinted, we have only to look at the series of
inferences as a series of relations to comprehend at once that a
step backward in the series is a new relation ; and, if we keep on,
we at last load the ever-fleeing simple with a burden of relations
which it is unable to bear.

In all inference there is thought. Indeed, it is hard to dis-
criminate at all between thinking and inferring. We have been
accustomed to consider thinking and relating as synonymous, and
now to these two must be added inferring. Bradley himself sees
no difference between interring and reasoning, looked at from the
standpoint of the process, and there can be no difference between
reasoning and thinking. Now, thinking or reasoning is uniting.
That we have learned from Kant, who places all knowledge
under the synthetic unity of apperception. All I know is my
knowledge. All the various elements in the heterogeneous stock
of odds and ends comprised under " What I know " are reduced
to a sino-le interrelated whole when it is seen that each and
every item is related to the ego. When we say " Polly wants
a cracker," we have, to put it in Bradley's words, related the
ideal content, " the wanting of a cracker," to that portion of
reality, the parrot, called Polly. We have united in one judgment
these two elements. Examination would doubtless show that
each of these elements is tiie meeting-point of other elements too
numerous to mention, and so is not really elementary but com-
plex. But, viewed from the standpoint of the judgment "Polly
wants a cracker," the ideal content and the reality are properly
called elements. Supposing, now, that we give utterance to the
above proposition in the presence of Polly herself, and that the
bird takes up the cry, it will not have gone through the same
mental process as we. We cannot say exactly what mental pro-
cess is performed by the parrot, but we have good reasons for
concluding that it is not identical with our own. It does not,
then, unite, think, relate, judge, infer consciously. To do that
seems the privilege of man. But what we wish to arrive at is
that, though man may relate consciously, is it not possible for him
to be at times pretty much in the same position as the parrot ?
Are not many things said and done many times by many men
parrot-fashion ? If so, then it would seem that a man might
speak without inferring, but only, be it noticed, if he could speak

Bradlei/s "Prificiples of Logic." 5

without tlie slif:^btest spark of consciousness. Tiie words thus
uttered would be a judgment in form but not in spirit.

But this leads to a point of more immediate interest. We have
seen, by the preceding inquiry, that for consciousness judgment
was never a mere matter of words, that just because it was for
con.-ciousness there was a relation which made of the elements a
new whole. Without consciousness the elements would still re-
main elements, no matter how often the sound was repeated.
AVith consciousness a new thing was produced, or, as might be
said, something was added to our information. We have come
upon the old (juestion of Analysis and Synthesis. Analysis pure
and simple is an impossibility. To analyze a notion, sticking no
matter how closely to the notion, and then to express the result
in the form of a judgment, is to infer. Mere analysis for a human
being would land him at the position of a parrot. In all think-
ing, therefore, there must be a synthesis, and some new thing is
added to our information. This may not be accepted, and in one
sense it may not be true. Many, especially those who are
secluded and have little opjiortunit}' of coming into contact with
people or books, have but few ideas, and these ideas are made to
go the rounds, so to speak, and to do yeoman's service every day
of the week without variation. Can such be said to be adding
anything to their information 'i But these objections are aside
from the point. A farmer, for example, may say every day of
the week, and every week of the year, " Fine morning to-day ! "
but the expression has or has not signilicance. If it is utterly
meaningless (and we doubt if it can ever be), the farmer has not
thought, and is so far on a level with the parrot. If it has mean-
ing, it is a piece of information, for we could not have said it yes-
terday. But by analysis may be meant that simple iteration
which means nothing. For instance, it is asked. What is a boat?
Answer is made, " A boat's a boat, tiiat's what a boat is." That
may be called a vain repetition. If so, it is not identical with,
but directly contrary to, analysis. If there were analysis there
would be a meaning in the answer. To analyze " boat " and get
"boat" i^ surely a very impotent ])rocedure. It is no analysis
at all. Yet, if we want to see the germ of inference even here,
it has only to be shown that the answer emphasizes the existence
of the boat — or, if any one is inclined to cavil, the answer plainly

6 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

demonstrates the man's inability to define the object in question.
It tlierefore points to this judgment, viz., the referring of the ina-
bility to define to the individual questioned.

From the above it may have lieen already gathered that judg-
ment and inference are essentially one. If the conclusion of a
syllotrism is taken as an example, it may be viewed as a judgment
when special regard is had of the matter it contains. It may be
viewed as an inference when it is considered as following from
the premises. One and the same assertion might be viewed as a
judgment or as an inference; to put the matter in another light,
according to the word or words upon which was laid the stress of
the voice. If I say, e. g., " It is white " in such a way as to em-
phasize the simple existence of the object, that might be called a
judgment. If, on the other hand, I say it in such a way as to em-
phasize the particular mode of existence, it might be called an
inference. Or, again, remembering that thought is the relation
of an ideal content to reality, we might call that a judgment which
made peculiarly prominent the reality, and that an inference
which rendered prominent the ideal content. He who judges
would seem to be immersed in the external present. He who
infers would seem to be looking beyond the present, and gather-
ing together its relations. It is easily seen that these are mere
distinctions and not radical differences. In truth, there can be
no real difference between judging and inferring. I suppose that
they probably deserve some separate treatment, and yet a separa-
tion of them even in treatment tends toward a separation in actual
fact, and Bradley has, it may be unwittingly, fallen into the
snare. As soon as we permit ourselves to entertain the notion
that judgment and inference are separable processes we have suf-
fered to gain admittance that insidious theory which will continue
to propound that the existence of an object may he separated from
its relations. With that the unknowable has already been set up.
So much do we do when we with nothing but the most innocent
intentions imagine that we may judge before we infer.

Bradley has himself (p. 386) expressed the points of agreement
and difference between the aspect of judgment and the aspect of
inference. " A is " is a judgment ; " A must be " is an inference.
He says: " Any judgment whatever may be turned into reasoning
by a simple change. For we have merely to suggest the idea of

Bradlei/'s '■^Principles of Logic.'''' T

the opposite — we have only to suppose that the truth is otlierwise
— and at once the predicate, whicii we already possess, exchides
that suiT'^estion, and returns to itseU' as wliat nutst he true. It now
is real hecanae it must he so ; and it is necessarily truth, for it has
entered the field of ideal exi)erirnent, and returned victorious."
This is admirable. But Bradley, not content with exhibiting the
difference of aspects, goes on immediately to assert that such dif-
ference of aspects can only be accounted for hy root differences.
He continues : " This process may seem frivolous, since it turns in
a circle. Frivolous it undoubtedly is when applied to judgments,
but it is very different when used on mere ideas. Take any idea,
suggest it of the real, and find it compatible ; hring it into col-
lision with other ideas disparate with itself, see that it defeats
them in open competition, and then go on at once to assert its
truth. Valid or invalid, it certainly is inference." From this we
conclude that while inference is the Uianipulatioii of an idea, judg-
ment is at least not that. Afterward Bradley becomes bolder, and
savs that iudument has to do with " sujrgestions of sense ! "

These are, liowever, the dividing lines between judgment and
inference in Bradley's estimation, {a) Judgment may be circular ;
inference cannot be circular. " A is because it is " is a circular
judgment, i.e., it tells us nothing that we did not know, it adds
nothing to our information, and yet it cannot be denied that it is
a judgment. This case was dealt with before, when we made use
of the illustration of the boat. But Bradley would now say that
" A is because it is" appeals to the fact of our seeing or touching,
or having seen, or having touciied, tlie object in question ; but it
gives no reason for its existence, i. e., the judgment "A is" rests
upon a suggestion of sense! But A may not be present to sense;
it may be present to thought. Even so, if the judgment "A is"
rests mainly upon the fact that we know it is, that is giving no
reason for its existence. We have not, then, inferred its existence
from anything. At first sight this view would seem correct. But
it has come to a decision too hastily. Instead of saying that we
have not inferred its existence from anything, it is only entitled
to say that we cannot call to mind the reasons why we judged that
A is. Accordingly, when we repeat with emphasis " A is because
it is," we are actually maintaining that while we cannot make "A
is" an explicit inference, we will continue to hold that the reasons,

8 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

though unknown, are undoubtedly there, (b) The second objec-
tion is but a repetition of the first. Bradley says: " Judgments
may be received from others, and these are not inferences." One
may assert " A is " merely from hearsay. But if I assert " A is,"
because I was told so by one upon whom I can rely, I mean that
"A is" is an explicit inference for my informant, though but a
concealed one for myself. Or again, if I vehemently assert " A is
because it is," when a friend of mine is my only authority, my
statement is equivalent to the judgment " My companion is vera-
cious." So long as words possess meaning, and meaning for the
pei'son using them, for that person they are an inference, (c) The
third objection is only a repetition of the first and second. " Judg-
ment rests on suggestions of sense, and tiiese suggestions are never
uniform." " Suggestions of sense " is an ambiguous phrase. It
may mean " suggestions by the senses," or " suggestions by the
mind which have arisen because of a certain sensation." If we
mean the former, then sensations are independent of consciousness,
and the mind is passive while receiving them. This interpretation
will scarcely hold water, and is a repetition of the old fallacy. If
it means the latter, then " suggestions of sense " have been resolved
into suggestions of the mind, or, in reality, judgments, and the
difficulty has melted away, {d) Bradley, in the opening of Chapter
III, raises a man-of-straw objection by saying that sometimes we
judge of X by sticking on Y to the outside. In that case the Y is
not a function of synthesis. We judge, therefore, but do not infer.
True, Y is far from being a fuuction of synthesis in that case. It
is nothing at all. In some inexplicable way it comes from with-
out, and is tacked on to X mechanically. Bradley says this is not
inference, and he is right. But it is neither inference nor anything
else but nonsense. If, however, Bradley will maintain that the
tacking on is done by thought, then Y cannot come from without,
and X-Y is an inference. . It may be the most nonsensical thing
imaginable, but it is still a nonsensical inference. Unless, in-
deed, Bradley is prepared to cut out from the region of inference
all that is false, malicious, or frivolous, he must admit that X-Y is
an inference, even though X-Y should be " The moon lays eggs."
If it is a judgment, it must be an inference. If Bradley will argue
against its being an inference, every argument he brings forward
will tell against its being a judgment, {e) Bradley next says that

Bradleifs ^'Principles of Logic." 9

Reproduction is not always inference. Here he enters psychology,
and we may well refuse to follow him. But he says: "An object
mav excite vairue feelings of jileasure or a dim sense of pain. Now,
we may not say that such object is the cause of such pleasure or
such pain, and yet we know we have the pleasure or the pain."
To this it can be replied that, if we know the ]iain as our pain, or
the pleasure as our plea-sure, we have referred the feeling to the
self, and so inferred. If, on the other hand, we do not know that
a certain object is the cause of the feeling, then, of course, we can-
not infer it. We 'can only infer that it has a cause, becanse that
is given in the effect. If so, then it is absurd to talk of the object
being a datum, for the object is not given at all. "We do not know
it. The datum is our feeling, and it is on that that we have built.
Bradley supposes that something beyond consciousness can in a
vaffue and dim way (very much Spencer's words) exist for con-
sciousness — so vague and dim that, although there, nothing can be
inferred.

A short review of Bradley's essential position may be given be-
fore proceeding further. In this portion of his work he has woven
about himself a web from the meshes of which he has found it
impossible to extricate himself. Beginning, I believe, with the, it
may be, unreflected conviction that judgment and inference were
practically identical, he treated iirst of judgment and then of in-
ference. Tyrannized over by the jirogress, in time, of his own
work, he is led to consider tliat some ditferoiico, more or less radi-
cal, must exist between them. Ilni-ried on by this pressure from
behind, he has ventured not simply to leave it an open question
whether or not he did actually separate between the two, but to
set down in order some fundamental disagreements, and these once
again conduct him to the unknowable. Such were the stages of
his downfall.

The next point is to state and explain the general law which
underlies every possible inference. Here Bradley becomes polem-
ical. Provisionally tliere is set up the principle, " Related to
the same are interrelated." Bradley, with considerable show of
reason, maintains that such a law is too loose and wide. "A runs
fa.ster than B, and B keeps a dog (C)" is an example of the above
rule, and yet we cannot relate A to C, i. e., we cannot draw anj*
inference from such premises. It follows, then, that we must cur-

10 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tail tlie principle. After curtailment, it assumes the shape, " Re-
lated within the same cate^^ory to the same are interrelated." The
difference between the second and the first seems one of impor-
tance. There has been added the qualifying phrase " within the
same category." Bradley, however, now wishes to prove that,
while the former was too wide the latter is too narrow, for in pecul-
iar cases you may pass from one category to anotlier, so that it is
not always " within the same category." The peculiar cases are
all connected with tlie category of Subject and Attril)ute. Brad-
ley gives as examples of this: " Gold is heavier-than lead, and lead
is a metal." " A = B, and B is in my pocket." Here, undoubt-
edly, we pass from one category to another, and we have in both
cases the category of Subject and Attribute. If, then, we can
draw a legitimate conclusion from the premises, we have proved
that the principle is too wide. The inference which Bradley
draws from the second example is " A = something which is in
my pocket."

Two questions might very fairly be asked at this juncture.
First, is the principle " Related within the same category to the
same are interrelated" essentially different from tiie principle
" Related to the same are interrelated " ? Secondly, if so, is Brad-
ley's criticism against the second form of the principle valid ?
Any attempt exliaustively to answer the first question would lead
to a discussion, tlie length of which would be quite out of propor-
tion to tlie size of this essay. The answer given to it depends
altogether on the construction put upon the phrase " the same" in
the law " Related to the same are interrelated." In the example
quoted, " A runs faster than B, and B keeps a dog (C)," B in his
capacity of runner, and B in his capacity of dog-owner, are con-
sidered " the same." If no objection is taken to that view, then
Bradley is correct. But exception, I think, may very properly be
taken to that view. In the judgment "A runs faster than B," B
is looked upon as a runner, and only those qualities of B are intro-
duced which go to make him capable of running a race. In the
judgment " B keeps a dog," B is now present in an entirely differ-
ent capacity. B as a runner and B as possessor of a dog are, for
logical purposes, two quite distinct beings. It might justly be
objected, then, that the above example contains the fallacy of
quaternio terminm'um. But at once Bradley might answer, " Yet

BradUifs '•^Principles of Logic." 11

'the same' must include dift'erences. If you exclude all differ-
ences you at the same time do away with your identity ; if you
retain any differences you leave room fur tlie fiillacy of four terms."
The reply seems to be that so long as the differences are dift'erences
in an identity, which identity is the very point made prominent
in the judirmeiit, tlien the ariiuincnt is not fallacious. " A runs
faster tlian B, and B can outstrip C," are jiremises from which any
one can deduce an inference. " The same," in this case, is B as a
runner. B as a runner is not a point; he is not mere identity,
but an identity amid differences. He is present iu the same ca-
pacity in both judgments, while the differences are precisely all the
varying qualities which united make B the runner he is. Change
these qualities and you still have a racer, but one who now can
get over the ground with increased, or, it may be, wit!\ diminished,
speed. Here, again, is sameness amid diversity. Accordingly, if
this interpretation be correct, the second form of the principle,
" Related within tlie same category to the same are interrelated,"
is, after all, only an explanation of the first, and so far it has not
been successfully assailed. But the second question now awaits
an answer. Is Bradley's criticism of the second form of the prin-
ciple valid i In support of his criticism he gave two examples,
already quoted, viz., " Gold is heavier than lead, and lead is a
metal,'' and " A = B, and B is in my pocket." The inference he
drew from the second of these was likewise given, viz., "A = some-
tliing which is in my pocket." Is this a valid inference?

Now, we already know that P. is in his pocket; but tliere may
be (and the possibility is all that is required) C, D, E, X, Y, Z in
his pocket too. Tlie inference, notice, does not mean that A = C
or D or Z. Tiie inference really is " A = a particular something
which is in ray pocket." It will be hard to see wherein that con-
clusion has added anything to the premises " A = B, and B is in
my pocket." xVgain, it might be urged tiiat the inference should
relate the extremes, and not an extreme to tlie middle term. In
the above exanii)lc the pocket is the third term, and Bradley has
established no relation between it and A. But he afterward re-
plies that it makes no difference what the inference is, provided it
be a new relation. The inference may consist in a new relation
between A and B. But no number of relations between B and C,
D, etc., will make a new relation between A and B. No number

12 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of attributes of B alters in the slightest the relation between A and
B. The relation existing between A and B holds good irrespective
of the relation which B may bear to other things. The relation
of A to B allows, in its very statement, for new attributes of B, or
new attributes of A. A or B, when attributes are added to it, is,
it is true, in a sense altered, i. e., we know more of it. It would
seem as if, when B was altered, the relation between A and B
would be altered as well. But the relation between A and B is a
specific relation, and, unless B is changed so as to affect that rela-
tion, no change is made in the relation. A = B is a relation of
equality, say of weight. We may discover that B is hard, white,
without taste, in a certain place, etc. But these relations do not
aflPect its weight, so that our discoveries make no change in the
relation of A to B. Bradley might hereupon reply that we may
know, e. g., that A is white, and we may not know that B is white.
We experiment, and so discover that B is white. Will that not
modify the relation subsisting between the two objects? They
ra&j have been equal as regards weight before, and their equality
might have been known, but is not the relation of whiteness a new
relation ? Certainly, we answer. But notice now jour syllogism :

A is white,

B is white.

. • . So far as color is concerned, A and B are alike.

In this syllogism you have not crossed from one category to
another, but have remained throughout within the category of
subject and attribute.

A somewhat similar criticism may be adopted in the case of the
first example. This is Bradley's complete statement. " Gold is
heavier than lead, lead is a metal, therefore, lead-metal (i. e., some
metal) is lighter than gold, or metal may be lighter than gold."
We may surmise that Bradley's evident anxiety to get a respecta-
ble-looking conclusion out of the premises indicates his fear that
the conclusion is not altogether valid, and so it turns out. For
{a) wo may set aside the conclusion, " Metal may be lighter than
gold," because that is only a weaker statement of the first conclu-
sion. It only means " Metal may be lighter than gold, if it is
lead," i. e.^ " Lead is lighter than gold." {h) We may, secondly, do
away with the bracket "some metal," for that only means "some
particular metal," i. e., " lead." Our conclusion then is, " Lead is

Bradley^s "Principles of Zogic." 13

li^liter than fjold," or, *' Lead, which is a metai, is lighter than
gold," at which no one will be greatly astonished who already
knows that gold is heavier than the metal lead.
■ Bradley, in order to account for what lie tiiinks he has proved,
viz., that we may pass from one category to another under pecul-
iar circumstances, states that the categories are not all on the
same footing. Now categories, as categories, must be on the same
footing or else they are not all categories. Spencer has taken very
much the same position in bis " First Principles." There he tries
to maintain that space, time, matter, etc., are tdtlmates, and yet
wislies to prove tliat they are reducible to force, i. e., tliat there is
an ultimate behind ultimates. Such a position, it is plain, if we
attach any meaning to words, sacrifices either the uUiraate or tiie
ultimates. So with Bradley, if there is one category which lias
claims upon the term category, upon which tlie rest of the catego-
ries have no claim, then the rest must be set aside. It or tliey are
not categories. So far as we have yet gone, we have not found
that the category of subject and attribute has any title to unique-
ness.

Once more, in the chapter on Fresh Specimens of Inference,
we have an opportunity to observe Bradley's idea with regard to
Subject and Attribute. In that chapter lie is engaged in a hand-
to-hand conflict with the principle "Related witliiu the same cate-
gory to the same are interrelated." It is not our concern any
longer to take part in the fray. But from a fitting point of
observation we may descry the nature of the struggle. Emphasis
will thus be laid upon the motives of the combatants. Apart
altogether from metaphor, it may have been noticed that Bradley
had as yet only generally dealt with the above principle. Now
he brings to bear upon it a multitude of concrete specimens of
inference. He marshals them under (a) Three term constructions,
(5) Arithmetic, (c) Comparison, etc. ; but that particular subdivis-
ion interesting at this time is A {ii) in wjiicli he maintains that
an attribute and a relation are two distinct things, and that there-
fore a subject might possess an attribute without being related.
lie says, " But there follows close a further conse(juence. We
have reasoned to a whole C-B-A, and this whole may have a new
quality, X. But, if so, we have reasoned from terms in relation,
C-B and B-A, to no new relation but to the presence of a fresh

14 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

quality ; and hence, once more, our formula has broken down."
By " formula," Bradley means the general law of which we have
been speaking. This whole quotation is a consequence of what
Bradley believes he has proved in a preceding paragraph. lie
there said, " If A is given to the right of B, and B again to the
right of C, I may judge that the terms are arranged as C-B-A."
Bradley would desire to show by this that the general law is too
narrow, for C and A are both related to the same thing (B) within
the same category, and yet the conclusion is not an interrelation
of C and A, but a new whole C-B-A, in which B plays as dis-
tinguished a role as either of the others. By means of the critical
process already employed it might be easily seen that the real
whole is C(-B)-A, i. e., B is not otherwise present than to show the
new relation between C and A. The relation C-B is a premise ;
the relation B-A is a premise. Therefore the conclusion cannot
be concerned with either of these, for these it already has. It is
concerned, however, with the relation of C-A, and of coui-se
through B, so the new relation may be written C(-B)-A. But
this is not the present question. Bradley states (cf. quotation) that
from the premises C-B and B-A we hy reasoning reach not a
new relation but a quality, X. In obtaining C(-B)-A, if reasoning
is relating, and if we have reasoned at all (Bradley acknowledges
that we have), then we must have reasoned to a neiv relation. No
doubt there, may arise one thousand qualities — one thousand Xs —
on the discovery of the new relation. The perception of each one
of these qualities is just another inference. But that has nothing to
do with the present discussion. If we have not a new relation in
the whole C(-B)-A, then the quality X can be found in C-B and
B-A without putting them together as C(-B)-A. The finding of
such a quality in G-B or B-A is a process of inference. It; on the
other hand, we have reasoned to a quality from the fragments C-B,
or B-A, then we have no whole C(-B)-A. But Bradley, for the
sake of clearness, gives an illustration: "I sail round land, and
reconstruct my course by a synthetic process, and the whole shore
that I combine is then interpreted as belonging to an island. A-B,
B-C, C-D, D-F, F-II become, when united, the perimeter of the
island, and from this circular frontage I go to the name and the
other qualities possessed by islands. The circular shape and self-
contained singleness are more than the mere interrelation of the

Bradley s '■'Principles of Logic." 15

premises, and need not be got from previous knowledge of islands.
You do not go outside the construction to get them, the whole
would not be itself without them ; and jet they are another side
of that whole, which is distinct from the putting together of the
parts. But, if so, surely you have reasoned to a quality." Let
this illustration be taken up step by step, (a) To obtain this peri-
meter you must make a series of inferences (" synthetic process"
of Bradley) thus, A-B, B-C, A-B-C, etc., etc. When we have
completed the series, we have A related in a certain way, i. e.,
through B C D, etc., to H, and that is all. But here there may
be some confusion, owing to the fact that, while Bradley has
hitherto taken A B, etc., to be points, he now means them to rep-
resent lines. Tlie truer form of the inference will therefore be
" The line A B is of such a shape (arc of 60°), the line B C is of
such a shape (60° more), therefore, the line A C is shaped thus
(arc of 120°)." In process of time we would get a circle, or some-
thing like a circle. That is the tirst step, {b) This shape is then
in Bradley's phraseology mferpreted as belonging to an island.
It is easy to conceal a world of meaning in a word. Bradley had
once before unwittingly covered up a theory under unphilosophic
words, and this is anotlier instance. What is the significance of
" interpreted," when itself interpreted, but this? " An island is a
piece of land surrounded by water; we have sailed round this
piece of land, .-. it is an island." The term " interpreted" thus
conceals an additional inference, (c) Bradley has from the circular
frontage, or shape, gone to the name. We have expanded the
manner of his going. He adds, " From this circular frontage I go
to the name and other qualities possessed by islands." But the
name of an island is not one of its qualities. The name has a
meaning, and, when it is understood, it will furnish all the quali-
ties that belong to an island as an island. We have, then, got no
other iiUiiUty so far. But Bradley replies, "The circular shape
and self-contained singleness do not come from interrelation of
the premises, and need not come from previous knowledge of
islands; and yet we could have no whole, no shape without them.
Without the shape we could not have tiie interrelation." It seems
like a contradiction to assert with one breath that the circular
shape does not come from the premises, and with the next to as-
sert tiiat the shape and the premises are inseparable. But it is

16 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

not a coatradiction. Bradley has here failed to distinguish be-
tween shape and circular shape. It is evident that he is much
more intent upon the picture he has drawn in his book than the
imaginary sail and the imaginary island, so you may turn to that.
The argument will then read, " The line A B is such a line, the
line B C is such a line, .-. the line A C is such a line." By a series
of inferences we get a iigure ; it may be circular, or again only
rounded, or again square. But that is all. We do not even obtain
a knowledge of the shape as a particular shape without compari-
son i. e, in truth, without further inference. Because we have
drawn lines, there must be shape, but certainly not a delinite
shape, uuless we know beforehand the shape we meant to draw.
That would be equivalent to a " previous knowledge of islands " in
the illustration used above. The inference in full is in any case,
whether we have a previous knowledge of the shape, or whether
it was necessary to perforu) measurements after the shape was
drawn : " A circle is of such a nature, this shape is of such a na-
ture, .-. this shape is or is not like a circle." Tiie circular shape,
accordingly, does not come with the mechanical draught. The
ori'nnal outline gives out no occult essences which strike us una-
wares, and are then called qualities. The particular shape of the
island or the picture is certainly a quality of that island, but a new
inference has added that quality to our knowledge of that particu-
lar piece of land.

We are, perhaps, now ready to receive from Bradley an an-
nouncement which without preparation might have caused uneasi-
ness and alarm. It is one thing vaguely to insinuate that so and
so may be your view, and quite another thing to bring it into the
broad daylight. Bradley is al)out to come forth from his place of
concealment. If I have been understood to this point, one thing
at least will have been made clear. That is, that to be conscious
of and to relate are convertible terms. It is true that conscious-
ness may, and often does, relate unconsciously. That fact only
aflbrds adscititious evidence that relating is not an arbitrary
employment of thought. It only adds weight to the assertion that,
whether it will or not, thought must relate. The quality of an
oliject will, if known, be a relation for the percipient subject. A
quality that is not a relation will liee definition and be lost in the
shades. In opposition to all this Bradley drops a feeler, so to

Bradley s '■^Principles of LogicP 17

Bpeak, wlieii he says (p. 8), '' The complex of qualities ami relations
which a fact contains makes up its content." If the reader has
perused only the few lines which precede the quotation he will
only be able to wonder why Bradley said '' qualities and rela-
tions," and whether he intends afterward in any way to distinguish
them. After much licsitation, he states his view (p. 26i), wliich
leaves us still in doubt as to what he thinks is the difference be-
tween quality and relation. He confesses (cf. note, p. 26-lr) "The
ultimate connectioti of quality and relation is a most difficult prob-
lem," but leaves us to infer that though possibly, if any one could
dig sufficiently deep, he might find that these two had coalesced,
yet, first of all, can you dig so deep '. and, secondly, for practical
purposes, you certainly do not. This answer means that meta-
physicians may be left to debate the question. Logicians must
accept a diti'erence between qualities and relations. It is an old
device of Bradley's to shift the responsibility of proof from logic
to metaphysic, and then naively to assert, " I am not at present
dealing with metaphysic." But his readers are not always satis-
fied with being deluded into believing that they are in pursuit of
something with flesh and blood, and tlien being left suddenly to
hobnob with a ghost. Besides that, they cannot help suspect-
ing that Bradley was himself uneasy upon the question, and did
not care to be too hard pressed. It may be a thankless task to run
the fox to ground, but the first remark that comes is, that the
dividing wall between logic and metaphysic is not so high as Brad-
ley seems to think. They merge imperceptibly one into the other.
"When you are dealing with logic you are dealing with metaphysic,
and no amount of vigorous shaking of the head will serve to con-
tradict that fact. The next remark is that, as logic and metaplivs-
ic are at least the same in kind, no distinction between qualities
and relations which is not valid for the one will lie valid for the
other. If, ultimately, as Bradley says, qualities and relations
are reducible, then they should never be separated. If, that is,
when looked at in the truest light, they are found to be identical,
is there any excuse for looking at them in any other light? or is
logic a perversion of metaphysic ? The fact that, with the above in
view, Bradley still maintains that, for logic, qualities and relations
must remain distinct, makes his readers believe that, when he fur-
ther says they are ultimatelv reducible, he contradicts himself. If
XIX-2

18 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

he contradicts himself, which position is tlie one that enters into
the lite of his theory i Our whole discussion has gone to prove
that the view that qiialities and relations are distinct things is the
one which is sometimes more plainly, sometimes more dimly, seen
to constitute the backbone of nearly every chapter of his work.

The question of the connection between quality and relation is
one with the connection between the principle of identity and
the principle of difference, the principle of synthesis and the prin-
ciple of analysis. Almost in so many words Bradley says that
the qualities of an object constitute its sameness and the relations
its differences. It would be hard for Bradley to state what was
the sameness of an object apart from difference, but his words
seem to indicate that an object might have sameness in one part
of it and difference in another. He is still at the materialistic
point of view, and introduces temporal and spatial relations where
there are none. This is seen in his illustration of the sun. The
sun is at once a fiery mass and has rays. The fiery mass consti-
tutes the sameness or identity of the sun. The rays constitute its
differences. The former contains its qualities, the latter are its
relations. Thus he at once places identity and diversity on differ-
ent levels. This is perfectly consistent with other portions of his
work. Qualities are not relations for him, though these two may
be the same for those engaged iu metaphysical subtleties and vice
versa. Qualities seem to belong to the thing j:>e?" se, relations con-
nect that thing with others. With regard to the object itself,
qualities are positive and relations negative ; with regard to the
world at large qualities are negative and relations positive. There
is certainly a plausibility about tbe theory put in this light, but
it is only the plausibility of names. When we cast away the rela-
tions we still have the qualities, and we ask Bradley what they
are. The answer, most likely, will be, " The object is in itself
white, hard, etc." But we need not stay to show that without
coDiparison and i-elation we never would have had whiteness nor
hardness. Besides, the mere giving of the name casts to the winds
the whole theory. Either these qualities are connected as quali-
ties one with another, or else each quality must be erected into a
separate and independent object. If so, will the new object have
qualities ? You are in the toils of an infinite series. Further, if
each quality is something peculiar, then for that very reason it is

Bradley s ^'Principles of Logic" 19

related by exclusion botli to relations and to its brother qualities.
The more you box up an individual (jualit}-, or the more you are
determined to keej) it distinct, the stronger have you made the
bond of relation. " I am not" may convey as much meaning as
" I am." Here once more there crops uji Bradley's desire to exalt
the category of subject and attribute. Time, space, etc., etc., are
relations. Let them stand aside. Subject and attribute hold the
same connection with each other as the object and its quality.
Let it be adniitteil into the sanctum sanctorum. But the word
'* quality " implies something of which it is a quality. The quality
is relateil to its subject, and thus relations have with impious
hands violated the sanctuary.

It only needs to be added that, when you separate between
quality and relation, you obtain something not a relation, sonie-
tliing, /. ^., wiiich cannot be specified or defined. The quality of
an object apart from its relations comes to mean the inexpressi-
ble or the indefinable. You are not then very far I'cmoved from
the old bug-a-Ijoo, the unknowable. But that has now almost
ceased to frighten.

The third and last portion of our work is now begun. To it was
assigned the task at least of enumerating the portions of Bradley's
book which have been tried and not been found wanting. Little
more will be done than to ])resent the positive truth in the " Prin-
ciples of Logic," free from admixtures with (a) what was true, but
negative, i. e., the critical portion of his work, and (b) what in his
positive theory has failed to make its peace with the principle
laid down in the introduction. No endeavor will be made to fur-
nish a synopsis of what Brailley has himself done, but simplv to
make more clear the logical nexus. Tiiat will in all probability
bring to the surface what for a casual reader of Bradley might be
wholly overlooked. The first step in this not very gigantic project
has happily been already taken. That was the showing that judg-
ment and inference were not two different processes, but essen-
tially one. That at once lessens by half the seeming magnitude
of our enterprise. It will not be necessary, when a certain position
has been taken with reference to judgment, fox-like, to double on
our track, and |)rove the same position with regard to inference.
When it is done once, it is a pleasure to know that it is done once
for all. With this assurance there is left still the following — to

20 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

trace from the beginning to its end an act of judgment. Starting
from the potentiality of judgment, tliat is, the fact of knowledge,
and selecting in a manner arbitrarily a particular object or event,
we may in imagination follow along the path over which thought
must travel until it reaches its goal. This goal is the positing of
another fact of knowledge. Taking our departure from knowl-
edge, we make our journey and return upon knowledge with an
additional fact. Thus our knowledge has been increased. Here
all such questions about the repetition of the same words fail to
disturb us, as they undoubtedly occupy a lower plane. They are
merely temptations placed in the way to obstruct a free inquiry.

It might be stated at the outset that the above plan will find
a starting-point in the disjunctive judgment, and will proceed
through the hypothetical to the categorical. In so doing, a prin-
ciple is called into exercise which is variously known by the
names of Analysis and Synthesis, or Identity and Contradiction.
This method exhibits the forward movement, or the movement
from tiie point of view of synthesis. Bradley has adopted a some-
what different plan. He has begnn with the categorical, and
shown how first of all it implies the hypothetical, and next the
disjunctive, and then discussed the nature of the underlying prin-
ciples. That plan exhibits the backward movement, or the
movement from the point of view of analysis. Both start from
knowledge, Bradley from a given fact exhibiting by a regressus its
essential connection with the mass of facts, we from the facts of
knowledge proceeding toward a single fact.

First of all, then, we must posit knowledge. Any attempt to
get rid of knowledge ends always in self-contradiction. The de-
nial of knowledge is itself knowledge. If any one should shrink
from denying out and out the existence of knowledge, but should
at the same time affirm modestly that he cannot say whether or not
there is knowledge, even then there is implied in his statement
that he knows that he doesn't know. If he disclaims even that
knowledge and says, " I do not know that I know that I do not
know," we can i-etort that that is still an unqualified assertion,
and, so far, knowledge for him. If he recedes further, it will soon
take him more than one or two breaths to announce his real posi-
tion, and we can leave him unburdening himself of his weary and
monotonous load of ignorance to the only things that will exist

Bradl^f/s ^' Principles of Logic.'''' 21

Ion" enough to hear even the end of the beginninn; — the everlast-
ing hills. It is true that in the history of the indiWdual there
can be readied a point of time wlien for him tliere was no knowl-
edge, but that is not at all the question. It is no objection to
show that individual knowledge must have an absolute beginning
in time, for knowledge exists quite apart from any individual. It
can certainly never be known that there was a time for universal
consciousness when there was no knowledge ; for, even if such had
been the case, consciousness could never have become conscious
of it. To be conscious of and to know are synonymous terms.
To say that for consciousness there was a time when there was no
knowledge is to say that consciousness could be conscious that it
was not conscious. It asserts that consciousness can be both con-
scious and not conscious. It is plain, tlien, that, even if con.scious-
ness had a beginning, it cannot be conscious of its own beginning,
and, therefore, for consciousness there can be no beginning. We
must then posit consciousness. But consciousness left to itself
would be forever a blank. For consciousness to be conscious of
itself, it must at the same time be conscious of the not-self. So at
once for the realization of consciousness arises the distinction be-
tween the self and the not-self. This distinction of the self and
the not-self is for the self, so tliat the self and not-self do not
fall apart into hopeless dualLsm, but are united into one whole.
This distinction, which is no more a discrimination than a union,
arises from the very nature of consciousness, and is an act of
knowledge. If we posit consciousness, we must posit knowledge.
Having obtained a single piece of knowledge, we require no
other examination to explain all the knowledge that we possess.
But it cannot be asserted tliat, because consciousness could not be
consciousness without actual knowledge, therefore we, as conscious,
have all knowledge. That would be ignoring the distinction be-
tween potentiality and actuality. While consciousness, to be con-
sciousness, must posit knowledge, it does not therefore posit as
actual all possible knowledge. Consciousness only asserts that,
while I know such and such things, I have at the same time the
capacity to increase my knowledge. This has already been treated
of in the introduction. We conclude, therefore, that the very na-
ture of knowledge compels a search for further knowledge. Hav-
ing actual knowledge, with a capacity to know more, and that

22 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

combiaed with the conviction that there is more to be known, we
are ready to maintain tiiat it is a necessary and imperative step,
thou2;h possessed of knowledge, for us to endeavor to extend it.

Knowledge may be extended in many very divergent ways.
These ways are the different branches of science (in its widest
sense). Every branch becomes, in one sense, an independent
whole, itself capable of infinite extension. It again ramifies into
numerous subdivisions, until finally tlie vast system of knowledge
becomes so complex and intricate that one human intelligence has
to be satisfied with becoming ac<|uaiuted with a small fraction.
Now, consciousness, while testifying to the fact that it is capable
of knowing, never drives, necessarily, into one particular channel
of knowledge. Exteinial causes determine our particular course of
study. When we, in consequence, for logical purposes, select a
single act of knowledge for examination, the selection must be ar-
bitrary. Let the subject, arbitrarily chosen, upon which furtlier
light is about to be sought, be the principle of heat. The prin-
ciple of heat may be called, for convenience, A. Few are entirely
ignorant of the nature of heat. It is not long before children learn
through hard experience that " Fire burns." What is known of
heat may be called b, c, d, etc. Our knowledge of heat may then
be expressed in the judgments, " A is b, c, d, etc." Now, it is
known, not only that '' A is b, c, d, etc.," but also that "A is not
not-b, not-c, not-d, etc." The reference of b to A. at once excludes
the reference of the not-b to A. We have, then, implicit in the
positive judgment "A is b," the negative judgment "A is not
not-b." Besides this, the judgments " A is b," '' A is c, etc.," are
all categorical. From these categorical judgments as a starting-
point, we must reveal tlie process by which thought is enabled to
add continually to its already existing content.

There is already deposited, as secured, the fact not only that
" A is " but that •' A is b, c, d." We have, moreover, the addi-
tional fact that, while " A is b, c, and d," the predicates b, c, and d
do not exhaust A ; i. e., that A is not only b, c, and d, but some-
thing else as yet unknown. What A still further is we may pro-
ceed to discover. So far as known, A may be anything that is not
already excluded by b, c, and d. It depends, that is, upon our
knowledge of A, whether the number of possible predicates shall
be many or few. If we have already a comparatively extensive

Bra<1Uys '■^Principles of Logic.'''' 2:5

knowledge of A, tlien tlie possible predicates will bo few, iuas-
ninch as b, c, and d are relatively ricli. If, on the other hand,
little is known of A, its possible predicates will be Tiiany, iiias.
much as b, c, and d are relatively poor. Let it be granted that our
knowledge of A (and so of not-A) is such that there comes before
us the judgment " A may be e, and f, and g, etc.'''' If this is the
■way in which our ignorance or partial knowledge presents itself,
the solution is easy. " A may be e " means " A is either e or
not-e," and we have before us at once a disjunctive judgment in
its simplest form. A disjunctive judgment in its simplest form is
one in which the predicates take upon themselves tiie character
of exclusive alternatives. Wiien it was experimented upon the A
would be found to be either e or not-e. The next step would be
to treat f as you have treated e, and so on until you have run over
your whole stock of predicates. But if the judgment presents itself
in the form of exclusion, viz. : " A is e, or f, or g, or h, or . . .,"
what then i It does not seem so simple a matter to reach the most
elementary form of disjunctive judgment. Wlien you say "A is
e, or f, or g, or h," you mean that A is one of these, and only one ;
or, in other words, A is one and no other, /. e., A is either e or
not-e. In the very words, " A is e, or f, or g, or h," is implied
the disjunctive judgment with exclusive alternatives. No advance
can be made until you put your judgment either implicitly or ex-
plicitly into this form. When that is done, tiien you analyze or
ex]ieriment upon A, and discover wlietlicr A is e or not. The
judgment " A is e, or f, or g, or h or . . ." iin])lies in the speaker
a knowledge of e, and f, and g. His endeavor is, then, by a care-
ful examination of A to find out with which of these A must co-
incide. You take the lirst. " A is e or not-e." Upon examina-
tion, you may come to any one of three conclusions, {a) You may
fail in the tests you have applied to reach any jiositive knowledge
with regard to A, and so assert, " I do not know ; " but that can-
not be a final conclusion. (J) You may find in A attributes which
lead you to assert, " A is compatible with e." (c) Lastly, you
may tind in A attributes which demonstrate that A is incompatible
with e. If ih) is the result, then you at once conclude " A is e,"
and you have reached your categorical. If (c) is the result, then
you are only in a negative categorical position. A is not e. That
leaves " A is f or not-f," or " A is g or not-g," to be tried in its

24 The Journal of Speculatvoe Philosophy.

turn ; and so tlie process goes on. The most complicated result is
certainly (c). If, then, we conclude A is not e, the whole of the
next step would be as follows :

A is not-e.

Not-e is f, or <r, or . . .

. ■ . A is f, or g, or . . .
Bj this means you have disposed of e entirely, are again at
jonr starting-point, and are ready to deal with f as you have done
with e.

But one naturally asks, When will the process be complete?
When, in that way, do you reach a categorical ? To obtain a cor-
rect answer it must be borne in mind, first, that the possible
predicates are never an infinite number. The number of the
predicates, as lias been already remarked, is limited by what is
known of A, and by what is known of not-A. Tiie task is not,
therefore, an endless one. A positive judgment will be reached
when the predicates have been exhausted. In one sense, however,
positive results are obtained before that point is reached. When
it is found that A is not-e, for example, if not-e is anything posi-
tive (and if our lesson has been learned it cannot but be positive),
by an additional judgment there is got a positive conclusion with
regard to A, thus :

A is not-e.

Not-e is x, y, z, etc.

. • . A is X, y, z, etc.
But that is, so to speak, turning ofl' from the highway ; that is
fixing the attention on x, y, z, rather than the e, f, g. Our inter-
est centres in the main proposition, " A is e, or f, or g, or . . .,"
and so the question is again asked, " When in this proposition do
you reach a terminus ? " Bradley here introduces a peculiar
principle called by him " I must because I cannot otherwise."
Supposing that e, f, and g are all the possible predicates, then
Bradley means that when we discover that A is neither e nor f,
we are forced into believing that " A must be g," because we have
no other course open. That means that, whether we will or not,
we are compelled to judge " A is g." That way of stating a
theory, which contains the elements of truth, leads the reader to
believe that the reaching of the categorical is, after all, but a leap
in the dark. Bradley means that, if we only knew more, we might

Bradl^t/s '■'^ Principles of Logic." 25

perceive that the number of predicates of A were much larger
tlian we liad conceived, and that, in consequence, with greater
knowledge we might find tiiat A was not g at all, but sometliing
else. We coucluile<l that A was g not because we had found
qualities in each which render the judgment true, but only be-
cause in our short-sightedness we luul failed to find any qualities
in A and g which wouM render the judgnient false. But Bradley
is here in error. If e, f, and g are not all the possible predicates
of A, then, when it is perceived that A is not e nor f, we do not
assert that A is g. Certainly, any sncii coiiclusion would be
wholly unwarranted, "g" must be dealt witli in precisely the
same manner as e and f. A and g are both summoned to a])pear
for examination, and any one of three possible sentences may be
pronounced upon them. These three have been already men-
tioned: (1) I cannot tell; (2) A is g; (3) A is not g. If by
thorough examination it has been concluded that A is g, then the
other predicates which at first presented themselves may now be
dismissed. The reason why they can be dismissed now, when
they could not have been dismissed before, is, that, since the judg-
ment was set forth in full, our knowledge of A has been contum-
ally increasing. A time must come eventually when the candi-
dates will not require to be heard sinfjulatim, but may be set
aside in batclies. If, on the other hand, it is declared that A is not
g, then other predicates must be searched for, and examination must
be stayed till they are found. Never in tlie process, so far as I
am able to see, do we light upon any such principle as, " I must
because I cannot otherwise," if sucii a i)rinciple argues to tlie im-
becility of reason. Indee<l, if on examination it is discovered that
g must be positively related to A, then we do pronounce "A is g "
according to the rule " I must because I cannot otherwise." But
the ])rinciple then only means that reason cannot contradict itself,
or that reason must be rational. That reason cannot contradict
itself is a mere truism, which has no particular applicability to any
discussion. It would then be the strength and not the infirmity
of reason to assert, " I must because I cannot otherwise." But,
when Bradley says that it is owing to our ignorance that we
announce such a rule, he has made this rather curious blunder.
He has, in the first place, treated the proposition " A is e, or f, or
g, or . . . ," as if the predicates were exhaustive, has cut away e and

26 Tlui Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

f, and then been compelled to assert tlie relation of gto A. When
that was done, in the second place, he is suddenly startled with
the astounding truth that he does not know everythinc;, and that
after all the pi'edicates e, f, and g may not be exhaustive. He
therefore concludes that it was owing to our ignorance that we
judged " A is g." It is a pity that tlie conviction of his " igno-
rance" had not dawned upon him in time to prevent him from
imagining at all that e, f, and g were exhaustive. If it had, then
he might have seen that, witliout any positive evidence for the
relating of g to A, reason would never have made the relation.
Having trusted it formerly not to admit e without positive proof,
he could not have been far astray in fancying that it would not
be any more lenient in the case of g. His blunder was, after iiav-
ing assumed that e, f, and g were exhaustive, to turn right-about-
face with no better reason than to insei't his principle, " I must
because I camiot otherwise."

Tliis is in the rough an outline of tlie process through which
thduglit goes in reaching a categorical judgment. In that process
many things still remain implicit, and it will be necessary to return
now to the disjunctive judgment. This can be done with a clear
conscience, as it has been shown that the material of thought must
be thrown into the form of a disjunctive judgment. Thought
must go from the indefinite " A is e, or f, or g," to the definite A is
e or not-e. In a few moments it will be seen that every advance,
and this one among the number, is only possible through intro-
duction of the hypothetical. At present, however, we have to
finish with the disjunctive. Lettliis be the disjunctive judgment,
" Heat is either a subtile substance or molecular motion." This
cannot be final, for reason refuses to consider that a definition of
heat. Reason asserts that it must be one, and proceeds to dis-
cover which one it is. In denying that a disjunctive judgment
is final, reason works upon the principle tiiat absolute contradicto-
ries cannot exist. If it were possible for two absolute contradicto-
ries to exist, the disjunctive judgment would be the only possil)le
form of judgment. Bradley in some measure recognizes the truth
of tliis theory. His own view concerning contradictions is as fol-
lows : " That disparates, or incompatibles, or contraries exist is the
fact on wliich the principle of contradiction is based. It takes
for granted tiic nature of things in which certain elements are

Bradley's '■'Principles of Logic." 27

exclusive of others." This does not mean tluit two things can
possibly be absolutely exclusive in the rigid sense of the word
••exclusive." It does not ineiui thiit there are any two things
whicli are wiiolly unrelated. Sucli a view is a coiitradictiun in
terms. Fii-st of all, if we say tliat two objects are mutually exclu-
sive as reijards space, and mean by that tliat two objects cannot
occupy the same space at the same time, we are correct. One
object occupies one space, and the second object occupies another.
These two spaces may be one inch or one thousand miles apart.
Yet, as each space is only a portion of space itself, each part of
space is related to all other parts through the whole. It is not
necessary to enter into any discussion concerning the nature of
space. But it may safely be said that as a material object is not
a material object unless it occupies space, so every material object
is related to all others through the particular space occupied by
each. The same holds true with regard to time. There is only
one time, and all objects are in time. Accordingly, the principle
might be adopted, as the other aspect of the one quoted from
Bradley, "No two things that are comparable are wholly unlike
or dissimilar, i. e., wholly exclusive.'' Tiie truth is, that the two
things declared mutually exclusive are both in consciousness. Even
if they did not possess anything else in common they do possess
tliat, and cannot be, therefore, alisolutely exclusive. But, possess-
ing that, they possess more. Let us state the assertion and see
what more they do actually possess in common. It is this :
" Twu things may be absulutely exclusive." First of all they are
not absolutely exclusive, for both are related to the self. But
apart from that let the statement be analyzed. It is "■ two things
may be absolutely exclusive." Now, so far as each is called a
thing (whether that thing be temporal or spiritual, material or
immaterial) they are not mutually exclusive. Again, so far as this
thing and that thing make two things tiiey are related. Each is
related to the whole as a unit. Each is one and therefore numeri-
cally related to the whole. But it may be argued that we have
begged the <iuestion in stating the princijile as '* two things are
mutually exclusive." Our opponents would rather say "A and
B are mutually exclusive." Their design is palpable. They would
empty the objects to be compared of all content. They under-
stand that, just so far as we predicate anything of A or B, these

28 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

are not absolutely exclusive. So they assert A and B are abso-
lutely exclusive, maintaining at the same time that A and B are
void of all content. AVithout stopping to show that what is void
of all meaning does not exist for consciousness at all, or in other
words that vrhat exists for consciousness must have more content
than the bare abstraction of relation to consciousness, we will take
our opponents on their own ground. Let us suppose A and B to
be devoid of all meaning. Inasmuch as loth are without meaning,
both are alike in that respect. They are not mutually exclusive,
because they are absolutely identical. This leads naturally to the
other aspect of the truth, and that is that while there must be
identity there cannot be mere identity. If A and B were utterly
devoid of content, it would be nearer tlie mark to say not that
they were absolutely opposed, but that they were absolutely iden-
tical. If each is utterly devoid of content, having no marks to
distinguish it from the other, then both are one. But they can-
not be utterly devoid of content. At least both are present to
the self. It is this existing for consciousness which, while pre-
serving the identity of A and B, at the same time preserves their
ditference. Identity is the permanent relation to consciousness.
It cannot disappear, because consciousness cannot disappear. But,
in preserving the relation of A and B to mind, we are compelled
to preserve more. That is equally a necessity of reason. There
can never be found the bare abstraction called relation to con-
sciousness. A thing is not only related to consciousness, but it
must be related to consciousness as a thing. A and B are not only
related to consciousness but they are related to consciousness as A
and B. When you have A and B related to consciousness you
have their identity. But, as you must have them related to con-
sciousness as A and B, you have their diflference. Thus it is that
you are perpetually disclosing the truth that identity and contra-
diction, permanence and change come and go together, and that
it is just self-conscionsness which, while it must make distinctions,
is perpetually reconciling them.

From tliis it is apparent that, while relative contraries may ex-
ist, absolute contraries cannot exist. It is the nature of relative
contraries to become absorbed in a higher unity. But the oppo-
site aspect must also be insisted on, viz., that no two things can
become a simple unity. It is impossible for relative contraries so

Bradley's "Principles of LogicP 29

tboronjrhlv to be merged in eacli other as to lose their iiulividual-
ity. Tiie nature of the unity would in that case be a unity that ex-
cluded differences. But a unity that excludes differences is a total
blank. Therefore, while we say that contradictories cannot be ab-
solute, we say with equal force that relative contradictories must
exist. In the judgment, then, " Heat is eitiier a subtile substance
or molecular motion,"' it may be said that, so far as the predi-
cates " subtile substance " and " molecular motion " have attributes
in common, heat is both. So far, however, as their attributes are
opposed, heat must be one and not the other. ITavinjj reached
this position, the next step is to state in order the points of agree-
ment and the points of difference in the two predicates. Especial
prominence is given to the points of difference. Wlien that is
done, you assert, by means of a hypothetical judgment, tiiat if heat
possesses such and such attributes it is molecular motion ; if it
does not possess them, it is not molecular motion. As the ]>redi-
cates of heat are considered exhaustive, not-molecular-motion is
equivalent to subtile substance.. By means of Analysis and Syn-
thesis, i. e., by various processes of judgment or inference, we dis-
cover what characteristics heat exactly has. If these attributes
are possessed by one predicate to the exclusion of the other, we
thus judge :

Heat has x, y, z, as attributes.
Molecular motion has x, y, z, as attributes.
.". Heat is molecular motion.
i. e., Heat is not a subtile substance.
Again there has been reached the categorical, wiiich is at the
same time affirmative and negative.

It is easily seen that, if attention is paid to the exact process
which is performed in order to obtain a categorical, while the
affirmative conclusion is definite, the negative implied in it is also
definite. In the case of coininon every-day judgments the definite
negative seems almost to disappear. In judging, for example,
"It is a man," it would be difficult to assign as a negative any
other judgment than " It is not not-man." In the case of well-
known objects the contrast is so fleeting and so instantaneous tiiat
it becomes almost unconscious. If, however, the man were stand-
ing at a distance, in a field where there were a nutiiher of high
stumps, then a careful examination would rci^uire to be made.

30 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

" It is a man " would then Iiave as its negative " It is not a stump."
When ordinary iud^ments are formed, it would seem that the negra-
tive is more indefinite in proportion as the positive is definite ;
but definite would only mean in such an assertion explicitly pres-
ent to consciousness. In reality, the more definite the positive,
the more definite is the negative. It would be an idle remark to
maintain that the judgment " Heat is molecular uaotion " has as
its negative Heat is not not-molecular motion, and say, because
of that, that the positive judgment was, so to speak, a mere point,
while the negative included the'^rest of the known universe. That
overlooks the truth that molecular motion, equally with not-
molecular motion, has its relations to the whole world. In one
sense it may be that one judgment includes all possible judg-
ments. But "includes" simply means '"is related to." In the
rigid meaning of include, one judgment cannot include any other
judgment. The judgment Heat is not not-molecular motion is only
rendered inclusive if Heat is not a subtile substance by another
definite inference or judgment. -To obtain this judgment a con-
trast is instituted between molecular motion and subtile substance,
in which the variance between them becomes prominent.

Tiie next topic is the hypothetical judgment. Hypothetical
does not mean doubtful, but only conditional. Inasmuch as all
knowledge is conditioned by the knowing subject, all knowledge
must be hypothetical. We fix a judgment as hypotlietical when
we declare its conditions. " A is " is a declarative statement, or a
categorical judgment, but that judgment leaves to be understood
the conditions of A's existence. Tliese conditions must be present,
though unexpressed. When we bring to the front the conditions,
and say, " A is on certain conditions," or, " Given such and such
conditions and you have A," our judgment has become hypotheti-
cal. Bradley has done good service in showing that every judg-
ment must be hypothetical because every statement must be con-
ditional. His exposition of this subject is exceedingly good, and
leaves little to be said. But one remark may be made. It has
been shown that we advance from the body of truth to a new
truth by various means. The way of advance is marked by many
imaginary halting-places. Each of these halting-places means the
insertion of a condition. Every condition, however, has been
shown to be a necessity of reason. We have knowledge, but we

BradUt/ti •'Principles of LotjicP 31

must increase our knowledfje. Unless that is done, we cannot ex-
pect to arrive at new truth. The necessitv fur increasing kiiuwl-
edge is the first condition. Again, wlien tiiere has been presented
the judtrnicnt " A is e. or f, or g, or . . . ", reason once more as-
serts that it is unsatisfied, and bids us advance. Its command is
to select. What is selected is, from one ]>oint of view, arbitrary.
The motive guiding the selection is, at least, extraneous to the
question, but the selection is itself a necessity. Only on condition
of such selection can advance be made. Thus, a new condition is
introduced ; our judgment has become more hypothetical, and yet
the condition was a necessity of reason. There has been readied
the judgment " A is e or uot-e." Once again a condition is in-
troduced, " If A has sucli and such attributes, it is e or not-e" ;
60 that, by means of another necessary condition, by further hy-
pothesis, we reach the categorical " A is e " or " A is note."

Little need be said of the categorical. It has been shown to
imply all the rest. Pains has already been taken, likewise, to
prove that a cati gorical judgment is either negative or affirmative,
according to the point of view. Indeed it wholly depends upon
the individuaFs point of view whether, in dealing with the
disjunctive, he shall end with an aiErmativeor a negative categori-
cal. Both the positive and the negative are implied from the
outset.

Upon the nature of the distinction between the " possible," the
" necessary," and the " actual," a word or two may be said in con-
clusion. In the judgment " A is e or not-e," both e and not-e are
considered possible. I'ossible is a term wholly relative to our
actual knowledge. It is only because we are to some extent
ignorant of real A that the two possible predicates arise. The
ignorance is, however, a necessary ignorance ; so the possible, if
we may so speak, is a necessary possible. Both e and not-e are pos-
sible at the stage of the disjunctive judgment. Soon we get beyond
that stage. Examination is had upon A, and the possibility of the
one predicate passes into probability, while the possibility of the
other sinks into bare possibility, or, vulgarly speaking, something
like one chance in ten. From the probability we go not directly
to actual e, but to the sum or the totality of the conditions or
relations which makee actual. It would seem that when we have
recognized in A all the qualifications required for the assertion

32 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of the actuality of A, we hesitate, and say iirst " A must be," and
then " A is." But the true distinction between the necessary and
the actual is not a difference in time. The true distinction is only
a difference in the point of view. Let us illustrate. Suppose a
number of people are searching for a missing child. They come
first upon traces, then upon some article of clothing, then upon
fresh footprints, indications which necessarily point to the child's
immediate vicinity. Theory is raised, " It must be here." The
next moment, " It is here, it is found." The illustration furnishes
us with a fair idea of the difference between the necessary and the
actual. But it has tliis defect, that it introduces the temporal
element. Between the "must be" and the "is" there is no dis-
tinction of betore and after. Apart from that, notice that the
necessity rests upon sure indications of the child's proximity. It
is the negative assertion almost that it is found. The indications
at least proclaim that the child is nowhere else ; and that is only
the negative of the assertion "It is here."

A both exists and has relations. Looking at A in its positive
aspect we would assert " A is." Looking at A in its negative
aspect — or from the point of view of its relations — we would assert
"A must be." These relations necessitate A's existence; *. e.,
when we say, " A must be," we mean that these relations cannot
point to anything else. " A must be " is equivalent to " B, or C,
or D cannot be."

Last of all has come tlie categorical. It is the poorest or the
richest form ot judgment, according to your standpoint. As imply-
ing all the preceding, it is undoubtedly the richest. As in a sense
rejecting all the preceding, it is the poorest. Acknowledging its
connections it can occupy the loftiest seat. Disowning its connec-
tions it is scarcely worthy of a place at all. Looking at it in the
latter aspect, Bi-adley says that the Analytic judgment of sense is
the most meagre. But the former aspect is, from the stand-point
of our whole exposition, probably the more correct. The goal has
been reached, and, with new impulse and energy refreshed, thought
is prepared to start again.

Phitonism aiid it^ Itelation to Modern Tfiowjid. 33

PLATOXISM AND ITS RELATION TO MODERN
THOUGHT.

It would seem that Pliilosopliv has fallen on evil clays. Once
the undisputed ijueen of the sciences, and recognized law-giver in
the realm of the Knowable, she appears now to occupy a region
from which the buoyant life and fruitful energy of the times have
receded, sending solitary and confused echoes into her expanse
of loneliness, sad and inuiHed reminders of departed glories and
extinguished authorities. The world-embracing fantasy of deeply
brooding India, midtitudinous in strangely commingled creations
of spirit and nature, afforded her a harborage of mystical and cloudy
supremacy ; mother of nations, and mythologies, and world-compre-
hension?, India could not be other than i)hilosophic. Memnonian
Egypt — turning her colossal-statued front tt) the sunrise, and re-
sponsive to the earliest inHuence of the morning radiance, symbol
of upturned humanity to the permeating and moulding TTniversal
Thought, which converts all things into its own everlasting simili-
tude and reflection— was, throughout her life and history, but a phil-
osophic meditation on Death and Immortality. And radiant Greece
— the genuine and joyous youth of the world, mankind's first recog-
nition of itself as the solution of the riddles propounded by the
abyss of potencies that engirt him, that exquisite equipoise of soul
and sense which is the birth of beauty and its perfect embodiment —
found the study of Universal Ideas as noble a pursuit as the disinte-
gration of nature into abstract elements, which have no subsistence
outside of the ideas which underprop and vivify them. Through
the gloom which domed the welter and tumult of the Middle Age,
that second chaos from whose throes and anguish was born the
leagued independence of modern nationalities, shone two lights,
as the Bun and moon thereof, Religion and the Philosophy of the
Schoolmen.

But we of the eidightunment and ilhimination have changed all

that. We have discovered reality, and turned our faces away

from the subjective phantasmagoria that deceived our misguided

forefathers. Sensuous certitude and the abstract classifications

XIX— 3

34 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of science have put to flight the winged and mist-clad idealities of
philosophy. Science has encamped on the very battle-field from
which her elder sister has retreated in scorn, and haughtily tri-
umphs in a conflict on which the one antagonist disdains to enter.

But, after all, so-called Positive Thought and the supporters of
the gospel of limitation are not altogether assured that their vic-
tory is final and absolute. That steady splendor and tj-pical mani-
festation of recent English philosophic tendencies, G. H. Lewes,
whose spiritual transfusion into the life and work of the greatest of
modern novelists modified her latest creations not wholly to their
artistic completeness and wholesomeness of significance, finds him-
self necessitated to quote as introductory of his attempted sj'stem-
atic exposition of his world-view, " Problems of Life and Mind,"
the following words of his fellow-doubter, Stuart Mill, from whom
such utterances are as little to be exj^ected as from himself: " Eng-
land's tliinkers are again beginning to see, what they had only tem-
porarily forgotten, that the difficulties of Metaphysics 'lie at the
root of all Science ; that these diificulties can only be quieted by
being resolved, and that, until they are resolved, positively when-
ever possible, but at any rate negatively, we are never assured
that any knowledge, even physical, stands on solid foundations.' "

It is indeed so. All science terminates in problems whose solu-
tion lies alone in the gift of divine philosophy. The constitution
of matter, the interaction of forces, theories of heat and explana-
tions of light, the relations of brain-structure and thought-inter-
fusion, the origin of life and the fundamental aspects of the evolu-
tion-hypothesis, thrust the reason at last into the domain which
pure speculation holds in right indefeasible and inalienable. The
admirable monograph of Judge Stallo, recently published, has
shown how inadequate is the thought of science, for the clearing up
of the difficulties itself has met face to face in the inevitable pro-
cess of its development.

And, pace Stuart Mill and the rest, a negative solution is an
impossibility. The doctrine of the limitedness of thought, in what
form soever presented, is so beset with difiiculties and contradic-
tions that one must hold it in ignorance of its complications, or iu
sheer despair, as a drowning man catches at straws. There is no
direction in which Mind is so limited as in this of its own limited-
ness. Indeed, its limitation here is so marked that it cannot

PlaUmisin and its Relation to Modem Thought. 35

even perceive it except by the extraordinary procedure of shutting
its eyes to the whole subject intended to be envisaged. In this
case it is only the blind who see. IIow could Mind set a limit to
itself without transcending that limit? The very act, being con-
tinent of the limit, constitutes a totality of wliich limitation is only
an antithetical phase. IIow can we not know a beyond wliich we
know as limiting us, or how can we know ourselves as limited
without knowing the limitary potencies which render it possible
tliat we should be limited at alii It is impossible for thought to
posit a beyond which shall limit it, and yet say in the same breath
that the beyond is unknowable: for the beyond is as much a rela-
tive to thought, and is truly limited by thouglit, and therefore
determined in its nature and essence by it, as thought is finited and
circumscribed by the posited Unknowable. Surely it is a manifest
contradiction for knowing to alHrm that wliich is per se unknow-
able. We may aifirm that our knowledge is inadequate, that
subjects of investigation have not been fully fathomed, that the
Universe is exbaustless to the restless research of man, but that the
energy of knowing should demonstrate its hopeless incapacity to
know — never. The supposititious Unknowable, when exposed to
the relentless alchemy of reason, vanishes into the merest vapors of
abstraction and "leaves not a rack behind." Moreover, the up-
holders of the merely relative knowing claim at least one knowl-
edge as absolute, viz., that all knowing is relative ; this, by an
extraordinary inconsistency, is held as absolute certitude ; but to
some mercilessly logical Hume of the future such a position will
show itself to be utterly untenable, and the abyss of complete
negation and skepticism will again engulf the so-called exact sci-
ences as well as the results of pure speculation. Perhaps this con-
sequence has already come.

But just here is the transition to genuine thinking and the proof
of the reality and absoluteness of knowledge. If Thought posits
itself and the beyond itself in an integrating unitary act, the
antithesis falls within it, and the whole of the knuwablc resides
within the sphere of its regulative laws and constitutive exploits.
Thought projects itself over against itself, and the act of diremp-
tive projection is at the same time the act of self-recovery in com-
pleted self-recognition. To imagine something outside of this total
process of universal spirit, a mysterious and forever inaccessible

36 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

force, a marvellous D'lng-an-sich, as Kant phrases, a twilight obscu-
rity of potency to which may be relegated at will all the great
problems of human life and destiny, a modern Limbo differing
from the Miltonic one, being no receptacle for faded follies, deliri-
ous delusions, exploded hyputlieses, but a prison-house wherein to
lock from sight and influence our aspirations to know what we are,
our faith in personal responsibility, on which is based all goodness
and freedom, our glimmering apperceptions of the infinitude of our
destiny ; in short, everything that makes it worth our while to be
and do, is only to allow the intrusion of the imagination into the
realm of the reason. Imagination has deluded philosophy with
many a fiction, and with none more remorselessly than with this
of the thing in-itself, out of relation and incapable of determina-
tion. That which is out of relation is unlcnowable, says Herbert
Spencer ; we may add that it cannot be at all, as life is as much
an intertexture of relations as knowledge. Entia non multipU-
canda prmter necess'itatem is an excellent logical maxim, and
against such logical exorcism the vapid and tongueless ghost of the
thing-in itself has not a single self-contradictory syllable to utter.
Universal Thought establishes a totality of relations which per-
sist within its self-constituting medium, and, as universal product,
are identical with its creative potencies. This totality presents
itself in three aspects: First, as primordial thought of itself, or
God ; secondly, as essential representation of the full circle of
Thought's potentialities, or the Universe ; thirdly, as the organic
unity of these opposites in an everlasting perfection of life, in
which we " live, and move, and have our being." This is the God
whom we all ignorantly worship, and whom Philosophy declares
unto us. This is the being which Plato establishes as the founda-
tion of his system in the great dialogue of the Parmenides, and
which he there paradoxically describes as both being and not
being ; this is the r) voi'iaeai'i v6r]<7i<;, the thought which thinks
itself, with which Aristotle concludes his Metaphysics ; this is
the ineffable First Cause of Proclus, which is superessential and
wholly defecated from the worlds that depend from it ; this is
the ens realissitnutn of the Schoolmen, the substance of Spinoza,
the Indifferem of Schelling, and the Idee of Hegel. Here all the
great thinkers converge; such is the outcome of the Histoiy of
Philosophy.

Platonism and its Relation to Modern Thmujlit. 37

Into the atinospliere and conipreliension of this highest spliere
of Truth jH'iiotrate tiie tliree groat teacliers and refiners of Man-
kind — Art, Religion, Philosophy. Art manitiests tliis most real
of reahties and most ideal of idealities to the race throngh the me-
dium of sensuous forms ; Religion reveals it in mythic narrative
as the essential groundwork of all consciousness, and the indwell"
ing spirit and energy of ail eliaraeter ; Philosophy seizes it as the
imminent self-realizing idea of the world and history, an organic
totality combining all knowing and being, all cognition and life,
all potentiality and realization, the timeless and spaceless syn-
thetic unity, wherein all history and astronomy are shrivelled up
as flax in the lire, or rather aufgehoben, to use a Hegelian techni-
cality, or held in solution as a solid substance in some chemical
mixture of liquids. Such a comprehension of the Universe could
not be merely a subjective creation of the individual mind; this
is not my thought or your thought ; it is thought universal, think-
ing itself, which reflects itself in you or me because it can only
come to itself, and reveal its inmost principle, by its infinite self-
reflections, which are the countless human souls whose pilgrimage
is toward a goal, obscure only from an exceeding splendor of light.
Surely in this comprehension there is enough of mystery to satisfy
those who appear to be much alarmed lest the miracle and strange-
ness of existence should be all explained, and the monotony of too
much undei"standing should weary us with its too crystalline purity
of circumambient ether. Life ascends from knowledge to knowl-
edge, and its jtcak and summit are the mid-effulgence of the sun ;
not a nebulous Ginnunga Gap, frost-bound and ice-clad, where all
things are whirled upon and against each other in measureless
and inextricable confusion. All real thinking is universal think-
ing, not individual thinking. The great discoveries in science and
metaphysics were, so to speak, in the air l)efore they were enunci-
ated ; usually they are made simultaneously by various workers
in the same field, with no possible shadow of co-operation. Had
Newton, and Leibnitz, and Hegel not lived, their great systems
would have been developed by other minds; we do not possess
thougiit ; much rather does it possess us, and in its self-revelation
we become cognizant of objective verity. The unity of scientific
investigation could not be maintained by a host of isolated and
uncoinmanded workers; science is a unitv from the beginning;

38 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that unity captains the array of toilers at every moment, and dis
closes the hoards of buried truth in the rocky bowels of the uni-
verse. Truth, not merely relative to us, but the invincible gold —
that is the medium of interchange between the intellects and souls
of men, and the palpable demonstration that the nations are of
one blood and kin to what is deepest and noblest in tlie unfath-
omed scheme of tilings.

The attitude of thought toward this infinite reality is fourfold.
Thought at tirst accepts its own conclusions with a certain naivete
and unquestioning faith. Speculation is primarily not beset with
timidities or critical examinations and re-examinations. The fun-
damental principle assumed or found is unhesitatingly used as a
solvent for the facts of nature and history. Systems are con-
structed, and their defence bristles with the defiance of assertion
upon assertion. This first attitude of thought to the objective
world is dogmatic, and wanting in genuiue method. But op-
posing systems emerge into view with formidable swiftness and
completeness, and an argumentative settlement of these disputes
seems an impossibility. Disputation discovers constant support
for the accepted alternative in the depths of either consciousness,
and victory refuses to settle upon either standard. The way is
cleared for the transition to the second attitude of thought toward
objective verity.

Here criticism commences, but of a wholly external and sepa-
ratist tendency. The essential duality pervasive of all thinking
springs into bold and appalling relief. The antitheses of the per-
manent and the transient, of rest and motion, of thought and being,
of the subjective and objective, of the potential and the realized,
of freedom and necessity (the catalogue may be indefinitely ex-
tended), furnish a shifting and bewildering labyrinth of apparent
uncertainties from which the so-called common-sense mind recoils.
An abstract monism, whether scientific or metaphysical, atibrds
no refuge in this storm of colliding contradictions ; if we plant
ourselves upon matter, the explanation of spirit, like the ghost of
the murdered Banquo, will confront us in the mid-bustle and hey-
day of our carnival ; if we assume spirit, the atomic theory of mat-
ter hurls its dust upon us, and is like to put out our eyes ; if we
talk of an excluded middle or intermediate, and grant validity to
either side of the antithesis, we are tossed for reiterated impale-

I'latoiiism and its lidation to Modern Thought. 39

ments from one to tlie other liorn of the dilemma until we are fain
to tind peace and breath in a eonfes^ion of hopeless ignorance and
established skepticism. We become disciples of the great English-
man, Hume, and are satisfied that nothing is to be known and
nothing is to be dune.

But at this stage the third aspect of thonglit intervenes, and
saves us from ruin. Tiie doctrine of the strict interdependence of
facts and ideas, the impossibility of [)redicating this without tliat,
the discovery that explicit acceptance and strenuous defence of
one \new bases upon the implicit acknowledgment of diverse and
even contrary truth, forces us upon the dialectical procedure,
of which so many dialogues of Plato are consummate and imper-
ishable examples. The dialectical movement is a necessity of
thought, and has emerged into greater or less prominence in every
great philosophical era. Plato is the d.\?i\ei^t\c\?i.n par eiocellence of
antiquity. Socrates, with true Athenian urbanity, takes for granted
the point of view claimed by his interlocutor, and, by a series of
adroitly contrived questionings, compels him to recognize the pre-
suppositions of his thought, the relations and priorities without
which his thought would be unthinkable, and often ends by land-
ing him in a confession of validity in the opinion he began the
discussion by antagonizing. This is the famous Socratic irony,
no fantastical play of idle acumen, alert for the detection of inco-
herencies, but an essential procedure of real thinking.

The dialectical point of view, however, is not wholly positive.
The categories here swim in a Bacchant maze of transmutation,
and proceed from nowhere to nowhither, or ratiier frotu every-
where to everywhither. Dialectics must rise to the height of the
organic idea, the unity, as Hegel says, of comprehension and reali-
ty. The elucidation of the organic idea, its necessary phases and
their interdependence, is the business and talk of philosophy. Say
whiit we may, do what we will, we cannot escape the fate of rea-
soning beings ; and reason, herself an organic unity, can be satisfied
with no lesser principle as the explanation and reason of what is
only the summit and perfection of all reasoning processes.

These four phases of speculation are illustrated with singular
clearness in the history of Greek thought. With Thales begins a
period of genuine i)hilosophizing. His fundamental principle is
of course a material one, and there is no eflbrt at systematic expo-

40 The Journal of Speculative Philosophj/.

sition. The world of nature, with its intinite potencies and muta-
ble forms, is, nevertheless, one spectacle, and thought rejoices in
the effort to find unity underlying all this diversity. Various sys-
tems of philosophy arise: the Pythagorean, with its primal postu-
late of number or proportion, and the Eleatic, which carries
abstraction to its extreme verge of pure being. With Parmenides,
venerable and majestic prototype of the great thinkers, nothing
is but the permanent, the moveless, undetermined, immutable one.
The contradiction here is apparent ; the phenomenal and transi-
tory may be ejected from the abstract developments, but reality
stubbornly refuses to be argued out of existence. The great prob-
lem of ancient speculation rises above the horizon : the reconcilia-
tion of the permanent and the transitory, the one and the many,
the unchangeable and the inetlable, with the mutable and expressi-
ble, of being and non-being. With the Eleatics terminates one
movement of this antithesis ; the world of sensuous apprehension
had disappeared on being subjected to the alembic and crucible
of the philosophers; in defence of it arises Heraclitus with his
doctrine of the becoming. Not the one is, but the many are ; not
the stable and fixed, but the eternally changing. You cannot put
your foot in the same stream twice. Against the abstraction of
unity Heraclitus sets uj) the abstract multiplicity. As Thales
called his first " water," calm, equable expanse, so Heraclitus calls
his first "fire," restless, flickering, fantastical. The chasm is
sought to be bridged by subsequent thinkers in various ways — by
the Atoraists in a materialistic, by Anaxagoras in an idealistic
way. But in this clash of conflicting opinions Philosophy had
lost its primal nai've, dogmatic tone ; it was thrust back on itself
in a reflection on its method and process. The sun of the Sophists
had arisen.

The Sophists led the skeptical opinion of the times. The faith
in the traditional deities of the land had been shaken, and the prev-
alent looseness of morals was either a cause or effect of the unset-
tled condition of speculative thought. Logical subtleties, convinc-
ing demonstrations of both sides of a hypothesis, exaltation of the
individual above the universal, justification of pereonal whim
against the rational necessity of established law and governance,
were the disorder of the day. Protagoras formulated the prevail-
ing creed in his dictum that " the man is the measure of the uni-

I'latoni^m and it« Jielation to Modern Thought. 41

verse " ; l)e it understood " the luaii," not " man " ; the individual,
not the coininunity. This ne£;ative pliase of Greek thouglit termi-
nates in Socrates and his disciple and expounder Plato.

The TTov (rrSy from which Socrates moved the ancient world is
the conception of the Good ; no subjective whim, no empirical
realization of wish or desire, but the unity of will in the individual
and moral law in the universe. The Sophists had empluisized
empirical subjectivity, my will or your will, as litnited earth-born
creatures, denizens of time and space, and as.sailed by hosts of
merely physical wants and cravintrs; Socrates emphasized abso-
lute subjectivity, the will of the world-spirit or the gods, whose
necessity is eternally realized in the institutions of the world, and
whose freedom is absolute obedience to its self-constitutive laws.
But the standpoint of Socrates is essentially dialectical, and in
some sense negative. Part of his business is to destroy traditional
moralities out of which even the semblance of life had departed ;
he comes not to bring peace, but a sword. Positive, that is, con-
structive philosophy, no longer dogmatic but critical, and conscious
of its method, begins with Plato, forerunner and teacher of the
greatest mind of antiquity, Aristotle.

The dramatic character of the Platonic writings allies itself very
closely with the Socratic method of teaching. Science and phi-
losophy advance by slow degrees to the stage of systematic exposi-
tion ; they are at first raythologic and poetic, and only after many
results have been achieved does the need of a siiiipk- tiiough prosaic
fashion of presentation make itself felt. The Platonic dialogues
occupy a middle ground between poetical expounders of meta-
physical subtleties, like Parmenides and Empedocles, important
fragments of whose poems are yet extant, and dispassionate writ-
ers, like Aristotle, with whom scientific accuracy is a paramount
consideration. The form of dialogue is here no external assump-
tion of an imaginary enrobement, for the sake of increased attract-
iveness and heightetieil charm, as Savage Landor insinuates in that
superb conversation 8uppose<l to have transpired between Plato
and Diogenes, but the inevitable draperies in which philosophy at
that epoch and under those conditions must by natural and neces-
sary process walk clothed and resplendent. The dialectical move-
ment of thought was still not wholly free-l in concejitiun from its
concrete exemplifications, although the later dialogues lose much

4:2 The Jowmal of Speculative Philosophy.

of the dramatic coloring, and the long and laboriously explanatory
speeches obscure the interlocutors into semi-invisibility.

Nothing, surely, can surpass tlie charm of the earlier dialogues.
Witli a foreground of tlie smooth ^Egean Sea, under the marvellous
blue skies of Greece, and within the nestle and shadow of plane-
trees or olive-groves, a company of friends meet to discuss the high
themes of virtue, or fortitude, or temperance. The urbane con-
versation flows through shadow of profundity and shine of humor
unto a predetermined outlet, often an arm of the infinite ocean,
that roars and whitens beyond ; but the current is so gracious, the
movement is so gentle, that all seems a discovery to which a happy
chance or favorine: gods have led us. Tiie negative outcome of
many dialogues is only apparent ; the positive conclusions glim-
mer as through a veil, unformulated, but stimulants of awakening
thought and growing reason.

The central figure in these earlier dialogues is Socrates. He is
the principal speaker, the incomparable disputant, the embodiment
of wisdom. Socrates, the historic individual, formulated no sys-
tem ; for physical and metaphysical speculations he exhibited de-
cided distaste, not to say aversion ; the ethical problem was the
one which supremely interested him. There is no Socratic philoso-
phy, but a Socratic life and discipline. To emulate his example,
to reproduce his virtues, to assimilate unto his lofty and serene
character, became the labor and endeavor of his listeners and fol-
lowers. Such a life lent itself easily, or perhaps necessitated, an
ideal and semi-mythical treatment. In the Platonic dialogues he
appears with mien and lineaments more than human. He is the
ideal manhood walking the streets of Athens, and radiating divinest
influence on all who come within the potent sphere of his person-
ality. All knowledge shines in his eyes, all goodness resides in
his words. Most gloriously is he compared in the Symposium to
those statues of satyrs, which, being opened, disclose golden images
of the gods.

In the more speculative dialogues, however, Socrates occupies
an inferior place, or disappears altogether. In the Parmenides,
the venerable and venerated sage, whose name gives title to the
piece, defends a position from which, strange to say, he would have
revolted in life. In the Sophist, that bewildering maze of tenu-
ous abstractions, a certain mysterious Eleatic stranger conducts

PUttoniam and its Relation to Modem Thouyht. 43

the arfrunient to its fittinn; aixl convincing close. In the Laws
tlie insiin burden of exposition falls upon an unnamed Athenian ;
and even in the Syinposinin the ultimate deliverance is attrihuted
by Socrates to the Theban Diotima. AVitli deepening insight,
Plato assumed a more or less critical attitude toward his great
friend and master.

The dialoiTues most readilv divide themselves into four classes.
Into the vexed question of a genetic and internally articulated ar-
rangement of the dialogues I shall not liere enter ; nor does it seem
t(i me a matter of paramount iinjxirtance whether they be grouped
by threes or fours. The division of pliilosophy into four parts, one
of Plato's great discoveries, which has become one of the conven-
tionalities of thought, and whose importance we, who have grown
up under its sway, are therefore likely to underestimate, affords
the basis of classification. The dialogues are propaedeutical, or in-
troductdry, logi(!al, physical, ethical. Under the last section must
be included the discussions of Beauty, wiiicii to Plato is only the
visibility of the Good. No man escapes the spirit of his time;
if he antagonizes it, his character and work reflect his struggle,
aTid receive their prevailing determination from it. The great
man consunmiates all the endeavor and achievement of his land
and jieriod, and sets sail in the fragile bark of his thought from
the ports and cities of the known out into the mist and darkness
of the unknown. Many of the dialogues are polemical in their
nature. Against the Eleatic abstraction of being or the one, that
which is without distinction or determination, a kind of Greek
anticipation of the modern Unknowable, the Stranger in the Soph-
ist demonstrates the necessity of not being, or the many. The Pro-
tagoras, the Gorgias, the Euthydemus, are levelled against the
Sophists, a cla.ss of persons wlio, with Plato, are constantly uni-
versalized representation of the essentially misleading and false,
whether of form or content, on specuhitive thought. The rehabili-
tation of the Sophists by the historian Grote seems, to some ex-
tent, a matter of supererogation ; doubtless, muny of them were
very estimable men. In Plato, they belong to the ideal frame-
work of his structure ; the real Gorgias is no more delineated than
the real Socrates ; as the one is incarnate wisdom, the others are in-
carnate opposition to tlie true and alisulute. The portrait of the
SophistB is for all time ; they are present with us as with Plato.

44 Ths Journal of Speoulative Philosophy.

Of the propsedeutical or introductory dialogues I have already
sufficiently spoken. In the logical dialogues the main interest
resides in the theory of universal and necessary ideas. This theory
has been travestied by grave and laborious misapprehension with-
out stint or limit ; the unguarded expressions of a discoverer have
been distorted into every form of absurdity; purely modern
blunders have been laid at the door of the philosopher, and his
students have divested his threshold of the noisome litter, time and
again, to no purpose. The dispute about the Platonic ideas is no
dead issue ; it is more than the echo of thunder that has vanished
into the nothingness of sound ; it is a living controversy of to-day,
and Modern Science clasps hands with Plato across the centuries
and announces with him the reality and veracity of the necessary
laws of the world. The ideas are not abstractions hypostatized as
spiritual things referred to some fine ether, who knows where,
and operating on the world in some wholly incomprehensible fash-
ion ; they are not even categories, as the term is ordinarily under-
stood ; but they are those universal processes of soul and things,
which are no tigments of the thinking reason, but the actuality, as
we know and find it. We speak of the reign of law ; Plato spoke
of the reign of Ideas. That there are universal laws of things is
the wonderful discovery of the great philosopher ; that these laws
are no dead mechanic formalities, but living, real processes, and
indeed the only real living process, in whose eternal self-returning
movement all things and events are noduses, so to speak, or con-
cretions, is the doctrine divulged in these writings. And Modern
Science accepts this realism, and can have no part nor lot with a
shallow nominalism that affirms the so-called laws of nature to be
merely groupings of phenomena, set up more or less for individual
behoof and convenience.

With the doctrine of Ideas the doctrine of Reminiscence is in
close accord. Here, too, the mythologists and rapid readers, the
Sir William Ilamiltons and such like devourers of great books, in
defiance of the principles of intellectual digestion, have made havoc
with the intent of the seer, and foisted on his paternity tiieir own
crude and misbegotten progeny. He who runs cannot read Plato
any more than Kant, or Hegel, or Herbert Spencer. The magnifi-
cent allegories of the Phjedo have been taken with a perverse lit-
aralness, and the alert imagination has busied itself with the preg-

PlatonUm and it« Relation to Modern Thought. 45

mint problem in what sort of a space and time, in what spiritual
coiifiijuration of jjeofiraphy souls may have had abiding habita-
tion before like meteors they flashed their way to the earth we
know. But the doctrine of reminiscence is a part of Plato's doc-
trine of knowing. To know reality we must know the Ideas ; but
Ideas are not only the substance of things, but the substance of the
knowing process as well. Truth is not created by Thought, but
is imminent in the procedure of Thouglit to its discovery. Con-
sciousness contains, latent or implicit, the truth which becomes
clear by its deepening development ; we may therefore be said to
re-collect or recover the verities of which we had been oblivioned
in the earlier and inadequate stages of our knowing. Be it said
here that this is no discourse on "innate ideas" or "intuitions"
of the Scotch philosophers. Plato's apergu of the immortality of
the soul is now not far to seek. The Ideas being immanent in the
process of knowing, and the Ideas being the eternal substance of
the world, immortality is assured by an ascent into the realm of
Ideas. Hence the statement ascribed to Plato that philosophers
alone are immortal ; but the statement is misleading. Immortal-
ity is not a gift thrust into the lap of every one, whether he would
or no ; it is an achievement wrought by the soul in its flight toward
the Good. The destructibility or indestructibility of the individual
soul is a subject of minor importance; an eternity of sameness in
vice or the monotonies of our daily living is less desirable than the
blessedness of rest after struggle and failure. Immortality is only
worth having if it means growth in wisdom, profounder faitliful-
ness in the service of the Good ; but Plato nowhere intimates that
the probationary experiences of the soul are limited ; the oppor-
tunities of making the successful endeavor are infinite.

The physics of Plato are contained in the obscurest and most
diflBcult of liis writings, the " Timieus." They are mainly interest-
ing as extraordinary anticipations of the results of modern inves-
tigation. The wave theories of heat and light ; the circulation of
the blood ; the polarities involved in the crystallization of the chemi-
cal elements; the division of substanceir into solids, liquids, gases,
ethers, expressed by him under the terms earth, water, air, tire;
tbeSchelling dictum that spirit sleeps in nature, dreams in the ani-
mal, is awake in man, with others needless to be specified — are found
here briefly or in txtuneo. The book is said to be a revision of an

46 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

older Pythagorean writing, and the fantastical Pythagorean num-
ber-language seems extremely difficult of satisfactory interpreta-
tion .

The ethics of Plato and his idea of the State or Republic are
synonymous. With him morals are only concretely managed as
realized in the institutions of the world. Abstract Right is only
the formal universality of law dirempted from the institutional
organism, whose process is its life and reality. He was a reaction-
ist in politics and a stay-at-home in relation to political duties.
The democracy of his time seemed to him hopelessly corrupt, and
doomed to a speedy extinction. His effort was to disclose an
ethical system, which should meet the wants of his nation and
forestall the impending ruin. The freedom of the individual
seemed to him fraught with the gravest danger to the common-
wealth ; Alcibiades had been a fellow-pupil of Socrates. Hence the
organization of the Platonic State — philosophers as rulers, the
strong and able-bodied as defenders, the remaining mass as farmers
and producers. Hence, also, the four so-called cardinal virtues —
wisdom, the virtue of the rulers ; fortitude, the virtue of the sol-
diery ; temperance, the virtue of the laborers ; and justice, the virtue
that assigns to each its part and unites them all in harmonious
reciprocity. The individual having disappeared in the general
weal, the denial of the right to private property and the com-
munity in marriage follow as necessary implications. Education
is an essential business of the State, that each may fulfil his sepa-
rate function, although each is at the same time to be a reflection
of the whole. These views must not be confounded with the
socialism of to-day ; this is the modern democratic movement run
mad, while the Republic and Laws of Plato are the intensest reac.
tion against the upheaving and mischievous tendencies of similar
ebullitions of his time.

The Platonic philosophy, considered as a whole, has two charac-
teristics rarely united and apparently contradictory. On the one
hand, it is dialectical, methodical, scientific ; on the other, it re-
fuses formulation, wanders at will through the caprices of dra-
matic dialogue, abounds in mysticism. The great rdle which it has
played in the philosophical movement of the planet reproduces
accurately these attributes. Standing, as it does, at the great con-
fluence of tendencies, it appeals with singular power to the most

PlatonUm and its lielation to Modem Thought. 47

diverse capacities of intellect and soul. Science and myth, clear-
ness and mysticism, unite in it to fashion the art-product of phi-
losophy. For once sense and rcivson cease their quarrel, and the
white statue of piiilosophy is the result, the "one thing perfect in
this hasty world."

Moreover, all genuine philosophical syntheses liave their dis-
tinctive functions in the evolution of the all-enibracinir world-
philosophy. Philosophical systems connect themselves by pedi-
gree and inheritance, and this aristocracy denies admittance to the
multitude of pretenders, and recognizes its own by infallible signs
and portents. Here is a hierarchy older and more venerable than
any other, serene in the possession of unshakable power, and quite
content to let the outer clamor pursue its windy ways to the cer-
tain issue of its self-annihilation. Much that is ordinarily called
philosophy has no claim to the title, and the historians of phi-
losophy have given ultimate verdict against the vociferations of
many a great reputation. One of the problems of history has
been to discover the real line of thinkers, and thus discover the
real movement of thought. Schwegler, for instance, denies a place
to Auguste Comte; and what he would say to some more recent
developments is not difficult to surmise.

The movement of the world-thought may be said to have three
phases or periods, which may be termed, respectively, objective, sub-
jective, and universal. The ancient philosophical movement was
objective ; the modern and mediaeval, subjective ; the movement
of the future, already begun and fairly outlined, will be universal.
In ancient objective thought, mind and matter stood in no antithe-
sis such as we predicate ; the diremption between thought and
being, which makes so great a figure with us, existed ouly in an
implicit, undeveloped fashion ; to the ancients, knowledge was the
union of subject and object, and their great ])rol)lem was to recon-
cile tiie permanent, the one, the good, witli the transitory, the
many, the caprice of the individual. With Plato, to know was
to be, and to be was to know ; the nightmare of the empirical
Berkeleyan idealism would have been to him inconceivable. The
emphasis of the subject as opposed to the object belongs to mod-
ern thought and life, and their reconciliation, without detriment to
either, is the task yet to be performed. Philosophy will then re-
turn to the freedom and joyousness of its earlier speculations.

48 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

The place of Plato in the objective period of thouglit, if not the
highest, is yet, perhaps, the one of largest influence. It is not un-
like the position of Immanuel Kant in the thought-world which
is our dwelling and environment. In him all streams of specula
tion converge ; from him they proceed agaiia with deeper, wider
currents, and in newer, nobler directions. In the Neo-platonic
schools that arose after the completion of the encyclopedic Aristo-
telianism we see that return to the earlier thinker whicii invariably
ensues with the failure of a generation to grasp and comprehend
the deepest truth vouchsafed to it. These scholars and disciples
of Plato diverge as they relate themselves to the mystical or dia-
lectical phase of the master's work. The ecstasy or intuition of
Plotinus, that swoon of the soul out of the multiplicities of sense-
perception into essential oneness and acquaintance with the uni-
verse as a totality, belongs to the mysticism of Plato ; the triads
of Proclus, each universal and inclusive of all the others, and yet
of unequal compi-ehension, so that they form a hierarchy from the
fluperessential and ineffable one to the shapes and principles of the
corporeal and mundane sphere, belong to the logic of Plato. But
throughout the Neo-platonic schools the religious spirit is regnant ;
hence their prevailing mythologic tendencies. The effort is hero-
ically made to find the profoundest of significance in the religious
myths of their race ; the triads of Proclus, a genuine result of free
philosophic insight, receive from him mythic appellations, as Ju-
piter, Venus, Ceres, and the rest. The theological phase of ancient
religion is fairly inaugurated. It is a time of ferment and intense
activity ; the Gnostic heresy is only a Neo-platonic explanation of
the world ; what remains of the ancient life, conscious dimly of
its imminent doom, forges with restless eagerness in these vary-
ing systems of thought and commentaries on Plato's Timseus or
Theology, weapons of offence and defence. It is to be again re-
marked that this seething activity proceeds from Plato, not Aris-
totle ; the epoch is religious, not scientific.

Against this tumult of opinions and creeds Christianity arose
in controversy. But in every intellectual conflict the vanquished
is to some extent the victor. By its own inherent strength Chris-
tianity could not achieve all; her armor was welded and fashioned
in Greek workshops, her sword was toughened and sharpened in
Greek fires. Oriental monotheism was incapable of conquering the

Plittonism and its Jielation to Modern Thoiujid. 41)

"Western worM ; tliat was too abstract, too remote, too unvital, to
persuade Greek or Teutonic barbarian. Before Christianity was
competent to dissipate Neo-platonic heresies, she was obliged to
take up tliose lofty reasoninap into lier own substance and convert
them into Iier own tihro and constituency. St. Augustine is a
convert from Platonisin ; in his sou! tlie Orient and Occident come
to resplendent and fniiffiil nuptials. Tlie union of Hebraism and
Hellenism is consummated ; the new faith has received outer equip-
ment and accoutreing, and is prepared to set forth on her career
of victorious knight-errantry. It is thus that Platonism under-
props and gives strength of arm to the new spirit that has come
into the world. The mystical side of Platonism and constant
usage of representing the ])ure Ideas in mythic guise and habili-
ment give it especial aptitude to enter alliance with religious con-
ceptions and symbols ; and the mystics of subsequent aijes have,
with marked unanimity, gone Itack to Plato as their source and
fountain-head.

Thus Christianity, in the triumph over Platonism, was conquered
in her turn. With the complete establishment of the new religion
and the annunciation of her circle of dogmas arises an activity,
great and intense, within the strict limits she has set. Upon this
activity authority has imprinted its seal. Important and far-reach-
ing as are the questions discussed, they yet remain within the pale
of promulgated prescriptions ; they are properly theologic, not
philosophic; for theology differs from philosoj)hy in this, that the
former moves within the charmed circle of tiie faith, while the
latter claims the intinite realm of freeilom for her own ; her dis-
tinctions do not come to her from without, but are part and parcel
of her life and purjiose. The Schoolmen based their subtle specu-
lations not upon Platonism, but Aristotelianism ; and the reason
is not far to seek. In Aristotle, Platonism comes to a full con-
sciousness of itself; myth, and story, and dramatic coloring have
vanished ; clear, prosaic, scientific exposition take their place. In
the Schoolmen, likewise, Platonizing Christianity rises to an en-
visagetnent of it.s significance and function ; the two great masters
of ''those who know" repeat that transmission of idealities which
constitutes their internal bond and unity. But the corru])tion of
a faith through plenitude of success and power reproduces in a
measure the condition of its primal foundation and construction.
XIX— 4

50 The Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

Mind returns upon a different and liigher level to the effort of
original puj-suit and apprehension. The negative phase inherent
in the dialectical movement of world-history subjects existing in-
stitutions and belief to a remorseless criticism of destruction, and
the corresponding positive phase begins anew with mysticism and
mystery. Even in the height and culmination of long-subsisting
creeds the novel and alien spirit manifests its beginnings. Pla-
tonism emerges again as a guiding-star to men's souls and hearts,
benighted in the glooms of Church lost to spiritual interests in the
greedy lust for temporal power. The Florentine Academy, with
Marsiiio Ficino at its head, and the Platonizing Pico Mirandolo,
are portents of the times; in England and Spain poets and phi-
losophers abandoned the sterilities of scholasticism, and drank deep
at the fountain which bubbles up bright and fresii amid the fade-
less charms of the Old Academe ; the " Faerie Queen" of Spenser
19 only Platonism set to tlie divincst music of English Poetry;
and one has only to turn to Shakespeare's little-read "Troilus and
Cressida" to see how far even purely logical speculations proved
attractive to the poetic temperament of the Renaissance. But it is
in Germany that the renewed study of Plato displays the noblest
fruits ; the great systems of Nicholas of Cusa and Meister Eckhart,
the preaching of a mystic like Tauler, even such works intended
for popular circulation, like the " De Imitatione " and the " Theo-
logia Germanica," both in method and substance, owe more to
Plato than any previous philosophy.

Then approaches the emancipation of philosophy. Thought
demands absolute freedom ; prescription, dogma, authority, are
futile to impose their restrictions ; nay, authority itself must vali-
date its claims before that highest authority — Universal Reason.
So-called axiomatic thinking affords no safeguard against the
invasion of free speculation ; axioms, intuitions like the remainder
of authoritative doctrines, are frail barriers which the might of
thought sweeps before it like straws. With Descartes, and Locke,
and "Voltaire, the right of speculation to be free was matter of
profoundest interest ; and no nobler heritage was ever left to pos-
terity tiian this right which has become a commonplace to us.
But this conflict is, after all, precursory to modern philosophy;
that philosophy begins with the more recent positive thinkers.
Plato in life preferred the retirement of literary seclusion to the

PJatonhm and its Relaiimi to Moderti Thought. 51

noisier and showier triiiniplis of a jnihiic career; and. like iiislife,
his thought has never been a lover of contest or tumult. As a
soldier in the battle of freedom he makes no great figure ; but in
the securer and more lasting successes of peace he finds a conge-
nial element and sphere of infiuence. When the smoke and dust
of battle have disappeared down the winds, philosophers are dis-
covered again jierusing the exhaustless volumes of the Greek fore-
runner in the intellectual race. Hegel and his school owe a vast
debt to Plato, and the Hegelianizing Frenchman, Cousin, is not
behind the German in his study of the ancient and somewhat for-
gotten books of curious lore. Indeed, Hegel may be said to have
re discovered Plato, and no account of the hitter's system yet made
is comparable with the one to be found in Hegel's " History of
Philosophy." In England, Coleridge, that mighty impulse and
stimulant to thought, if fragmentary and inconsecutive in pro-
ductiveness, reawakened the Platonic enthusiasm ; and the trans-
cendental movement in New England, wliich found in Coleridire
one of its great inspirers and illumiuations, had much to do with
the divine dialogues. I quote from Emerson : " He has indicated
every eminent point in speculation. He wrote on the scale of the
mind itself, .so that all things have symmetr}' in his tablet. lie
put in all the past, without weariness, and descended into detail
with a courage like that he witnessed in nature. One would say
that his forerunners had mapped out eacii a farm, or a district, or
an island, in intellectual geography, but that Plato first drew the
sphere.''

Moreover, up and down tiie ages are scattered devout disciples
who have found intellectual sustenance and inexpressible solace in
these writings. In solitude of si)irit they have given their houi-s
and days to tlie comprehension of this \visdom ; they have written
their books, and sent them forth, secure in the conviction that they
would reach the ear of those for whom they have been intended ;
and even now are found readers who shake the dust, tliick-
accnmulated dust, from the leaves of Henry ^lore, or Sir Thomas
Browne, or Norris, and find tiiem fresher and more invigorating
than many belauded prolusions of to-day. Where least expected,
the Platonic seed seems l)lown by the continual wafture of the
winds of destiny, and the plant springs up and blossoms in unmis-
takable beauty and likeness. In our own State, a heroic scholar,

52 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Dr. H. K. Jones,' has made a synthesis of these writings, surpris-
ingly subtle, and so distinctly original as to merit the epithet,
American.

The title of Plato to the highest eniinence cannot be disputed ;
he belongs to the lineage and order of the greatest of mankind.
He accepted universal intelligence as veracious, and the only
organ of veracity ; he penetrated into the profoundest myster-
ies of thought, and was not deterred from speculations of bold-
est flight and longest wing ; he well understood that an exter-
nal limit to thought, in what form soever posited, was an unthink-
able contradiction. His discoveries of the priority of the universal
to the particular ; of tiie imminence of truth in the necessary pro-
cedure of thought ; of the self-recognizing reason as the sul)stance
of thought and things; of the four ascending grades of knowing,
from the fluctuating and unseizable vagaries of sense to the per-
manent and inclusive ideas or processes, or universal laws of th
rational part of the soul ; of the self -evidencing method of thought,
to which he gave the name that has become fixed, the dialectic,
with his aperqus of the nature of the Good and Beauty, and of
the immortality of the soul �� remain as indestructible parts of that
heritage of established and demonstrated reality which is now and
mnst forever be the life of the race and the condition of its pro-
gress. At the great turning-points of history he has borne before
advancing humanity the flambeau of inspiration that has made
possible progress through the enveloping darkness ; and I, for one,
do not believe that his functioning is over. There is yet abundant
work for the Platonic Philosophy to do, and, as in the past, it will
be nobly done ; the great thinker points forever to that realm of
universal ideals, that philosophy, the spirit and beauty of all phi-
losophies, which is at once the medium and potence of all life, and
the solution of all problems. Over the portal of that realm, truly
called Philosophy, he writes no legend of despair, and limitation,
and nescience, but, in letters of imperishable flame, the inspiring,
ennobling words : Introite nam. hio dei sunt. Enter, for here are
the Gods.

Of Jacksonville, Illinois.

Henry James, the Se^r. 53

HENRY JAMES, THE SEER.

BY CAROLINE ELIOT LACKLAND.

Henrv James spoke liis message to mankind with no uncertain
voice. He saw creation from the creative side: " Given the Crea-
tor, to lind tlie creature." He admits that, in hi;; warfare against
Science and Philosophy, he stands before the organized world of
Sense and Science as did David before Goliah. '' his only weapon a
simple sling and pebble." He scorned to win recognition through
a coterie of flatterers, or a literary ring. He stood alone, defend-
ing what seemed to him the right path to truth, against opposing
thousands. In trumpet-tones of warning and remonstrance, oft-
times with bitterness and hai-sh impatience, he struck the knotted
scourge of his sarcasm upon the necks of those who aroiised his
angor or contempt. Prophets and reformers live before their day,
and Henry James proved no exception to the rule: "Now being
dead, he speaketli ! " and ears before closed, through pride or preju-
dice, are opened to receive his words.

Mr. James was born in Albany, June 3, 1811. He was edu-
cated at the public schools, at Union College, and at Princeton
Theological Seminary. For some time he also studied law. Pos-
sessing an independent fortune, he surrendei'cd himself to studies
best suited to his peculiar turn of thought. His co-workers in
intellectual research and reforn) were Emerson, Parker, William
Lloyd Garrison, Ripley, Horace Greeley, Thoreau, Alcott, and
Margaret Fuller. From obituary notices I learn that he passed
much time with Carlyle, Tennyson, Mill, and Lewes. But to his
profound study of the writings of Swedenborg he owed the great-
est influence that directed the course of his life and teachings.
He impressed the fact ui)on his readers that Swedenborg himself
Would have abhorred an ecclesiasticism built upon his own name,
and claimed that his (Swedenborg's) doctrines should be infused
into, and adopted by, all C'hristian sects (as indeed they more or
less, consciously or unconsciously, have l)een !) After his remark-
able lectures on Moralism and Christianity, Mr. James published,
in ls,=)4, his book entitled "The Church of God not an Ecclesiasti-
cism"; in IS55, "The Nature of Evil"; in 1857, "Christianity

54 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the Logic of Creation " ; in 1866, " Substance and Siiadow." Three
years later he published " The Secret of Swedenborg." His last
published work was in 1S79 — "Society the Redeemed Form of
Man." For many years he liv^ed in Cambridge, Mass., but re-
turned to Boston, where he died, December 19th, at 71 years of age,
after a month's illness. His two sons are well known in literary
circles, one being Professor William James, of Harvard, the other
Henry James, Jr., the novelist. In person, Mr. James was short,
erect, with a noble head, and keen, searching eyes ; affectionate,
witty, sarcastic, humorous, he let each mood of his cliaracter tell
for his life-work without fear or servility. Sweeping the moral
atmosphere with electric and devastating force, and anon descend-
ing like refreshing rain upon souls athirst for spiritual truth, he
was alike unmoved by misapprehension or contumely.

To the Mother Church alone he conceded the right of an Eccle-
siasticism. As a conservator of the Faith, but of the Faith not
yet revealed or understood, but typified, and, in its first inception,
outlived ! he looked upon Ecclesiasticism as only the husk, con-
taining the precious kernel conserved unto the fulness of time;
he valued the Church as the sacred casket that had protected and
preserved certain unrealized and unmeasured treasures far more
precious than the casket itself, and (I quote from another) '' he
believed that the spiritual verities held for the race in earthen
vessels of ecclesiasticism, and established philosophy, transcend
the sphere of that which held them, and only can be interpreted
and accepted by advanced spiritual comprehension." If, however
(he says), we are to have any Ecclesiasticism, let it be that which
has come down to us hoary with human use; which is associated
with the world's best names and memories, which has always (in
spite of a thousand infirmities) pillowed the revered head of age,
diffused a timely awe in the heart of childhood, nursed the senti-
ment of human brotherhood, until (mark this), until science has
grown intelligent enough to gx'asp it, and which is still capable of
expanding to all the ritual needs likely to be begotten of a larger
spirit ; we want no newness of the letter, but only a newness of
spirit.

He believed that the established theology was entirely incom-
petent to deal with the vital, fundamental question of the Nature
and Origin of Evil ! In answer to a lady of St. Louis, who wrote

Henry James, the Seer. 55

to learii t'rutn him his views respectinw miracles, he asserted that
be " believed and upheld the truth and necessity of miracles as
incU o^ huiiutn nature! 3V material facti^ helonginj; to scien-
tific understanding, but purely metaphysical facts, half-way be-
tween Hesii and spirit," and, as he says, only recognizable to tiie
spiritual understanding which uses them as u/timaies merely of
truth ; the word " miracle," he says, " expresses unlimited action in
the subject of it, which means a power of acting above Nature —
MERE NATURK. Nature cannot impose a limit Ujion human nature,
and when human nature rises to the point of transcending mere
nature it is a divine act of the divine side of man over the natu-
ral. Christ we therefore accept as Divine, and he alone tran-
scended, to this great degree, the side of Nature. Tiie miraculous
evidences may not be scientitic; they may declare the senses in-
competent, but sense has no authority in religious things. Miracle
has spiritual truth behind it, and needs not to depend on 'sense.'
It would lose all force did it recjuire 'sense' to attest its verity."

Mr. James's private letters to his friends reveal a tenderness
and sweetness of nature in strong contrast to his often defiant
public utterances; he believed in social determination, in tinding
the real life outside of one's selfhood ! Immortal life to him
meant tlie absorption of his conscious ])ersonaIity or selfhood into
universal interest, or Race interest. To find one's neighbor in
the highest sense is at once to lose and find one's self. He honored
the impulse of good in the heart rather tiian the intellectual per-
ception of truth. With regard to certain views of philosophers in
respect to the private subjectivity of selfhood, Mr. James writes
to Mr. Abbot: " This private subjectivity of selfhood which j/ou
affirm and /deny is not the lesist identical with you or me re-
garded as subjects of life or consciousness, but only as subjects of a
certain vicious ontol()gy, or a conventional science of being, among
men, by which we are supposed to possess s|>iritual life or being
in ourselves directly or ])rimarily, and in our race or nature quite
derivatively or secondarily.

Selfhood is not inherent in our consciousness or real life. Mr.
James says of himself: " I am willing to avow myself an abject
Christian," meaning that he recognizes himself to be but a mould or
form, into which the divine influx can penetrate ; the etlort of the
soul to perfect itself /(>r itself is to him the acme of rotinod selfish-

56 The Journal of SpeGulative Philosophy.

iiess ; to join with God in love for others is the immortal life of
the soul. To live simply to save one's soul is a suicidal separation
from the divine principle of spontaneous love ! The immortal
consciousness of the individual soul he never disputes, but that
immortal life can be gained bj working for it with the latent
thought of one's own place in the kingdom as the inspiring motive
he refuses to concede. The soldier in battle, whose courage and
devotion are due to personal ambition, may die at the cannon's
mouth, but liis cause is a lost one, in every sense. The religious
hypocrite loses this world and the next as well, his sacrifice of self
being upon the altar of his own selfishness. " The iinitary mind
of man, as involving ail time (the race mind), is its only true sub-
ject ; and its only true object, as including all space, is the universe
of existing things; 3'ou and I cannot, as individuals, lay claim to
any real selfhood, since this is the arrogance of Adam and Eve,
seeking: in and of themselves to be like unto gods and a law unto
themselves." Man cannot claim to iiave life in liimself when there
can be but one life which cannot be divided ; individual souls can-
not contain life in and of themselves without becoming individual
Gods, and there is but one God, one Life, out of whom proceeds
the influx that informs his human creatures with power to compre-
hend the meaning of free choice, and to freely choose union with
divine nature, through the potentiality of human nature, or to
freely choose separation from God by union with animal, physi-
cal nature alone. Mr. James says, therefore, " You and I, con-
sequently, can never constitute either our own true subjectivity
or our own true ol'jectivity, since in the former event we oust the
unitary mind of man, and in the latter we displace the universe
of existence." "Selfhood is a strictly subjective illusion in man
— an illusion primarily in the sphere of feeling and thence of
thought. You can only deny this by denying his creatureship.
Man is, in virtue of the creative perfection, a rigidly social form
of life or consciousness. True Religion is not the effort of a man
to perfect himself, but to give himself, for others."

Having only recently begun the study of the writings of Mr.
James, I am unwilling to risk going entirely out of my depth by
speaking at large of his remarkable works ; their meaning I have
only been able to seize in glimpses, for their brilliancy perplexes,
whilst throwing marvellous light. One point, however, and a most

Jlenry Junif>i, the Seer. 57

important and ]>ivotal one, of his philosopliy I am tryino; to pro-
sent tor cotisiileration at tills time — viz., tlie views of Henry James
respi'cting tiie nature and origin of evil. Ilia earliest intellectual
re.<eareli was to satisfy hi* own mind, and subsequently that ot
others, as to how evil in the creature could consist with perfection
of the Creator. Neither Orthodoxy nor Philosophy availed him
here ; both (as he says) taught a complete independence between
Creator and Creature in order to tiie very inception of evil. " To
prove this independence was to legitimate every issue of it." The
solution of the problem he found satisfactorily and permanently
through the development of the ideas he drew from the teachings
of Swedenborg. His own philosophy was based upon these teach-
ings, vet was quite a thing in itself notwithstanding. That this
problem of evil still remained unsolved, proved that the question
still remained unanswered as to how a dependent creature of God
comes into such relations of independence as to arouse in man's
bosom a sentiment of responsibility. The pride of selfhood is the
basis of evil (evil as incidental to good). Man imagines himself
to be something, because God in his creative Love has elevated
human nature beyond mere nature, that he might therefrom create
unto himself children, likenesses, derivations, twt duplicates, of
Himself I Out of nature God has evolved a being capable of spirit-
ual life. That which is mere nature, with all its various stages of
change, formation, and reproduction, cannot and does not contain
the mould of moralism out of which the human being is born again
into s]iirituality. The natural nam is, however, as much a mould
or form, as passive a receptacle as related to God, as is the mineral
in its relation to the touch of life above it. Man is the highest
organic animal into whom is breathed the breath of life, spiritually
speaking, but still into whom it ishreathed ! To himself he is
not a law, altliough his pride of imagined real selfhood causes him
to think that he is ; neither is he a mere puppet, since he is a moral
being, a prepared receptacle for God's inflowing spiritual life ; but
he must learn to look outside of himself for his soul's life and its
informing ])owers. He must, like Abraham, l)riiig, to the altar
of his discovered consciousness of choice of obedience to God or
obedience to Nature, the sacrifice of his dearest natural self, his
very inmost self, his pride of seltliood.

To eat of the tree of knowledge of good ami evil is when man

58 The Journal of Speotdative Philosophy.

mistakes his natural instinct and pride of selfhood and regards
his consciousness and -potentiality as an actuality in himself. To
eat of this forbidden fruit is to iinagine the inonld, or the receptive
and prepared human nature, to be the divine nature. " 8elf-con-
eciousness, which is the natural human (mark this, not the divine
human) form of conciousness, is born of the union of the will and
the instinct. Man in such a sense becomes both objective and sub-
jective to himself, but strictly within the bounds of the natural
human! He is the subject of his nature in the realm of sense,
and the object of it in the realm of ideas." His understanding,
his metaphysical being, constitute the basis of his receptivity, of
God's divine influx. The newly born human body is physically
prepai-ed with lungs which receive tiie air at its birth. This in-
breathing establishes the physical life of its animal existence; his
awakening intelligence and consciousness of power of choice con-
stitute his Iranian nature. Into this mould flows the influx of Grod,
the divine breathing, and man becomes a living soul, inf iruaed by
the divine spirit.

Evil is incident to good as the darkness is to the light ; it is not
a thing in itself, but is made to seem so by man's perversion of
God's plan. Man is a trinity of l)eing within himself, when fol-
lowing God's will, and thereby he becomes a likeness, a child.
Selfhood, as he seems to possess it, reveals a moral basis within
himself; he sees intelligently that he has choice. Instinct in the
animal is its only guide to choice of food and environment. No
moral basis lies in the merely animal nature; it can do no right
or wrong. It cannot be conscious of a higher nature, possessing it
not. Good and evil are alike unknown to it, and right and wrong
have no basis in its being; in the animal, as animal, is no recep-
tacle for Spirit (or divine influ.K). The human natural is the mould
into which God flows, and in conjunction with whom man be-
comes a child of God. From thencefortli, from the creation of
the tirst man, there arises a being with divine as well as animal
instinct. The soul yearns and seeks for God as naturally as the
body seeks food. Adam's, or human nature's first existence, was
perforce a state of innocence. God saw that his last creative act,
that should link the race unto himself, was good. The equilibrium
of man's " moralism," as Henry James terms it (for his vernacular
is peculiar to himself), " the equilibrium of man's moralism was

Henry Jame^, the Seer. 59

perfect." Man was innocent, but not yet virtuous, mh\ virtue must
1)6 the reeult of" experience and clioice.

Man iiail as yet neither committed sin, omitted performance of
duty, uor practiced goodness; inherent in his being lay tlie power
of intelligent choice ; this would enable liim to become angel or
demon ; he had not yet had the experience of ages to supplement
his intelligence ; his gift of free choice seemed to him as a part of
himself, self-bestowed, to be self-asserted ; he did not realize the
Giver of choice, only the choice! From the moment that man's
receptivity as human is accomplished he is prepared for the in-
flowing of the Divine life. The plant feels the inflowing warmth
of the sun ; the stone is dead to its rays ; the one is prepared to
receive, the other remains unchanged. Shall the clay, as it turns
on the wheel, say, " I turn," and not " I am turned " ? Shall the
planet say, " I shine," and not rather, " from the Sun I receive my
all"? There is but one Life, and while it cannot be divided it
can be communicated, even as the vine sends life into its branches.
Man as human is created free, for God wishes no slaves. His
children are his joyous servitors, his thankful recipients, realizing
that they need his glory, which they can neither increase nor
lessen. First innocent, then aliens, then idolaters (or blind seek-
ers after God), then under revealed Law, again under the Gospel
of the Redeemer, the race has stood before, gone from, and is now
returning to God ! Race interest. Race redemption, universal Di-
vine Natural Humanity, is to be the outcome of creation.

God never created Evil as Evil. It is an incident to trood,
necessitated as shade to substance. God never meant alienation
from himself as a path to himself. There is no departing from
him but to fall. The laws of spiritual as well as physical gravi-
tation prevent "a falling up." To say that God should have cre-
ated man so that evil would have been impossible is an absurd
blas|)hemy. The whole trend of his creative power is to elevate
Nature into Human Nature, and Human Nature into the Divine
Nature. All Nature is innocent; man alone is virtuous. Human
Nature can, through Almighty God's abounding love, rise into
spiritual life, and am depart from it, if the Fatherhood of God is
rejected and scorned. The reversion of God's mighty wheel of
I)urp<)se, the going back by human nature to Nature, is the un-
pardonable sin, and is to grieve away the Holy 8[)irit. Man i*

60 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

free, if he so wills, to take the safe incline by which God drew
him iieavenward as a path of headlong departure from God! Is
Nature in itself evil, since it is the necessary basis for human na-
ture? Is freedom sin, when it is the basis for spiritual life? Man
cannot originate the elements out of which he chooses his destiny ;
he is alike unable to create the primary conditions for his rise
toward God, or his fall from him. The Redeemer opened the
eyes of man's soul to the sins of his spirit. The deepest sinfulness
lies in a state of the soul. Adultery and murder may be as effect-
ually committed (so far as the soul is concerned) as the very acts
of crime. It must be God who joins together, where sacramental
marriage is, and there is no real death but the death unto right-
eousness.

Those who would study Mr. James must look for a diamond in
the very rough ! His vernacular is confusing and thwarting ; one
must dig for his fine gold, and it comes in blinding dust as well as
in nuggets. Mr. James could never have been a popular writer;
he uses neither tact nor diplomacy in rooting out error. That he
boldly attacked an ecclesiasticism built upon the name of Sweden-
borg disturbed the spiritual pride of those who claimed, as did the
Jews, a monopoly of enlightenment and blessing. This frozen
lake of spiritual pride could never bind his warm and glowing
sympathies. But he did not lay claim to saintliness, and realized
his own limitations to their fullest extent. At this day of adjust-
ment — wlien tlie new is opening up the hidden treasures of the old,
when past and present join hands to sift truth from error, when
transition is enlightenment, and disintegration is not real but
seeming — the long-asked questions of the How and Why with
regard to Creation, the Nature of Evil, the divine humanity of
Christ, are questions answered ! One by one the forms of dogma
conserved by the old ecclesiasticism declare themselves as only
" sacred vessels," in that the inner truth they hold has been veiled
until Science, Philosophy, and Eeligion should together break their
seal. The Holy Ghost, the Spirit, and combined and united in-
fluence of all truth, still broods in active and enlightening force
over the chaos of mingled truth and error in men's minds. Theo-
logians, Scientists, Philosophers, are but the divided fingers of the
all-containing hand of truth, upon and within which each, in God's
good time, shall rest at last in Unity of Faith and brotherhood.

DanUi's Purgatorio. 61

DANTE'S PUIiGATORIO.

BY SrSAS E. Blow.

The theme of Dante's '' Purgatorio " is the purification of the
soul. It describes not a phice, but a process ; not a future possi-
bility, but an ever-present reality. It represents the eternal tran-
sition from evil to good, and all struggling souls may find in it a
retiection of their conflict and a sure prophecy of their final vic-
tory. Wherever there is spiritual development, Mez-e is Purgatory.

The theory of the poem is that goodness is not a dower, but au
achievement. This second kingdom is one in which by effort
" the human spirit doth purge itself." Man is a worm " born to
bring forth the angelic butterfly." Paradise is at the top of a
precipitous mountain. The climbing in the beginning is tiresome
and painf\il. but ''aye the more one climbs the less it hurts."
There is nowhere in the poem a trace of the heresy which con-
founds what man is with what lie may become, and which para-
lyzes effort by ignoring the signitieance of choice.

The sin which must be overcome is described variously as mist,
slough, scum, bhudness, and smoke, and as paralysis, languor,
malady, weight, crookedness, and knot. As mist, slough, scum,
blindness, and smoke, it is that which prevents us from seeing the
true; as languor, weight, malady, and paralysis, it is that wliich
impedes our pursuit of the good ; as crookedness and knot, it
represents the deed which must be undone before there can be
any right doing.

The source of all goodness is God. Man becomes good by
opening his heart to receive the stream of influence always pour-
ing toward him from God. Holiness is not an evolution, but a
revealed and communicated life. Sin in its last analysis is the
substitution of self for God ; the assertion of an abstract individu-
alism as against a universal life; the futile ettbrt of a withering
branch to maintain its being apart from the vine to which it prop-
erly belongs. In tlie fifteenth Canto of the '' Purgatory '' Dante sets
forth tiiis view with great clearness, explaining that the goodness,
infinite and ineflable, which is above " always gives of itself so
much as it finds anlor." In the " Convito " he illustrates the

62 The Journal of Speculath'e Ph'dosojjhy.

same tnitli by suggestino; how differently the light of the sun is
received by tiie dull clod of earth, by pure gold, by precious stones
which refract its rainbow-colors, and by the mirror through which
it is concentrated into a burning point. Finally, in the "Para-
dise "' he again repeats that the '' brightness is proportioned to the
ardor, the ardor to the vision."

In this view of the relationship of the soul to God is grounded
the true conception of human freedom. Man is free when he
knows, loves, and wills the good. Until then his freedom is ideal,
not actual — something he may conquer but does not possess. He
wins liberty by renouncing caprice ; or, in other words, achieves
selfhood by crucifying self. He becomes a freedinan of the
universe only by a self-emancipation from the slavery of igno-
rance and sin. Hence Virgil introduces Dante to the stern warden
of Purgatory as one who is seeking liberty. Statins declares that
only after five hundred years of pain has he felt " a free volition
for a better seat." Not until he is near the summit of the purga-
torial mount does Dante feel " for flight within him the pinions
growing," and it is when they stand upon the topmost step of the
long stairway that Yirgil declares to him,

" Free and upright and sound is thy free-will,
And error were it not to do its bidding :
Thee o'er thyself I therefore crown and mitre."

Man rises above choice through long exercise in right choosing.
Holiness becomes an impulse only when it has long been a habit.
Spontaneity in goodness is the linal triumph of persistent and
painful conflict with besetting sin.

The coin fresh from the mint of thought shows clearly its
character and value. Circulation dims its lustre, wears away its
substance, and blunts its edge. We pass it from hand to hand,
careless of its lessening weight, and not even glancing at its fad-
ing image and superscription. Familiarity with a truth is gen-
erally in inverse proportion to its comprehension, and in the end
there comes a time when men know it so well that they cease to
think it.

Such has been in our day the fate of the truth which declares the
relationship of each individual life to the life of God. As a real
thought it seems to have almost died out of the minds of men.

Danti^^s PurgatorM. C3

From a quickening priiioipli' it has sliriink into a formula; t'roiu
a burning conviction it ha.^ faded into a sentiment, and we are now
admonished that we sissail its sanctity when we try to think it.
Such admonition ignores the fact that tliought conditions feeling
by supplying the object whidi feeling demands. Even in the ani-
mal it is vision which arouses desire, as it is desire which stimu-
lates to act. Thouglit, feeling, and will are not independent, but
each lives in and through tlie others. If we do not see how God's
grace is poured out upon us, we shall soon cease to feel the out-
pouring.

To really re-think our relationship to God we must consciously
expand our faith in revelation. A living God is acting on our
living souls. He has not once spoken and then forever relapsed
into silence. He ha.s not once shone on the world and left to it
only this remembered light. Day by day he is shining to our eyes
and speaking to our hearts. The infinite universe is His self-reve-
lation, and by its reaction defines to us His perfection and our
defect.

In the scientific doctrine of modificatioTi through environment
we have the beginning of a true thought of relationship to God.
To complete it we need only recognize that environment is spiritual
as well as phj'sical. and that it is not fixed but infinitely expansive.
In a word, it stands for the totality of influence bearing upon the
individual object, and it has the beneficent quality of widening
and deepening to meet increasing need. In it resides the fulness
by appropriating which the individual develops. Evolution, there-
fore, truly conceived, is not the thought of a less by its own inher-
ent power becoming a greater, but the far deeper thought of
actual nothingness lifted into being by the communication of life.

By the rewards and penalties of nature man learns physical
laws, and through the reaction of organized humanity upon the
individual is developed the sense of moral law or the ideal of duty.
All spiritual development is grounded in man's existence in the
species. Culture is the process through which the individual
reproduces within himself the experience of the race. Its goal is
the complete realization of the species within the individual, and
its essential condition such an attitude of man as shall render him
accessible to the influence of mankind. This insight enables us to
define goodness as perfect self -activity, realized in the perfect com-

64 The Journal of Spemdative Philosophy.

munion of each man with all men. Communion must be perfect
in order tliat experience may be shared, activity must be com-
plete in order that it may be rejiroduced. Hence, in sloth and
selfish exclusion may be found the seeds of every vice. Still
deeper consideration reveals sloth as the paralysis resulting from
self-exclusion, and thus reduces the infinite variety of the poisonous
growths of sin to the single fatal germ of spiritual })ride.

We hide from ourselves the reality of God's action on our souls
by blinding our eyes to the truth of mediation. We practically
forget that, though the source of inspiration is the Divine Spirit,
its instruments are meu, and its organ is the Church. What truth
do we know to-day which has not been declared to us by the voice
of man ? What man who has declared truth has not proclaimed
that to him it was given by inspiration of tlie Spirit ? The Spirit
is the indwelling life of that great Church which, in the profound-
est sense, is the "Mother of the Soul," and this Church is organ-
ized humanity, ever revealing to individual man the divine ideal-
which, as soon as recognized, he identifies with his own dee|)est
self. Because there is One Spirit in all men, man can combine
with man ; because this Spirit is divine there is the possibility of
communion with God.

Instruments of grace are the mighty institutions which, reveal-
ing and enforcing ideal standards, enable the individual to measure
his own defect and inspire him to overcome it ; a store-house of
grace is that great " deposit of faith," the true literature of the
world ; a " Means of Grace " is every work of Art in which is
incarnate a Spiritual truth ; " Channels of Grace " are all honest
experiences of sorrow or joy ; " Ministers of Grace " are the strong
thinkers who redeem our feeble thought — the heroes who spur our
languid wills and the saints whose ardor fans into fresh flame the
dying embers of our devotion. The revelation is manifold and
yet one ; the inspiration from of old and yet ever new ; tiie grace
thus variously bestowed (as the old theologians truly taught) pre-
venient, co-operant, and illuminant — for it comes to us before we
seek it — it fortifies our feeblest endeavor, and crowns our persever-
ing struggle with the beatific vision of final truth.

Only with this thought of universal mediation in our minds can we
understand the symbolism of Dante throughout the " Purgatory."
Virgil, his Guide, personifying human reason, describes himself

Dante s Purgatorio. r>5

as ail instniniciit of Grace. " I came not of myself," he declares,
'• but a Lady from heaven descended, at whose prayer I aided this
one with my company." Purgatory has a warden, for defect de-
mands guidance, and laggard spirits must he spurred to run toward
the purifying mount. Wlien night falls and danger threatens,
angels descend to guard the praying shades. By the divine Lucia,
Dante is borne in his sleep to the presence of the angel who guards
the gate of Purgatory. Only at the entreaty of the three celestial
Virtues does Beatrice turn upon the poet her lioly eyes and unveil
to him the beauty of her face, and only " as reflected in her eyes'
can he behold the mystic Griffin shining, "now with the one
now with the other nature." Throughout the sevenfold realm
mediation is the central truth recognized by the repentant Spirits.
" Make known my state to my good Costanza, for those on earth
can niucli advance us here." "Tell my Giovanna that she pray
fur me." " I pray thee to pray for me when thou shalt be above."
" Thus si)eedily has led me to drink of the sweet wormwood of
these torments my Xella with her overflowing tears." Such are
tlie petitions and such the acknowledgments of the souls who, as
Dante himself tells us,

" Only pray that some one else may pray,
So as to liasteu their liecoiniiig Lolv."

Prayer is the expression of spiritual life. The more spiritual
life there is in the world, the more swiftly is the individual borne
forward on its strong currents. The more [)eople there are who
love well, says our i)oet, the more can each one love, " for as a
mirror the one reflects the other." Conversely the good of one is
the good of all, and hence when a single soul in Purgatorv has pre-
vailed over its sin the whole mountain shakes with joy and rings
with a psalm of thanksgiving.

Having restored ourselves to particijjation in Dante's vitalizing
thought, that nsan achieves goodness by appropriation of the divine
life which is always offering itself to him, we may follow him in
his journey through the realm of purification. This realm is fig-
ured as "the hill which highest toward the heavens U|)lift8 itself."
It rises from an island, and its ba.se forms an Ante-Purgatorv where
souls are detained until they have atoned for delay in repentance.
Around the mount of Purgatorv jiroper run seven terraces whereon
XIX-5

66 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

are punislied the seven deadly sins. Stairways rough and steep
lead up from terrace to terrace, and upon the summit of the moun-
tain is the Earthly Paradise. Around the shore of the island
grow the rushes, which symbolize humility, because they alone of
plants yield to the shock of waves. With them must Dante be
girt before he can enter Purgatoi-y. The cord of humility must
take the place of that cord of mere human strength with -which
he had once tiiought to " catch the leopard of the painted skin,"
and which in his journey through the Inferno lie had resolutely
cast into the ])it of fraud. Proud self-confidence, by excluding the
soul from influence, paralyzes its powers, wliile humility, which
makes man teachable, is the antecedent condition of all mental
and spiritual growth.

The changed attitude of the soul is the significant distinction
between the Purgatory and the Inferno. The spiritual universe
is always the same, but it is diflPerently reflected in the mirror of
individual consciousness. The soul steeped in sin has become a
distorting mirror which gives back love as hate, and heaven as
hell. Each denizen of the Inferno might echo the despairing cry
which Milton puts into the mouth of Lucifer: ''What matter
where, if / be still the same ? " The consciousness of the peni-
tents in Purgatory is a mirror which reflects truly but feebly — a
glass over which there is a mist which must be removed. The
repentant spirit knows its own sin, but at first defines good-
ness negatively as simply the opposite of itself. In the recoil of
pain it recognizes the antagonism of its evil deed to the spiritual
whole and i-esolves on amendment; but the true spiritual ideal
hovers before it dimly, being obscured by the clouds and smoke
of its own sinful passions. There is, in a word, still indwelling
sin, but there is no longer a consent of the will to sin.

How the change is brought about, who can say ? Not through
sinning, for sin is refusal to learn the lesson which grace is teach-
ing througii the ministry of pain. To me it seems that each soul
should tremble in mingled rapture and fear before its own blessed
and yet so often fatal power of choice. Grace may constrain, but
it cannot coerce. Love uiay appeal, but it cannot compel. Two
things are 6ure: Against his own will and without his owm effort
no man can be made holy or wise. To influence his will nothing
will be left untried. How will the struggle end ? I do not know.

Dantt'^s I'urgatorio. 67

May man forever defy iiirtiience ? I cannot tell. What T tio know
is tliat every coinniitted sin sinks tiie soul into deeper darkness
— fires it with more burning antagonism — freezes it in a more stag-
nant isolation. Sin is a help never, a hindrance always, to the
progresss of the spirit.

As the poets stand among the bending rushes on the island shore
there arrives a boat steered by an angel and bearing souls to Pur-
gatory. In contrast to the blasphemies of the spirits who assem-
ble " on the joyless banks of Acheron," these shades are chanting
the great psalm wliicii, under the veil of the deliverance of Israel
from %ypt, declares the deliverance of the soul from sin. " Xot
unto us, O Lord ! not to us, but to thy name give glory," is the
refrain, " and hope in the Lord " the burden of the song. Sin
projects internal limit as external fate, and curses not itself, but
'•God aud the human race." Repentance sees that evil lies not
in the universe but in self, and thus converts even the inward
limit into vanishing defect. Witli the sense that we are slaves
who may achies-e freedom, emancipation was begun. What matters
present ignorance to the heir of all knowledge? In foretaste of
the joy which shall come with the morning, what becomes of the
sorrow of the night '

Traversing the region of Ante-Purgatory, the poets meet four
classes of penitents whose common characteristic is that they have de-
ferred repentance until the end of life. The differences between them
are very suggestive. The first throng seem to be moving their feet
and yet seem not to move forward, thus suggesting effort without
advance. These souls " have died in contumacy of Uoly Church,"
and are condemned to wait " outside the bank thirty times told
the time that they have been in their presumption." The spirits
of the secijnd class stand listlessly in a shade behind a rock, and
Belacqua, who is their typical rei)re8entative, sits " embracing his
knees, holding his face down low between tliem, and shows him-
self more careless than if Sloth herself his sister were." These
are the simple procrastinators, and their condemnation is to re-
main outside the gate of Purgatory for a time as long as the time
of their procrastination. The third throng are moving slowly for-
ward and singing the ''Miserere.'''' These are they who have been
slain by violence, but, admonished by a light from heaven, repent-
ed at the last hour, and, " both penitent and pardoning," issued

68 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

from life, recoiicilcd to God. The foiirtli class embraces kings and
princes who deferred repentance through the pressure of temporal
cares. It is near sunset when the poets come upon them in a val-
ley bright with grass and flowers, and fragrant with the sweetness
of a thousand odors. These spirits sing a song of praise, and follow
it with a prayer for protection during the rapidly descending night.

We understand Dante just so long as we keep constantly in
mind that all his descriptions are external images of spiritual
states. With him sin is not one thing and penalty another exter-
nal to it, but the inevitable reaction of sin is the penalty of sin.
So salvation is ceasing to be evil and becoming good. Ante-Pur-
gatory, as a whole, signifies that initial phase in the process of
transition in which the soul simply turns away from evil. It
represents a state of aspiration which has not yet deepened into
energy — a sympathy with good which precedes its ardent pui-suit.
Souls in this stage of development do not see God, but are quick-
ened by desire to see him. The hovering ideal is not defined, but
is "a substance of things hoped for and an evidence of things not
seen." During this part of the journey the one injunction of
Virgil is, to be "steadfast in hope," and the witness of the spirits
is, that return to good is possible '' so long as hope has anything
of green."

As the progressive emptying of self ie the condition of a pro-
gressive recognition of the ideal, those souls who are most
steeped in seltishness have before thera the longest and most pain-
ful struggle. The four groups of spirits we have just considered
typify four different grades of character. The presum])tuous pride
which excludes itself from influence condemns itself to move-
ment in which there is no progress. The man who will not
combine with other men cannot advance. He who will hear
no teacher and read no books must remain in his ignorance. He
who defies the laws and penalties of society crystallizes his own
detect. Not listening to the v^oice of the great spiritual church, he
makes himself " an heathen man and a publican." His is the su-
preme violation because holiness is the complete iuterpenetration
of the individual and the universal life. Therefore, by every act
he retrogrades, and with profound insight the poet declares that
to undo his deed will require " thirty times told the time that he
has been in his presumption."

Dantes Purgatono. 69

For every moment of slotlit'nl procrastination man pays tlie
penalty of loss of power, and persistent inaction must result in
paralysis of the will. He who refuses to climb shall surely he
brouirht to ask, " What's the use of elimhinp: \ " Nor is inertia
ackni'wlediied inertia overcome. Only by seeking the whip and
spur of active inHuence, and by effort kept uj) in despite of pain,
can the supine sluiiijard iitt liiiuself — lie who sits crouciiiug rise to
his feet, and he who stands listless begin a forward marcii.

The penitents slain by violence illustrate a hiirher grade of
character. By the act of pardoning their slayers they have en-
tereil into the divine life of forgiveness. This new light dawning
within them makes their darkness visihle, and they pant and pray
for the cleansing tire and the purifying stream. So through care
for the welfare of their subjects the princes in the valley have pro-
moted their own. They have achieved a virtue wliicli ])oints to
its own consummation. Reaching down to give hel]), they have
learned to reach upward to receive it. The true King is liimself
a ty()e and prophecy of the King of Kings, and, by reflecting the
divine ideal, he begins to aspire toward it.

In the Valley of tlie Princes, Dante falls asleep and dreams that
an eagle with feathers of gold swoo])ing ujion him snatches him
upward to the tire. Out of this dream he wakes to find himself
at the Gate of Purgatory, and is told by Virgil that during his
sleep he was b irne tiiither by Lucia. That tlie dream is a "shad-
ow of coming events," the poet himself tells us, declaring that in
sleep •' the mind almost proi)hetic in its visions is"— as in a related
passage he affirms that " oftentimes before a deed is done sleep
has tidings of it."

In a valuable appendix to his translation of the " Purgatory "
Butler points out that " the eagle was from the earliest Cln-istian
times an emblem of the soul which most aspires to meditate on
divine things, and as such was adopted for the special cognizance
of St. John ;" and he notices also that the lire up to which the
poet is borne is the Empyrean Heaven or abode of that "Per-
fect Deity who alone perfectly sees and knows himself." In plain
words, the dream anticipates a revelation of the divine ideal, and
implies that through contemplation of this ideal the soul shall be
changed into its likenes.s. " Beholding as in a glass the glory of the
Lord, we are changed into the same image from glory to glory."

70 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

The vision discerned is matched with tlie niometitura acquired,
for the poet wakes to find liimselt' beyond the negative region of
Ante-Purgatory, and in view of the true entrance to the cleansing
mount. Herein is mirrored a universal fact of spiritual experience.
How often after what has seemed like fruitless seai-ch for truth do
its premonitions dawn upon the mind apparently unsought ! How
often after a moral struggle in which we seem to be growing
worse instead of better do we suddenly tind ourselves transported
to a region of purer moral aspiration ! The essential fact is the
preceding struggle. Only he who persists in moving his feet, even
when he seems not to move forward, shall dream of the eagle or
be borne upward by Lucia. Grace can bestow only " so mucb of
ardor as it finds," and thus, though all good is a gift, it is also a
conquest. Yielding to passion, the unconscious transition is to a
lower depth, as Dante swooning on the banks of Acheron wakes
to find himself upon the brink of Hell.

All true representations of the origin and progress of moral
development have implied more or less clearly that only an inward
vision of the ideal convicts of sin and inspires to effort. Whatever
view may be taken of the history of the Jews, two things are cer-
tain. Of all ancient nations they had the clearest consciousness
of God and the deepest sense of their own sin. The total revela-
tion of the books of Exodus and Leviticus may be compressed into
the two declarations — " I am the Lord your God," and " Ye shall
be holy, for I am holy." Iminediately following tbis attained
consciousness of truth and duty come the record of the sedition of
Miriam and Aaron, the rebellion of Korah, the repeated murmur-
ings of the whole people, the plague of fiery serpents, and the ele-
vation of the syml)olic serpent of brass. Translated from figura-
tive representation into direct statement, the lesson taught is that
the vision of truth defines existing defect. Sedition, rebellion, and
complaint M'ere not new in the world ; what was new was the
sense of their exceeding wrong. " Sin was in the world," says
Paul, " before the law, but I had not known sin but by the law."
The sting of conscience results from perception of what we are, in
the light of what we should be.

In accord with this view of moral progress, Dante's dream of
the Empyrean is follow'ed by his profound self-abasement at the
gate of Purgatory. Three stairs lead up to the gate. The firsr, is

Dante'K J*urgatorio. 71

marl)le white, and in it tlie poet " mirrors himself a's he appears ; ''
the seeonil is dark and mieven, and cracked leiij^thwiseaiid across;
the third is tlaminj; red, as " blood that from a vein is spurtin'^
forth." These stairs symbolize that candid self-recognition wliicli
issues in heart-broken sorrow for sin and ardent eoiisecration to
God of the "life-blood of body, so\d, and spirit.'" Drawn over
them by Virgil, the poet prostrates iiimseif at the feet of the angel,
who guards the gate and whose gray robe symbolizes the " ashes
of repentance." He smites upon Dante's foreliead with a sword,
describing thereon seven " P's," marks of the seven gonninal sins
which must now be purged from the penitent soul ; plies the lock
first with the silver ke}', "symbol of the science which discerns
the true penitent," then with the golden key, "image of absolv-
ing power." and at last pushes open the gate with the significant
exclamation,

" Enter — but I give you warning
That forth returns whoever looks behind."

The song of the "Td Deum " falls upon the ear, and thus " prais-
ing God and acknowledging liim to be the Lord," the poets cross
the boundary-line which separates regret from repentance, aspira-
tion from energy, mere desire from consecrated resolve.

In Purgatory proper is represented the gradual elimination of
that indwelling sin against which the soul in Ante-Purgatory has
entered its protest. Evidently, therefore, we must expect to find
upon the ascending terraces diminishing degrees of sin and in-
creiising degrees of partici])ation in the divine life. The process
is not one in which the soul is " left empty and garnished," hut
one wherein evil is crowded out by expanding good.

As holiness is living in the universal life, those sins are most
heinous which most consciously repudiate existence in the species
and af^sert a naked, defiant, and self-destroying individualism.
Hence, farthest from the Earthly Paradise is the terrace of the
proud, as deepest in the Inferno is the frozen circle of the traitors,
in whom pride reigns supreme. The characteristic of pride is
that it applies to things ejjiritual the law of the unspiritual, and
desires monopoly where the very nature of the object desired de-
mands division. The belief that there may be, the desire that
there shmild be, or the resolve that there shall be an imshared

72 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

excellence constitutes tlie tirst degree of pride. In its second de-
gree pride rejoices in another's lack ; and in its tinal ])liase it repu-
diates the spiritual gooil which will not be monopolized.

Envy, which is punished upon the second terrace, may be
crudely distinguished from pride through the fact of a different
relationship to its object. The proud man (in his own estimation)
already e.^cels his neighb:)r, but the envious man perceives that
his neighbor excels him. To himself the latter seems 6nly seek-
ing equality ; the former is consciously insisting upon monopoly.
Envy asks for itself more and for its neighbor fe«s/ pride demands
for itself all and grants to its neighbor 7i(me.

Anger differs from envy and pride both in the degree and the
permanence of its insistence upon self. As its supreme type,
Dante chooses llaman, who, " because Mordecai bowed not nor
did him reverence," prepared a gallows and sought to have him
hanged ; and he describes the angry man as one who " through
injury appears so to take shame that he becomes gluttonous of
vengeance." Thus anger would seem rather an inability to sus-
tain an imagined wrong than a deliberate desire to inflict wrong,
and we may trace its root to that undue self-esteem which, insist-
ing upon a I'ecognition beyond its deserts, conceives itself injured
when such recognition is withheld.

The common characteristic of pride, envy, and anger is distorted
aelf-love, but the supremacy of self is greatest in pride and least
in anger. Advancing to the terrace of Sloth, we find self subor-
dinated, but not overcome. The soul accepts as its ideal the uni-
versal life, bnt, clogged by the impediment of self, cannot at once
create its image. The heart has turned to its true object, but its
love is still a feeble flame. It must be fanned into a fervent heat
which shall burn out all lesser loves and thus accomplish the soul's
emancipation from appetite in its three foi'ms of eovetousness,
gluttony, and lust. This work is achieved upon the higher ter-
races, and then the soul, " purified through sutiering," is welcomed
by the song of angels to the kingdom prepared from the founda-
tion of the world.

So long as the soul contradicts the spiritual universe it must
feel the recoil of the universe as pain. Hence, upon each terrace
of Purgatory is imaged the suft'ering which is the reaction of sin.
The bodies of the proud are bent double by the burdens on their

Dante g Purgatorio. 73

backs ; tlie eyelids of the envious are sewn up with iron thread ;
the angrv are involved in thick smoke, and upon the terrace of
the slothful " the power of the legs is put in truce." Prostrate
and immovable the avaricious purge their sin ; in hunger and
thirst is punished tlie ghittoiiy which beyond measure fullowed
appetite, and in purifying flame is burned away unholy love.

Tlie symbolism of the ])unisliments is apparent. The principle
of siiiritual life is to grow by giving and by sharing to increase.
This principle re-enforces the humble man but presses with intoler-
able weight upon the proud soul wiiieli has repudiated it. Jvoth-
ing blinds the eyes like envy, and anger creates a smoky moral
atmosphere in which all duties are obscure. The inevitable out-
come of slothful disuse is loss of power, while avarice, loving
supremely earthly things, lilts not the eye toward heaven, and,
by extinguishing the love of good, destroys the stimulus to action.
Thus, in the truest sense, the avaricious man is prostrate and
immovable. The reaction of unbridled appetite is craving, asso-
ciated with satiety, and through burning shame the souls of carnal
sinners must press forward toward the benediction of the pure in
heart.

The recoil of the spiritual universe is, however, not the charac-
teristic mark of the purgatorial state. This is even more clearly
defined in the '' Inferno," where the violation is supreme. Thus, as
against the slow and painful progress of the proud in Purgatory,
we have their stultification in the " Inferno " ; the purgatorial
smoke of anger becomes in the '• Inferno " boiling mud and a river
of bloi>d, while the craving and satiety of penitent gluttons are in
the impenitent intensified into the rending of voracious Cerberus
and the descent of the " Eternal accursed cold and heavy rain."
"What the Inferno lacks, and Purgatory po.ssesses, is the vision of
the Ideal. It is tiiis which incites the activity through which alone
defect can be cancelled, and the efibrt to actualize it is rewarded
by its clearer revelation.

Upon the rock-walls which bound the terrace of the proud are
carved typical examjdes of humility. This is the most external
representation of the Ideal in Purgatory, and follows first upon
its symbolic j)rophecy in the dream of the Eagle. To the envious
the ideal of mercy is proclaimed l)y a ])assiiig voice, implying thus
an internal sense which makes possible its immeiliate recognition

74 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Meekness is revealed in an inward vision, and when we reach tlie
terrace of the slothful we find that the spiritually discerned ideal
has become a conscious inciting motive. " Quick, quick '' — cry
the eao;er spirits — " so that the time may not be lost by little love,"
and they spur themselves to fresh ardor by recalling how "Mary
to the mountain ran, and Csesar, that he might subdue Ilerda,
thrust %t Marseilles, and then ran into Spain." In the souls of
those who mourn their avarice the ideal has become so clearly de-
fined that they themselves discern the logical relation between
their sin and its punishment, and begin to comprehend the funda-
mental principle of recoil. To the self-convicted glutton even
temptation is turned into warning, and from amid the very branches
of the tree for whose fair fruit he hungers comes the voice which
bids him pass on farther witliout drawing near. The souls upon
the final terrace have attained a higher eanctitication, for they have
learned that subordination of the lesser to the holier love which
destroys temptation and emancipates the soul from the danger of
a fall. The meeting penitents do not need to avoid each other,
but they '' kiss one with one, without staying, content with short
greeting." Moreover, both tiie gluttonous and incontinent have
come to love their purifying pain, and have penetrated into the
"divine depths of tiie worship^ of Sorrow." The former declare
that the same " wish leads them to the tree which led the Christ
rejoicing to say Eli ;" and of the latter we ai'e told that they van-
ish in the fire " like fish in water going to the bottom." Thus, in
each advancing stage of development, the ideal becomes a more in-
ternal, inclusive, and inciting power.

Increasingly illuminated by the truth, the soul realizes more
profoundly the sin that contradicts it. Hence, the revelation of
ideal types of character is complemented by vivid presentations of
the seven deadly sins. The humility of the Virgin throws into
relief the pride of Lucifer, and tiie love of Orestes accentuates the
envious hate of Cain. For tiie same reason, with decreasing sin
comes increasing sensitiveness of repentance. " O noble con-
science and without a stain," sings the poet, "how sharp a sting
is trivial thought to thee! " By the souls who are being purged
of avarice we are told " that no more bitter pain the mountain
has." Nowhere does Dante manifest such shrinking as in view of
the cleansing flames of the topmost terrace ; and it would even

Dante's I'unjatorio. 75

6cem tliat the crownin^r moment of liis anguish is that in wliich,
arraigned aiui condemnefi hy Beatric;o, he falls swooning upon tlie
bank of Lethe. So the final judgment comes for each one of us
when, with awakened eyes, we gaze upon Him whom we have
pierced. Seeing what He is, we see all we are not.

Twice in the course of his progress from the gate of Purgatory
to the Earthly Paradise does Dante sleep and dream. The first
dream comes to him after he has painfully circled around the
circle of Sloth, the second after he lias issued from the flame,
and, wearied in his ascent toward the summit of the mount, " of a
stair has made his bed." In the one he lias a vision of a deceiv-
ing Siren, who, seeking to allure him, is ])ut to Hight by a " Lady
eaintly and alert ; " in the other he beiudds a beautiful woman
walking in a meadow, singing and gathering flowers. Her song
is a key to Dante's theory of the method of spiritual development :

" Know, whosoever may my name demand.
That I am Leah, and go moving round
Mv beauteous hands to make myself a garland.
To please me at the mirror ; here I deck me ;
But never does my sister Rachel leave
Her looking-glass, and sitteth all day long.
To see her beauteous eyes as eager is she
As I am to adorn me with my hands :
Her seeing and me doing satisfies."

Taken in connection with the vision of the Eagle, which antici-
pates the poet's transition to the gate of Purgatory, the inner
meaning of these dreams becomes clear. As the flight to the
Empyrean was a symbolic presentation of the soul's ascent to God
through contemplation of his nature, so the Siren shows the fleshly
sins which must be overcome before the divine ideal can become
incarnate in the man ; and the " Lady saintly and alert " typifies
the will, now purged of sloth, and sanctified by the vision of the
truth. It is worthy of note that after the ascent from the terrace
of Sloth sin is no longer described as obscuring vision, but only as
inifieding progress. We hear no more of " the smoke-stains of the
wfirld," thoiitrli much still of " the maladv which all the world
pervades," the need of " unloosing the knot of debt," anil the obli-
gation to " circle around the moiiiif wliicli straightens those whom
the world made crooked."

76 Tin' Joihrnal of Speculative Philosophy.

The third dream is a synthesis of the other two. If vision react-
ing upon desire incites to effort, so effort crowned with achieve-
ment makes possible clearer vision. To be good is to see the good,
and only in identification with the divine is the divine fully revealed.
When development is complete there is no real distinction between
the active and contemplative life. Leah may still gather flowers,
but she does so that she may please hei"self at the mirror; or, in
prosaic statement, activity is to her simply the condition of insight.
Dante's waking experiences correspond, moreover, with the premo-
nitions of his sleep, for when he comes into the Earthly Paradise it
is by Matilda (identified by all commentators as the type of sanc-
tified activity) that he is drawn through Lethe and led to Beatrice.

In order to understand the spiritual state figured by Dante in
the Earthly Paradise we must keep clearly in mind the thought
of Purgatory as a purifying process. Progress through the seven-
fold realm means the gradual elimination of selfishness, and, as
correlative to this, increasing degrees of spiritual fellowship. It is
worthy of note that throughout this second division of the Divine
Comedy references to God are few and indirect. The vision of
God is the blessedness of the Heavenly Paradise. The Earthl^^
Paradise is a transition toward this joy, and represents a state of
mind in harmony with the Church, or, differently expressed, en-
trance into the life of God as incarnate in the world.

The order of Dante's experiences in the Earthly Paradise is very
suggestive. Declared by Virgil king over himself and free either
to sit quiet or to walk among the beauties which surround him,
he feels " eager to search in and around the heavenly forest," and
moves forward until his progress is barred by a stream so clear
that by comparison earth's most limpid waters seem obscure.
Upon the opposite bank he sees Matilda gathering flowers, and
learns from her that this stream is Lethe, which, "issuing from a
fountain safe and certain, descends with virtue which takes away
all memory of sin." Then suddenly warned to look and listen,
the poet '' beholds a lustre run athwart the spacious forest, and
hears a delicious melody in the luminous air." This light and
music herald the revelation of the Church, imaged as a trium]jhal
chariot drawn by Christ under the form of the Grifiin ; a mystic
animal which, being half-lion and half-eagle, symbolizes that union
of the divine and human " which neither confounds the natures

Danfes Ptirgatorio. 17

nor divides the person." Preceding the chariot are seven appa-
rently sell-moving candlesticks, representing the seven gifts of the
Spirit ; and the hooks of the Old Testament personified as twentj-
four elders chui in the white garinents and crowned with the lilies
of faith. Snrrounding tiie chariot are the fonr apocalyptic beasts,
crowned with green, the color of hope, and representing the four
gospels ; four nymphs robed in purple, who personify the moral
virtues of Prudence, Temperance, Justice, and Fortitude; and
three nymphs clad in white, green, and red, and denoting the theo-
logical virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity. In the rear follow
seven elders, robed in white but crowned with the roses of love,
and representing the remaining books of the New Testament.

Very evidently we have here tlie representation of a visible insti-
tution, and not a revelation of its invisible life. But sud<lenly out
of the midst of the great procession arises a solitary cry — '• Come
with me, my spouse, from Lebanon,'' shouted three times by " one
from heaven commissioned." It is echoed by all, and then, " in the
bosom of a cloud of flowers, covered with a white veil, wrapped
in a green mantle and vested in color of the living tlanie,'' Bea-
trice descends upon the Chariot of the Church. Spontaneously the
mind reverts to the apocalyptic vision of the Holy City, the new
Jerusalem coming down from God, '"prepared as a bride adorned
for her husband," and recognizes in this descending Beatrice an
image of the indwelling Spirit of that great heavenly Church of
which all ciinrches on earth are but types and symbols.

Dante's treatment of Beatrice gives us the key both to his poem
and his poetic method. For obviously the Beatrice of the Divine
Comedy is primarily the woman Beatrice Portinari. In the "Vita
Nnova," describing the moment when he, a child, first met her, a
child, Dante affirms, "At that instant the spirit of life which
dwells in the most secret chamber of the heart began to tremble
with such violence that it appeared fearfully in the least pulses,
and trembling said these words : 'Behold a God stronger than I,
who coining shall rule me.' " There is an echo of this description
in the passage of the " Purgatory " which narrates the descent of
Beatrice. The spirit of the poet tremhles with awe, and, through
the occult influence proceeding from " the fair and saintly Lady of
his heart," feels " the niighty influence of an ancient love.'' It is
a revival of " the power sublime that had already })ierced him

78 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

through in boyhood," and he " quenches ten years of thirst " in the
"light of the eyes whence love once drew his armory." Yet
though truly the woman, Beatrice is not the woman alone. " Sit-
ting with ancient Racliel," she suggests the contemplative life, and,
*' gazing like an eagle at the sun," she indicates its perfection.
Still more profoundly apprehended as " One who withdrew from
singing Hallelujah to rescue the wanderer from the dark wood " —
as one whose stern salutation caused Dante to fall prostrate in
contrite shame, and as one whose eyes reflect the Griflin and are
themselves " the splendor of the living light eternal " — she shines
forth the image of that grace which seeks and convicts the sinner,
illuminates the penitent, and, by giving itself to the soul, makes
the soul like itself. The Beatrice of Dante is thus one with the
" Eternal Womanly " of Goethe, and represents that divine prin-
ciple which always energizes to draw up the imperfect into the
blessedness of its own perfection.

The vision of Beatrice is followed by Dante's passage through
Lethe ; or — if we may translate the poet's figure — being quick-
ened by a higher revelation, he is pricked with a thornier peni-
tence and thus made susceptible of a further purification. Having
crossed the stream that takes away the memory of sin, he joins
the procession of the Church, and then, in deeper communion with
her who is " light 'twixt truth and intellect," liis spirit grows
prophetic. "With penetrating eyes he scans the history of the
Cliurch and beholds worldly power bringing forth spiritual pride
with its triple progeny of heresy, schism, and moral corruption.
Upon his quickened ear falls the mournful music of the angelic
chant — '' O Lord ! the heathen are come into thine inheritance ;
thy hoi}- temple have they defiled." Thus he passes out of the
communion of the visible into that of the invisible Church, and,
regenerated by tiie waters of Eunoe, becomes " pure and disposed
to mount into the stars."

Contrasting with the " Inferno," which pictures the outcome of
selfish individualism in the stultification of the individual, " Pur-
gatory " traces the redemption of man out of individualism into
social communion. It treats of the soul's relation to God, not
directly but as mediated by the Church, and its lesson is that in
the organic relationship of the individual to the social whole is
grounded the possibility of spiritual development. Hence the su-

The Iluman Form Systematicalhj OntUned and Explained. 79

prenie sin is "Contumacy of Holy Cliurcli;" iind upon the car
of the Church descends Beatrice, the imnioi'tal image of divine
grace. How, tlirough the Clinrch, the iii(livi(hial is lifted into
participation with the divine, is the theme of the " Paradise," whose
consummation is reached when the soul, " inspired by abundant
grace," presumes " to fix its own sight upon the Light eternal."

The only obstacle to spiritual growth lies in ourselves. Good-
ness divine, which " spurns from itself all envy," is forever shin-
ing in ideal beauty and drawing the soul with cords of love. If
we do not see the heavenly vision, it is because we are blinded by
sin ; if we do not press forward toward it, it is because we are clog-
ged by sin. Well, therefore, shall it be with us if we take to
ourselves the stern rebuke and exhortation of the grave warden
of Purgatory :

" What is this, ye laggard spirits ?

Wliat negligence, what standing still is this?

Run to the mountain, to strip off the slough

That lets not God be manifest to yon ! "

THE HUMAN FORM SYSTEMATICALLY OUTLINED
AND EXPLAINED.

BT WILLIAM H. KIMBALL.

In order to carry the n)atter in view as directly as possible to
its normal issues, let us formulate in a way to denote the involved
elements :

l'. Sense-Sense implies an anchorage in the pow-
ers of Corporeal Sense ; basic ^o-wer felt, not
expressed.

}'. Reason-Sense operates these powers in a way
to train, school, and educate them, both in
their forms and activities.

}'. Wisdom-Sinse operates them in tlieir ful-
ness, both as powers and orderly activities.

SENSORY FORM.

II.

REASON FOKM.

III.
WISDOM FOKM.

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

l"l Sense-Reasmi simply anchors in the powers
of Rational Sense ; gives a dim sense of ra-
tional power and attainment.

2^ Reason-Heason operates in the unschooled
or partial condition of these powers during
educational experiences.

31 Wisdom- lieason operates in the conditions
of Rational Mastery by the powers fully
educated.

1'. Sense - Wisdom anchors in the powers of
Sophial Sense; a dim sense of power by
amplest Wisdom.

2'. Reason-Wisdom unfolds and schools these
powers amid the toils and limitations inher-
ent to educational experience.

3'. Wisdmn-Wisdom realizes the power of Su-
phial Mastery, and is thus the consummat-
ina: term to the form in view.

The first degree of these ])owers (!', l^ 1^) is innate to the Hu-
man Form in primary constitution.

The second degree (2\ 2^ 2^) is inevitable to Human Develop-
ment, operated by that constitution.

The third degree (3\ 3^ 3') is necessary to fulfil in human knowl-
edge and power, and fix man in the Divine Mastery to which the
primary scale of constitutional sensibility entitles liim, and for
which development qualities him.

The first, second, and third elements of Sense in itself Are indi-
cated by definitions V, 2\ 3'.

The three elements of the Reason form in itself are indicated
by definitions l^ 2', 31

" The three elements of Wisdom in itself are indicated by defi-
nitions 1^ 2^ 31

The initial and static base of the whole form, as a one, is indi-
cated by \\ \\ V.

The whole form, as one, in generative toils, is indicated by

1\ 2^ 21

The composure or fulness of the whole form in glorified power

is indicated by 3', 3', 3\

The Human Form Systematically Outlhied and Explained. 81

Thus are seen, under this hiw of trinity as measuring and de-
fining instrument, both the successive and biniultaneous order of"
degrees, both of which are requisite to full thesis, analysis, and
syntiiesis, sueii as shall prove truly comprehensive and authenti-
cate our survey as positively scientific.

It is a prevailing principle that no element of power is simple
and limited to one form of expression. The Human Form being a
diversified One distinctly constituted in threefold order, an element
that pervades one degree of this trine pervades all; remembering
always that it varies in each degree in strict conformity to the
nature of each.

It is clear enough that man, as creaturely subject, cannot
know, in commanding manner, during the schooling or educational
processes inevitable to his minor degree of manhood. Nor can he
then, in any respect, realize tlie needs of his nature as such a sub-
ject. He is, at the very first, invested with a full scale of human
power by constitutional endowment. But he surely cannot
actually realize those powers until they become fully educated,
educed, drawn out, and established to experience. So, it is seen,
when he is mainly educated in his minor degree of powers — the
degree that plants him in the primary experience of the corporeal
Bcale (!', 2', 3') — his interests and powers are of a very coarse and
grovelling nature, however complete they may be in that particu-
lar form of manhood.

And we may also see that this Human Form may be very
thoroughly educated and empuwered in the major degree (1^, 2^, 3'^)
— the degree of rational power — and yet have no experience and
knowledge of highest realities in supreme Life and Being, as
knowledge and experience necessary to complete manhood. It
may here be a power in all the range of rational or special science
and ethical activities, and still have no gleam of the Light that
steadily illumines the maximum degree at its amplest realiza-
tion. For the best light of lower realms can never illumine the
higher. It may illustrate, as moonlight illustrates sunlight, but it
cannot illuminate. And only in case the higher is first known
can it illustrate to the umler standing. It is the ministry of lower
forms to image or represent, never to directly display, or truly
present.

So it is seen that we must not only come into a dim sense of
XIX— G

82 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the higliest, as represented by 1', 2^, 3', but we must become educa-
ted in its powers — must become fully empowered in it as " the way,
the truth, and the life " of Divine Fulness before we can realize
the composure and rest to wliich -we are entitled by the indwell-
ing wants and powers of the Human Form as primarily constituted.
Then we come into our highest powers of ieing, knowing, and
doing. Then the immeasurable wealth of creative endowment
becomes a wealth common to the human experience. Then the
minor, who was necessarily held under the rigors of tutelary disci-
pline during the partial, unsettled, and riotous conditions of his
powers, takes the position of conscious mastery in Divinely
matured Sonsliip, and becomes the perfect freeman in his own
right. For liere he becomes rightly qualified, and so is given full
possession and use of that to which he was born, and toward
which his previous training tended.

Here we come to a distinct understanding of the proposition :
" The laws of the human mind are the laws of all things." We
see that the laws of human constitution make it a threefold
form of innate, nnmanifest power. We see that this time form
goes fortii, under the rule of Creative Wisdom, in unfolding edu-
cational processes amid innumerable rigors, limitations, contrarie-
ties, conflicts, and goadings of every kind ; and we find that it
comes, finally, to its maturity and regal majesty of form and ac-
tivities in a manner befitting its innate vitality and the glory of
Creative Wisdom that thus fashioned and formed it. Under this
rule of insight to the laws — (1) of mental constitution, (2) of men-
tal development, (3) of mental maturity in ultimate fulness —
we have a clew to the essential " law of all things." We find a
universal law (1) of indefinite unity in potential being, (2) of
manifest diversity in contrariety in actual processes of appearing,
(3) of composite unity, diversity in unity in the end or design at-
tained.

So, it is sitnply the laws of creation that are thus formulated
and defined. And they are thus delineated as a code so firm in
unitary science that by it all matters ot human life and experi-
ence may be duly explored and consistently rated ; the simplicity
and positiveness of the ruling being so marked and real as to make
it a rest rather than a tax upon the intellect.

Creation, accordingly, is_ not a wilful exploit of creative power

The Human Form Sijstematically Outlined and Explained. 83

operated to project merely physical and animate existences, but
it is (1) a reality in essential Beinnj, as uncreated power of Life ;
(2) it is a series of productive operations of that Bein^ through
all the resistant strugf;;le8 of creatnrely selfhood during human de-
velopment ; (3) it is a perfect fruition in those operations divinely
consummated, by which the creature himself realizes all the ful-
ness of Creative Being, and reflects his glories continually. The
light here found is literally " the Light of the world."

We find, therefore, the ruling principle of the first degree of all
mind, thought, and things to be that of static unity or repose in
innate power; the ruling principle of the second degree is that of
active contrariety in the productive energies of that power in gen-
erative and developing processes ; and the ruling principle of the
third decree is that of composing fulness — of actual consistency
so emphatic and real that it not only impresses with the renosn
and order of its own form, but gives a true insight to all the toils
and seeming inconsistencies that were before experienced or ob-
served. Hence, conditions of mind, thought, or activities in hu-
man experience that carry with them aught of immaturity, incon-
sistency, confusion, strife, partiality, and distress of any sort, surely
betoken uncreated or unfulfilled conditions. They are conditions
that are peculiar to the second degree in creative order, are wholly
confined to its realm or sphere of operations, and can give no bet-
ter indication of the real nature and glory of Creative Wisdom
than the painter's palette, spread with discordant colors and con-
fused pigments, can indicate the genius of the artist. Only when
the canvas becomes duly laden with a consistent combination of
those colors in the revelation of a perfect conception of the artist
can we read the real glory of his power, and applaud his name
accordingly.

So, likewise. Creative Wisdom can only be known and devoutly
worshii)ped through Created Form consummated. The Human
Form must be Divinely perfected — made to embody and image
or reflect, in accordant activities, the infinite glories of the Divine
Name — ere Wisdom can be justified of her children.

Perverted or partial vision will look doubtingly upon a creative
system that involves the distresses and apparent inconsistencies
of tiie second term (1', 2', 3'). It will jjrompt the objection:
"With infinite Wisdom and Power in a Creator, how can evil

84: The Journal of Speculatwe Philosophy.

with all its dire consequences, come into the creative system?
How, if there really be such presiding wisdom and power in the
case, were it possible for the evils that stain poor human nature,
and lill the world with pains and groans, to come into our experi-
ence ? Why were there not one steady, unruffled flow of the great
stream of life from the Creative Fountain?"

Such questionings — common as they are— imply a very narrow
field of vision on the part of the questioner. For the present oc-
casion they are sutBciently answered by saying (what a moment
of serious reflection will confirm) that, without a projection into
states of conscious freedom in a rank selfhood that completely
inverts the Creative Wisdom, and begets all the evils and pains
inevitable to such unqualified freedom, there could be no actual
creature — no conscious otherness than God in any way that would
authenticate creaturely subjectivity. At most, there could be
nothing above mere instinctual subservience to a power of life
that would make tiie subject only an animate machine, a dead
level in living form, minus all power of spiritual assent. Such a
form in nature could have animal vitality, but no particle of hu-
man spirit — no personality capable of feeling one throb of worship-
ful regard, and so would be void of all spiritual equipage by which
to mouut to the empyrean heights of full creation in the freedom
of God. It could forever lie in mere animal indift'erence, but
could never spring responsive to emotions of Creative Life. For
how could a life naturally full — full by the mere fact of having
been launched — ever aspire to spiritual 'iwlne.iSi'i How, but by
supernatural endowment in a germ of moral subjectivity which
were sure to unfold into conscious spiritual selfhood and the free-
dom that it carries, could man be the conscious creature of God,
and competent to partake of the felicity of God's bounties of Life
at last ? It were clearly impossible to ascend to the bliss of Divine
fulness in any other way. Besides, how were there any other
way for an intelligent appreciation of the blessed life than through
the afflictions and pains of unblest experience ? A bliss that was
not defined by its opposite, as an actual experience, would be no
bliss to man, for human intelligence is grounded in contrarieties
of experience. Hence, we may surely know that the second cre-
ative degree (1", 2^, 3"), with its manifold discordances and pains,
cannot be dispensed with. It is the indispensable middle ground

Hinne mul Kant. 85

of full creation itself— 1', 2', 3". AVithout crucifixion— both in
creative and creaturely realms — there could be no glorification.

If a doubt here arise as to the creature's triumph, finally, over
the evils that beset and stini; him during the developing throes of
the second degree, let it be remembered that the Creative Germ
inherent to the first degree, as the Eternal Word — " the Life that
liirhteth every man that cometh into the world " — is a quenchless
power that never talters nor yields, however much it becomes
inverted or obscured by the overlying human grossness — the dark-
ness that compreJtcndeth not — during the processes of moulding and
operating the creaturely life. Kank growth in the corn inverts and
obscures the life of the seed-form. Crude materials and the toil-
some labors of the artist invert and misrepresent tlie conception
that flamed in his soul as a quenchless vision, and that finally
transfigures that material into glorified form. Is the Creative
Word less efiicient to achieve its infinite designs in its creature
than are corn-life and art-genius efiicient to their ends \ Shame on
the thought that deems it possible. All of the visible and invisi-
ble powers are tributary to his ends. Natural and Spiritual worlds
arc both instrumental to his purposes, as natural day and night
together serve to carry human powers forward in natural form and
functions. Natural and Spiritual worlds are simply tributaries to
tlie Divine Natural.

HUME AND KANT.'

BT G. H. UOWISON.

I. Hume's question, Ilmo cu-e judgments concerning matters of
fact possible hj mere reason ? brings to view an element in the
theory of knowledge that is neither to be evaded nor dispensed
with. Real cognitions, as Hume penetratingly sees, are all de-
pendent on the principle of causality : since, now, the latter is no-
where to be foimd within the entire range of experience, we come,
Bit doubt, by tlie new insight that experience it not an adequate

' OatUne of four lectures delivered at the Concord School of Philosophy, in .ruly. 1883.

8H The Journal of Speoulative Philosophy.

ground of real knowledge ; but, as the principle in question seeius
by the same token to originate in the mere phantasy of reason, it
appears to be invalidated, and from the empirical standpoint,
which is, however, unavoidable, we come inevitably upon Hume's
question, which must be answered without any evasion.

This question now, which by implication reads, Why are the
judoiiients aforesaid not utterly impossible on the face of the mat-
ter? brings in its train a theeefold difficulty. First, How is
any absolute morality — any morality groimded in religion — possi-
ble I 01-, How is a knowledge of transcendent realities possible —
how is a transit from the sensible to the supersensible possible in
general ? Second, How is even an 3' system of rights possible ; any
system, that is, founded on justice? for if morality loses its foun-
dation on absolute truth (which is possible only through knowl-
edge of the transcendent), and consequently turns out, and law
with it, to be merely the expression of feeling and habit, all au-
thority comes down to mere force, and any such thing as patriot-
ism seems therefore impossible. Finally, as by the dissolution
of the principle of causality all knowledge of the future from the
past is reduced to pure illusion, how is such knowledge possible at
all?

II. To this threefold branching of the problem presented by
Hume there is a counteepaet theeefold in Kant's system of
"Ceiticism." First, 'Ks.nt aims to rescue absolute morality, and
likewise the validity of a transit by thought from the sensible to
the supersensible generally, by his doctrine of the primacy of the
practical reason : it is only as legislative, he declares, that reason
is actually universal — only thus does it reach the full realization
of a rational nature ; God, freedom, and immortality are not to be
made out by theoretic seeing at all, but solely by that a priori
volition which simultaneously posits duty as a categorical or abso-
lutely unconditional imperative, and those transcendent existences
as postulates without which this absolute law would fail of any ful-
filment. Next, he aims to establish upon the same principle the
authority and thoroughgoing justice of the political order; the
State, he teaches, obtains a genuine right only by protecting the
freedom of each individual so far as this comports with the free-
dom of every other under that imperative of reason whicii alone,
as absolutely categorical and yet set up by the individual himself,

Hume and Kant. 87

puts freedom and obedience alike on tirm foundations. Finally,
he seeks to explain and warrant the possibility of a predictive
science of nature by his epocli-makinsj theory of " transcendental
idealism;" the science in question, he maintains, is only possible,
fhongh in this case is certainly possible, on comiition that the ob-
jects to which it refers shall be, not things in themselves, but cnly
phenomena — only the appearances of the things, as these are seen
in the a priori forms of the percipient subject ; in brief, nature is,
as to \tiform, the creation of the mind — is transcendentally ideal ;
as to its matter, however, in order to save perceptive cognition
from being illusion, there is requisite an element in our cognitive
faculty that is purely se/iswows — i. e., strictly susceptive of what is
given out of the things in themselves; in other words, an element
(or coniponent) of mere recejAivity.

III. But this theory of Kant's, whether in the one or the other
of its main branches, fails of any thorough solution of the ditficul-
ties raised by Hume. First, tiie primacy of the jjractical reason is
an unarticulated principle, tacitlj' accepted ; in no case is it possi-
ble to save the practical reason at the expense of the theoretical ;
for if the existence of God is theoretically incognizable, every so-
called postulate of the practical reason becomes a mere condition
or requisite for the carrying out of an impidse — of a mere drift —
whose warrant is utterly unknown and forever unknowable.
Secondly, the famous " Categorical Imperative," as Kant deals
with it, is not only an em\)iy formal law, but is, besides, an unes-
tablished assmnption, quite in the manner of the Scottish ]>hiloso-
phers so ridiculed by Kant himself; and, in the light of this fact,
the entire ground for the passage to the supersensible by means of
the practical falls away. Finally, the doctrine of the "transcen-
dental," precisely because it does contain that foreign element of
receptivity, is no solution of the enigma concerning the knowledge
of the future ; if a something wholly foreign to the percipient sub-
ject is necessary in order to any knowledge at all, it becomes for-
ever imj)ossible to predict what sort of course a world of sense is
to have whose essence consists in the result of interaction between
a priori forms and unknowalile things; and, with this realized,
the ground for the passage from the past to the future, even with-
in the present world of sense, disappears.

IV'. We need, then, a thorough reconstruction, enlargement,

88 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and improvement of the Kantian procedure, if we are definitively
to reduce the problems of Hume. By any theory whatever that
persists in setting up the mere immanency of the human mind as
an adequate conception of human nature, there is "No thorough-
fare." Only by the conjunction of a real transcendency with the
limitation that appears from the standpoint of experience to char-
acterize our powers shall we ever come out into the open country
of an unconditional knowledge, even within the hounds of possible
experience / real knowledge of an order of nature even is condi-
tional upon knowledge of transcendent realities ; and the possibili"
ty of such knowledge must either be permanently surrendered, or
else nature must be so conceived, and the conception justified, as
to flow ivhoUy from the same system of principles that gives form
and reality to the percipient subject. In short, the Kantian rift
in our nature a priori — the assumed chasm between pure intellect
and pure sense, hetvieen power to conceive and mere suscipiency
io perceive — must be closed up, or, rather, be proved non-existent,
by being exposed as unintelligible and self-cancelling; our faculty
of conscious being, the cognitive organism a priori that confers
existence upon us, must be seen as wholly self contained — as one
and continuous from centre to circumference; space and time
must be discovered to be strict categories as trulj- as causality —
must be raised from so-called pure percepts into pure concepts,
from mere forms of susceptibility into discharges {Fnnctionen) of
spontaneity ; causality (into which all the Kantian categories are
really subsumable) must be seen to involve space and time — to
contain them ideally as the terms, founded in its own nature, of
its own self -fulfilment ; and sensibility must come to be understood
as simply the last term in that process of particularization (or self-
dispersion still always held in harmony by the originating unity),
apart from the completion of which, intellection would fail of its
own self-established idea — would fail, in short, of self-intelligibili-
ty, and therefore of intelligence.

The pathway, now, to the desired open country — to this over-
spanning unity of understanding and sense, this continuous iden-
tity that shall embrace difference and conjoin form and matter,
bare conception and clothing sensation, in one indivisible whole —
lies through a new and more thoroughgoing critique of the pure
categories, whereby it shall be shown that all cognition is hut the

NoUe and JJincusnionK. 89

phenomenizlngofthe Unity subsisting in Kanfs Three Ideas, and
that the latter, as causes purely self-determining, are actually
coNSTmrnvE of sensible objects, as well as of the human intelligence
that perceives them. In short, the Tliree Ideas must be shown to
form a veritable sijstem — a selt'-organiziriir unity, originated and
sustained by the self-activity of the Supreme Idea, the Ens realissi-
muni, the absolute Self-completeness or Perfection ; this Supreme
Idea, simply in fulfilment of its own ideal nature, perpetually
manifesting itself in the other two, as percipient and perceived,
subject and object, self and world. The one Supreme Idea will
thus be seen to involve in its own ideal reality not only imuia-
nence in the intellection of particular subjects (percipients), but
necessary transcendence of it ; and, as the very ideality of the
Idea will thus consist in an incessant reaching out of its unity, to
develop and enfold the infinite particularity in lack of which it
would be meaningless void or pure nonentity, this identity that
thus contains a forever assimilated difference must, in virtue of this
true self-existence, this inherent transcendency, be acknowledged
to be a real univereal, unconditional and living, and thus to fulfil
the infinitude of meaning that we are wont to designate by the
sacred name of Goo. From this it would follow that all pure
knowing — all knowing that succeeds in realizing its own nature
— since it is real i)articipation in a universal (i. e., divine) conscious-
ness, is a knowledge of the actual truth — of the truth, that is, as it
must appear to any intelligent being whatever.

NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.

TWO LAY SERMONS.

I. THE SOCIAL PHASE.

" Ab all the membera, being many, are one body, so aUo is Christ." — 1 Cor. xii, 12.

Stnopsis. — I. Practical discrimination of the Social from the Individual Phase of Re-
ligion. — II. The Four Klementd of the Social Phase, as so discriminated. — III.
Review of the Mediatorial Office of Christ. — IV. Review of the Indivisibility of
the Temple of God. — V. Review of " the more sure Word of Prophecy." — VI.

90 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Review of "the Power of the Keys." — VII. Progressive function of the Social
Phase, in its normal subordination to the Individual Phase.

I. There are two texts from the Pauline Epistles which seem not to
have been adequately appreciated and developed in their substantial con-
nection with the two great commandments of the Gospel Dispensation :
"Hast thou faith? Have it to thyself before God" (Rom. xiv, 22);
" Speat every man truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of
another " (Eph. iv, 25). Conaidering, on the one hand, the undeviating
testimony of the ages that individual faith is tbe sustaining principle of
probational or religious life, and, on the other, the summary and most
mature declaration by the Divine Founder of Christianity, that the pur-
pose of his coming into the world was to " bear witness unto the truth,"
these texts may be regarded as especially illustrating, the one the indi-
vidual and the other the social phase of Christian life. The decree, in-
deed, here holds good, "What God hath joined, let not man put asunder,"
so that the second even of these precepts is, doubtless, " like unto ihe
first." But, however inseparable in fact or in practice, the}- must evi-
dently be distinguished in theory or in doctrine, if it be only for the sake
of appreciating the ground of their subordination, which must itself be-
come a fact of practice, as we learn to regard the Lord Jesus Christ as
the Ladder of God, reaching from earth to heaven. Apprehending that
a more definite intelligence of the social phase of the work of religion
may be a present need of the Church and of the world, owing to which
need the individual phase may be too exclusively and self-coraplacently
dwelt upon, and therefore itself be the more imperfectly appreciated, I
confine myself in these remarks to the consideration of that social phase,
secondary though it be, save as the other may be incidentally suggested
thereby.

II. The few observations which I have to make on this subject will be,
for the most part, drawn from, or traceable to, four important articles of
scriptural truth — two of them, it has seemed to me, largely neglected and
almost allowed to lie dormant, and two not so much neglected (indeed,
more or less vigorously disputed) as vaguely and variously understood
or apprehended. The first two articles to which I refer are, first, the
Mediatorship of the Lord Jesus Christ, as being distinctively that office
of Lawgiver prefigured in the Hebrew Dispensation by the leadership of
Moses, whereby He, through his "spirit of life" (Rom. viii, 2) and their
individual faith, progressively and adaptively influences the thoughts and,
through these, the lives of believers, " even unto the end of the world " ;
and, secondly, the Indivisibility of the Temple of God, or " the body of
Christ" (John ii, 21; 1 Cor. vi, 19; Eph. iii, 6, etc.), save into "lively

.V<///'.v and J)i«i itxnon-'<. ttl

stones," or livinn; individual members, and the consequent inapplicaHlity
of the word "temples," as in the plural, to those constituent portions of
the same. The other two articles of Scripture, so to speak, which I have
to cite, are, first, the " more sure Word of Prophec_v," adduced by the
apostle Peter (2 Pet. i, 19) as the light or lamp of the unconverted world ;
and, secondly, the so-called "Power of the Keys" (Matt, xvi, 19, xviii,
18), also more or less casually associated with the name of that apostle,
and also, not unnaturally, especially laid claim to by the great formalizing
Church which regards him as its spiritual patriarch. Of that " more sure
AVord " I will here only say that, unless we will rudely sever the obvious
connection of text and context (as they who confound the record with
the revelation luav here be tempted to sever it), we must understand by
it some present influence which is (not precisely more true, but) more
direct, unmistakable, and efficacious than even the most solemn and im-
pressive " voice from heaven," which may be now a thing of the past,
and so mere matter of record. Upon " the power of the keys " it may
suffice for the present to quote the view of .John Hales, of Eton, as repro-
duced by Principal Tulloch, in his "History of Hational Theology in the
Seventeenth Century " : "The Power of the Keys is simply the privilege
of declarins; or opening the message of Divine love to mankind. It has
no relation to any priestly or judicial function in the Christian ministry.
All who have themselves received the Divine message, or to whom the
kingdom of heaven has been opened, have, eijually with the clergy, the
keys of this kingdom committed to them. ' Every one, of what state or
condition soever, that hath any occasion offered him to serve another in
the ways of life, clergy or lay, male or female, whatever he be, hath these
keys, not only for himself, but for the benefit of others. ... To save a
soul, every man is a priest. To whom, I pray you, is that said in Leviti-
cus, "Thou shalt not see thy brother sin, but thou shall reprove and save
thy brother I " ' "

Let us now review these four articles of scriptural and Divine truth,
and consider how they may be found to converge and in their )ierfection
to coincide in a true view of the social phase of the work of religion.

IIL The Mediatorial Office of our Lord, as thus discriminated, being
necessarily manifested in the social realm of reason or intelligence, as dis-
tinguished from the more individual one of fleshly, and the more transcen-
dental one of spiritual experience (these corresponding, it may be pre-
sumed, to those other offices of vicarious Atonement and heavenly Inter-
cession) ; and reason or intelligence, though it may not be the largest
or deepest ground of communion, being still the only possible common
ground between the believer and the unbeliever, or between the Church

92 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and the world — that Mediatorial Office, as thus understood, or as supply-
ing that supernatural light in which alone nature can be rightly read, and
mankind be made "of one mind," must plainly be the primary influence
of social etficiency. It is in the exercise of this otfico that we may con-
ceive the still abiding Spirit of Christ to equip the members of the Church
(not the Church proper or collective, whose oifice as an organization may
be said to be rather to direct, restrain, and regulate its own unweaned
children in the truth) for the conversion of the world, and regard the
sufficiently matured among them as ministering angels, mounting and
condescending on "the Son of man" or Ladder of God (John i, 51) to
diverse degrees of the Divine life, or even of the natural knowledge of
Divine truth.

lY. If the Mediatorship of Christ be thus the primary influence, the
Indivisibility of the Temple may with equal propriety be called the fun-
damental fact of true social life, seeing that by virtue thereof the oneness
of man is known as corresponding with the unity and simplicity of Divine
truth, so that the exercise of candor, sincerity, and diligent inquiry must
surely result in an ever-growing agreement. The temple must be thus
regarded as including the whole multitude of unforsaken mankind (John
i, 16 ; 1 Tim. iv, 10) ; and in this broad view of it as the Church poten-
tial, some members of the Church actual may perhaps find enlargement
of intelligence and service. " One thing," sang the man after God's own
heart, " have I desired of the Lord, and that will I seek after ; that I may
dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the
beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple."

V. Could the " more sure Word of Prophecy " be justly identified with
the mere record of revelation or so-called " written Word of God " on the
one hand, or, on the other, with that conscious individual manifestation
of the Divine Light with which more spiritual professors may have been
tempted or even constrained to confound it, it certainly could not claim
much notice as a social influence. But even inspired literature must be
subordinate to inspired life. In religion as little as, if not less than, else-
where, can word-teaching anticipate or supplant object-teaching, or con-
vey anything more than the deceitful show of knowledge. As Christ is
formed in the obedient believer, so that he may be said to be even the
mother of the Saviour (Matt, xii, 50), he must in all ages be qualified to
"bear witness" in some degree as having substantially been with Him
"from the beginning" (John xv, 27). Hence there may be as much
right reason as capricious perversity in that trait of the natural man,
which was so concisely commemorated by Prof. Christlieb, in an address
before the New York meeting of the World's Evangelical Alliance in

I^^otes anil JJixrunsumx. 93

1874: "The Christian is the world's Bible, and the only one which it
will read." It should be observed, however, that the Apostle's teaching
does not imply that the record is in no sense a word of prophecy, but
rather the reverse. It only makes it secondary to the ever-growing " ligfht
of the present age." '

VI. "The Power of the Keys" will thus perhaps be seen to be noth-
ing else than the individual administration of the "more sure Word" in
all the provinces of life and thought in proportion to the individual be-
liever's own insight and illumination. " Thou hast given a banner to
them that feared Thee, that it may be displayed because of the truth "
(Ps. Ix, 4). It is that testifying to all realized truth which most efiEectu-
ally, although (because animated by the all-believing charity) more or
less indirectly, and so attractively rather than aggressively, confounds and
vanquishes all error. It may be called the connecting axis of the two
phases of religious or truly working life, under that figure of polarity
which has been employed by Bunsen, and without which, or the allied
symbol of sex, the abounding ambiguities of that life might be found
baffling mysteries rather than serviceable equipments. "History has been
fruitful of good only in so far as it has been the result of the harmonious
action and reaction of two poles, the life of the individual and [that] of
the community. . . . All that is great takes its rise from the individual ;
but only in proportion as he offers up his individual self to the whole."
I would couple with these strong words an echo in rhyme, originally pub-
lished to illustrate a study of " Polarity in Character," or Sex in Mind.^

" Give thanks for insight of the dual force.
Exposed at last, as marshalliiig the course

Of human history !
Reason Divine, thro' instinct of the soul,
Grants thought the sureness and the vigor whole

Exerted socially
By it o'er all with whom the social bond
As yet leads not to that control beyond :

No other mystery
Competes with that of thia interior sex
Running through all life's coquettings complex.

On human dignity
Faith must hang partly till the soul be quite
Turned by the ' inward ' to the ' inner ' Light."

["Clew."— 1 Cor. ii, IB.]

' " It is not the owning of the light as it shone in the foregoing ages which will now
commend any man to God, but the knowing and subjecting to the light of the present
•ge." — Ptnington.

' "Journal of Speculative Philosophy," vol. li.

94 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

VII. The social phase of religious life, as indeed of any subordinate life
which may be weakly imagined to be divorced from the religious, is the
permanently, if not the pre-eminently, progressive phase. It involves
the education of the race as well as of the individual, reaching potentially
to the end of time, and contemplating the full realization or conscious
fulfilment in or by man of the Divine purposes in human life and in the
outward creation. " Wisdom is the principal thing," said King Solomon,
" therefore get wisdom ; and, with all thy getting, get understanding."
And the " Greater than Solomon," " I have many things to say unto you,
but ye cannot bear them now. Howbeit, when He, the Spirit of truth, is
come. He shall guide you into all truth." The present responsibility and
prospective labor which still open before the earnest inquirer might in-
deed be appalling were it not for the assurance, which all true life and
history and literature to him convey, of continued Divine guidance and
enlightenment in all timely research, even in that most difficult of pur-
suits, the knowledge of self. For even the Science of Thought, or Meta-
physics, can no longer be a dreary and comparatively unproductive wil-
derness, when the Lord Jesus Christ is recognized as being Himself the
vitalizing Principle of human intelligence, and as so exerting, through his
illuminated vicegerents and their conscious or unconscious subalterns —
Christ-worshippers, or mere hero-worshippers — his prerogative of Mediator-
ship in God's secret but growing government of the New Jerusalem.
There, indeed, and there only, shall all antagonism betvpeen the Individual
and the Social be superseded, and all men " know even as they are
known." Meantime, there may be profit to some in the reflection that,
if the intellectual life be superior to the physical, the highest function of
" the things which are seen " may be to illustrate " the things which are
not seen."

" Grant first, as all must grant at last, that truth
External is but the symbolic sooth

Of truth interior.
Read, then, in outward life's immensest fact.
Gravely implied, the powers which here distract

Existence at its core.
By that sure lode t'escape distraction's realm
Aspire, with child-like faith at reason's helm.

Nor look back to the shore
Crowded with siren-semblances of bliss.
Regaining so the life controlling ' this,'

Out of its larger lore.
Furnish to all whom wisdom may not vex
The proof and promise of the law of sex."

["Climacteric." — Jno. xii, 31.]

Notes and Discussions. 95

II. THE COLLATERAL TIES.

" That they without us should not be made perfect." — Heb. xi, 40.

Stkopsis. — I. Office of Theologv. — II. Obistaclns of thought and feeling. — III. Matri-
monr a province of Theology. — IV. ilatrimony, therefore, a field of progressive
illumimition. — V. Present obscurity. — VI. Elements of the problem, Grace within
and Pmvidence without. — VII. Possible precedence of the Fraternal Tie over the
Marital.

I. While the scriptural distinction between the Church and the world
shall be valid, or at lea.st until the time for its abrogation may be pre-
sumed to be at hand, it must eridently be in vain to attempt to popularize
religion, in the vital and individually important sense of the term, or to
impress the multitude of mankind with a due sense of the importance of
church interests. But theology, or the mere science of reliijiou, as a
branch of objective knowledge, and a mere branch until the birth of self-
knowledge shall rectify the relations of all other knowledge, we may
rea-sonably and rightly hope to popularize. Such popularization is evi-
dently our only rational means of continued moral reformation, either in
the world or in any section of the professing Church, by the continued
correction of conventional fiction, by the con.sequent promotion of paren-
tal and filial sympathy and communion,' and by a progressive interpreta-
tion into common language ' of the pre-eminent privileges of saintly ex-
perience.

II. Social errors, both of thought and of feeling, are, of course, more or
less immediately the result of individual errors. Every fiction which has
become at all habitual with any individual must evidently be so far an
unconscious deviation in his views of truth from the reality of things.
Every fiction, therefore, which has obtained such currency in any com-
munity as to be fitly styled conventional, plainly becomes a defect in the
prevailing standard of Divine and universal truth, entailing, in proportion
as the principles involved are of fundamentally sacred interest, a practical
deviation of social sentiment from the underlying but overruling reality
of church doctrine. Without conventional fiction there can indeed be no
practically j)rcvailing morbid sentiment.

III. The true doctrine of matrimony is an inseparable part of church reality
and of church history. Explicitly and implicitly, literally and;netaphorical-
ly, it has the fullest sanction of the best life and literature of every age, al-
though definitcness of statement seems to have been largely neglected, pos-

' Revised from original issue in the " Lutheran Observer," under title of " Morbid
Sentiment," Philadelphia, 1872.

• Mai. iv, 6. s 1 Cor. liv, 13.

96 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sibly on the ground that, to a sensibility and experience capable of appre-
hending the subject, the extent and nature of its significance would become
at once self-evident, and such statement accordingly superfluous. Matri-
mony, again, being pre-eminently an affair in which the masses of man-
kind are governed by example rather than precept — by vague social im-
pulse rather than by clear individual reflection — is naturally one of the
last subjects upon which there can be room for the free promulgation of
perfect precept without violating the spirit of the injunction, " Give not
that which is hoi}' unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine."
Officious precision must ever be either, on the one hand, superfluous and
impertinent, or, on the other, inexpedient and injurious.

IV. All imitative life, however, is a species of fiction ; and there is a
point at which all fiction must be overtaken by reality, all the vagueness
of romance by the demonstration of reason, all the poetry of life be con-
firmed by the prose of life, if the crude life is not to become an unsound
life, without first even temporarily maturing into the possibility of useful-
ness. Upon the subject of matrimony, as upon every other, definiteness
of statement must ever be upon the whole increasingly attainable, admis-
sible, and necessary, with whatever tide-like undulations and seeming re-
tracings of progress, until " the earth shall be filled with the knowledge
of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea."

V. The institution of matrimony is certainly, in the present age, in
many Chiistian communities, invested with a halo of romance, which is
often both a false lure to those without its pale and a deceitful resource
to those within. There is, on the one hand, on the part of those who by
the mere a posteriori rule of outward experience should be most compe-
tent, a widely prevailing incompetency to define it as a means ; and, on
the other hand, on the part of young and inexperienced minds, a corre-
sponding tendency to overestimate and to pursue it as an end. The one
party seems thus often constrained to connive at the temporary self-decep-
tion of the other, and to accept at its hands an undeserved and sentimenta.
homage, until the great magic circle is crossed and the inevitably deceived
find themselves in the ranks of the alike inevitably deceiving, in their turn
to exercise a rule of romance over the fresh candidates for life and immor-
tality, in whose eyes the glittering bubble of worldly position may eclipse
the splendors of an eternal inheritance. In the intellectual mist or atmos-
phere of confusion thus perpetuated, not only is the distinction between
the means and the end in matrimony naturally lost sight of, but also the
true force of that sacred and Divine significance of which its wide preva-
lence, even as so imperfectly apprehended, has made it a most convenient
and important symbol. The Spirit of Divine love, which is accessible only

Notes and ZHacusaitmt. 97

through the prayer of faith, and which alone can cast out the slavish
power of fleshly lust in all its Protean transformations, can alone save
us from the losses and dangers of this palpable darkness. Trusting
in that only infallible illumination, I crave the most charitable reception
of these observations and reflections from any who may attempt their
perusal.

VI. For the development of a sound doctrine of matrimony, some
preliminary consideration would seem necessary of the distinction be-
tween the dividual and the individual elements in human life, and in the
work of the blessed Mediator between God and man.

While mankind individually are saved by the individual work of
Christ in his own Person and severally in ours, it is observable that as a
race our hope lies in what may be called his social work, or in his present
universal and more or less external manifestation, in matter and in mind
or thought, as the Power by which or in whom " all things consist." If
this be the case, we may not derogate from the office of our Lord as the
only Saviour by saying that the hope of mankind as a race lies in the
fact that the results of well-doing — what we may call the trophies of a
true or unselfish culture — become embodied in individual organization,
and are transmissible by inheritance along with meaner or more funda-
mentally physical characteristics, so long at least as the culture of the in-
dividual may be found to comport with the propagation of the race.
There is undeniably a sense in which the inner life of the race may be
and is enlarged in an extended intelligence of and mastery over its sur-
roundings ; and without some due appreciation of this fact we can not
truly apprehend nor efficiently argue from the prevailing standard of
intelligence in any particular age of the world or section of society.
Through unconscious superficiality and servility, while human nature
shall remain the, at best, ambiguous thing which it now is, imperfect and
perverted conceptions of its own truly accepted standards and ruling in-
fluences must be generally current, however the conceptions may upon
the whole advance with the reality. Class distinctions so intersect each
other, and classes accordingly so overlap each other, that the true prece-
dence of ideas must become more or less lost to all but the most compre-
hensive and discriminating views ; and the confusion is doubtless welcome
to the wily adversary of souls, whoso commonest and most plausible sub-
terfuge, perhaps, lies in the idolatrous assumption of some one, or more
than one, Divine influence in society, which does not begin with the
manifestation of God in the individual. But the truth abides that all
sound argument as to present realities and future possibilities must begin
by an emancipation from merely numerical and material considerations, in
XIX— 7

98 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that internal and supernatural realm of experience wliicli is open to all in-
dividually only by the door of " faith to themselves before God."

VII. If it be indeed true or conceivable, as has been intimated, that the
fraternal tie, as understood and appreciated by the ideal man or the high-
est type of the individual, satisfies all the social cravings of nature, it fol-
lows that even the holy institution of marriage cannot be essential to the
ideal standard of any, the principles of nature and the laws of progress
being the same in all. The temporary distinction between theory and
practice must, of course, be as valid here as elsewhere, making marriage
more or less largely a practical necessity, deserving of every Divine and
human sanction ; but equally obvious seems the inference that with the
perfection of the race the marital institution may become obsolete.

While marriage, therefore, is doubtless a holy ordinance — so much so
that it becomes a mere question of words whether or not it is to be ranked
as a special sacrament or means of grace — we can only overreach ourselves
by attaching to it an importance or a dignity which it does not possess in
the Divine economy.

The Scriptures, while finding in it a convenient and eflScient, because
familiar, metaphor of heavenly things, clearly intimate limits to both its
duration and its present utility. The terrible vengeance also which King
David and his people of old drew upon themselves by glorying in their
numerical strength, and the modern fact that one who was perhaps the
most influential champion ' of democracy at the most critical period of
American history was a notorious unbeliever in Divine truth, have some
illustrative bearing upon this subject, although to our own age, perhaps,
more directly significant of the growing danger of political pride and cor-
ruption. Everywhere, in Church or in State, in general society, or in the
domestic circle, demoralization and unhappiness must follow the mistak-
ing of means for ends ; and nowhere, perhaps, is the mischief of morbid
sentiment more insidious and far-reaching than in the exaltation, so natu-
ral to the feminine or conventional " mind, of the marital over the fra-
ternal tie. It is certainly, at least as yet, an open question whether
the marital, even in its happiest exemplification, may not, as but initia-
tory, occasional, and disciplinary, be regarded as being but a ready
means ; and the fraternal, in its full significance, as being consummatory,
universal, and permanent, and therefore the worthy end of that means.
"Holy Writ," while ever adapted, in the first place, to the sensibility and
capacity of those to whom it may have been originally addressed, is not
wanting in diverse intimations and indications of such a precedence.

' Thomas Paine. ' 1 Cor. xi, 3.

Notes and Discussions. 99

Much has been revealed to mankind since tlic declaration, " Secret things
belong unto the Lord." As the culmination of the world's history ap-
proaches, let us not relax our diligence in inquiring the remaining mind
of the Spirit,' if it be only by way of ensuring the due development of
the truth alread)" received.

If in the course of this development it shall appear that all vindictive,
commercial, and matrimonial metaphors respecting the conduct of the
spiritual life have alike been adopted by the gracious and ever-practical
Holy Spirit of the omniscient God, in pure condescension to the inveter-
ate entanglement and imprisonment of our race in fallen ways, and in
groveling views of the Divine nature and of human duty, and that the
one lesson which underlies and pervades the seemingly heterogeneous
doctrines of the Gospel is simply the duty and glory of union and com-
munion with God and one another in combating error and in " bearing
witness unto the truth," ' surely nothing but a retrospective morbid senti-
ment which has not escaped the " beggarly elements " can shrink from
joyfully accepting that crowning and peaceful result.

" Lift, lift thy glance, mortal ! troubled, sad.
And lose thy griefs and fears in thoughts of Heaven !
There wait thee solid joys. What most thy heart
Hath yearned to find, yet ever sought in vain
Through perished hopes and crosses ever new —
Sweet rest, with full content thou there shall know.
Thy cup of blessing filled, thou shall behold
Divinest splendors, all things bright and fair;
With which compared, earth's purest loveliness
Bemembered shall all unsubstantial seem,
A shadow and a type." — [" Uome," by Dr. Ray Palmer.]

Richard Randolph.

Pbiladelpbia, Pa.

IN lebensfluteen:

La Borda du Rhin.

Gayly prance the haughty steeds,

Gayly fiaunt the banners all,
Before them the blue Rhine speeds,
All the trumpets loudly call.

Each knight thinks on his lady.
Each squire of his dame so true :

Drooped the banners silently.
Tenderly the bugles blew.

■ John xvi, 13. * John xviii, 37.

100 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Pre-Existence.
Dear child, and would you kisa me ?

You are not mine, I know you not ;
Yet your sweet eyes seem to ask me,

" Hast thou so soon forgot ? "

Yes, I and thou are of one race ;

I did not think to meet thee here,
So long have fatal time and place

Sundered, yet drawn us near !
There, — no more shall I mistake thy face.

Whatever form thy spirit wear.

III.

The Omen.
I dreamed last night

A happy dream ;
To-day my heart is light,

My heart is light ;
No more shall come the night,
Fair morrows on me gleam.

I took her hand in mine.
She kissed me twice and thrice,

Twice and thrice,
And would not let me go.
Happy was I in my sleep ;
Oh, dark and weary days !
Quenched be your feeble light.

And let me slumber deep,

Till I shall feel the glow
Of those warm kisses through the night,

Till she has kissed me twice and thrice.

Twice and thrice.
And will not let me go.

IV.

The Wreck.
Bright were the skies

And calm my heart ;
I saw the Happy Isles arise

There where the stars depart.
I sailed straight on ;

I thought I neared the strand
Where all my toil would soon be done ;

Rocks, rocks on every hand,
Nowhere see I any land.

But a Siren beckons among the rocks and sand.

John Albee.

Nbw Cabtlk, N. H.

Noiet and Discussions. 101

MB. EDWI.Y WALLACE.

[Our readers have seen with deep regret the announcement of the
death of Mr. Edwin Wallace, the brother of Professor William Wallace^
of Balliol College, Oxford. His translation of Aristotle's great work on
the Soul (" De Anima "), which exercised a profounder influence on Euro-
pean thought during the Middle Ages than any other book, has made
him the benefactor of all students of philosophy. His translation is a
marvel of philosophic accuracy and scholarship. We reprint the follow-
ing obituary notice from the "Oxford Magazine" for October 15, 1884. —
Ed.]

The early death of Mr. Edwin Wallace, of Worcester, which took place on Monday,
October 6th [1884], at Davos Platz, will be felt as a personal loss by many attached
friends in and out of Oxford. Those of us who, only a fortnight ago, saw him before
he left home to spend another winter at Davos Platz, were fain to think, as he did him-
self, that there was an improvement in his health, and to entertain good hopes of his
recovery. But this was not to be.

By Mr. Wallace's death, not only have many of us in and out of Oxford lost a friend
valued for the singular sincerity of his character, but the life has closed of one who, as
student, thinker, and teacher, had already accomplished much and gave promise of
accomplishing more.

As a student Mr. Wallace was, from his Undergraduate days at Balliol and Lincoln
upwards, indefatigable. His philosophical reading, both in ancient and in modem
authors, was most extensive. Few, if any, men, at least of his own standing in Oxford,
can have read so extensively in philosophy. Some of the results of this reading were
from time to time given to the world in the form of notices and reviews, marked by
great insight into the spirit and value of the works reviewed — full of sympathetic appre-
ciation even where the conclusions were not such as the reviewer could accept. Mr.
Wallace's chief work, however, as a student was the study of Aristotle. The first pub-
lished result of this study was a little work, " Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle "
(1876), originally intended for the use of the author's own pupils. To meet the demand
of a wider circle of readers a second and enlarged edition was published in 1880, and
in 1883 the Cambridge University Press published a third and still more enlarged edi-
tion, which has taken, and is likely to hold, its position as a standard text-book. Mr.
Wallace's edition of the " De Anima," which appeared at Cambridge in 1882, is the work
with which his name as a student of Aristotle will, however, be chiefly identified. The
" De Anima " is distinguished even among the harder Aristotelian writings for its per-
plexities, textual and other; and in editing it Mr. Wallace could not fail to arrive at some
conclusions on difficult points, which other students, rightly or wrongly, thought mis-
taken. This was inevitable, and only proves the tnith of the saying xoAfirA ri Ka\i :
for, after all deductions have been made on the score of minute points, the fact remains
that this edition, as a whole, is a very considerable work, being, as it is, the first Eng-
lish edition of the " De Anima," which it interprets, not only with learning and acute-
ncss in the special notes, but with remarkable philosophic ability in the general intro-
duction.

As a thinker, Mr. Wallace waa distinguished by a constitutional earnestness of mind

102 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

which caused him to look at all philosophical matters, even those commonly deemed
minor, mih specie aeternitatis, as it were. For this reason, too, there was a reverence in
his manner when he talked on philosophical subjects. Herein lay the great secret of
his philosophical influence. His pupils and others could not help feeling that philoso-
phy is something supremely real and important. To this influence, which so few pos-
sess, he added other qualities of a teacher, not very often found in conjunction witli it
— or even in conjunction with each other — learning and the power of lucid exposition.
Oxford, where personal influences count for so much, has lost one of her most consider-
able forces in Edwin Wallace. But those of us who, either as contemporaries or as
pupils, have had the privilege of his friendship, will be unwilling to think that his per-
sonal influence has ended with his life. He leaves behind him in Oxford the example
of a life devoted, with complete singleness of mind and heart, to the highest objects.

/. EDITH.

Edith, the silent stars are coldly gleaming,

The night-wind moans, the leafless trees are still.
Edith, there is a life beyond this seeming.
So sleeps the ice-clad lake beneath thy hill.

So silent beats the pulse of thy pure heart.

So shines the thought of thy unquestioned eyes,
life ! why wert thou helpless in thy art ?

loveliness ! why seem'st thou but surprise ?

Edith, the streamlets laugh to leap again ;

There is a spring to which life's pulses fly ;
And hopes that are not all the sport of pain,

Like lustres in the veil of that gray eye.

They say the thankless stars have answering vision,
That courage sings from out the frost-bound ways ;

Edith, I grant that olden time's decision
Thy beauty paints with gold the icy rays !

As in the summer's heat her promise lies,

As in the autumn's seed his vintage hides.
Thus might I shape my moral from those eyes,

Glass of thy soul, where innocence abides.

Edith, thy nature breathes of answered praying,

If thou dost live, then not my grief is vain ;
Beyond the nerves of woe, beyond delaying.

Thy sweetness stills to rest the winter's pain.

//. A DEEAM— TO EDITH.

1 dreamed the summer-wind blew cold,

I dreamed that youth and age are vain,
That I was young who now am old.

When spring nor hope may bloom again.

Notet and DUcuasions. 103

I felt that death had drawn more near,

M; youthful hopeii all passed away ;
No heart to press to mine — now dead —

The fields were sere, the skies were gray.

In nature's lessons some are blest ;

From time stern duties might we leam ;
If old myself, there's joy imprest

On fresher hearts, to pulse and burn.

A few sad years and I shall be

Where all I love has sunk to sleep ;
In Nature's arms — fit company

For careless aKins — buried deep.

yy /AoM we (nut desert their trust,

Jf those IPC iove despise and wound ; —
To-morroK, — we are fleeting dust,

Swept, — like the dry leaves, from the ground !

■When death this pal.^ied heart descries,

That sends this trembling scroll to thee,
Child, in whose hope and trust there lies,

Superior faith and purity ;

If, then, upon fate's coldest hour

Thv thought might warm my fading breath,
Life might not seem this hopeless dower.

But I could smile and bless my death.

W. E. Chan.nino.

C05COBD, Mass.

SCEELLISG ON ENGLAND.

There is referred to in the "Life of Schelling" (pp. 16-18) a remark-
able little Latin poem on this subject. Schelling lived to an advanced
age (he was nearly eighty when he died) ; nevertheless, he is a particu-
larly well-marked example of conspicuous precocity in youth. And we
do not refer in that regard to the early age at which he was now a uni-
versity-prodigy, and again even an accepted philosophical authority with
the public, but to his wonderful performances while but as yet a school-
boy. He wrote admirable Greek and Latin when he was no more than
ten years of age. Tlie poem in question, in fact, is found among the
class-exercises that belong to his twelfth year (1787). Written in elegiac
verse, it is addressed " To England " — " ad Angliam " — and consists of
some one hundred and sixty-two lines. It is described (with specimens)
by his biographer pretty well as follows :

The poem begins its great theme with the fervid language of enthusi-

104 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

asm, and Liberty is invoked as the tutelar divinity of England. Refer-
ence to her great men follows. Shakespeare, Milton, Thomson, Hume, Cook
are specially mentioned, and among them Franklin is included, as though
he, too, were an Englishman, and very naturally. Franklin, of course, gives
law to the thunderbolt, and brings fire itself to rule ; while as for Cook,

Coccius immensum ter circum navigat orbem
Et terras quaerit nave fugace novas.

Cook sails three times round the unmeasured globe,
Discovering everywhere strange countries new.

And here the last line especially must be accounted, technically, a good
one.

The greatness of England having thus, in a general manner, been ex-
alted, the poem turns back to the birth of the island itself, and describes
how, in mighty throes of nature, it was torn from the bosom of the conti-
nent. Thereupon, we are to understand, all the gods assembled, like so
many godfathers and godmothers over a new-born child, each with appro-
priate gifts and promises or prophecies of some future excellence.

Neptune, as is but right, comes first and confers on the new island the
empire of the sea. Jupiter himself follows next, to ratify the dower and
pronounce England future Queen of the World. Mars then also adds his
assurance of England's bravery and greatness. Apollo succeeds and prom-
ises his support, with special reference to the poets. And, lastly, it is the
god Mercury descends to endow England with the world's commerce :

Mercatura tuis florebit me duce quondam ;

Tolle oculos ! vobis pontus ubique patet.
Nunquam non alio terras sub sole calentes

Nave petas, fausto tramite cursus eat,
Excedet portu portumque redibit onesta

Argento navis divitiisque tibi, etc.

Commerce shall one day flourish for thy sons.
Me guiding. Lo ! to them ocean opes wide.
And never shall they disembark on lands,
Or lord o'er seas, that warm not to the suns
Of other climes. Laden for thee with gold,
The ship shall harbor leave, and harbor seek, etc.

When the gods have exhausted themselves in gifts and blessings, the
goddesses, too, must have their turn of benefaction, with Juno to begin :

NoUa and Discussions. 105

Sublunes vobis animos mcntemque, Britanni,
Reddam, ait, excelsam consitnilemque meae,

Nobilis ut vobis in corde superbia regnet,
Et vera nientes ambitionc regam.

Sublime I'll make your minds, Britons, she says,
And give you souls high, haughty, like my own :
So noble pride shall reign within, and fill
Your manly hearts with true ambition's fire.

That is a strong testimony ; but even earlier in the piece the poet had
expressed his sense of the proud and imperturbable spirit of the English
in verses not unworthy of a poet at first hand :

Sublimis mens est Anglis, et conscia magnae

Vlrtutis celso pectora corde ferunt.
Sic quoque Massyliis subito deprensus in arvis

Stat leo virtutis conscius ipse suae ;
Undique se fundunt circum, genus acre, Molossi,

Coelum latratu persona turba ferit.
Ille manet ricturaque fremens ostendit et ungues,

Excussisque horrent aspera coUa jugis.

Sublime the minds of Englishmen, who bear

Still in their great breasts consciousness of worth :

So stands the lion on Massylian plains,

Whom, proud in himself, the fierce crew of dogs

Molossian, sudden sweep round, with bark

Vexing high heaven that echoes to the din.

He fronts them firm ; growling, shows teeth, shows jaw,

With bristling horror of his upraised mane.

PaUas follows Juno with the gifts of art and science. Pallas is suc-
ceeded by the goddess of love, to whom it belongs to promise England
fair women for her brave men :

Magni vos estis — quoque foemina magna sit Angli,
Ac eat in vestros pukra puella sinus.

You are great, ye English ; be therefore great
And beautiful the maiden in your breast.

Ceres comes last :

Tandem laeta Ceres spicis redimita capillos
Tales purpurco mittit ab ore sonos.

106 The Jouriial of Speculative Philosophy.

At last glad Ceres came, with wheat-ears crowned,
And smiled from roseate lips the self-same praise.

She promises England that her fields shall be fruitful and blest for-
ever. So now the great close :

Sic Divi. — Exultans ter promit gaudia felix

Insula, ter tumido se movet ipsa mari ;
Consonat omne fretum, vocem gratantia volvunt

Litora, ter reboant saxa petraeque maris.

Thus they. — The happy island thrice sends forth
Her joy; thrice leaps within the swelling sea;
Each strait resounds ; the shores shout gratitude,
While rock and cliflE thrice echo every note.

Even so much Latin praise of blushing England seems not to have been
enough for the boy-poet of the Fatherland ; he must needs follow it up
by ever so many hexameters in Greek, too, to a like eflEect.

Perhaps one's fellow-countrymen — and certainly the countrymen of
Emerson are one's fellow-countrymen — will find it at least curious that
there should have been, just about a century ago, such a high ideal of
English greatness existing anywhere in the minds of Germans ; for the
war in the Peninsula was not yet, nor Trafalgar, nor Waterloo. There is
a little poem of PfefEel's, too, which would seem to testify to the enter-
tainment of a like ideal by another German, and Pfeffel was born some
forty years before Scbelling. The poem in reference is entitled " The
Doctor and the Patient." The latter talks, naturally, of his sufferings ;
but he is answered only on the part of the physician with the politics of
the day :

" Well ! how's the health to-day ? " " 111, my dear doctor, ill ;

I feel so feeble that I scarce can move."
" You'll see that Spain will win the glove.

If England give her help." " My sleep, too, is not well."
" Now, there again, England holds Portugal ? " etc.

So Pfefiel, it would seem, must have nourished some such ideal of
England as Schelling did after him. It is sufficiently curious, for even
Shakespeare gives no grander ideal of England in his famous address :

This sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ;

Aotes and Diacussiont. 107

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea;

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

One wonders what the great Julius would say to all that, could he but
see it. What surprise were his did he but step ashore on Kent again, or
sail through the Pool, or board our great ironclads, or take train from
Dover to London, or send a message by telegraph from Paris to Rome,
or converse by telephone ! Would his entire generation of Latins, were
it alive now, overloaded by our civilization, only sink beneath it, and fade
before us, even as the Red Indians do ?

Another notice of England on the part of Schelling occurs at page 277,
vol. i, 2te Abth., of his collected works. As regards adoption of the
principle of experience, he says thus : " England took the lead, France
followed. \Ve have seen since then, however, that, in the country of Des-
cartes, a party consisting of bolder spirits demands again a metaphyics,
though with proviso of the initiative iu experience. Whether this time
England will follow remains to be seen. To all calls in this direction, as
yet, and such calls have not been wanting — I may remind of Coleridge,
for example — the answer has been : ' 1 am rich and increased with goods,
and have need of nothing.' The trade of the globe, the enormous devel-
opment of the industrial arts, the never-stopping, though so far regular,
action of its political life, iu conjunction with an obscure, barbarous juris-
prudence and a stationary Church, take in, on one side, so many interests,
and, on another side, give so much fixedness to the various relations,
that people there can find no inclination to subject themselves to the
casualties which are unavoidably associated with the prosecution of the
higher sciences, and contentedly bear the want of what the Germans, since
so long a time, so highly esteem."

Faithful Anr/lo-Israel — that nowadays, of the two sons of Joseph so
remarkably blessed by Jacob, considers Ephraim to refer to England and
Manasseh to refer to America — will be rather interested, we should think,
in the.se expressions (especially the former ones) of Schelling's !

J. Hutchison Stirling.

LOYE.

Unconquerable and inviolate
1.1 Love: servant and sovereign of man's «it.
Though the light-winged Fancy changeful flit,
She ruleaunswcrvingly her fair e.itate,
O'crbeare mUchance and error, envy and hate.
High intellect, ambition, pa.-^siou, pride ;

108 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Endowments that capricious fortune brings,
By her disfranchisements are set aside,
The mistress she alilse of slaves and kings.
Empress of Earth's dominions, far and wide,
Eldest of Potentates, and latest born.
Of all in Heaven above, or Earth below !
No being so illustrious or forlorn.
That to Love's sceptre doth not gladly bow.
January, ISSO. A. Bronson Alcott.

SENTENCES IN PROSE AND VERSE.

selection bt w. e. ohannino.

A man does not value the Creator so much here ; he thinks of the cre-
ated. Here falls the crown of humanity upon his head in its circle of
beauty, suffering, and uncertainty. The speechless air, the deaf earth,
the blindness of substance — what do they but render us back vagueness
for vagueness ? Why was Christ tempted on a mount ? Not because he
could see therefrom the kingdoms of the earth. — Elizabeth Stoddard.

In civilized epochs men write histories ; in barbarous ages they act
them. — Michelet.

With what thoughts in his own lofty, opaque mind ; like a crowned
mule, of such pace and carriage, who had unexpectedly stepped on gal-
vanic wires. — Carlyle.

Darkness is the dead Earth's Shadow. — Ibid.

for the spirit of that matchless man,
Whom nature led throughout her whole domain,
While he embodied breath'd ethereal air. — Landor.
His unshorn hair, grown soft in these abodes,
Waved back, and scattered thin and hoary light. — Ibid.
Whose hills
Touch the last cloud upon the level sky. — Ibid.
Fallen, unpitied, unbelieved, unloved,
I should have died long earlier. — Ibid.

Surely no air is stirring ; every step

Tires me ; the columns shake, the ceiling fleets.

The floor beneath me slopes, the altar rises. — Ibid.

What almanac can calculate fine weather

In those strange fickle regions where God plants

A man and woman, and sticks love between. — Ibid

Notes and JM.icussions. 109

What we love
Is loveliest in departure. — /6irf.

The least syllable too long, or too slightly dwelt upon in a period, de-
preciates it to nothing, which very syllable, if rightly touched, shall, like
the heightening stroke of light from a master's pencil, give life and spirit
to the whole. — Colley Cihher.

The twentieth part of a tone lower or higher, and it sounds false. The
actor had listened long for it, before he says, " Zaire, you weep," and it
is because he listens when he seems agitated, and because his sole talent
consists, not in feeling as you think, but to counterfeit thus scrupulously
the external signs of feeling, that you are therein deceived. — Diderot.

I was the person himself, not the actor playing the part, as natural as
if I had been acting alone. L'optique du theatre is based on other laws.
—.VoU.

Acting should be absolutely art; all in it needs to be foreseen and cal-
culated; the sudden seeming movement, the pang so involuntary, tone
and gesture and look deemed all inspiration, have been rehearsed hun-
dreds of times. Emotion spoils the effect, the voice hesitates, memory
fails, gesture is false, and the end lost sight of. — Talma.

The stifEen-bodied gown would not add charms, I believe, to a beauti-
ful woman, no more than Voltaire's laboured turns of expression add to
his stile. — Lady Luxboro [lliS].

Permit me to interrupt what I am saying with a curse against crow-
pens. How much more friendly are the geese ! — Ibid.

Pope would have died many years ago had he been obliged to refrain
from satire, the sole delight of his peevish little temper. — Ibid.

A woman may be privileged to swerve from such rules as she may be
supposed not to understand. — Ibid.

The great Handel has told me that the hints of his very best songs
have several of them been owing to the sounds in his ears of cries in the
streets. — Ibid.

Those persons who cannot find pleasure in trifles are generall)- wise
in their own opinions, and fools in the opinions of the wise. — Ibid.

When my brother Bolingbroke built Dawley, which he chose to call a
Farm, he had his hall painted in stone-colors with all the implements of
husbandry, placed in the manner one sees or might see arms and trophies
in some general's hall. — Ibid.

At last I am in the fashion, and have got a Pantin (jumping-Jack).
There is a party of ladies and gentlemen at Vauxhall. The ladies crow

110 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

like cocks, and if any of the gentlemen of the party are within hearing,
they answer them by braying like an ass. — Ihid.

I cannot tell who wrote the verses in a Country Church-yard, but I
like them well, and think all the first part of the Elegy very beautiful.
I cannot see why it did not end at the most beautiful line in it. — Ihid.

"He was a worthy man and an ojien enemy" [the King on Sir Wal-
kin's death]. — Ihid.

Contrary to custom, I was not alone, having Mr. and Mrs. Holyoak
eating a barrel of oysters with me ; after which we supped. — Ihid.

My wife's name was Ensor, whose grandmother was a Shakespeare, de-
scended from the brother of everybody's Shakespeare. — Dyer [the poet].

'Tis the general maxim of all our colleges to choose a man of manage-
ment for their head rather than a man of letters. — Legris [in France].

The effect of distant waves breaking heavily was such as you could
imagine the sound of a giant might be who, coming back from travel
unto some smooth and level and still and solitary place with all his armor
and all his spoils about him, casts himself slumberously down to rest. —
Landor.

Par I'eclat d'une fardeau trop pesant a porter (Boileau). I never heard
until now that a fardeau, could have an eclat. — Ihid.

Those whose hearts possess the rarest and divinest faculty of retaining
or forgetting at option what ought to be forgotten or retained. — Ihid.

It seems a part of the rock, it has such deep crevices and chinks in
it, and so much gray moss, hard as itself, about it. With all its twist-
ings and writhings it can not keep its ragged coat right around it ; but
one patch gapes here, another there, and much has fallen in tatters at its
feet. Wonderful, then, it should have the prettiest leaves and branches
in the world, with a motion as graceful as a peacock's. — Ibid [a birch-
tree].

I always feel a kind of average between myself and any other person I
am talking with — between us two I mean. — Lady Ashhurton.

I have seen
A pine in Italy that casts its shadow
Athwart a cataract ; firm stood the pine.
The cataract shook the shadow. — Tennyson.
O Saint of Aragon ! with that sweet worn smile
Among thy patient wrinkles. — Ihid.

Notes and iJiscusifiona. Ill

There runs a shallow brook across our field
For twenty miles, where the black crow flies five,
And doth so bound and babble all the way
As if itself were happy. — Ibid.

Our altar is a raound of dead men's clay,

Dug from the grave that yawns for us beyond. — Ibid.

The serpent that bath slough'd will slough again. — Ibid.

They are not sweet,

The ^olence and the craft that do divide

The world of nature ; what is weak must lie. — Ibid.

Thine is a half-voice and a lean assent. — Ibid.

I am nearly through Xenophon [a picture], but with not a shilling for
the winter, and my children literally in want of stockings for the cold. —
Haydon.

Completed Adam and Eve. Now for Satan on Monday, with only Is.
t)(/. in my pocket, huzza ! — Ibid.

To read Milton, Tasso, and Shakespeare in grassy nooks by the rippling
sea, to unbind her hair and watch her fastening it with her ivory arms
bent back over her head. — Ibid.

I saw it was only necessary for the Duke's system to come in contact
with Napoleon's to split it. — Ibid.

Old Bone, the enamel painter, who has got a nervous twitch and a
croaking voice, as if he was always watching a bit of ivory in a furnace
for fear it should crack. — Ibid.

I was so long without speaking to a human creature that my gums
became painfully sore from the clenched tightness of my teeth. — Ibid.

A star is always shining in my brain, which has always led me on, and
ever will. — Ibid.

I read seventeen hours a day on Clarissa Harlowe, and held the book
so long up, leaning on my elbows as an arm-chair, that I stopped the cir-
culation and could not move. — Ibid.

I wrote a pamphlet directly which everybody praised and nobody
bought. — Ibid.

A man who has a fixed purpose to which he devotes his power is in-
vulnerable. Like the rock in the sea, it splits the troubles of life as they
eddy around him in idle foam. — Ibid.

What is known comes not by its own power, hut from the power of
him who knows. — Boethius.

112 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Here lies Sylvius, who never gave anything gratia ; he is dead, yet will
he weep that any one can read this gratis. — Buchanan.

Small matters amuse most in the country. — Colley Cihher.

I have sent you by Vacandary the Post, the French Bever, and Twee-
sers you writ for ; Bever-hats have grown dearer of late, because the Jesuits
have got the Monopoly of them from the King. — Howell.

My Lord Chancellor Bacon is lately dead of a long languishing weak-
ness ; he died so poor that he scarcely left money to bury him, which,
tho' he had a great Wit, did argue no great Wisdom, it being one of the
essential Properties of a wise Man to provide for the main chance. — Ibid.

I love not those viscosa beneficia, those bird-lim'd Kindnesses which
Pliny speaks of; nor would I receive Money in a dirty Clout if possibly
I could be without it. — Ibid.

I find it true now that one of the greatest tortures that can be in the
negotiation of the World is to have to do with perverse, irrational, half-
witted men, and to be worded to death by nonsense. — Ibid.

'Twas a brave, generous saying of a great Armenian Merchant, who, hav-
ing understood how a Vessel of his was cast away wherein there was laden
a rich Cargason on his sole Account, struck his hand on his breast and
said, " My Heart, I thank God, is still afloat ; my Spirits shall not sink
with the Ship, nor go an Inch lower." — Ibid.

An actor's standing among the Romans was infamous, but honorable
with the Greeks. How is it now ? We think of them like Romans, and
live with them like Greeks. — La Bruyere.'

It needs little depth of mind to form polite manners, but much to
acquire right perceptions. — Ibid.

The rule of Descartes, that no one should try to answer the least ques-
tion before clearly understanding what it is, may be wisely used in our
judgment of persons. — Ibid.

Some men possess a degree of mental mediocrity which serves to make
them appear wise. — Ibid.

One sign of mediocrity is to be always telling anecdotes. — Ibid.

Between good sense and good taste there is the same difference as be-
tween cause and effect. — Ibid.

We approve of others chiefly from the likeness they possess to our-
selves, and if we wish greatly to esteem a person we need only to consider
him our equal. — Ibid.

' Translation by W. E. C.

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY,

Vol. XIX.] Apeil, 1885. [No. 2.

IMMORTALITY.'

BY R. A. HOLLAND.

The question of man's immortality is answered by his nature.
His nature is his destiny. The rock crumbles because it is dust,
water evaporates because it is vapor. Wherein does man differ
from rock and water and other perishing things that he should be
imperishable?

The things that perish we call phenomena. They are, as their
name indicates, mere appearings, dissolving views. Their being
is a ceasing. They are and are not in the same moment. As you
see it, the Norway spruce seems in repose, but its repose is really
the sleep of a spinning top. It is a multiplying of cells, a run-
ning of sap, a spinning of iibriles, a sprouting and spreading of
branches — all quiver and whirl from root to leaf; so Nature throbs
throughout, an immense Ygdrasil whose leaves are worlds. The
most immovable rocks are in molecular motion ; the air is a per-
petual vagrant ; animal organisms are but shifting eddies offerees
that pass in and out ; the light on the landscape now was never
there before, and is gone in a twinkling ; the old earth is new
every day.

' Read at tin- Toncord School of PliilosopliT, July SI, 1884.
XIX— 8

114 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

In this universal flow of things each has a bound where it ceases
to be itself and becomes something else. The bound makes it
what it is, and it continues to be itself only throughout such
changes as take place within tliis bound. For in Nature naught
stands alone. Everything exists in and by other things. The
Norway spruce, in its quiver and whirl, is a transitory form of min.
gled earth, air, and sunshine, and when they part company the
spruce is no more. But earth, air, and sunshine are also transi-
tory forms — earth, perhaps, a curdled atmosphere, the atmosphere
a fine mist from the sun, and the whole triad one and the same
gas which burns yonder, crystallizes here, fluctuates between, and
proves everywhere equally elusive. Now, this removal of limits,
this " othering " of things, we call death. If, then, everything
exists in another, and there be thus only dependent things, Nature
is always dead. It has no true life, no life that abides throughout
endless change. Stretch the chain of dependeneie- back as far as
you please, and you get no nearer true eternal life than you were
at the start. In the gas of worlds the question is just as pertinent
as it was under the spruce: what and whence is it? And if it
be answered that the gas ie a cloud of atoms, the question again
arises : By what properties did the atoms make a cloud, and
whence procured they space and time to make it in ? It there
had been an endless series of causes, each cause was an eifect which
merely transmitted a force not its own, and the entire series, there-
fore, one of effects without a cause — eflfeets which were not eflects.
Thus death itself, unsupported by life that never dies, is swal-
lowed up in contradiction. Life there must be, eternal life ; other-
wise there were no death, nothing to die. Where shall this life
be found ? Not in any chain of causes and effects where physical
science searches — a chain which, though it lengthen forever, hangs
on ultimate contradiction, but rather in such a form as may con-
tain all changes, so that they shall be changes within it — a form
that is its own substance, self-bounded, self-determined, whole,
like the ocean which, while its waves lapse into each other, re-
mains in each and all of its waves the same ocean still.

Evidently such a whole of self-relation and self-activity cannot
die. It cannot die into nothing, since the sum of being can nei-
ther increase nor diminish. Substance remains always the same ;
force forever persists ; the whole cannot become less than the

Immortality. 115

whole. Neitlier can this wliole die by losing its total form in
otlier forms than its own. No special form it may take can alter
its form of wholeness. To think otherwise is to tliink that there
is somewhat else than the All which the All ma}' become. But
this else than the All would reduce the AUness to a part which
it would limit as another part. The true All must be the All of
possible changes as well as of changing things and relation?. For
mere change cannot be the All. If change be All and the All
changes, then change itself must change, and the clianging of change
would i)e permanence. Indeed, onh- the permanent can chance.
A\ hat ceases does not change. It was and is not ; in so far as it
is not it has no predicates; there is no it to talk about. It must
extst in oi'der to change. Change is change of exister.ce which
only by continuance from its past phase into the phase that now
is, and the phase that is to come, renders them in any sense its
successive ])hases. Thus the very change wiiidi is the cessation
of the phases presupposes a permanence under and through all
])hase3. Nature's finite forms cease, Nature's total form abides.
As death is the law of external relation, so the law of self relation
is life everlasting.

If man, then, lives forever, it is because he is inherently self-re-
lating — having as the form of his personality that wholeness which
includes all possible changes, and hence may never change away
from itself. Make him a mere phase or iihenomenon and lie must
jierish. Ilis substance being outside of himself, he must vanish
thither to realize it. The action of the All upon him will neces-
sarily dissipate him. Lacking the form of the All, he can only
l)ecome the All by losing his partial form, and losing it again and
again so long as it remains partial. Immortality will never come
to him from without. Only the All-form can hold unchanged
the all of changes. Conditional immortality, immortality as a
gift or reward, immortality by some sort of ethical or religious se-
lection which man may or may not make, are contradictions in
terms. They define man as a thing in order that he may have
the destiny of that whole which denies to things permanent or
substantial being. They give this human thing a freedom of
choice wiiich implies the very wholeness of self-determination that
is essentially uiulying. They violate the divine immortal princi-
ple in man by rendering its deepest and most demonstrative ne-

116 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

cessities contingent and conjectural. For reason, which is this
divine immortal principle, deals only with the necessities of
thought, and, when thouglit's necessities are loosened into contin-
gent and conjectural play, reason abandoTis them to caprice, none
the less caprice because compassionate, none the less a humor
because good humor.

Immortality, then, is not a boon man has to acquire, Imt man's
inherent, indefeasible, essential existence. He is immortal because
he is not a thing, but man. He is immortal because his substance
is his own and not the property that outside powers possess within
him. He is immortal because the relations that constitute his be-
ing are the relations of his own thought which he can best realize
bj' thinking them for himself, and which his thinking of them
will make more and more his own, so that he must think on for-
ever in order to be all that his thought may become, and thereby
fulfil his destiny.

Has not Thought the All-form ? Can it ever become other than
thought ? Can it think any other than the other which it thinks,
and, by thinking, includes within Thought's totality? Are not all
its changes changes of its own persistent activity which is never so
active, and hence never so much itself, as -when thinking them?
How, then, shall Thought ever think itself dead or on the way to
die? In every such conception it stands strong-limbed and open-
eyed by its sick-bed, and dresses its own dead body for burial.
And when physical science speaks of the indestructibility of sub-
stance and persistence of force, it means nothing else than thought's
inability to think its own diminution or decease. No indestructi-
bility or persistence can be conceived which is not the indestructi-
bility and persistence of conception. If you try to imagine that
force or substance may have existence outside and independent of
your thought, you will discover upon reflection that this existence
which you think them to have is but the existence of your think-
ing, and therefore itself but thought.

It is impossible to escape this totality of Mind. All distinctions
are its distinctions, and remain within the mind that makes them.
Fancy and fact, real and ideal, outside and inside, force and free-
dom, nature and spirit, relative and absolute, belong equally to the
intelligence that thinks one side as well as the other and gives to
both alike their validity. Thought is tiie test and measure of

Immortality. 117

all truth. Tlie untrue is siinpl}' the unthinkable. Tlioiif^lit is
All and the only All. And, since thouglit is All, in thinkin}^
All it thinks itself. Its All-fonn, accordingly, is self-thinking
or eelf-conscionsness. Self-consciousness, therefore, wherever it
exists, must abide forever. It cannot deny its immortality. It
has always to affirm its existence in order to deny it. It must say
I in order to say I am not. The more this I declares its uncer-
tainty of self, the more it vouches its certainty of a self that is
uncertain. The chemist says, / know elements ; the botanist, I
know plants; the zoologist, /know animals; the sociologist, /
know society. And thus all their sciences are the science of one
and the same " /," expressing its universal activity as their method
and law. Everything perceived rises to its feet by command of
perception to own this " /" as its creator and lord. If you look
into a microscope you will say, "/ " see what is seen there. If
you gaze at far-away worlds you will still testify, " / " beliold
their distance and their immensity.

The universe e.xists but to echo and proclaim the same sovereign
name, for the universe as known is the universe of knowledge, and
all knowledge is the knowledge of an ego that knows. " I, I, I,"
you hear it everywhere, from everything. Back in the fog of
formless worlds there is an "/" to know their formlessness. For-
ward, when worlds shall be dried up and desolate and solitary as
moons, there will stand an "/" that knows their desolation and
solitude. All ignorance knows an "/" that is ignorant; all
agnosticism an "/" that is agnostic. The supreme inevitable,
autocratic fact from everliisting to everlasting is the fact of a self-
conscious Ego.

Whose ego? Not yours and mine? Yes, yours and mine.
"Whatever belongs to any ego belongs to all egos. Indeed, there
is but one in all. I means every I. It is the universal man in all
particular men, the universal mind in all particular minds. Men
and minds may diti'er in accidents of temperament, impression,
habit, mood, but essentially they are the same. The truth of one
must be the truth of all ; the good of one, the good of all; other-
wise one mind's trath would be another's error, and one man's
good another's evil. But, when truth is error and error truth,
there remains neither truth nor error; and, when good is evil and
evil good, good and evil have vanished together.

118 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Now, this one Reason in all reasons, which alone roakes auj'
goodness or truth possible, is that which in them all calls itself by
the same name, " I." And in so far as any man is an Zor ego he
is absolute or God. If his objectivity were equal to this divine sub-
ject of his selfhood, lie would be absolutely God. But liis self-
hood is out of balance. It has two contradictory sides. As sub-
ject he is one with God. as object he is one with Nature ; as sub-
ject he is essential, as object he is phenomenal ; as subject he is
permanent, as object he is under tiie law of time and change.
This contradiction is manifest throughout his consciousness. He
thinks God, and can think no God who is not his thought; and
yet, at the same time, he thinks himself as brought into being by
the God who is his thought. He knows the univei-se as existing
only for knowledge, but knows as well that the universe existed
ages and ages before his individual knowledge had found out so
much as the use of an India-rubber rattle. He is perfectly aware
of his unity with all men as expressed in language significant of
universal thoughts, and in social laws provident for universal needs,
and in ethics whose mutual exactions come from universal ideals;
nevertheless, he has a sense of separation and privacy unshared by
any other individual. Conscious of permanent identity as the con-
dition of all his knowledge, relating as it does successive sensations
into ideas and ideas into experience, he, notwithstanding, laughs
or weeps over his life as a creature of birth and death, tilled with
freaks that seem breathed into it by the wind that blows now
from the south and now from the east, turning by the slightest
veer pleasure into pain or pain into pleasure. Take away the
permanent, the unitive, the divine, and you have an animal. Cut
off" the freaks and privacies and sensations, and you have God.
Both must be present to constitute man. Man thus is God mani-
fest in the flesii — God the permanent, unitive, eternally knowing
subject come by his own self-begetting thought into this objec-
tivity of sense, privacy, and accidence, and by such relation eoubti-
tuting another self which can only be a sell by being not subject
merely, nor merely object, but subject and object in a unity of
consciousness that maintains itself in and by their distinction.
The pre-existence of the subject of this consciousness does not
prove the individual man pre-existent any more than the phenome-
nality of its object proves him moribund. Man does not begin to

Immortality. 119

exist as iinliviilual until tlie eternal sulijeet and tlie tfmporul ob-
ject are uiiiteil a? a ilistinet individual consciousness wliieli shall
forever keep its two sides — temporal and eternal, earthly and
lieaveidy — hut keep tlieni in a unity which is neither because it is
both, the heavenly in the earthly making the human, the eternal
in the temporal making the immortal. For in this unity the
constitutive type must come from the subject which knows and
contains its distinctions of knowledge within itself as knowing
them. The object changes but the subject abides. The object
is partial and under the law of death ; the subject is whole and
cannot die. The object is phenomenal and has no substance in
itself ; the subject is nouraenal, and hence its own substance and the
substance of the object as well. And, as the pas?ing is ever ruled
by tlie permanent, the seeming by the substantial, the part by the
whole, the man will take his character from his permanent sub-
stantial and whole self which has the All-form, the form that never
alters nor perishes, the form of immortality. Hence every man
must call himself / as his everlasting patronymic, whatever bap-
tismal names of nature he may iind it convenient to assume. As
he grows out of nature into spirit, he will rise by blood-right of
consciousness into gradual inheritance of all the powers of the
absolute Ego whose name he bears. His post-existence will be-
come pre-e.\istent in its ability to restore the past by a creative
thoujrht more divine than reminiscence. He will ever live back-
ward in living forward, and grow eternal with the growth of im-
mortality. "Mind," said Hermes Trismegistus, "is not cut oft'
from the essentiality of the Godhead, but united to it just as light
is to the sun. The mind in men, indeed, is God. Wherefore also
some men are gods and their humanity is nigh to Deity."

Does this involve an absorption into the Absolute or God,
and loss of personality ? No. Man already has in his self-con-
sciousness the form of God which more of God's essence would
not destroy but till. God's fulness can never break God's lorm.
Not by lessening but by increasing self-consciousness will man be-
come like the self-conscious All. His absorption into the infinite
will render his self-consciousness infinite. The more he is lost in
God, the more he will find God in himself. Only when God dies
can the God-man die. Man's death were God's imbecility. For
the human mind is no arbitrary creation that can be created or

120 The Jov/mal of Speculative Philosophy.

cancelled by omnipotent caprice. God is Keason, and bound, by
tiie necessity of his own perfection, to be rational. Man is this
reason in its perfect form of selfhood. Thus man's very self-
hood expresses the divine necessity for his continuance. Con-
sciousness, divine as well as human, exists only as a unity of
distinctions. God must know himself as object to himself, and,
since his self is the self of knowing, he must be object in
order to be subject — eternally other in order to be eternally the
same. And this principle of otherness or alteration constitutive
of his objectivity generates the antithesis of nature with nature's
antithetic divisions, changes polarities, through a process of be-
coming which completes its circle and finds again its total form as
a self in man — still other to God and yet God's other self — oppos-
ing its multiplicity of otherness to God's subjective unity, a self
of many selves, natural as well as spiritual — human because di-
vine. It belongs, therefore, to the divine reason that man, having
its total form, should inherit all its consequences. His distinction
from God is as much a consequence of this total Ibrm as his iden-
tity with God. If God is man's self, man is no less essentially
God's other self. As man cannot know himself without knowing
God, so God cannot know himself without knowing man. Hence,
I say, when man becomes unconscious God will have lost his wits.
And this I believe to be the Christian doctrine of the Incar-
nation. The union of God and man in Christ did not produce an
exceptional and hybrid personality, but existed befoi-e the foiin-
dation of the world. Christ was the divine Reason, or Word, as
Heason's utterance, outerance, or objectivity. As such He is that
source and archetype of nature and of man, by whom "all things
consist" and in whom "all fulness dwells." In revealing God
to man as human. He has revealed men to themselves as divine.
It is for the Ego in them he speaks when he says, " Before Abra-
ham was I am," and "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father."
His prayer is that by knowing themselves in Him they may be
one with Him in conscious purpose as they already are one with
Him in the divine idea. The glory God had given Him before the
world was, He would give to them as rightly theirs. Because He
lived, they should live also. And the life they should live would
be knowledge — knowledge in its perfect form of an absolute Self,
objectivated in Christ, the unbeginning ME of God, the everlast-

Immortality. 121

ing I of men. "This is eternal life — to know thee, the only true
God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent " — Jesus the individu-
al of Galilee and of Herod's reign, in order to show that, as indi-
viduals and not as a mere abstraction of race, all men in their sev-
eral placi'S and times had iiis Christliood and might attain to its
utmost divinity. All men might come to the fulness of the stat-
ure of a perfect man in Christ Jesus. The Christ in all men was
their hope of glory. All men could ascend to heaven and sit
down on God's throne. All men were heirs of God and joint
heirs with Jesus Christ. All men were God-men.

Immortality, then, as the inherent destin}' of self-consciousness
by virtue of its All-form, is the highest thought of philosophy
and religion concerning man.

Try, however, any theory of man you please, and, unless you
ignore or warp the facts, yon will be driven to the same conclu-
sion. Sup])oie man as mind or the self of knowledge to be only
a name for a series of sensations. It is evident these sensations
cannot be like those described by Hume or Huxley — mere moment-
ary and fleeting impressions. Such sensations might exist in suc-
cession, but could never form a series. A series implies unity and
permanence. It is one as a series, and, though each sensation
ceases, the series must continue. Some sort of knowing must be
present throughout the whole series to recognize it as a unity of
many impressions and the continuance of their successive ceasings.
But, if there be no distinct mind to know this, it must be known
by one of the sensations which shall gather all the others into its
consciousness. And tliis consciousness will be a consciousness of
sensation's self as the totalitj' of all knowledge. For the sensation
must know itself to be sensation and not substance. Nay, if
knowledge be sensation, sensation cannot know that there is any
other substance, or reality, or certitude than its own. How can
the knowledge which is all sensation know anything that is not
sensation i Sensation, then, is aiisolute. Sensation, consequently,
cannot change. Change itself is only sensation, and that which
knows all change cannot itself change, for its changing would in-
volve a change of all knowledge, whose only alternative is igno-
rance, and thus leave one and the greatest change unknown by the
knowledge of all changes. Sensation, therefore, as absolute, is eter-
nal, and man's self as sensation is as certain and whole and true

122 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

a copy of the eternal absolute as if it were the self of transcen-
dental thought.

No possible definition of sensation can destroy or diminish this
selfhood. Let the feeling be but one of succession, it must still
know itself as following and preceding other feelings in order to
know that it is one of a succession, and such knowledge involves
the relation of time which can never result from a sensation that
presupposes it. Moreover, to know that auglit went before it re-
quires memory, even as the anticipation that aught is to follow it
requires the principle of cause and effect as the ground of its
belief. For impression cannot compare itself with impression ;
one is over and gone before the other comes, and only the idea of
it in recollection would remain for comparison. Whence this
idea ? Did the sensation sense the sensation that preceded it 1
Then it must have acted before it began to exist. Or, if two
could co-exist for communication, they would have to know each
other in this relation of co-existence which is Space, and recognize
themselves as two and not one by a relation of Quantity, and,
when thxis put on speaking terms, invent or recall a common lan-
guage in which to communicate ; else how could the old sensation
tell its experience to the new and so transmit the knowledge of the
past to the present and future ? But language is composed of ab-
stract terms. Words- are universals. "Tina" is every " this,"
now is every now, and everywhere is here. Each sensation, then,
must be more than a particular momentary feeling. It mnst dis-
tinguisli, alistract, generalize, and so form the universal concepts
of speech for the traditions that impart its wisdom to its succes-
sors. Marvellous sensations these that can eacli sense time, sense
space, sense quantity, sense cause and effect, sense identity and
difference, and all the abstract universal ideas of language. But,
if these are contained in the sensation, it cannot cause or explain
them. \t possesses the mind it was to produce.

Do you say that I misrepresent the sensationalist's theory in
declaring that the sensation is a sensation of nothing but itself,
whereas he insists that it is a sensation or feeling in and by the
brain 'I I answer, How can he know that he has a brain except
by that sensation which he asserts includes all knowledge ? And
if the brain be only a sensation, how can the sensation be the sen-
sation of a brain without being the sensation of what is onl}- a sen-

Immoi'tality. 123

Bation — /. «•., self-seiiisation or Bclf-consciousiicss by sensation — still
absolute atul retaining in its absolute form the right of iniuiortal-
ity? For man and God and God's relation to man will be the
same in consciousness whether you call the consciousness sensation
or thought. The immortality deduced from them will be just as
immortal to a sensation that can think as if it belonged to thought's
exclusive domain. You will never get rid of thought by tiiinking,
even if you think it into sensation. Thought's royalty will still be
there and reign with its utmost logic of implication, deifying and
immortalizing the very mob of crudities and evanescences that were
assembled to mock and spit upon and slay it.

Suppose, however, yon try to think Mind, independently of any
sensational theories, as a function of hrain, and brain as a com-
pound of chemical elements, and chemical elements as partnerships
of thoughtless, senseless, lifeless, irreducible, ultimate, utterly un-
compounded and simple atoms. What will you have then ? Ex-
amine your atoms and see. They have no color, for color is a mode
of motion; nor temperature, this also being a mode of motion;
nor weight, which (as attraction by some outside object and ten-
dency to move toward it) is likewise a mode of motion ; nor any
extension, since extension implies resistance, and resistance that
mode of motion which is known as force ; nor power of chemical
aflSnity, which requires difference of density in the atoms for differ-
ent equivalents of combination, svhereas density is nothing but the
distance between atoms in a molecule or mass, and, in order that
atoms might contain such differences of density, they would have
to become masses composed of other more or less distant atoms —
in a word, must cease to be indivisible, simple atoms altogether.

Your atoms, then, are dissolved. They have no color, tempera-
ture, weight, shape of their own. The onl}' marks the^' can be
known by are modes of motion. Motion is their entire matter.
But what is motion ? A succession of positions which are them-
selves the relations of a point to space. Space, however, and
this succession, which is time, are the very thoughts that, if there
were any such entity as mind in contrast with matter, would be
most abstract and immaterial. Thus matter presupposes, as the
condition and cause of its existence in knowledge, the very thought
or mind it was to evolve. Its promise of concrete, hard particu-
larity melts into the most vacant of all metaphysical abstractions.

124 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Suppose, then, without regard to the atomic or other theories of
Matter, you consider Mind as a result of material evolution. Your
material man, however, knows that he is material, and tiiat Matter
is all. But such knowledge by a man who is only Matter would
be Matter's knowing itself, and itself as the All, and hence an ab-
solute self-knowing with Man for its totality or absolute form.

In Man, and Man alone. Matter remembers its prior existences —
gas, globe, sea, swamp, lichen, moss, fern, flower, fruit, sponge, fish,
reptile, bird, four-footed beast, and anthropoid ape. In Man, and
in Man alone. Matter says: "I am Matter, and conscious of my-
self, of my whole being as Matter. ^Nothing beneath Man knows
either Man, or Matter, or itself. But Man knows what is beneath
him, and himself, and Me as the all, and as the all of himself.
Man, then, is my total form and my adequate explanation. I am
Man."

Would you explain a bird by calling it an egg ? The egg is the
secret and mystery which the bird opens and reveals by brown
plumage, and swift wings, and beak that tells its story to the
woods. And, should you doubt its revelation, you have but to
search its nest to behold the proof. For it reproduces there the
form of its origin, and so proves itself to be both bird and egg —
mystery and mystery's glad disclosure. And such is lower na-
ture's relation to man — nature the egg, man the thrush, whose
nest of knowledge contains both thrush and egg, both secret and
explanation. The less can never explain the greater, the part the
whole, identity the ditierences which it merely leaves out of sight
as it narrows and contracts down into a shell of dead, indistin-
guishable sameness. Such identity is addled. It cannot evolve
what it does not involve, nor grow to a universe by the external
change of decay. Man must be in it to come out of it, and only
comes out of it because it is its nature to be man. I^or could man
have been in nature if his divine Ego had not been before it and
above it, even as the eggs that till the nest of the thrush year after
year prove hers to be the abiding power that creates them and
broods over their development into plumage and song.

!Now, any Matter that knows itself — as Matter does in man, who,
as its self-consciousness, represents its total form and definition —
ought not to be confounded with the old stuff of mass and motion,
of inertia and death. The old title defames it, allows it no credit

Iinm ortality. 125

for it? highest and most characteristic qualities. Give it a truer,
worthier name — a name that will tell its whole career of parentage
and frowth and adult completion. I know of but one such name
— Mind — the mind which is the same in nature and man, which
was called by the old Greek philosophers Nous ; by the son of
Sirach, Wisdom; by St. Paul, Doxa ; and by Hegel, the Absolute
Idea.

And this is what the latest theory of physical evolution means
by such phrases as " adaptation to environment " and " 6ur\aval
of the fittest," but fails to say because it does not well define
"fittest" and "environment." For the environment of every
life is nothing less than all nature. Every tropic jungle, vernal
park, or arctic snow-field is what it is by reason of its relation to
the size and shape of the earth, and the earth's motion about the
Bun and distance from the sun's fire. And this motion of the
earth about the sun changes, at certain great geologic intervals,
frigid climates to torrid, and torrid to frigid, as is indicated by
ice-bound skeletons of mammoths, and the track of glaciers on
mountain-sides where now rhododendrons grow. Moreover, the
sun is what it is by like relations to some larger sun that fixes its
place, and density, and movement, and fructifying heat; and so
on from sun to sun in that choral dance of spheres which all join
hands as they whirl and chant the creative strain that gives one
and the same measure to their varied movements. Accordingly,
the power of the farthest sphere, and of all the spheres between, is
applied to Earth in the making of its air, water, and soil, alike as
they exist apart,' or as they take the shape of plants that feed ani-
mal life, and of animals that seek their food in plants or in each
other's flesh.

It is the whole universe, then, that determines what plant or
animal shall survive, and fashions its survival to greater fitness
with a universal environment. But the universe, as a whole, we
have seen to be Intelligence, self-conscious Intelligence, and hence
it is universal self-conscious Intelligence that in nature's phenome-
na environs every life, and either aimnls it or preserves it by
increasing its correspondence with an intelligent en virunment. The
intelligence is in the life as well as in the environment. Its process
of adaptation, therefore, can be no other than a fitting of its own
particular form as life to its own universal form as environment ;

126 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and such fitness will increaBe in proportion as tlie particular form
proves able to receive and contain the universal form that is act-
ing u])ou it.

If, then, this universal form of intelligence be self-consciousness,
its action upon things will be such as to annul those that cannot
be raised to self-consciousness, and preserve those that can be so
raised, wliile at the same time it elevates them by j)re8ervation.

Survival of the fittest, then, must mean survival of those that
are fittest to be self-conscious, just as self-consciousness means the
form which — because it is the form of the environment within the
life, as a whole of both life and environment, their self-related
unity — cannot perish, and, consequently, must survive forever.
The rock is almost entirely distinct from its environment, and hence
perislies under every touch. The plant has more of the environ-
ment within its nature, and hence to a degree is preserved by the
very changes which the outside world causes within it. The ani-
mal contains still more of the environment in his ability to change
its particular influence by locomotion within a certain habitat;
and in that sense of unity with it as the unity of his own nature,
however incomplete, which he has in instinct and feeling. But all
limits which the environment sets to man, man removes by think-
ing them, and so finding them, tlie appointments of his own reason.
The environment is henceforth as much his thought as is the self
it environs. In so far as he is the unity of his thought, he is on
both sides of the distinction, which remains a distinction of his
thinking, and hence within his thought, whose unity it preserves
while seeming to break it. He has thus a universal nature tiiat
includes his environment, and this universal nature cannot change.
Its action upon his particular nature will be to make it more and
more universal in its forms. As the particular nature is one of
flesh, and the universal, one of spirit, the tendency of tlie environ-
ment will be to spiritualize the flesh. As the particular nature is
one of appetite and passion, while the universal is one of reason,
tiie tendency of the environment will be to make a])petite and
passion rational. As the particular nature is selfish and narrow
and exclusive, the tendency of the environment will be to expand
its sympathies and principles to the tribe, the nation, the race
whose essential humanity is one in thought and desire with the
reason and will of God. So the breach existing in man between

Immortality. 1'27

a local, temporal, natural self and a self that lias God's image will
be gradually healed by the pressures and encroachments of the
latter on lite and experience — pressures and uncroachraents whicli
will be felt loss in physical forces than in the forces of that world
of civilization which man has created, and whose industries, hab-
its, customs, laws, and letters are his closest and mightiest envi-
ronment, because most manifestly an environment of his reason
by Reason which he now recognizes as his own in its outward aid
as well as in its inwardetfort, andgrows eager for the joint prog-
ress that is to transfigure nature, by science and art, into man, and
man, by philosophy and religion, into God. As St. Paul expresses
it, " The earnest expectation of the creature waiteth also for the
manifestation of the sons of God. . . . Because the creature also
shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glo-
rious liberty of the children of God." And true development,
which is nothing but the process of manifesting the whole in the
parts, gives the creature just such deliverance from its bondage of
partiality or corruption. The creature corrupts and dies because
it is but a part, and in order to become the Whole wliich is its only
life. The Whole is free because its life is all its own. No vaster
whole is beyond the Whole to be realized in its ceasing, or to con-
strain its transition to adifl'erent currespondence. All its realities
are realizings of its self, self-pi'om])ted and self-perfontied. Its lib-
erty is absolute, and consequently glorious. And wherever this
form of wholeness exists, to be not altered but fulfilled b3- its
changes, there exults and reigns the same glorious lilierty. God's
children have the freedom of God. And as all else is bondage of
corruption, Nature's sole hope waits for tiiis manifestation of the
divine purpose of Sonship as the final cause of her pains. She is
only that she may bring forth. Her voices all are groans of tra-
vailing, her energies throes of birth, ifaii born, she is content to
die, because she dies into his life, and becomes conscious, with his
consciousness, alike of her past bondage and present liberty. Only
with his mind does she hear the cries of her awful parturition.
Uence she is never so thoroughly alive as when she known herself
dead, or free, as when she teels herself "subject to vanity." As
the mineral does notecase to be mineral in becoming plant, which
adds to crystallization life ; as the plant does not cease to be plant
in becoming animal, which adds to life feeling— so all Nature's

128 The JournaJ of Speculative Philosophy.

corruption iu mineral, plant, and animal is I^ature's qnickening
into a highest form that sliall contain these lower forms and prove
their divine redemption. She dies as nature to rise again as man,
the manifest son of God.

But is not man, this man who redeems nature and carries on
her ascent through his own progress of civilization, the whole race
rather than any one individual ? Does not the individual die
while nations survive, and nations perish while mankind alone
endures? Mankind alone continues the process of evolution,
M'hich goes but a little way in the individual's life and ends with
his decease — ought we not to say, then, with Comte, that man-
kind alone is immortal ?

Mankind alone! Mankind, that has entity outside of its indi-
viduals, ought to possess some traits by which it may be recog-
nized. Has this "mankind alone" such traits? Can it say with
any but individual lips that it is alone and that it alone lives ?
Has it any memory, hope, or reason that does not exist in indi-
vidual minds ? Does it know except with individual knowledge
that it was, or shall be, or even now is ? Is not any adequate in-
telligence it has concerning its own course the acquisition of some
intellect like Comte's, who held and carried it and its universe in
his own cosmic head ? For, however much may be known of
humanity by different minds with their special studies, the sum of
these special studies can only be known as otie knowledge, and
one knowledge must be ever the knowing of one mind. Intelli-
gences cannot be collected like so many separate hickory-nuts in
a bag. Their collection must be the act and property of one in-
telligence which has to comprehend them, severally and together,
in order to know that there is any increase by collection, and that
each does not merely repeat the stock of the others, possessing
thus while only one the wit of all. In either case the intelligence
of the race must be individual. It must be one as a sum in order
to know that it is not one merely as a unit ; and, whether known
as unit or sum, it will remain an individual knowledge. However
much ancient humanity knew of itself, it could reckon its amount
of knowledge only with the individual thought of an Aristotle.
However much modern humanity knows of itself, it can calculate
its lore only by the individual learning of a Humboldt or a Her-
bert Spencer. jS^ay, did Humanity, Comte's Great Being, who

Immortality. 129

treats imiividiials as mere ciphers, havinjr no value except as fac-
tors in its own infinite equation — did this great humanity ever
find out its greatness before seeing itself mirrored in the mind of
Comte \

In Comte's mind it recognized itself as more than great, as even
divine — the only God. Comte knew all about it. Comte knew
all those former incorrect ideas of it, theological and metaphysical,
wiiii-h had come to it in millions of broken reflections from mill-
ions of intellects added together, so far as intellects could be out-
wardly added, into empires and eras and whole civilizations. And
not only did he know these reflections as l)roken and false, bnt his
own as total and true. He was the zodiac of all their stars. His
knowledge was not theological nor metaphysical, but positive.
In him humanity had become completely conscious of itself, and
conscious of itself as divine. His mind was its total form and he
its avatar. Yet Comte was an individual. And this individual
C<.>mte wrote books that other individuals might know humanity
with his omniscience of it, and so multiply its divinely self-con-
scious forms and avatars. Nor did he select the individuals who
were to read his books. They were issued to men as men. They
presumed that men as men possessed that reason to which their
argument appealed; and, consequently, that it was the very
es.-ence of their rational nature to be able to understand and adopt
his system, making its omniscience their own. All men, there-
fore, by the confession of Comte's propagandism, are possible
Comtes and avatars of humanity's self-knowing godhead.

What, then, is the conclusion ? Is it not that, if the individual be
an abstraction when taken aloof from the race, the race is equally
an abstraction when kejjt outside the individual ; that the race lives
in the individual as essentially as the individual lives in it ; that, if
it supplies the whole content of knowledge, his knowledge gives
tiiat content its alone self intelligent, immortal form { Let all in-
dividuals die, and what becomes of the immortality of the race?
Does it not die their death? Is not the humanity of past genera-
tions, already dead, the humanity of future generations yet unborn,
and the sole humanity that exists, our own generation i One gen-
eration, then, measures humanity's entire life. The only knowledge
Lad by Humanity of its psist career is the knowledge this one gen-
eration possesses; the only hope of its future glory is the hope this
XIX— 9

130 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

one generation holds. As well say that it is dead forever because
generations are always dying, as that it lives forever because gen-
erations are always coming into life. No, its only conscious ex-
istence — past, future, or present — is the existence it has in the
individual mind, which, consequently, is mankind's sole form of
conscious immortality.

And, but for its implication of this personal immortality, the
ethics of positivism would soon putrefy. Its doctrine of self-
sacrifice would be the sacrifice of all virtue. For there is no vir-
tue but the virtue of persons. Nobody's virtue is nothing. The
motives and relations and consequences that make actions or
qualities right and good are personal. All right is personal right,
all goodness personal goodness. When the person ends, his ethical
quality ends. Virtue dies in the death of the virtuous person.
Sacrifice of the person, therefore, is sacrifice of the very virtue that
prompts the sacrificial act. Why should the hero kill his own
heroism? Martyrdom, if the martyr ends, were not only folly,
but vice, and the wickedest of vices, murdering Virtue's self. And
how horrible the murder of martyrdom becomes when it slays the
noble for the sake of the base, and the brave for the sake of cow-
ards, leaving the cowardly and base as fittest to survive for the
propagation and progress of a divine humanity ! Divine humanity
indeed ! whose supreme virtue requires that it should forever ex-
purgate itself of its most virtuous lives ! Surely such universal
suicide of goodness cannot be rational ethics. The one thing that
every good man has to preserve is the good self, without which
there can be no goodness.

It is the craven, the vile, the mean self that is to be sacrificed,
and sacrificed by the dictate of that better self which only by such
renunciation can be maintained. The true aim of self-sacrifice is
self-preservation. And wlien the sacrifice is unto death it is to
preserve and realize that whole man which must break the pas-
sions and habits that would cramp it, as the Victoria Kegia bursts
its narrow sheath for broadest splendor of bloom. And this
whole man is the self every man has in common with other men
who likewise are egos, possessing that indivisible subject-form of
egohood which is the same in them as in him, and which in all
alike is one and divine. When he lives for it, he lives for a self
that is theirs as well as his, and most wholly his because theirs.

Immortality. 131

For, if they are less than he, why should he die for them ? Why
?houl<l the whole be sacrificed for a fratrment, the whole man for a
fragiuentarv man \ What is there in the temporal life of a savage
or sot so much worthier than the temporal life of a philanthropist
as to deserve the philanthro|)ist's extinction ? Take an entire
generation, and can j'ou find in it, as a generation, any character
higher than that of its highest sages, statesmen, saints? Your
present generation is a mixture of the good and bad, wise and un-
wise, in which the unwi>e and bad vastly predominate. Most of
its peoples are uncivilized, and, among the civilized, most of the
persons have low, narrow, selfish aims. If tlie quality of your
generation, then, be an average of its individual characters, that
average will strike far below wisdom, far below virtue, far below
commonest decency of civilization \ Ought a man to die for a
dOiT ? No more should the man who is manliest die for the man
who is most like a dog. Sacrifice is unreasonable waste unless its
object be at lea.st equal to its victim. The duty of sacrificing a
better temporal life for a worse implies that the worse temporal
life conceals a possibility of character that is to be fulfilled in
some life beyond and by the very process of sacrifice that has been
its example in order to become its law, constraining love with
love. In the gardens of Louisiana you maj' see a species of large
Yucca, known as the Spanish Bayonet, on account of its hard,
stiff, keen-edged, and pointed leaves, bristling with an ugliness
that repels sight as well as touch. No plant is more ruffian-like,
and yet it is allowed to keep company with crape-myrtles and
magnolias, because, when the right season comes, its malign trunk
will put on a panicle of glorious white fiowers and wear them as
a triple crown that outranks all other decorations of the garden.
So the ethics of self-sacrifice prizes its human Yuccas for the
celestial purity that ma}' crown their growth in some other season
of life. Seeking man's whole self in other selves as likewise
whole, it dies to live, and, in dying, lives a life that is as immortal
in ever}' impulse and act, as it is in duration. For mere length of
being were neither ethical nor desirable. An immortality of ex-
istence that is not consciously immortal in its aims and princijiles
wo\dd be an everlasting sense of contrailiction, an everlasting
ache of arrest, frustration, failure, an everlasting Hell. Immor-
tality, to be immortal throughout, an immortality of immortal

132 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

moments, must have the universal self, which is its cause, for its
constant motive. Then its altruism would be alter-egoisra, even
as absolute egoism were universal love. When it said I it would
mean all men and God, its thought being the truth which is
God's thinking in all men, its desire the good, which, in all men's
willing, is the will of God ; its joy the beauty, which, how-
ever seen or where, is God's face, making all beautiful visions
beatific. Now and forever the refrain of its life-psalm would be :

" My wealth is common ; I possess
No petty province but the whole ;
What's mine alone is mine far less
Than treasure shared by every soul.
Talk not of store,
Millions or more —
Of values which the purse may hold —
But this divine !
I own the mine
Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.

" I have a stake in every star.

In every beam that fills the day ;
All hearts of men my coffers are,
My ores arterial tides convey ;
The fields, the skies,
And sweet replies
Of thought to thought are my gold-dust,
The oaks, the brooks,
And speaking looks
Of lovers' faith and Friendship's trust.

" ' All mine is thine,' the Sky-Soul saith.
' The wealth I am must thou become,
Eicher and richer, breath by breath,
Immortal gain, immortal room.'
And since all His
Mine also is,
Life's gift outruns my fancies far.
And drowns the dream
In larger stream
As Morning drinks the morning star."

The Character of the Japanese. 133

THE CHAKACTER OF THE JAPANESE.
A Study of numan Nature.

BY BENJAMIN SMITH LVMAS.

lu describing the Japanese, or any other people, of course we
must not fail to distinguish between those features that depend on
the fundamental character and those that are only the result of a
certain stage of civilization or enlightenment. In regard to civili-
zation and enlightenment, too, we should not forget that, quite
the same as in every other part of the world, all the inhabitants of
the country are not equally civilized, and that, while some are
liighly enlightened, otliers are still essentially in a state of barbar-
ism. "We may also at the outset take it for granted that no nation
(except our own, of course !) possesses at once all the admirable
qualities of human character, however inconsistent one with an-
other. It is plain, moreover, that a just discriminating account
of the Japanese people as a whole will not apply to my excellent
friends among them, nor, doubtless, to numerous others who are
far more enlightened than the average, or of exceptionally well-
balanced natural qualities.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the character of the Japa-
nese is their socialnees; for, in comparison witli the average of
men, they have somewhat less of the instinct of self-preservation
or self-help and more of the instinct of association — the two in-
stincts, the selt-regarding and the social, as they might be called,
that are clearly the two most indispensable for the perpetuation
of mankind. Of course, the instinct for association is based on
ultimate reasons or secret, and often unconscious, motives that are
in one sense selfish, such as the want of aid or protection, and the
wish to advance one's own race ; yet it leads to looking to others
not only for help, but to render assistance in order to preserve one's
actual or possible aider or protector, and not one's self alone.
Probably no man is wholly destitute of either of the two instincts,
and probably in no two individuals or nations are they balanced
in exactly like manner. The establishment and continuance of
various modes of balancing the two instincts as shown in whole

I'M The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tribes or races, though in part due merely to inheritance, may be
greatly favored by peculiaritieB of climate or other external cir-
cumstances, making one instinct or the other more particularly
essential; as, for example, a cold Northern climate may demand
more of the self-regarding instinct, a greater eagerness in trying
to gain one's own food and shelter, while a warm Southern climate
may give freer play to the social instinct. However that may be,
the differences in degree of one instinct or the other are not on
the whole so very great if you compare one country with another;
yet they are with their effects noticeable enough to make two
easily distinguished sets of races, in which tiie Japanese stand un-
mistakably on the side marked by a greater share of the social in-
stinct. The trait is a complex result of other simpler ones, and
has certain necessary concomitants and consequences, as we shall
find by a detailed examination.

The mental functions of the Japanese, like those of other m.en
or of any living being, of any animal or even plant, consist of per-
ceiving (eitlier tilings or words — both in one sense external ob-
jects), of suffering (pain or pleasure — both strictly subjective), and
of willing or action (external to the brain or internal, and con-
scious or unconscious) ; and to these simple operations strict analy-
sis can reduce the highest flights of the intellect, of the sensibility
or of the will, with the loftiest conceptions of the true, the beauti-
ful, and the good. Moral goodness is acting according to our in-
stinct of what is beneficial to the race — often, to be sure, a debased
or unenlightened or incorrectly interpreted instinct — and that in-
stinct is, through long inheritance or transmitted unconscious
memory, the combined result of countless objective perceptions
and subjective experiences (of pain or pleasure) in I'egard to human
conduct, causing some actions to be associated with a feeling of
annoyance or disgust, and others with one of satisfaction or de-
light. We have, then, to consider the intellectual, aesthetic, and
moral character of the Japanese, or their intelligence, their taste,
and their behavior.

I. Tiieir intelligence seems very great because they are re-
markably quick in perception. Moreovei-, one and the same nim-
bleness of nerve and brain, by conscious or unconscious methods,
makes possible both the swift transfer of sensations from the sur-
face to the centre and the rapid view of their interpretation ac-

The Character of the Japanese. 135

cordiiif: to previous experience or of any otber more or less closely
allied toriner impressions; so that the same agility that enables
quickness of external perception or of action gives the capacity of
readily calling up associated former ideas, or a good memory,
wliich is a striking characteristic of the Japanese. Their very
quickness of habit makes them impatient, however, at the careful,
close observation of internal processes or reflection that is re-
quired for reasoning or invention, at deduction, induction, analy-
sis, synthesis; and in these directions they seldom go beyond the
simplest, most obvious steps. lietiection is rather favored by a
certain slowness and by a dulness of perception that both lessens
the distraction of outside sensations and enables the operations of
tlie mind and a single train of thought to be followed up more
surely. As the Japanese are ready, then, at outward observation^
and therefore inclined to it (and for that reason social rather than
self-regarding), and are of excellent memory, they are necessarily
at the same time unreflective and not deep in reasoning and origi-
nality. Tiie effect will be seen in tlieir knowledge and belief, or
the combination of their perceptions, memory, reasoning, and in-
vention.

1. Their perception is so quick as to make them seem at times
remarkably acute and brilliant. It enables them also to become
very quick in action, and adroit and deft in movements of tlie
hands or body; and such manual dexterity and ready precision
are highly useful to them in many occupations and trades, and
make them, for example, conspicuous for excellence as acrobats
and jugglers. The quickness, too, in some favorite games, where a
certain number of Angers or the position of the hands must be in-
stantly seen and replied to, is marvellous, especially with the daily
practice of the professional singing girls and their frequent com-
panions.

2. The memory of the Japanese often enables them, in spite of
many obvious drawbacks, to distinguish themselves greatly by
their proficiency in study at foreign schools or universities ; and
at home they are, whether in college or in tlie primary school,
likewise extraordinarily successful.

3. As their quickness makes them impatient of the slow pro-
cesses of reasoning, they often seem, from that cause as well as
sometimes for want of enliglitcument and training, to be deficient

136 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

in reasoning power, or in the logical faculty so called (more prop-
erly speaking, a mode of action or habit).

a. In deduction, then, they are apt to be hasty and careless
about a thorough examination of the premises' correctness and
true relation to one another. Yet, as far as they do reason, they
do it so rapidly as to seem often to arrive at tlie result rather by
intuition or instinctive perception. They are themselves frequently
unconscious of the process, and unable or unwilling to explain it
in full, and so seem at times arbitrary and unreasonable. In urg-
ing a request, too, a favorite (and among themselves often the most
efficient) final argument is practically notliing deeper or more ra-
tional than a mere appeal to personal regard or deference : " Do
it to please me." Or a disputed point is sometimes yielded at last
on the same ground of mere complaisance, and then a wish not to
be outdone in courtesy may bring about the desired concession
from the other party, either side disregarding or overlooking
really weighty reasons.

5. The Japanese are also quite capable of induction, and quick
at it, but in cases of the least complication are apt to err in not
examining the circumstances with sufficient care and thoroughness,
and in overlooking many of the less noticeable ones. They there-
fore make broad, hasty generalizations and inflexible rules and
laws, and cannot willingly tolerate any exceptions ; and are conse-
quently apt to be extremists, to go from one extreme to another,
and to " run any idea into the ground." They will, for example,
not easily comprehend how you can say things in praise of a man
or people and at the same time mention any drawbacks; a man
or a people must be altogether good or altogether bad. They will
be impatient at the idea of balancing the good and bad qualities,
or at doubtfulness even in cases where doubt is necessary ; and es-
pecially dissatisfied with any result that is not clearly and simply
sweeping and decisive, however far beyond human powers it may
be to form such a judgment correctly. They do not like half-way
statements. Everything must be said sharply, definitely, precisely ;
it is less matter whether it be exactly and truthfully said. They
are prone, therefore, to round assertions, and to avoiding every
appearance of doubt or imperfect knowledge on any point they
are expected to answer about ; and are more or less annoyed at
such conscientious carefulness on the part of others.

The L 'haracter of the Japanese. 137

c. The careful, minute reflection required for analysis and syn-
thesis is likewise irksome to their rapid minds, and they are con-
sequently lacking in deep originality. Nevertheless, they are quick
enough to make discoveries or inventions, though almost or quite
invariahly none but tliose of a kind that needs little deep think-
ing ; and we may confidently expect that a profound discovery will
rarely at any future time be made by the present race of Japanese.
In their past history it has always been so ; their learning and
their arts have all apparently come from abroad, formerly from
Corea and China, and now from America and Europe. Doubtless,
in the course of many centuries, improvements or changes have
been made in their own agriculture, architecture, textile, fictile, or
metallic manufactures, dress, mode of writing, medicine, or other
arts according to the requirements of novel circumstances ; but
such changes would seem to have been very slight at any one time
and not to have been altogether of very great difiiculty, though
certainly in some cases of a good deal of importance.

Their readiness, however, not only to learn new things, but to
devise novelties of method slightly ditticnlt except for the quick-
ness of their invention, compensates well in many respects for the
lack of deeper pondering discovery. That universal readiness of
the race was amusingly illustrated by the inexperienced steamer-
engineer or captain who, having inside the harbor started his en-
gine, did not know how to stop it, but yet in the sadden emer-
gency had the wit to set the helm so that the vessel kept turning
safely in a circle until the boiler-fire had been extinguished and
the steam used up. Such readiness in the adoption or device of
methods is particularly important in certain occupations, where it
is more necessary to do at once what seems best at the moment
than to take the chance of finding out some better way by reflec-
tion that would cause very harmful delay ; and probably in more
than half the cases no better way would, after all, be found out.
The Japanese are, therefore, peculiarly fitted to excel, for instance,
in military surgery, and with European training do so. The same
readiness make> them clear-headed and never muddled, and en-
ables them to be witty, bright, and clear in talk with definite, pre-
cise statements, and quick at composing verses with their easy
rules, though, even in the more deliberate productions of the pen,
original traces of profound wit or wisdom are looke<l for almost in

138 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

vain. Indeed, a deep, hidden meaning in a composition is not
aimed at, and is considered, on the contrary, tiresome, until at least
it has become familiar. It may, therefore, be expected that Japa-
nese literature will not be found rich in masterpieces, and that the
most successful of its works will be of a light, comic cliaracter.

The want of deep originality, with their quickness to learn, in-
clination to outward observation and consequent respectfulness,
leads the Japanese to copy after others and imitate them, a habit
that is tiiought by some Americans and Europeans to be carried
to an extreme, but one that is really very useful and almost uni-
versal in other countries too, and one that is based on excellent
reasons, and is a necessary consequence or concomitant of the
qualities that make the people so attractive and amiable. They
have for ages adopted the civilization of others without any im-
portant additions of their own, and now, seeing the superiority of
Western enlightenment to what they have so long received from
Cliina, they are actively adopting our modern waj's. It is but
natural, too, that they should begin mostly with superficial mat-
ters and, what strikes them at first sight, dress, furniture, and
house-building.

Yet, partly led by their great love of knowledge, they have hit
upon the imitation of one most important and radical thing, and
that is the universal introduction of public almost free schools, so
that already every village child has no great distance to go to
school ; and the result within a single generation will be far greater
than was probably estimated at first, and will go on increasing
still much further as well-educated and well-trained teachers be-
come moi"e numerous than has hitherto been made possible by the
more imperfect and more expensive and, therefore, less frequented
schools of the old fashion, in wliich a very good complete educa-
tion was scarcely equal to that of our boys of twelve or thirteen.

4. a. For the Japanese, with their quickness of wit, are neces-
sarily fond of its consequently easy exercise, and therefore inquisi-
tive and eager to learn, and so prize most highly the privilege of
going to school or college, especially as they have a strong belief that
even the material rewards of scholarship are very valuable. Their
inquisitiveness or curiosity, as might be supposed, extends, in the
less enlightened state, even to the most trivial and unimportant
matters. With their quickness and readiness, and their ease of

The Character of the Japanese. 139

learninc; or excellence of raemorj, they are spurred on by an in-
satiable thirst tor knowledge, a most valuable trait, however annoy-
ing it may sometimes be in its smaller manifestations.

h. In science they may be expected to become very proficient,
without, however, inventing profoundly original methods, yet to
work out important results in ways discovered by others ; but it is
of course still too soon to look for many such results, for it is
obvious that an exclusion for several centuries from nearly all com-
munication with the outside world and only a brief intercourse
with Europe previous!)' have hindered the country from obtaining
much eniighteninent, so that the people generally, excepting a for-
tunate few, have.the defects that must arise thereby, and are still
very backward in the enlightenment of modern times. Now, how-
ever, they take up our Western studies with great zeal, and work
■with especial success in those branches that require the observation
of external facts, such as meteorology and surveying, and are well
capable of ordinary generalization from the observed facts ; but
will doubtless always be found deficient in the power to make
more profound generalizations — that is, to recognize general laws
or principles deeply underlying what seems at first a mass of more
or less discordant facts. In very doubtful affairs they must, there-
fore, seem lacking in judgment, or the more or less distinct and
conscious perception of such less obvious underlying guiding prin-
ciples, though remarkably clear-sighted and practical in simpler
matters.

c. The respect for others and the halut of not looking below the
surface make the Japanese give ready credence to what is told
them, and to appear even credulous in the less enlightened state.
They have therefore, in times past, become converts on a large
scale to the foreign Buddhistic religion, and now with compara-
tive readiness accept the Christian. But their undei-standing and
belief of the tenets would seem to many outsidere superficial and
slight. The priests of the Buddhist and of the earlier adopted
religion each modified their doctrines to some extent so as to
smooth the way for conversion, or for retaining believers; and to
foreigners it would seem now as if there were little contention be-
tween tlie two, so far as the laity is concerned, and as if every one
frjllowed the forms of both. Indeed, the forms of the older re-
ligion are regarded as a political or State ceremonial, while the

140 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Buddhist ones are more private and domestic. The popular idea
of the gods is a very low one, and they are supposed to be ap-
peased by very external forms — by walking repeatedly round the
outside of a temple ; by pilgrimages to holy spots, like famous tem-
ples or the tops of unusually high mountains ; by vain repetitions
of prayers with loud utterance (to be heard by the god, not so
much by men, for such piety gains no special admiration in Japan) ;
by turning prayer- wheels and the like methods, and at the time of
prayer a god's attention is called by sounding a gong or bell ; and
the outward observance is apparently not supposed to be aflPected
by any consideration, whether the heart be near or far from it.
Even a priest will laugh heartily at a foreigner's imitating their
bell-tapping and prayers, quite untouched by any feeling that the
god may be oftended or that the act is done in a scoffing or con-
temptuous spirit. The priests are so little oppressed by any super-
stitious regard for the sacredness of their utensils of worship that
they have been known, for instance at a gay convivial occasion in
a small temple used also as a dwelling, not to scruple to seize a
wooden bell, or " fish," as it is called, and its hammer, used prop-
erly for calling the god's attention, and to dance about with them,,
beating time as they went. The Buddhists use idols in their wor-
ship, but, doubtless, without any greater belief in the god's special
presence in the wood or stone than the Roman Catholics have in
regard to their images and pictures. The unreflecting simplicity
of the uneducated is also shown in the custom near some Buddhist
temples of selling small eels or Ushes, to be rescued by the purchaser
from the death to which the seller says he would otherwise have to
consign them for his own food. But the clear-headedness of the
Japanese makes them little inclined to superstition compared with
any other race in the like stage of enlightenment, and so-called
religious dogmas sit lightly upon them ; and education, with their
quick wit, almost invjiriably gives a perception of the falsity of
superstitions and leads them to a rational faith like Confucianism.
II. In matters of taste, whether in studied art of various kinds^
both pure and decorative, such as landscape gardening, architect-
ure, carving, painting, drawing, calligraphy, lacquer-ware, bronzes,
pottery, cloisonne, dress, theatrical acting, dancing, music, fine
literature, and poetry, or in unstudied trifles and common speech
and manners, we find in Japan the same remarkable readiness

The Character of the Japanese. 141

with its consequent "race and exuberance in the lighter detaik,
the same love of outward observation, and the same lack of tlie
profound that is essential to high art. Their aim is, then, the
picturesque rather than the thoroughly beautiful, and (as only
complete beauty will bear repetition) difference rather than sym-
metry, disjointed diversity rather than unity ; indeed, endless va-
netv. variety above everytliing else, and color rather than form.
They excel, then, iu decorative art, in the painting of flowers and
birds, and especially iu landscape gardening.

In landscapes unity is well-nigh impossible, and is therefore
little missed, and symmetry would look unnatural, whereas variety
is extremely essential. The superficial beauties of color and fra-
grance make flowers and jdants particularly attractive to the
Japanese, and no taste is more widespread among them than that
for ornamental gardening. It is scarcely an exaggeration to say
tliat every Ilou^e, however huml)le, has something to represent an
ornamental garden, be it no more than a single carefully trained
pine or a couple of shrubs in a bit of ground hardly six feet square,
or, at least in the summer-time, a box a foot or two long with
miniature streams, ponds, islands, bridges, houses, temples, and
with dolls for men and women. By a country roadside an urchin
may be found amusing himself with arranging flowers or twigs on
a bank to represent a garden, as our children of the same age
make sand-pies in the ])ath or diminutive mill-ponds in the gutter.
A cook's wife, with a plentiful supply of earth, stones, plants, and
toys, can, in three or four hours, make a miniature landscape of Ave
square yards that would do credit to any of our landscape artists.
Indeed, you may say broadly that a day laborer in Japan has
more artistic feeling in gardening than some of our professional
landscape gardeners. In the course of centuries certain rules
about garden ornamentation have become established that are
now accepted without question or investigation and followed
blinilly. It is probable that the art was tirst brought from Ciiina
to Japan ; but it seems to be practiced much more universally,
and in general more successfully, here than on the Continent.

Japanese architecture also is copied from the Chinese, but with
miicii more exclusive use of wood as the building material, and
in proportion to its strength, perhaps, with somewhat greater
lightness and picturesqueness in form. In regard to ornament,

142 The Journal of Speculative Philoaophy.

the principle is followed that " beauty is only skin deep," and the
main effort is to make the surface look well with plaster, paper-
ing, and lacquer, though paint is seldom used, owing to ignorance
of oil-colors. The interior of dwelling-houses is commonly almost
bare of ornament, but in the best rooms thei'e may be a post or
cross-piece of handsome or gnarled wood, and perhaps a small
piece of tine lattice-work or open-work carving made to represent
a landscape, or possibly three or four water-color pictures pasted
upon sliding doors.

Some of t\\e temples are very richly adorned with most elabo-
rate, light and graceful carvings of birds, flowers, monkeys, drag-
ons and other natural or fabulous animals, brilliantly painted and
gilded, and sometimes comic as well as grotesque. There are
many wooden images of gods, too, likewise painted and grotesque
rather than majestic in appearance, whatever the intention of
the artist may have been. There are also near temples bronze
images of Buddha, many of them of enormous size, but, how-
ever interesting as specimens of foundry-work and ingenuity,
have no great merit as sculptures. Indeed, the human form
and face are too difficult for the national disposition and pow-
ers, at least as hitherto cultivated. There are, however, a few
wood carvers who copy the human face very closely in coloi'ed
images used especially by the florists in their autumnal chrysan-
themum exhibitions, where the dresses of the groups of figures are
most tastefully made up of different-colored flowers and green
leaves. The faces of some large dolls, too, have a childlike look
extremely well done ; and, on a small scale in ivory carvings, much
expression is sometimes given to the face. Other ivory carvings,
of more commonplace objects, many of them comic, are very nu-
merous and often remarkably well done, though still nothing that
could be called high art.

It is the same with pictures, whether in colors or in black and
white. Very frequently most delicate touches and grace, an end-
less variety of admirably skilful trifles (comparatively speaking),
but never a combination into anything grand or thoroughly and
consistently beautiful. Their better pictorial art, too, is mainly
copied from the Chinese and from former pictures, not from na-
ture. The artists' work has the graceful freedom that comes from
remarkable rapidity, sureness, and delicacy of hand.

The Character of the Japanese. 143

Every Japanese of any education has, in fact, a very excellent
training for Iiis hand and eye in the ten years needed to learn to
write more or less handsomely the Chinese characters used for his
own language. The art of forming with some elegance those
graceful, beautiful characters is the real ditRcult}' of that mode of
writing, not the vastly easier task of memorizing their construc-
tion and meaning ; but not one moment of all the time spent in
learning to write well is lost, for it is learning the art of drawing
and gaining a sure and delicate touch. The Japanese are very suc-
cessful in calligraphy, an art highly esteemed by them, and excite
the admiration of the Chinese even in a style that is wholly illegible
on the Continent, for the Japanese incline particularly to use the
lighter and more flowing and consequently more graceful con-
tracted forms at the expense of easy legibility to their own coun-
trymen, quite a secondary consideration apparently.

In their lacquer-ware, bronzes, pottery, and cloisonne they show
the same tendency to lightness, variety, pleasing colors, and grace-
ful decoration ; but the more dithcult merit of fine form is often
lacking. The form of many of their bronzes, indeed, is not merely
fantastic but frightful, though the surface be adorned with ex-
quisite decorative sculpture. The shape of much of their pottery,
too, is a little heavy and graceless in comparison with ancient and
modern Western forms. The lacquer-ware is somewhat slighter
and more fragile than the Chinese. The decorative skill of the
Japanese is extremely well adapted to all such articles, as it is also
to woven fabrics.

In dress, too, they show admirable taste in the use of colors
and in the modes that have, with occasional slight variation, been
in vogue several hundred years since their adoption from China,
where they long ago fell into disuse in favor of a much less grace-
ful and hardly more convenient or comfortable costume. The
dress of Japanese men is becoming to their bodily figure, and so-
ber in color according to their age and occupation, with no trink-
etry, save perhaps a knob or large button, often of ivory, finely
carved, but comic or grotesque, to hang their tobacco pouch to
their girdle; and the women, though more gayly dressed, espe-
cially when very young, are not less exacting in soberness as age
increases. The colors are both well combined and in themselves
beautifully dyed of bright and in many cases very delicate

144 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tints. The special ornament of the ladies' costume (aside from
the pins, combs, and other trifles of endless variety worn on the
head in their stiiHy pomaded, fantastically dressed hair) is the
enormous knot of their broad girdle behind, and it often has beau-
tiful patterns woven or dyed into it. In such dress and personal
ornaments we naturally expect and really find, more constantly
than anywhere else, the love of variety and lack of serious mean-
ing and thoroughness. Fine dresses are of course particularly
to be seen at any holiday gathering, or at a musical or dancing
entertainment ; but the best opportunity to see their magniticence
is on the stage, where the display is really gorgeous, and at the
same time tasteful in the highest degree.

The theatrical acting, as might be expected from the close atten-
tion of the Japanese to superficial matters, however minute, is in
comedy very natural indeed ; but in more serious pieces there is a
large mixture of conventionality, particularly in the mode of utter-
ance, 3'et with much of the same naturalness of action. It is in-
deed so realistic that what would in a Western piece be condensed
into ten minutes may be spread through a whole hour ; so that
the Japanese theatre becomes downright tedious to an American
who is able just to see the drift of what is going on, and feels but
slight interest in the long periods of commonplace between the
few exciting points. The loud conventional utterance in dismem-
bered syllables, so as to be heard distinctly by the remoter specta-
tors, is accompanied, too, by a conventional treatment of the
actor's face, so as to exaggerate some of its features according to
the popular taste and make them more easily visible at a distance,
but very ugly to a foreign eye. Fighting battles is partly changed
into acrobatic feats with somersaults and the like, so as decidedly
to relieve the gravity and seriousness of the situation. The re-
arrangement of the stage furniture, and the special lighting up of
the actors' poses after dark, is done by noiseless imps covered
with black dresses and masks, and supposed to be invisible, a sim-
ple and shallow device worthy of the Midsummer Kight's inter-
lude, yet, on the whole, a very undisturbing and satisfactory way
of getting over or evading certain impossibilities.

Dancing is rare upon the stage, but as a spectacle is very fre-
quent in more private places, and is also the occasion of displaying
tasteful dresses, all the gayer as the dancers are mostly very young.

The Character of the Japanese. 145

The dance is a pantoniiiue representation of tlie action of a song
sung at the same time by the musicians, and (unlike what is cus-
tomary in some Oriental countries) is almost always of the most
proi>er chiiracter. To some unbabituated foreigners Japanese
dancing has seemed nothing but insipid, languid movement; but
tlie taste for it and appreciation seem to grow with better ac-
quaintance, and it gets to be greatly admired for its grace and
meaning as well as for the pleasing and constantly varying com-
binations of brilliant colors and the bright, fair faces and lithe,
comely forms of some of the dancers. But the grace and meaning
are not very deeply studied.

Japanese music is copied from the Chinese, and, as given by the
ordinary singing girls, with their three-stringed banjo and im-
perfect training, is considered abominable by foreigners; but, as
rendered with the twelve-stringed koto or cithern by skilful per-
formers, is pleasing, even to good foreign musicians. Yet here too
there is nothing of Japanese origin that is at all profound, and the
merit is not that of composers but of performers, and consists in
deftness of hand and acuteness of ear ; and there appear to be no
remarkable original Japanese musical pieces.

In fine literature and poetry we may be sure that, even when
better known than at present to the Western "World, there will
prove to be (as so far already appears) no very great masterpieces,
and that such as there are will be of a lighter or even comic kind,
or, as in dialogue or epistles, approaching talk with the livino-
voice.

It is in talk rather than in the studied use of the pen that the
Japanese excel, owing to their precision and clearness of ex-
pression, their quickness of wit and humor, and their cheerful
gayety, touching lightly upon everything, instantly comprehending
anything whatever (or thinking so), and finding the least thorough-
ness of discussion a bore.

In a thousand little things of daily occurrence the same light
grace and tastiness are constantly and invariably displayed by al-
most every Japanese, in even the veriest trifies, in manners, the
movements of the body, in salutation or in conversation, the patch-
ing of slightly torn paper doors with bits cut to the shape of a
butterfly, the pasting a double, half-broken pine leaf into the pull-
space of a paper window, the placing of cake slices in overthrown-
XIX— 10

146 Ths Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

step-form on a plate — in everything, everywhere, a certain jaunti-
ness, neatness, and airiness that are most taking to the observer.
Some of those trifles have become with them customary conven-
tionalities, and are repeated from generation to generation. Yet
there are always the insatiable thirst for novelty, the love of change,
and ignorance of underlying principles; so that there is often of
late years a most inconsiderate imitation of foreigners both in
small matters and in great, but especially in those obvious on the
surface, in manners, dress, furniture, and architecture, overlooking
from admiration at novelty the inherent ugliness of many feat-
ures and the necessary incongruity of some with the climatic and
other conditions of the country. Indeed, mere oddity of looks goes
very far in pleasing the Japanese, and seems to be the principal
criterion of their appreciation of natural landscapes and of all
natural objects, as well as to a great degree of all works of art.

III. In behavior and action the Japanese- — either (1) by them-
selves in general ; or (2) specially towards superiors in authority,
power, or social rank, such as parents, masters, patrons, the gov-
ernment, and priests ; or (3) in more equal relations toward men
and women ; or (4) towards admitted inferiors — with the utmost
inclination to sociality, show the same readiness and quickness, the
same promptness of action as of decision, but a want of careful re-
flection as to motives and reasons, the same love of variety and
change, and the same lack of depth and thoroughness.

1. The ruling principle throughout, the ultimate source of
nearly all their activity, is regard for others leather than self-respect,
an "external conscience" or mentor rather than an internal one,
a tendency to conform to others' ideas of right and wrong rather
than to any of their own, to consider it right to do a questionable
thing if " others do so," and yet commonly without any more
serious dread of consequences than that of ridicule. Indeed, their
word for bad (apparently allied to our own and still more like our
word worse) has evidently the same root as the word for laugh ;
and another quite distinct word that means ridiculous is to-day
constantly used also in the sense of bad. And yet when ridicule
does come they are much less deeply sensitive to it and annoyed by
it than a more reflective people. Owing to the social habits and
customs that have arisen from their disposition, they are almost
every moment of their lives under the observation of others, and,

77ie Character of the Japanese. 147

consequently, under the influence of the incentive to good conduct
that is most potent with them, and the one that produces, too, a
much more pleasing effect in the eyes of others than conscientious-
ness and self-respect, which lead almost invariably and necessarily
to goody-goodness, if not to pride and real selfishness. In fact,
goody-goodness, so offensive to everybody, even to the goody-
good, is nothing but conscientiousness without regard to the
opinion of others ; the goody-good wish to be self-denying, but are
bent upon doing what they think is right rather than what you
think is, and try to be indifferent to your lack of appreciation of
their behavior. Nothing is farther than goody-goodness from the
character of the Japanese.

It must not be imagined, either, that the feelings indicated by
their amiable language or actions are so deep as would be shown
in the same way by a slower, more reflective, less demonstrative
people. As the feelings are not so deep, the disappointment of
wishes and bereavement are easily borne, and the people are, con-
sequently, light-hearted and gay. Just before beaching a vessel
in a storm the only one of the ship's company who could not swim
has been found to join merrily in the joking of the others at the
almost certain prospect of his drowning ; and you may see a young
woman of education and good character watching with slight and
idle curiosity some trivial circumstance at one side while her
much-beloved mother's body is lowering into the grave close by.

Both the lack of great depth of feeling and the desire to please
others encourage cheerfuhiess and gayety of manner and joking
habits; so that social gatherings, whether small or large, are apt
to be very merry, and even in business consultations there is al-
ways a great deal of fun and laughter (and every question is by
preference decided through deliberation by discussion witli others
rather than by private reflection). At feasts and on holiday
parties or excursions " to see the flowers" of the cherry or plum
and the like, the Japanese are as far as possible from "taking
their pleasure sadly"; and their rollicking jollity and wholly
careless abandonment to mirthful delight, with the greatest readi-
ness of wit and humor, yet with the utmost respect for others, are
extremely interesting and pleasing.

Their cheerful, light-hearted disposition makes them, of course,
very sanguine and hopeful, ready to look on the bright side of

148 The Journal of Speculative Pliilosopliy.

every circumstance, and to believe encouraging language about
any dubious matter. If you say two worda, they will risk a million
dollars on the most doubtful of mines.

Owing to their lack of depth of feeling, the Japanese are in gen-
eral very temperate in the indulgence of their selfish likings, and
are not greatly addicted to alcoholic drinks, nor to tobacco, and
only very exeei^tiouallj' use opium at all. They smoke tobacco,
to be sure, frequently — even the women — but only take a whiff or
two at a time. Tea they drink often too, but in small quantities
and very weak.

From their want of depth of attachment to anything and their
cheerful contentment, they are very frugal, and, in their admirable
climate, able to be comfortable bodily with a very small outlay.

With such easy comfort, exertion for anything further seems
snpei-fluous; they are too well satisfied with their present condition
to feel any very great eagerness about improving it when they see
or foresee no special occasion ; and they are very ready to " let
well alone " and not to borrow trouble from the future, to let the
morrow take care of itself, and to be improvident. They are,
consequently, apt to exaggerate the difficulty of any change from
the present condition of affairs and to make mountains out of mole-
hills in the way of future work to be done, particularly any that
disturbs present comfort, however serious a careful consideration
might show the probable future importance of the step to be.
They seem, therefore, dilatory, whereas they are in fact very
prompt and ready when they are fully aware of the need of being
so, and especially when no long, tedious, persistent effort is re-
quired. In spite, then, of their gi'eat natural quickness, they often
seem, nevertheless, to be very slow to accomplish anything. It is
the old story of the race between the hare and the tortoise ; the
quick ones waste their opportunity to win easily, because they are
inconstant and seek diversion from the steady, plodding pursuit of
one single aim.

Their gay and happy disposition makes them careless and heed-
less, and apparently forgetful of duties, notwithstanding the real
excellence of their memory ; but it is unmindfulness, or not keep-
ing constantly in mind, rather than true forgetfulness or poor
memory. Their attention is taken uji with what is at the moment
before them, and they have no thought for anything else. If

The Character of the Japanese. Wd

they are reading tbej appear remarkably abstracted and uncon-
scious of the whole world besides ; l)ut that is quite different from
abstraction througb occu]):iti^>n with one's own thoughts, sotne-
tliing altogether foreign to Japan.

Constant observation of what is before them rather than of their
owii thouglits gives them such higli respect for outside opinion and
great regard for superficial matters as to make them apt to be vain,
bumble though they really are in forming a low estimate of them-
selves; and consequently they are much pleased and, at least for
the time being, impressed with any evidence of the esteem of others.
They are fond of bearing and displaying any badge or mark of such
good opinion, say a decoration of any order of knighthood, or a
military medal, or, in tiie case of servants and laborers, the initial
or mark of their employer. They are also very liable to have their
vanity encouraged and played upon by interested parties, publicly
by ambitious politicians and demagogues, peaceful or warlike, and
privately by flatterers.

Such high respect for others' opinion makes the Japanese very
conservative of ancestral customs, both in more important mat-
ters and in dress, from fear of ridicule at any decided divergence
from what is usual. Yet, when once convinced of tiie superiority
of "Western enlightenment to their own and to the Chinese, which
they have followed so long, they are pleased to adopt with the
utmost speed our modern fashions, so far as known to them, and
think thereby to gain additional respect from the more enlightened
classes, who have a like ailiniration of the West. Oidy the women
and the more secluded provincials, owing to the inferior education
and information of their class and their consequent general adher-
ence to former opinions, are less quick to adopt outlandish customs.
It is to be hoped that better enlightenment and good sense will
eventually save the handsome, becoming, convenient, national cos-
tume. Though the dress seems to a foreigner at first sight very
uniform, it appears that there is within certain limits change of
fashion from time to time, just as with us.

The great regard of the Japanese for appearances and their
tastefulness lead them to be cleanly and neat, at least to outward
seeming ; and tlieir common word for pretty is used also for clean,
and dirty is used for ugly. Not merely love of cleanliness, but
agreeableness of bodily sensations makes them so fond of hot baths

150 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

as to take one daily, or at hot springs several times a day. Yet
the cleanliness is too apt to be but superficial, and balanced by
uncleanliness of clothes that are little seen, such as under-clothes
and night-clothes. They keep the more visible part of their houses
and dooryards and gardens comparatively very tidy indeed, but
are apt to shock you by their carelessness about the appearance of
the less frequented portions. It is, indeed, the same lack of thor-
oughness in neatness as in everything else ; and it is particularly
noticeable wherever the circumstances are new to them, so that
they have not as a guide the old customs and traditions of many
centuries, and do not for themselves think out the proper methods,
and ai'e led astray by their scanty superficial observation of for-
eigners. For example, in their newly acquired steam mercantile
marine, where the custom of removing the shoes or sandals on en-
tering, as is done in their houses and junks, applies no longer, and
where the arrangements are in several resiiects difl:erent and less
simple than they used to be on junks, the greatest want of neat-
ness is very often found. Lack of thorough cleanliness, too, is
very striking in the management of the newly adopted Western
clothing by the neglect often to wear its under-clothing, or to
change it frequently, and the like ; and especially in the care of
the dress of the soldiers in modern uniform.

The want of depth of feeling and lightness of attachment to ob-
jects and pleasures loved, and the seldom looking thoughtfully far
ahead, make it comparatively easy to part with life itself; so that
under excitement, or in a conspicuoiis position, soldiers of the old
military class show bravery enough, and in civil life suicide long
ago became a highly respected means, not of injuring an opponent,
but of establishing one's own innocence. The utmost regard for
appearances and decorum is shown, even in all the details of the
best approved and prescribed methods of committing suicide. In
spite of such a readiness to die in a becoming manner under cer-
tain circumstances, in cases where there is less vainglorious excite-
ment or less pressure of outside opinion, the inclination is deci-
dedly to yield and submit rather than to resist danger ; in other
words, to be timid, except out of regard to the opinion of others.
In exposure to danger they have the utmost self-confidence, and
are not oppressed by any deep imagining of the extent of the risk.
Therefore they do not easily lose their presence of mind, are not

The Character of the Japanese. 161

troubled with giddiness in high places, are ready to undertake
boldly almost any duty that is laid upon them, and do not shrink
from taking up any office, no matter how complicated and serious
its responsibilities and duties may be. For, in general, notwith-
standing their modesty in claiming little of the consideration or
esteem of others, they often appear too self-confident and never
diffident. Yet, for the very reason that they are not hindered by
any secondary reflections about the difficulties of a position from
having full command of their faculties, they work comparatively
at their ease, and consequently to great advantage, and so, to some
degree, can justify what seems their over-confidence in themselves.
But in cases that require unseen fortitude, the inconspicuous en-
durance of evils that are appreciated, there is no self-respecting
firmness, only the desire to escape. Inevitable troubles, however,
are less deeply felt than they would be by a more reflective people,
and are borne, especially in the sight of men, with becoming equa-
nimity, or even gayety.

The Japanese are proud that centuries ago, with the help of the
weather, they valorously repelled invasion attempted by the Chi-
nese ; but it would probably have been much more fortunate for
themselves if they had had the wisdom to submit at once, as they
would have done most quietly and cheerfully after defeat. Their
country would have enjoyed ever since greater peace and prosper-
ity, and have made far greater progress in enlightenment, and an
intermixture of Cliinese blood would have done no harm to the
race, however regrettable such a mi.xture of types might have been
to the student of human nature or of philology.

The persecution of the Christians a couple of centuries ago was
borne, too, with the most remarkable tenacity and fortitude, out
of fidelity to a chosen master and in the belief of gaining thereby
everlasting happiness in another world. Burning at the stake was
therefore readily undergone; l)ut slow torture was more efiective,
though in a number of cases the most atrocious, diabolical torments
were endured until the release of death at the end of many days.
For the fear to lose somewhat of the approbation or respect of the
circle, or set, or individuals whose opinion they particularly value,
makes them seem at times extremely obstinate in tenacious ad-
herence to a leader or sect.

2. As for their behavior towards admitted snjteriors, it is natural

.152 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that, with the plasticity and dependence of childhood, they should
acquire the highest respect of all for their parents, to whom, con-
sequently, they acknowledge the duty of faithful obedience and
cherishing throughout life, and the greatest posthumous honors.
Indeed, filial duty is reckoned the first and foremost of all virtues.
Obedience is likewise due, after the father's death, to his eldest
son as head of the family. Gu-ls and women, from their greater
dependence, especially, owe such submissive fidelity to the head
of the family, to the father, to the husband, or, in the case of a
widow, theoretical]}' at least, to her own son, who, however, re-
tains necessarily his early acquired respect for his mother. It is
instinctively conceded that, in any association of human beings,
one must lead and the others be led, and dutiful obedience to the
acknowledged head is reckoned a virtue and an honor instead of
a weakness or disgrace, and is considered, as far as it goes, a mark
of superiority ; so that a child filial and obedient to a cruel, vicious
father would be held in great honor, though the parent would be
despised. Girls are highly esteemed for giving up even chastity
in order to support their parents, no matter how idle and worth-
less these may be.

At an early age (say from twenty to twenty-five for young men
and sixteen to twenty for girls) a wife or husband is selected. It
is done by the parents on either side through go-betweens (recog-
nizing in so important and delicate a matter that he who pleads
his own cause has a fool for his client), the final decision, how-
ever, being generally made with the young couple's consent ;
though a previous particular acquaintance is not thought specially
desirable, and objection to the parents' choice is not very often
made, especially not by girls. But afiection and love, as well as
respect, are none the less maintained between consorts, for it
would be thought as monsti'ous not to love one's spouse as not to
love a brother or sister, equally little or still less self-chosen. Jap-
anese ladies judge by outward appearance that foreign ones do
not love their husbands in any way comparable to what is custom-
ary in Japan. Women there do not dream of its being in any
way derogatory, or disgraceful, or unfit that they should be wholly
subject to the guidance of their husbands, almost invariably their
elders and better informed.

A wife there may be divorced simply by the husband's writing

The Character of the Japanese. 153

" tliree lines and a lialf," and until a few years ago she had in
snob a case no right of appeal to the Government. It may be
suspected tiiat such thorough subjection of woman to man might
have a very pernicious eftect upon the man's character (as it would
more surely liave in countries with less of counteracting indu-
ences), but, beyond a doubt, its effect upon the woman's character
is extremely beneficial, and the result is most enchanting. No-
where else can be found such entire, sincere, unquestioning, ciieer-
ful, soemingly unforced, submissive humility and meekness — most
excellent virtues, well worthy of the first place among the beati-
tudes at the foundation of a religion, yet too apt to be deliberately
and openly neglected and despised by its professors of either sex
in "Western " civilized "countries. These and other Christian vir-
tues are found so thoroughly woven into the Japanese character,
and inherited for ages, as to appear completely natural and to be
practiced without effort ; and are for that very reason tiie more
admirable and meritorious.

In the relations of servant and master, client and patron, ^ro-
tege and protector, pupil and teacher, there are on either side in
great measure the same motives, acknowledged or secret, con-
scious or unconscious, as in the case of child and parent ; and,
next to filial duty and faithful wifehood, fidelity of service in
those relations is reckoned the highest virtue in Japan. Even for-
eigners have had some opportunity of knowing the fact by expe-
rience when they have liad Jai)anese assistants or pupils, and
mast, without exception, admit that nothing could be more
charming than the respectful attention and submission almost
invariably accorded in such subordinate positions, in spite, too, of
of its being in Japan nearly always a position in which submis-
sion is likewise still more due in the same matters to Japanese
officials, at least nominally in charge, who may not be thoroughly
agreed with the foreigners. Japanese servants of foreigners are
less enlightened than students, and therefore more subject to the
old belief in the inferiority of foreigners to natives, and, by the
comparative ignorance on eitlier side of any common language,
are led into many errors and temptations, and have in very many
cases been corru[)ted by the bad practices that early grew up
among those wlio were, so to speak, outcasts and disreputable for
the very reason that they were willing to serve foreignei-s; yet

154 The Jov/rnal of Speculative Philosophy.

the uncontaminated ones are generally very faithful to the in-
terests of their masters, especially of those who have a passable
knowledge of the language of the country, whereby many mis-
understandings are prevented.

Much annoyance is sometimes caused to a master by the very
anxiety to anticipate his wishes and by hastily jumping at wrong
conclusions or going off at half-cock iu regard to his desires, and so
appearing thick-headed and stupid, where not intelligence but
thorough carefulness in inquiries was lacking. Where, too, they
think they know a master's interests better than he does himself,
and less often in selfish affairs, they will sometimes simply take
the bit between their teeth and carry out their own views in spite
of orders, arguments, or remonstrance, apparently under a spell of
deafiiess and of wilfulness. But it is from confidence in their
own judgment and a short-sighted belief in their skill to smooth
matters over after the end is once attained. That confidence in
their own opinion makes it almost absolutely necessary to explain
fully the reasons of orders or instructions that are unusual or not
very easily comprehended. They seem never to think, even when
soldiers, that it is not theirs to question why, and that an order
may have some excellent reason that does not lie on the surface.
In military matters they are apt, therefore, to appear insubordi-
nate and undisciplined ; to insist upon campaigns that to the
better informed Government above them are clearly unwise;
and, in tlie excitement of battle, to refuse, for example, to draw
back from a pursuit that seems to them most successful, so that
they may fall into an ambuscade ; and in other like ways to cause
trouble.

The Japanese have such high respect for others and submissive-
■ness toward superiors in authority, with selfish resistance, if at all,
only in secret ways for the most part, that they are ready to be
subjects of despotic power, and their Government has ever been
" an absolute despotism tempered by assassination," with all its
advantages as well as disadvantages. Local oppression has some-
times been so severe that even the easily contented, meek, unwar-
like country people have burst out in rebellion and fought with
sharpened bamboos for spears. Yet one of the greatest of their
I'ebellions has been against a more enlightened Government, but
in obedience to leaders that were almost worshipped by their fol-

The Character of the Japanese. 155

lowers and that were influenced by an exaggerated opinion of the
importance of their own views to their country and ruler, as op-
posed to the opinions of former comrades in the Government.
Disloyalty to the acknowledged head of the State has never l)een
flatly avowed ; he may be captured and made to issue favorable
decrees, or, in cases of doubtful succession, a rival niaj' be main-
tained to have rightfully the authority, or it may be argued that
the supreme mandates are nut authentic or given with free will.
It is evident that such a people are very apt to become the willing
subjects and followers of any more selfish able man who seeks the
power, and would likewise submit, with comparative ease and
readiness, to any strong foreign power that should subdue them and
that should not seriously oppress them nor eonstantl}' annoy and
irritate them by the cold, haughty, unsympathetic, and uncompan-
ionable ways of its oflicials. A voluntary union with such a power
•would of course be more satisfactory, but wisdom for a government
move of that kind could hardly be expected. The only proba-
bility of any such voluntary union would be at some future time
under a republican government with another of like kind, say as
part of the " federation of the world." Kepublican forms are
perhaps not necessarily incompatible with a character that has
been so submissive to despotism, for they give those who have
the most of natural inclination and capacity a peaceable opportu-
nity to take the lead, and to every citizen the chance, by vote or
argument, or more indirectly by educational or other rational and
peaceful means, to indulge that inclination in his own degree, and
80 oppose oppression, injustice, and maladministration or forward
good management of state affairs.

Not merely do the Ja])anese look up with the highest respect to
the head of their Government, regarding him only latelj' as scarcely
less than a god, but they accord generally the readiest obedience
and humble submission even to his lowest oSicial. Indeed, they
know that with tlie secret, underhand methods not uncongenial
to the character of their countrymen, nor ever unusual under a
despotism, almost any official can, if he desire it, do a great deal
of harm to a personal enemy. They must therefore regard him
with as much respect and fear (if the illustration may be pardoned)
as you may often see intelligent, well-informed Americans have
or a "member of the press," because he has a giant's power and

156 The Journal of Speculatwe Philosophy.

may use it like a giant, according to circumstances of disposition
or digestion that cannot be known in advance.

3. Not only is fidelity yielded in the formal position of a subor-
dinate before a superior or protector, but the instinctive disposition
toward association causes the same relationship, as it were, to be
constantly assumed for the time being during intercourse with any
equal, and to some degree even with an inferior. There is com-
plaisance, a genuine readiness to comply with the will of others,
and to further their interest. In short, constant consideration for
others, the secret of true politeness, is among the Japanese of all
classes, more probably than in any other country, the prevailing
rule of conduct ; and, indeed, they are as a people already very justly
celebrated for their urbanity. They not only make great use of
forms of civility, marks of respect and affection befitting a depend-
ent condition that is real or assumed, but, both by nature and by
the second nature that comes from the habitual use of such forms,
have an unusually large share of the underlying feelings of kind-
ness and humility, a lack of which is too apt to be concealed by
the forms in the opinion of ruder nations. Even intimate friend-
ship or close relationship is not considered excuse enough for omit-
ting the outward signs of respect and affection, so that familiarity
does not, as in some countries, breed rudeness; and merely ordi-
nary and conventional forms do not suffice, but more unusual
methods of showing kindness must frequently be contrived ex-
pressly. Moreover, aside from actions directly toward others,
approbation is sought and deserved by the avoidance of what is
annoying, by cheerfulness of looks and language, by not worrying
or fretting at the behavior of others or at unavoidable circum-
stances, by quietness and gentleness of demeanor, by the absence
of disagreeable personal habits, by the exercise as far as may be
of tastefulness in personal appearance and dress. Still it is not to
be supposed that every particle of selfishness, ill-will, and discon-
tent in a whole nation has been altogether suppressed. In particu-
lar, an only son is apt to grow up selfish from having been petted
and spoiled while a child.

As they are polite out of regard for others' opinion and not out
of self-respect, so in cases where they do not have any particular
respect for a man or woman of apparently subordinate position, or
who can never do them any harm, they may be extremely rude and

The Character of the Japanese. 157

overbearing, especially when they think they seem thereby to be
of greater importance and power. Indeed, although foreigners as
a class are in the beginning higlily admired and looked up to lioth
as novelties and as evidently more enligiitened, it is a very common
thing for small oflBciala, after becoming slightly accustomed to
dealing with them, to show their own consequence and dignity by
small annoyances, such as keeping them waiting at a public office,
for example, or in many other trifling ways. To be able to show
a little power over the foreigner so highly respected is an especial
delight to such officials, for instance, as have the right to demand
the inspection of travelling passes. Real or apparent cases of rude-
ness also occur sometimes through a desire to imitate foreign man-
ners and imperfect enlightenment in regard to them, or through
ignorance how to behave in novel circumstances ; or through using
towards foreigners certain behavior that is customary among na-
tives for reasons that do not apply to foreigners or are not under-
stood by them.

"Worse than mere rudeness, their acting so much with reference
to the opinion of the men they respect and consequent lack of
honor when without that stimulus make them treacherous toward
an enemy or one they do not respect, notwithstanding their great
and characteristic faithfulness to a master. Where open enmity
cannot be practiced on a large scale there seems at times to bo no
limit to their small spitefulness.

From lack of enlightenment, and consequently of knowledge how
ridiculous their behavior is, or from a belief that it will not become
known to those whose opinion tliey especially regard, not being
conscientious or caring for their own res])0ct, tiiey are often guilty
of extremely petty meanness tliat is laughable but vexatious to
any foreigner it may affect. In mercantile and other business
they are excessively aimoying to a foreigner, ])artly from their not
being well aware of the binding importance of good faith and
steady unchangeableness in such matters. As any affair of that
kind is transacted more or less i)rivatel3', there is the less room for
the efl'ect of ridicule or outside opinion generally so potent, and
tbey consider that all others whose oi)inion they particularly re-
spect act under like circumstances in the same way, using every
means, however contemptible, for gaining tiie upper hand in the
open struggle for money or other advantages. In general, tlie

158 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

selfish ones, in order to carry out their ends, are veiy ready to use
secret, underhand, sly, deceitful methods, if there be no great risk
of ridiculous exposure, and are willing to gain their point without
having seemed to command it.

But, though they are much inclined to practice dissimulation
and to use secret underhand methods for the purpose of accom-
plishing their ends peacefully, their deception is not of the elabo-
rate, deeply contrived kind that is found, for example, in India ;
and, though they are skilful enough at maintaining secrecy when
they try, they are apt to overlook its importance unless in very
superficially evident cases. Indeed, insincerity is not in general a
Japanese fault, and frankness is one of their characteristics, be-
cause, in fact, they do not commonly reflect and think deeply
enough to plan any ingenious deception, and so come out with the
plain truth. Nevertheless, their truth-telling is not from any self-
respecting, conscientious love of it, be the consequences what they
may ; and, in case of temptation, they are apt (at least the less en-
lightened are) to deceive or tell an untruth without any compunc-
tion or shame if not found out, yet generally an untruth of a
very shallow kind and easily seen through, and often of a well-
known or traditional sort adapted to certain circumstances. Since
the ruling motive is to please others and to look well externally,
there is great willingness to make use of shams, many of them cus-
tomary ones; and as in dress the sleeves of an under-garment may
be tipped with richer material to give the appearance that the whole
is of the same costly stuii, so in more serious matters untrue state-
ments or expressions, false names, false dates, and the like inex-
actitude are freely used, especially if there be no obvious direct
harm therefrom and no important contravention of what is essen-
tial. Unselfish lies for politeness' sake are of course extremely
common, yet not of such a kind as to make their politeness insin-
cere. As we have seen, they are cheerful and gay in the most
serious predicaments, and it is no wonder that in unimportant
matters the real feeling should sometimes be less profound than
outward demonstrations had led less polite and more-literal for
eigners to suppose, causing them to accuse the Japanese ot insin-
cerity and to long for the rude but at bottom kind-hearted ways of
a more phlegmatic Western people.

The Japanese are sometimes blamed for ingratitude, but, how-

2Tie Character of the Japanese. 159

ever just the charge may possibly be against their Government
(for "communities are proverbially ungrateful," because a large
body of men comes with difficult}* to full agreement on any one
point) as regards the people individually, the opinion arises gener-
ally from exaggerated expectations, in consequence either of the
very demonstrations of polite thanks at first, or of a self-regarding
overestimate of the benefit conferred and ot the occasion for grati-
tude, or from an underestimate of the gratitude the receiver of a
kindness really feels without, in his absence, any convenient way
of displaying it. Nevertheless, the gratitude must in reality not
commonly be expected to be so very deep, for other more selfish
feelings are not ; and it is natural for the Japanese not to be
profoundly moved by kindness that they would themselves per-
form as a matter of course without expecting any unusual return.

However unkind, changeable, and in numl)erles8 petty ways
annoying they may seem when their favor or fairness of treatment
is desired or demanded by one who is not v&c-^ obviously in want
of their help, or who appears independent of them, or in any de-
gree opposed to them or without their respect, they are very kind
to those whose dependence or need is acknowledged or manifest,
particularly so to the sick, and more especially whore relative posi-
tion or other circumstances occasion more than usual respect for
the invalid. More than one foreigner in Japan has experienced,
with surprise even, as well as heartfelt gratitude, the extreme
kindliness and faitliful, unwearying attention shown at times of ill-
ness by his servants or employed men, and by the pupils, assist-
ants, or officials with whom he may have been connected. The
instinctive kindliness to the sick has its root, perhaps, in a more or
less conscious fear of losing a protector, defender, or aider.

The regard for others' esteem and slightness of attachment to
their own selfish indulgence lead to free-handed, generous, and
even lavish ways, according to the conspicuousness of the occasion
or the admitted importance of the individuals or body of men
whose good opinion is desired. The Japanese are very good, too,
about helping a relative in distress, expecting in time of their own
need a like return, and, in fact, seem sometimes to have, as it were,
a common ])urse for the whole family connection.

They are remarkalfly free ivww envy at another's good fortune
that they cannot share, and will thank you heartily for any special

160 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

kindness toward a relative or comrade ; but they are none the less
eager to vindicate the claims of their own master.

None know better than they do how to turn away wrath by a
soft answer, or to avoid by silence further irritating one who is
already annoyed, or are more ready to try deceit for the same pur-
pose. When defeated in their wishes they, better than any others,
can cheerfully " accept the situation." When they have received
an injury they do not feel it so deeply but that they can with
comparative readiness forgive and forget it, so that tliey some-
times seem to outsiders of different disposition and training (al-
beit Christians so called), to be like a dog who will good-humoredly
bring back the cudgel that has been thrown at him. Yet an in-
jury to a parent or master is never forgiven nor forgotten, and re-
venge for it has been considered a most important point of honor ;
and incidents of that kind are the favorite ones in their history.
They are, tlien, on the whole, remarkably forgiving of injuries to
themselves, yet at the same time vindictive and untbrgetting as to
injuries to a parent or master.

In spite of the humble, faithful devotion to superiors in au-
thority, and the constant respect for equals and kindliness toward
subordinates, it may be questioned whether friendship exists at all
in Japan in the lofty sense the word has in the Western world ;
and in the thousands of years of their history, exact, traditional,
or mythical, there appears to be no single incident resembling that
of Damon and Pytliias, and no evidence that it would have been
a])preciated as anything but ridiculous if there had been. They
have, however, the custom of adoptive brotherhood between
friends, by which the survivor in troublous times becomes responsi-
ble for the care of the deceased one's children.

The readiness to overlook injuries, large or small, and the habit
of looking merely at the surface and not reflecting or brooding,
combined witli the general friendliness of their countrymen, give
rise to striking confidence in others, and a comparative absence of
suspicion and jealousy. What you say or do towards another,
however bunglingly and ambiguously, is taken in a good sense,
and there is a complete absence of the sensitive readiness to take
oifence that is seen in some other countries even when no oflfence
is meant or can properly be inferred. Tlie Japanese, then, have
comity, and get along together without disagreeable fi'iction ; and

The Character of the Japanese. ISl

when associated, for instance, on a piece of" work, though previ-
ously stranjrers, thev "pull to<retlier" well. If the word civiliza-
tion as distinguislied from enlightenment means natural or trained
adaptation and skill for human association, tiien the Japanese are
among the most highly civilized races in the world, and thejhave
less tlian almost any other the rude independence and segregating
selfishness of savages.

While in reality of a confiding disposition, inclined to put trust
in others, yet they naturally suppose anybody else to be influenced
as exclusively as themselves by outside opinion, and therefore ca-
pable of acting, when without such influence, in a most crooked
manner. They seem, consequently, to be very suspicious and
doubtful of a man's steadfast honor when unwatched, and for that
reason they appear to foreignei-s to be much given to secret or un-
derhand observation and setting of spies.

Xevertheless, the general confidence in others and absence of
jealousy are noticeable in domestic affairs and in the lack of seclu-
sion even of women, a strong contrast particularly to what is found
almost everywhere else in Asia, and resulting in as great freedom
for women as they enjoy, for example, in France. A gentleman's
friendly visitor is made acquainted with the ladies of the house,
even the younger ones, and it is not thought strange or improper
that a married lady should visit a gentleman in his house. An
ofiicial has been known to send his concubine, in his absence, to
make his house ready for temporary occupation by a foreign gen-
tleman she had never seen, and to receive him. In some other re-
spects there is still far greater freedom than there would be in
France ; for even well-born ladies, old and .young, are accustomed
to go daily without special attendance to the public bath. There
both sexes batlie quite naked with the utmost decorum and polite-
ness, though not always with straight-faced seriousness, it is such a
mirth-loving race; while they indulge at the same time by the
hour together their natural talkativeness and gather all the news
and gossip of the day.

It is easy, then, to understand that there should be the utmost
freedom of speech between the sexes, especially as the keenness of
their wit prevents the continuance of any barrier of superetitiously
maiiitiiincd ignorance or pretence of ignorance of certain matters;
and tiiat with the national love of joking there should be a fre-
XlX-11

162 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

qiient occurrence, even in ladies' presence, of what luiglit be con-
sidered obscenity in prudish Western countries, but which in Japan
raises only a childlike, innocent laugh. The Japanese, not looking
below tlte surface, are not ready to perceive improper double mean-
ings nor prurient, on the lookout for immoral suggestions ; nor do
they infer the encouragement of unchastity (the essential harm of
obsceuity) from the mere mention of certain subjects or from jok-
ing about them.

The " social evil," as the name suggests, is the raostserious form
of indulgence in Japan, and has been especially rife both on ac-
count of the sociable, amiable disposition and lack of conscientious-
ness of the people, and of some favoring circumstances of their
political organization under the late Government ; such as the
gi'eat numbers of military retainers of the princes who had to live
at times in the capital, and at times in the country, and the fact
that the retainers were maintained by rations that descended from
the father to the eldest son only, so that the other sons, if not
adopted elsewhere, could have no family of their own. These cus-
toms of the gentry led to the corruption of the morals of the peo-
ple of the town and country — farmers, merchants, tradesmen, and
the like. Through lack of enlightenment, too, polygamy or con-
cubinage, as in the most of Asia, has until lately been legal, and is
still allowed to a certain extent to officials and to the Emperor,
and the keeping of a mistress in addition to a wife is not uncom-
mon among those who can afford it, especially Government ofH-
cials, even some of the highest, though not considered at present
very reputable. But, of course, poverty, as well as habits of self-
control and shallowness of feeling, makes monogamy and compara-
tive chastity to be the most general rule throughout tlie whole
population.

Love between the sexes has been glorified by a very few extreme
cases that are celebrated, where the lovers have even found life in-
supportable in separation and have killed themselves — cases appar-
ently famous for the very reason that they are far rarer than in
Western countries. It is true the double suicide of loving couples
is not a very infrequent occurrence ; nor is the suicide of women
who find themselves neglected by their lords. But the impelling
cause of the double suicides, as sometimes no doubt in the case of
these women, is generally pecuniary distress, difficulty about get-

The Character of the Japanese. 163

ting a living, not the cruelty of parents or of laws and cuitonis
that stand iu the way of the lovers' union. As marriages take
place rather early and without the previous choice of the parties
themselves, the few celebrated cases of strong unmarried love have
been with inmates of brothels, where indeed is the scene of the
most of Japanese romance. It sometimes happens that even offi-
cials of good position are so attracted by women there as to make
them legal wives, though it probably does not happen so often as
some foreigners suppose. Among the married there is perhaps-
somewhat seldom very deep ardent love on either side according
to "Western notions, though faithful attachment and respect for a
lord and master and, to some extent, fondness for dependents and
desire for association, especially or primarily, of the sexes be guid-
ing principles of the Japanese character.

4. As regards the treatment of inferiors, parents, with their ad-
mitted complete sway and with their own life-long training' of self-
control in favor of othei-s, and looking for so great a return from
their children, are in general not harsh toward them, but very
gentle and kind. In fact, fondness of children is a most striking
characteristic of the whole people; and in the streets you may see
common laborers petting little children and babies of others.
The rod is spared, and at present is forbidden in the public scliools,
without apparently spoiling the child, for the absence of such ex-
ceptional severity is made up for by quickness and constancy of
admonition, that are sufficient with children who, by inheritance
from many generations, have such a submissive, gentle disposi-
tion. Japanese children are really the admiration and envy of
foreigners.

Any Japanese husband takes, it is true, for granted and as al-
together natural his absolute power over his wife, and her com-
plete submission to his authority ; but is not therefore unkind,
and is not, especially among the better educated classes, very
ready to divorce her.

A master or superior, though arbitrary and changeable, expect-
ing full respect and submission, is commonly not unkind, nor even
coldly distant and rough towards those confessedly in his power,
and treats them in a not harsh, though arbitrary, variable, uncer-
tain way that is not annoying to his countrymen with their dis-
position, however much it is so to foreigners of another kind, a<s

164 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

all such have experienced who have served the Japanese Govern-
ment.

Owing to their love of the good opinion of others, the Japanese
are especially fond of holding any position or oiBce that gives
authority or commands respect. Yet, once holding such a place,
they are not very desirous of exercising the authority themselves,
but readily delegate it to subordinates, retaining only the name.
For that reason their princes and emperors for many centuries
have been, with few exceptions, mere men of straw or figure-heads,
wliose power was really wielded by their men of business and
officials, who were pleased and satisfied with their own influential
position, and often kept themselves in it by causing the princely
line to be perpetuated by the adoption of unusually tractable or
unintelligent children. The name and appearance of authority
and power are desired, then, rather than the sul)stance.

As with the people, so with the Goveimment, much attention is
given to matters of superficial importance, while more serious ones
are neglected. For example, laws have been promulgated about
the mode of cutting and dressing men's hair, and about their dress,
and about the dimensions of wooden door-plates, while the sub
jects of the inheritance of property, and the treatment of wives by
their husbands, and the regulation of marriage formalities have
been almost wholly neglected and left to unsupported custom.

With such a light regard for religious theories, there is on the
part of the Government great toleration for all sects that have no
unsafe direct political tendency (as the Christian religion was sup-
posed to have in the time of the early Roman Catholic mission-
aries). The priests, too, have no special hold upon the people ex-
cept by persuasion, and have, ccmscqueutly, little temptation or
opportunity to be overbearing. So far from that, the Buddhist
priests profess to be servants (like the Christian ministers), and
call their parishioners masters. The required celibacy of the
Buddhist priests seems to be taken so lightly as commonly to re-
sult in having practically a single wife, who goes by the name of
"the needle," or seamstress. They appear much more intelli-
gent and decent than the brutish, stupid-looking priests of the
same sect in some countries, for example, at Canton, in China.

Owina: to unreflective, thoughtless habits and little imagination
of what is unseen, there is not very much nor deep sympathy with

Th^ Character of the Japanese. ir>5

the pain of otiiers, and, consequently, in many case* there is great
cruelty, especially in the treatment of convicted or suspected
criminals and enemies, or the helpless and friendless. Outside of
certain villages crosses were still standing as late at least as 1879,
that had been set up, not aa holy symbols, but for practical use,
and built, too, with the upper end long, so as to serve for cruci-
fixion with the head dt)wn. Regard, however, for the enlightened
opinion of modern times in AVestern countries, combined with
native kindliness, has, under the present Government, very greatly
mitigated the treatment of convicts, and has, even within a few
years, brought about the public prohibition uf the torture of sus-
pected criminals which was practiced in compliance with the
Chinese principle that a sentence should not be carried out witii-
out first having a confession of guilt, and which was applied only
after the guilt was already pretty well ascertained. The custom,
too, has been abolished of leaving a drowning man to drown witli-
out making any etiort to save him — a custom that formerly did not
seem so unhandsome as greater enlightenment has shown it to be.
Greater eidightenmeiit would remove many of the deplorable
and annoying consequences of the natural tendency to shallowness,
and, by showing the importance of many an act that would other-
wise be neglected, would cause it to be performed, and would in a
great measure take the place of a deep reflective habit by making
it possible to take advantage of the reflection and thought of
others. It is impossible, of course, for a careless and gay and
superficial disposition to be at the same time careful and anxious
and thorough; but it may learn to see the importance of numer-
ous careful or thorough actions, and to perform them, and, with an
excellent memory and power of association of ideas, to cultivate a
habit of watchfulness in regard to the occasion for doiii" them.
The further enlightenment and training of the Japanese would,
therefore, usefully be in the line of correcting indirectly, if not
directly, what may be considered the defects of their character (as
any such defect lessens their adaptation to surrounding circum-
stances and their fitness for life in the world as it is|, and, further,
should tend to develop or turn to advantage more particularly the
good faculties and qualities they naturally possess. For instance,
their taste might be still further improved and might be made
more and more useful by cultivation ; their observing habits, al-

166 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ready so universal that they little need any special cultivation by
object lessons in early childhood, might be turned to account in
natural science ; their reasoning powers, hitherto from want of
reflectiveness apparently deficient, might be increased and disci-
plined by mathematical and logical studies and exercises ; their
" external conscience" might be perfected by the elevation of the
whole people and by bringing to bear upon each individual the
opinion of the most enlightened men, showing what it is and its
merits.

It has often been pointed out that very many Japanese customs
are exactly the reverse of ours, and it is sometimes taken for
granted that they are consequently inferior or foolish, and evidence
of stupidity. But in many cases the two opposite ways of doing
a thing are equally satisfactory, and one way or the other might
have been adopted by chance or indifferently. In other cases, cir-
cumstances that are commonly overlooked by a foreigner make
the Japanese method more rational. For example, they put the
south edge of a map uppermost, evidently because, sitting as they
do on the floor and using the floor as a table to spread the map
out, the edge farthest from the eye would generally be toward
their large paper-covered sashes that serve both as windows and
doors, and are mostly toward the south, especially in good rooms,
whereas with iis, reading as we are apt to with the back toward a
high window without our bodies in the way of its light, the top of
the map would in the majority of instances be toward the north,
though at the present day a much smaller majority in our case
than in theirs. Again, it seems irrational to us to mount a horse
from the right side, ajid well-nigh impossible to do so with a sword
on ; but the two Japanese swords are worn in such a way as to be
no obstruction to mounting on the right, whereby, too, the swords
are less in the way between the rider and the horse's head, and
the freer right hand is in a position to be of better service than it
could be on the other side.

Foreigners in Japan, however, not only speak of the Japanese
as doing everything in the reverse method to ours, but severally,
or at different times singly, describe their character in diametric-
ally opposite ways, and ascribe to them qualities that are com-
pletely or apparently contradictory, as we can now readily \m
derstand. Many such strangers have somewhat of the native

The Character of the Japanese. 167

disposition to make hasty, sweeping generalizations that may be
optimistic or pessimistic, and to be blind thereafter to the excep-
tions or qnalitications; and many know the men among whom
they have lived for years almost as imperfectly as they do the in-
habitants of Timbnctoo. The first impression is nearly always an
extremely jdeasing one, but is apt to be entirely reversed by an-
noyances that occnr in a longer stay. It is not altogether won-
derful, then, that the various accounts of hasty or careless or preju-
diced new-comers or old sojourners, optimists or pessimists, are so
widely nnlike, considering that we have found the people to be
not only (juick in movement, but slow to accomplish ; quick wit-
ted, but shallow ; of excellent memory, but unmindful ; capable
of reasoning, but impatient of it or unwilling to unravel it, and so
seeming arbitrary and unreasonable ; very clear-sighted and prac-
tical in ordinary, comparatively simple affairs, but lacking judg-
ment in more seriously comiilicated, doubtful ones; bright, but
apparently thick-headed from jumping too hastily and superficially
at conclusions ; ingenious in numerous small ways, but imitative
and without profound originality ; ready at expedients, though
without radical contrivance or thoroughness ; fond of knowledge
and schooling, but hitherto ignorant and curious about trifles ;
keen-witted, but, from ignorance and respect for others, and habit-
ual neglect of looking beneath the surface, credulous ; remarkably
tasteful in decorative, picturesque, superficial, or trivial ways, but
not reaching to high art ; excelling in rapid execution of art, say
in painting, music, dancing, talking, but incapable of grand com-
position, either with the brush or in music or in words ; guided
in actions by the fear of ridicule, yet insensitive in not feeling it
80 very seriously after all ; demonstrative of their feelings so far
as decorum permits, but not in reality feeling very deeply ; frugal
as to their own private pleasure, but extravagant for the sake of
gaining the admiration of others ; lavish in behalf of those whose
good-will they desire, but stingy toward anybody else ; even self-
denying and temperate, out of respect to others, and because not
deeply desiring indulgence, yet fond of pleasure and ease ; prompt
when once in action, but dilatory about rousing from quiet ease
or about carrying through a work that requires steady, tedious
exertion ; active when in movement, but a])parently lazy from
indifl'erence to many ordinary yet more or less far-seeing inceii-

168 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tives for activity ; absorbed in observation of what is before them,
even in reading, but never abstracted in thought nor reflective;
thoughtless of cares or discouragement, hopeful and gay, yet so
lightly attached to seltish enjoyment, even to life itself, as to be
compai'atively ready for suicide ; therefore brave under excitement
or under the influence of others' opinion, and especially in behalf
of a master, but otherwise generally ajipearing timid, because they
prefer to yield what they prize so slightly to the will of another
rather than undergo much pain or trouble for it ; modest in their
claims upon others' esteem, yet self-contident from absence of em-
baiTassing second thoughts or reflection on the serious diflBculties
to be met ; humble in self-estimation, but vain of any token of
others' approbation ; from fear of ridicule at attempted originality,
conservative of certain ancestral customs, yet extremely change-
able in everything else, and even in them, after finding their
source, Chinese civilization, inferior to Western enlightenment ;
from regard for others, cleanly to outward appearance, but unneat
where not in plain view ; obedient to one in authority over them,
but insubordinate when they think they know his interest better
than he does ; respectful and submissive to superiors, but insolent
or overbearing to an unrespected, apparently weak and unim-
portant stranger ; always hitherto living under an absolute des-
potism, yet perhaps quite capable of maintaining republican forms ;
extremely polite even to equals or inferiors that they hold in some
respect, but very rude when they think safely to appear sujierior
thereby, or to conform to foreign customs, on the whole so much
admired ; remarkably faithful to a master, but treacherous and
spiteful in dealing with enemies or those whose opinion they think
lightly of; honorable toward equals when in the sight practically
of those they respect, but mean when without any such restraint ;
honest in trade when they readily perceive the good policy of being
so, but not averse to cheating in any other case ; usually trutliful,
however, from lack of deep calculation, but, under temptation,
hastily and inelaborately lying from not foreseeing the trouble it
will bring them ; ordinarily frank, but many times given to the
use of falsehoods and shams that seem harmless and unimportant,
or to secret underhand ways of carrying a point peacefully ; well
capable of secrecy, but often indiscreet from not seeing its im-
portance; sincere, but, out of politeness, telling unselfish lies, if

The ClMTocUr of the Japanese. 169

3'ou look at the literal meaning ; j)rofuse in acknowledgments of
gratitude, and unjustly accused of insincerely lacking it, though
perhaps not having the feeling so deei)ly as the demonstrations
would imply in the case of a more phlegmatic, literal i)eople ;
most attentive and kind to tiiu sick and distressed whom they
resjieet, however annoying may be their demands upon the same
individuals at other times ; remarkably free from envy, yet zeal-
ous in vindicating the claims of a patron ; forgiving of injuries to
themselves, but vindictive for a parent or master; very kind in
general, but at times extremely cruel from not realizing by reflec-
tion and imagination the pain they inflict and from not respecting
the sufferer ; fiaithful to superiors and friendly to equals and in-
feriors, but probably never friends in the highest sense ; well
civilized in associating together easily without friction, though
poorly enlightened ; generallj- confiding in others, but suspicious,
or doubtful of their good behavior when wholly out of sight, from
not expecting any great feeling of honor except under observa-
tion ; not much inclined to jealousy, and allowing great freedom
to women, yet regarding them practically as servants or even
slaves; virtuous as wives — that is, as faithful subordinates — but licen-
tious as men with the means to be so ; perfecth' decorous in spite
of nakedness that would seem indecent to some Americans ; harm-
lessly laughing with childlike innocence at jokes and sights that
to the same Americans would appear grossly obscene; particularly
inclined to love between the sexes, yet very rarely carrying it to
extreme infatuation ; in general, kindly toward inferiors, though
arbitrary and uncertain ; fond of rule for the respect it brings, but
becoming mere puppets and figure-heads as rulers, content with
that respect ; making laws about trifling details, but leaving
weighty matters to custom without Government support ; on the
whole, above all things social and extremely agreeable as subordi-
nates or companions or in time of sickness, but as superiors or in
business, from arbitrariness, fickleness, not feeling bound by prom-
ises to an inferior or opponent, and, from imperfect knowledge or
training as to the best modern methods, nearly unendurable to
men of different disposition ; so that, once knowing them well in
the various relations, you find " there is no getting along either
with them or without them," according to the poor or good disci-
pline they may have had. In a word, as, in spite of mature years'

170 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tbey are children in enlightenment, so, though they be men in
body, they are — not in a bad sense — women in character.

For you will already have remarked that we have been charac-
terizing not only the Japanese, and in great measure some other
peoples, but have essentially described at the same time the " bet-
ter half," the more particularly social half, of the whole human
race. The comparison is not by any means made, I repeat, in a
bad sense, as implied sometimes in the words womanish, effemi-
nate, feminine ; and far be it from me to be so ungallant as to ad-
mit that the resemblance is at all derogatory or uncomplimentary
to the Japanese, or that they or anybody else should be in the
least justified in thinking so. It must be borne in mind that it is
particularly in the unenlightened state that the less agreeable
features are found, and that the fundamental character is a most
amiable and admirable one. But it is a peculiarity of such a
character as theirs in that state, while holding themselves in little
respect, to be sure, to feel somewhat annoyed at any intimation
that in the opinion of others they do not possess every good qual-
ity, however impossible and contradictory its possession along
with certain other good qualities may be. No one can be both
shallow and deep at the same time ; yet both qualities have great
merits as well as defects. The quick and shallow and gay will
themselves laugh at the clumsy, pondering slowness of the rest of
the world ; and let them be content, then, just as the more reflect-
ive and self-respecting will on the wliole feel satisfied witli their
own lot in spite of their dulness, poor memory, and sensitiveness,
and the possible gibes and taunts of others.

It is true the Japanese have a quick, prompt, brisk, decided,
easy, self-confident, well-spoken manner, that women sometimes
superficially mistake for evidence of "manliness" and for the
strong, unyielding, commanding, at times haughty and domineer-
ing, really masculine qualities that are more likely to be found be-
hind a quiet, dull, heavy, slow-moving, inarticulate, awkward,
diffident, unpretending, or humble-seeming exterior.

As to which of the two dispositions or temperaments, masculine
or feminine, self-regarding or social, is on the whole or absolutely
the best, discussion might be endless and final decision impossible.
It might be urged that even bodily the feminine comparative ab-
sence of beard and hairiness noticeable in the Japanese is obvious

The Chararter of the Japanese. 171

proof of greater departure from tlie lower animal type ; but, on the
other haiul, their smallness of stature might be argued as indicating
an inferior stage of development, which would agi-ee too with the
fact that male children in some important respects have more the
character of wt)nieu than men have. It is, however, perhaps tlie
most reasonable to conclude that for every climate there is a human
character best suited to it, though unlike what is best balanced for
an average of the whole world, the happiest general mean of care-
less enjoyment of life and careful maintenance of it ; and that, if
a pe<'>ple be essentially undisturbed for many generations from
external contact and aduiixture, those who are less fitted for the
climate, or with a gross excess of either peculiarity of temperament,
will gradually die out and leave few or no inheritors of their dis-
position, while the better fitted ones will by degrees take their
place and fill up the whole land. In cases of numerous invasion
and armed settlement the same result would finally take place if
the subsequent seclusion should last long enough ; peaceful immi-
gration might even hasten the process, as the climate would espe-
cially attract those best fitted for it. It is striking how uniform
in character the whole Japanese people is, pi'obably from its
having been so long shut out from the rest of the world and sub-
ject to the natural process of adaptation to the climate and other
surrounding circumstances — a process hastened by the innate love
of conforming to the general standard of character. It is not as
in America, where we may sometimes see two sisters with the most
opposite temperament, one very masculine and the other very
feminine, though both with feminine training; and two brothers
may differ in the same way ; and a wife may be really of a more
masculine turn of mind than her husband. In some of our com-
munities of prevalent masculine disposition, but where women
strongly preponderate in numbers, the men seem apt to become
womanish and petty, and the women mannish and self-asserting.
But in general we have not yet seen the full effect on our trans-
planted race of the new climate and institutions, the abundance of
good land, the ease of getting a living, the numerous women teach-
ers, and other circumstances ; and the tendency seems on the whole
to be very decidedly toward the feminine cast (evidently to the
great satisfaction of the people itself), departing far from the
serious, stern, rugged, ultra-masculine character of our Pilgrim

172 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

fathers. The exquisite climate of Japan may in like manner have
occasioned the bright, careless, happy disposition of the Japanese.
But perhaps you are impatient at such discussion about the
probable natural origin of different temperaments, and prefer some
" old-aunt-of-the-universe " theory by which every people simply
has its inborn character given to it from time to time, and that's
all. Yet I will say, the fact that these and kindred speculations
have excited acrimonious pietistic opposition and frequent accusa-
tion of gross materialism is remarkable, considering that in reality
they not only lead to tlie finest spiritual views and create new in-
centives and guides to the highest morality, but even give grounds
for a literal and rational belief in many or all of the principal re-
ligious dogmas, which must otherwise be mysteries to the devout
and stumbling-blocks or superstitions to skeptics and infidels.

GOESCHEL O^ THE IMMOETALITY OF THE SOUL.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CARL FRIEDRIOH GOESCHEL, BY SUSAN E. BLOW.

Chapter III.

On the Trijplicity of the Proofs of Immortality in the Light

of Speculation.

Casting another backward glance at the path over which we
have travelled, we discover that, from the immanent movement of
Thought from Being to the Notion and the unfolding of finite
Spirit out of Soul into Personality, there falls a light which illu-
minates and transfigures the three original external proof's of im-
mortality. These proofs rest upon discursive thought, which tries
vainly to organize its scattered stores ; therefore, in themselves,
they bring no conviction of truth. The successive is never the in-
clusive and penetrative. This discursive Thought first attains
organic unity in the immanent development of the Notion ; hence
it arises that these same proofs, seen in the light of speculative
philosophy, really produce Conviction. This speculative light
radiates from the elevation of Being (in whose sphere the three

Goeschel on the ImvKyrtaUty of the Soul. 173

dogmatic proofs darkly strngiifle) into Tiiouglit. This done, the
Categories of Being and Essence are transfigured into their Truth
contained in tlie Categories of the Notion.

It is evident to the most superlieial observation that the sim-
plicity which is the basis of the metaphysical proof corresponds to
the Indiviiliiality of tlie soul whence (iroceeds its immanent move-
ment; that the capacity for intiuite development and the destiny
to infinite ends, of which the soul, according to the moral proof,
is conscious, corresponds to the consciousness of the subject into
wliich the soul awakes; and that the thought of jiersistence, which
is the basis of the ontological proof, finds its analogy in the Spirit,
in whose participative Personality the Soul realizes its notion. It
is true that in the first proof consciousness is presupposed, for only
from consciousness can simplicity be deduced ; it is, however, only
presupposed, and not developed. In the series of proofs, as in the
immanent movement of the notion, this development falls within
the second sphcie, and consists in that diremption of consciousness
wherein self and its other fall apart, and yet both are known
as content of consciousness. This is the transition to the third
sphere. Thus far the speculative movement of the idea ofters
nothing new, either in its content or in its successive phases ; it
places us, however, upon a new standpoint, whence we look at,
and into, and through the heretofore scattered and isolated proofs.

Another diilerence lies in the fact that, whereas each proof in
its dogmatic form is exclusive and sclf-sutficient from the specula.
tive standpoint, it is seen to go over into the succeeding proof.
The content of each ])roof sinks, therefore, into an organic phase
of truth, and, if taken alone out of this organi(! unitv, proves noth-
ing. The movement is dialectical ; the discovered proof contra-
dicts and annnls itself. In the immediate form in which it is
posited it is not true, and in its development it exhibits its own
insutficienc}'. This dialectic must now be more attentively con-
sidered, for it is the intrinsic though unrecognized cause of the
doubt wliich the separate ])ruofs have left behind them. The ne-
gation involved in the isolated proof is felt, but the positive truth,
veiled in the inadequate form, is ignored.

Therefore it becomes our duty to notice how the several con-
ceptions which underlie the dogmatic jiroofs of immortality are
trauBtbrmed when received in the light of the speculative method

174 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and how the dialectic movement of these proofs brings out their
relationship to each other.

The tirst point to be noted is, that the simplicity of the soul,
which is the basis of the first proof, is not able to maintain itself
when confronted with the thought to wliich it nevertheless belongs,
and is therefore really negated in the second proof.

Though the soul, being simple, is indivisible, and consequently
can neither separate itself from itself nor go out of itself, its es-
sential destiny is to go over into that wliich is not^itself ; for, be
its end knowledge or activity, each equally necessitates the aliena-
tion of the soul from itself.

In the first proof the soul, as simple, is dry and arid ; in the
second it becomes fluid in its forward movements. In the same
manner the content of the second proof is negated in the tliird, in
that therein the diremption into Subject and Object, Thought and
Being, is cancelled. Tiie Subject becomes conscious of the Object
as well as of itself, whence results the content of the third proof,
according to which each is in tlie otlier, and to Thought (which is
Persistence) is ascribed Being (which is Persistence). Stated dif-
ferently : According to the first proof the soul persists in itself,
and all its movement is fi'om and within itself; yet, according to
the second, having become self-conscious, it lives and has its Being
in God, and its movement is not from itself, but from God ; finally,
in the third proof God and the Soul are mediated in the Spirit,
and the estrangement between them forever cancelled.

But though in this transition negation has declared itself, there
must be recognized simultaneously the positive moment, /. e., the
form in which the Content of the negated proofs is still preserved.
Thus, the underlying truth of simplicity is revealed in Individu-
ality ; for Individuality is that Unity which in its diremption
maintains its integrity. Similarly, the implicit truth of destina-
tion (i. e., the soul's capacity for and destiny to high ends) be-
comes explicit in Consciousness, which, knowing both itself and its
other, feels itself to be active and passive, subjective and objective.
Finally, the presupposed immediate Unity of Thought and Being
is mediated in the Personality of the Spirit.

After these general statements we shall venture to dwell freely
upon the isolated proofs. Ultimately we shall doubtless find a
point toward which our scattered thoughts will converge.

Goeschel on the Imviortality of the Soul. 175

The first crude representation of simplicity is so barren, so un-
productive, so untliinkable that no man can persevere in lioldiug
it. That the soul, bein<; simple, cannot die we willingly concede,
for the simple is dead, and what is dead cannot die. The char-
acteristic of life is self-alienation. The truth of simplicity is there-
fore the unity of its varied detenninatious. The unity really
underlies the dogmatic conception of simplicity. Wolf defines
simplicity as vis or primary force. This force, according to him,
is the Representative Activity which manifests itself in different
faculties (facultates), and, without detriment to its unity, exerts
itself in difl'erent directions.

Again, when the soul, in virtue of its simplicity, is characterized
as immaterial, the first conscious meaning is that the soul is dis-
possessed of the body and its independence of the body is de-
clared. But without a body the soul cannot exist ; the truth is
that the soul has its real body in itself, that body and soul are
one in the Spirit because both are of the Spirit.

In predicating immateriality of the soul, we therefore really
declare only that the soul is not subject to matter. This predica-
tion, moreover, is wholly negative; we have neither explained
what the soul is, if it is not material, nor have we defined matter
itself. When Idealism says. The soul is spirit, animus est splritus,
it understands by spirit only that it is not matter. Spirit is the
opposite of matter, but the validity of matter is as little contested
by Idealism as by Materialism — the difference between the two
schools of thought being that Materialism ascribes the sole supre-
macy to matter, while Idealism confesses a belief in dualism. But
in dualism thought can find no rest ; moreover, it demands to know
what matter is. Thought struggles to free itself from matter ; this
is the deep internal significance of the conception of immateriality.
Thought first contests the supremacy of matter, then its validity.
In the course of this contest it falls upon many difl'erent concep-
tions which are far more than fancies of the imagination.

Matter is the limit temporarily allotted in thought to the finite
spirit — therefore darkness is its nature. This more adequate defi-
nition of matter has also the great significance that it finds in mat-
ter the negation which was ascribed to the soul when the latter
was characterized as immaterial. With this definitii)ii, in fact, the
whole battle is won if its meaning is really apprehended and de-

176 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

veloped. The forms of representation will, however, vary until
they culminate in the adequate concept.

In the development of this definition, matter is first character-
ized as the diiference between the infinite and finite spirits, for the
former includes its limit and the latter does not. This impenetra-
ble limit of the finite spirit is what we call matter.

Again, in the variation of views which have not ripened into in-
sight, matter is defined as the illusory image conjured up by the
understanding in lieu of the '' thing-in-itself " ; this latter it can
never find, as it lies beyond the subjective sphere.

Finally, matter is characterized as soul in the process of becom-
ing; this dead soul during its slow self-transfiguration serves the
living soul, through whose reaction it is quickened into conscious
life. ^

In all these representations the body is negatively but not posi-
tively cancelled. They are forms which, though developed from
the presupposed immateriality of the soul, yet seek to rise above
the dogmatic dualistic standpoint upon which the conception of
immateriality immediately rests. They contest that validity and
authority of matter which idealism left unimpeached ; they as-
cribe reality exclusively to the soul, and thus reduce matter to
negation. Their inadequacy results from the fact that they appre-
hend this negation onl}' in its alienation from positive reality.

Ultimately the truth grows clear which is hinted in all these
representations. This truth is the monism of the spirit, according
to which the spirit is seized, not as the synthesis of body and soul,
but as the unity of these two moments. Thus the abstract nega-
tive conception of immateriality leads ultimately to the concrete
notion of the spirit.

It is a most instructive and noteworthy fact that even those
systems of thought which move not from Thought or the Subject,
but from Substance or Being, are forced involuntarily to admit
this immateriality. Under this head must be classed the well-
known proposition of Spinoza in the Ethics : "Meais humaua non
potest cum corpore absolute destrui sed ejus aliquid remauet quod
aetemum est." Under this proposition stands its mathematical
demonstration, together with a scholitim, according to which indeed
the e.xistentia mentis ceases with the body, but the essentia mentis,
as an " intellectus in Deo conceptus," persists in God to all eternity.

Goeschel on the ImmortaHty of the Soul. 177

It must be admitted that with the existentia mentis perish Hepre-
sentation (imaginatio) and lie-collection (recordatio rerum praeteri-
tarum"), both of which are appreliended as dependent upon the
body. Consciousness, on the contrary, is somewliat illogically pre-
served.

This loss of existence and recollection is the logical result of a
system which apprehends God as Being or Substance, and therein
cedes to Being the supremacy and priority over Thought. With
such a presupposition it is forced to concede that the starting-
point of the tinite spirit is also its goal — to declare that nothing is
accomplished by existence in time, and to assert that the soul shall
return to God in the same form of essentia mentis in which it was
originally in God. This is the radical insufficiency of tliis stage
of thought; the consciousness retained in God its radical incon-
sistency — an inconsistency, however, which is unavoidable, because
the spirit, in virtue of its absolute freedom, as often as it is re-
nounced, instinctively asserts anew its own validity. It is worthy
of remark that S))inoza seizes Thought as simple because he op-
poses it to Extension, and that he grasps both Thought and Exten-
sion as attributes of substance, whereas the thinking Being and
the extended object are, in his view, only modes or affections of
these attributes.

When Spinoza attempts to explain the difference between the
esse essentiae and the esse existentiae he involuntarily substitutes
Thought for substance as the ground of the esse essentiae, but
while so doing still holds Thouglit apart from the subject de-
manded by and inseparable from Thought. With him, too, exist-
ence is externality, or extension and essence, simplicity or thought.
The esse existentiae to him is ipsa rerum existentia extra Deum et
in se considerata quae tribuitur rebus postquam a Deo creatae sunt.
All finite beings without distinction are therein apprehended as
external, /. <?., as Things; simultaneously the idea of emanation is
substituted for that of creation, the esse essentia signifying the
thought in God which is eternal, modus quo res creatae in Deo
concipiuntur. Thus even this original and highest Being of the
"essentia" falls within the range of Speculative Knowing, which
is " tertiiim genus cognitionis sub specie aeternitatis."

In illustration of the ditierence between the esse essentia and
the esse existentia Spinoza instances the work of art whose es-
XIX— 12

178 The Joiuriial of Speculative Philosophy.

sence is vitally persistent in the mind of tlie artist, whereas its
existence is projected and disjoined from thought, and is thus
purely external. In this separation from the creative thought it
may easily be destroyed while the essence survives in the imafi-
nation of the artist. This illustration ignores the fact that God
is thought as the subject who thinks the creature, or, to express it
passively, as the subject by whom the creature is tliought. From
this insight follows the eternity of created personality — that is to
Bay, when the creature is thought by the creator as thinking, the
creature must also think, because it is not only thought by God,
but, by the Thinker, thought as thinking. For this same reason
the creature tliinks God, or (expressing it passively to make it
more clear) God, the Thinking Being, is reciprocally thought by
the creature who is thought as thinking. Thus thought and think-
ing the creature endures in eternity because it is once and for all
thought by God. Moreover, it endures as it is thought, viz., as
thinking ; and it thinks God, i. e., the Eternal Personality God
is thought by the creature because it is thought by God. Thus
Spinoza's own illustration, logically completed, leads to personal
persistence, though, in the view of Spinoza liimself, personal per-
sistence, together with all representation and recollection, dis-
solves in infinite substance.

It would seem that even Dante feare to lose recollection as he
plunges his soul into the depths of the glory of God.
" Because in drawing near to its desire
Our intellect engulfs itself so far
That after it the memory cannot go."

But the great poet of Christianity recovers the memory, both
of things human and of things divine, and I'eproduces for us in
the thirty-three Cantos of the " Paradiso " the content of recol-
lection. Lethe blots out only the nugatory, vain, and unreal
memory of Sin, while Eunoe, upon the soul's entrance into Para-
dise, restores to consciousness " all good deeds done," and renews
and vivifies the power of memory. Thereafter, as it advances
through the realm of light, the Spirit is increasingly illuminated
until, penetrated by the vision of God in the glory of his threefold
Being, it knows itself as God's eternal image.

Eeturning to the immateriality of the soul, let us say once more
that its outcome is the finite spirit, and this finite spirit is the

Goeschel on Hie Immortality of the Soul. 179

ideutitj of the soul with its body. Tlie body is iiumunent in the
6<.iul ; it is not bestowed upon the soul from without; it is the
externalization of the soul, and it has to be in the soul in order
to come forth out of the soul. Hence it is indestructible. This
is the outcome of tiie metaphysical proof.

It may be said that the soul is its own body, its own organ, and
again that its body is itself. The external body of the soul is
its vXt), the internal body its inroKelfievov. Plato says in the
" Phiedrus " : " The soul resembles the united power of the cliariot
and of the driver who sits thereon and jjuides it." The chariot ia
the inner body of tiie soul, the driver is the soul of the soul ; the
union of the two is not to be grasped as a synthesis but as one
force, hence as unity.

The soul, as spirit, is consequently indivisibly one witli its in-
ward body, i. e., the soul has its individual f()rin thouirh it sepa-
rate from its outward body, as our eyes see it do. As far as we
can trust our eyes, this separation is not to be denied, but we can
trust our eyew only in so far as that which transpires in death is vis-
ible, 'Oparat he ovS" airrr) yjnrxT). — (Xenoph. " Memorab.," iv, 3, 14.)
Animus auteni solus, uec quum adest, nee quum discedit apparet.
— Cicero, " De Senect.," c. 22. Visibility is limited, however, to
the outward body — hence the soul separates itself from its body
only in so far as the body is purely external, only in so far as the
body being visible is already different from the soul ; or, in other
words, only in so far as the body is the other of the soul. Death
actualizes what is already ideally contained in the distinction be-
tween body and soul. As all nature is the other of soul, so is the
body which pertains to nature its other. Death is the consumma-
tion of this thought, for death consists only in the soul's separa-
tion from its other, that through separation tliis other may be
identified with soul. Upon this identification rests the conception
of resurrection ; the body which, as external and only external, is
deserted by the soul, shall be again united with the soul, or, in
other words, its externality shall be dissolved in the soul.

It is not and should not be said that the body leaves tlie soul,
but that the soul leaves the body ; ^ "^^h KaTaXeiTrei to acofia. —
Xenoph. " Cyrop.," viii, 7. Tlierefore it is in the soul that the
body finds itself. This is the resurrection, and it.- presupposition is
the inmiortality of the soul. Its first phase is that the soul, being

180 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

independent of its external body, being indeed its own Ijody, is
victorious over death ; its second phase is the resurrection and
transfiguration of the outward body into reunion with the soul.
As Psyche is the soul and Eros the spirit, so the nymph Calypso
is the soul, the earthly man Ulysses the body, and the island of
Ogygia the earthly dwelling-place. The separation of the lovers
is death; death consists in the dissolution of their union, but does
not imply that the separated lovers cease to exist. Bather, after
the separation, Eros watches and protects, Psyche labors and
serves, Calypso waits and weeps, and Ulysses is tossed upon
strange seas and wanders through strange lands, just as the body
after death is scattered in its atouis and transmuted into varvinsr
forms. Reunion is resurrection in the Spirit. Therefore the res-
urrection is only understood when it is apprehended as the trans-
figuration and penetration of the body by the soul in the spirit.

The truth of this conception may be more definitely developed
from the genetic idea of externality. Externality is nothing else
than the isolation and mutual exclusion of the particular moments
of the notion, the unity and totality of which is the Spirit. Out-
ward phenomena are thus the dismembered elements of the in-
ternal, self-active, and poetic. The bod}- represents tlie isolated
moments of the individual soul, as nature represents the isolated
moments of humanity. These moments are, however, still ex-
ternal to the soul. This externality, which is visibility, iu death
ceases as appearance /br the soul ; the visible is that which is only
a fleeting show ; death \?.fo7' the soul the dissolution, or rather the
transfiguration, of the external. But even after death the realm
of appearance endures ; for itself and for those who remain behind
the external body is still external. Its real transformation falls,
therefore, in the future, and is conceived as i-esurrection and
glorification of the flesh. Through this resurrection the verifica-
tion becomes complete of the unity ol the soul as spirit with its
so-called body, according to the ground and final end of time,
and of its distinctness from the body only in so far as the latter is
appearance — i. e., semblance which alone has visibility. The ex-
ternal separation of death takes place in the same moment in
which the soul as spirit internalizes its body. This internalization
is itself the cessation of externality.

In this development of simplicity and of difference the origi-

Goeachel on the Immortality of the Soul. 181

nally abstract and barren conception of simplicity realizes a rich
and pregnant content. The richer anv given thought, the less will
it at first be coinpreheiuled ; the fuller its content, tiie more diffi-
cult for it to gain complete self-mastery. Therefore, with minds
illuminated by this insigiit into unity and distinction, it is inter-
esting to look back upon precedent c'onco])tious, and particularly
is it deligiitful to glance into that crystalline mirror of scholastic
thought which we inherit from Dante, even though we may not
pause adequately to develop its content. In the " Purgatorio,"
canto xviii, 49, Virgil teaches as follows :

" Every substantial form that segregate
From matter is and with it is united,
Specific power has in itself collected,
Which without act is not perceptible."

Still more definitely Statius (" Purgatorio," xxv, 37-108) de-
velops, in speaking of the creation of the soul (from which later
developed Occasionalism and Preformationism), the inseparability
of the divine and the human as united in the spirit, and also (Tra-
ducianismns Corporis, from which later arose the system of Epi-
genesis) tlie separabilitv of the external body until its transfigura-
tion. The generation and birth of each man is an act of divine
creation. He who has advanced so far in thought that he finds the
dogmatic — i. e., external and sensible demonstratioii of Statius —
inadequate, may ascend through the simile of the mirror into which
the argument rises in lines 22-27, and the simile of the shadow
with which it culminates in lines 1<K)-I(i8, into that speculative
reflection of the external in the internal through which philosophy
in these modem days has renewed its youth. This speculative in-
sight consists in the apprehension of what seems to hapi)en ex-
ternally — /. e., to pass before the observing subject as the inner self-
movement of the subject itself, which herein becomes visible to the
subject in the object as in a mirror.

" And wouldst thou think how at each tremulous motion
Trembles within a mirror thine own image ;
That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee."

Simplicity, Unity, Internality, are different grades of one quality.
Language has one word for ev and ev.

Ilerewith the metaphysical or theoretical, which may also be

182 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

called the objective, proof realizes more and more its implicit
truth ; this truth is the moral or practical, more adequately the
subjective proof; besides these two proofs there can be but one
other which shall include them both. We, however, are still oc-
cupied with the first proof, which culminates in the immediate
unity cf the soul and the body. This unity involves the unity of
life ; there is not another life beyond tiie grave, but it is this life
which continues, just as it is this ego which endures and not
another. Herewith otherness, both in the individual and ex-
ternal to the individual, is completely cancelled, and thus per-
sonality is realized, externality dissolved, and limit annulled, both
in the positive and negative sense. Thus it happens that each
finds place in the other, as Dante too experiences with astonishment
(" Purgatoi-io," ii, 34 et seq.), for the one thing necessary is not
place, but the unity of space and time, of the body and the soul.
Through this apergu, ^neas of Gaza was able to refute the
doubt where place could be found for so many millions of souls.
" In those dwelling-places of intelligible essences {i. e., of souls)
there is no scantiness of room, but a perfect abundance of it, for
all are one. Each one fills the entire space and at the same time
admits into itself all the others {i. e., interpenetrates each and is
interpenetrated by all), and no one excludes any other or in any
way impedes it as material bodies are wont to do." — {^n. Gaza,
" Theophrastus.")

According to the metaphysical proof, the soul is further as
monad, in itself and through itself, self-active and self-determin-
ing ; thus it completes itself into a circle. Hence is deduced its
imperishability. This self-determination is, however, negated in
the moral proof, according to which the soul in its immediacy is
determined, and this determination is not through itself. "We find
the soul, as created, determined by God and determined to ends ;
though this prescribed destiny in relation to which the soul is
passive is nothing else than that the soul shall actively develop it-
self. In other words, the soul is determined to be self-determining.
The moral proof thus deduces from determination the same re-
sult which the metaphysical proof deduced from simplicity, i. e.,
from the opposite of determination. The solution of this contra-
diction is as follows : The soul is determined by God, hence has
not its ground in itself, yet the soul is self-determining, and de-

Goeachel on the Immortality of the Soul. 1S3

rives its essence from no other essence. Tliese seemingly clashing
statements contain in reality no contradiction, for God is not an
Essence alien to the soul, but the Absolute Spirit, which, as per-
sonal or j>enetrative and self-communicative, creates and preserves
the finite spirit, which latter, penetrated and penetrating, manifests
itself also as personal. Persistence itself is nothing l)ut continuous
creation, whose presupposition is the personality of the absolute
spirit and whose result is the personality of the finite spirit. The
creature continuously, creates its existence and its thought out of
the Creator, the spirit out of the Spirit ; or, as Spinoza says, " The
Creatio Dei demands the Concursus Dei." To this he clearly and
truly adds: " Xullam rem creatam su4 naturi ne momento quidem
posse existere, sed continue a Deo procreari.''

The first proof aflarras as Aristotle also teaches : Anima per se
vitani hahet. The second alBrms as the Greek fathers of the Church
particularly taught : Anima non per se vitaiu habet, sed pereipit
ex conjunctione cum spiritu, fonts vitae aeternae. Thus, too, the
Scriptures teach (1 Tim. vi, 16) that only God has immortality
in Himself with Christ, who as one with the Father in the Holy
Spirit is Himself the Eesurrection and the Life (John xi, 25).
Man receives immortality. He that believeth in me, says Christ,
though he die vet shall lie live, as the branch lives if it abide in
the vine, but withers if it is torn from the vine. He who is called
to communion with God in Christ can never die, for as personal
he participates in the imperishable personality of the Absolute
Spirit.

Thus from the creation of God results its progressive continu-
ance as concursus Dei continuus. This continuous activity of the
Absolute Spirit is tlie source of the continuous activity and devel-
opment of tiie finite Spirit; the activity of the latter is only pos-
sible as result of the activity of the former, and is mediated in the
notion personality. The unity of the two is the immortality of
the soul, the finite spirit progressively developing itself in itself
through a constant influx from the everlasting fountain of the
divine life and thought. This is the content of the second proof
which herewith has taken up the first proof into itself, or rather
this is the outcome of the second proof which transcends itself as
it consciously unites the content of the first proof with its own.

The first point is that the soul exists, consequently that the soul

184 The Journal of Speculative Pliiloaophy.

is created. Its creation presupposes the intellectus in Deo con-
ceptus, and this demands as consequence the concursus Dei eon-
tin iius. That is to say : " The tliought of God is creation, and the
creation of God is eternal." " He spake and it was done," writes
the Psalmist, and the Preacher adds : " I know that whatsoever God
doeth it shall be forever." The Absolute Spirit thinks the finite
spirit, or rather finite spirits (for finitude implies plurality), and
this thought is their creation : the Absolute Spirit remembers the
hosts of finite spirits who, during tlie long course of history, have
vanished from this earthly scene, and this remembrance is their
preservation. God's creation never ceases ; He who creates up-
holds his creation ; He preserves each object in the mode corre-
sponding to its nature, maintains each species in its appropriate
category, and yet transfigures all the separate moments through
organic membership in the totalitj'.

The remembrance and preservation of departed spirits in the
Absolute Spirit could not be if these spirits themselves were not.
As the tliought of God, being itself living, creates life, so the per-
petual remembi'ance of God maintains life. Tlie vital concept of
the Absolute is a reoi]n'ocal concept, and implies that, inasmuch
as God remembers finite spirits, these finite spirits must remem-
ber him, and in him remember themselves. The outward mani-
festation of the spirits of men oiitioardly vanishes, but the spirits
themselves, upheld and transfigured in the Absolute Spirit, live in
the life of God. If, then, the Absolute Life consists in conscious-
ness, all that is maintained in this life must be also conscious. On
its external side the history of what has been closes in the grave-
yard, but history comprehended opens our ears to the cry of the
prophet, " ye dry bones, hear the voice of the Lord ! " Resur-
rected humanity is the actuality, the truth, and the surety of God's
throne ; without it God would be lifeless isolation. For all who can
truly re-think this thought the meaning is this: that the Absolute
Idea preserves itself in its actuality, certainty, and truth only in so
far as finite spirits are preserved and perfected in their self-con-
sciousness in this absolute life of God. Tlie truth and majesty of
God's throne demand the assembling of the children of men for
his footstool. He who is sure of God is sure of his own life in
God. The certainty of the conviction of immortality tests the
depth of insight into the nature of Absolute Spirit.

Goeachel on the Immortalitif of the Soul. 185

Such is the uhimate development of the second proof in its
transition into the thinl. This is tlie profound truth in wliich
HegelV •' Plienomenohiirv of Spirit " finds its infinite cuhnination.'
Because man is created to he spirit he is created to be imniortai.
" nine dare sequitur,^'' says Spinoza himself, " animam immor-
talem esse." " Consequently," he adds, " none hut God can de-
stroy the soul." This can only mean that God has the physical
power to enter into contradiction witii his own creation, in which
his expressed will is the pei-sistence of the Spirit. This, again, is
only savin": that God can contradict and retract his own will.
Such an ascription of simple physical power to the Godhead is an
nnthinking and unthinkable contradiction. Most significant is it
that this has been recognized by that great thinker wlio moves
from the being of substance in that he claims to recognize the
"Will of God as natural reason in nature itself. Here, again, the
Spirit shows itself under the inadequate presupposition ; it is
not in nature but in the creation of the human spirit, or in thought
itself, that Spinoza reads the Word of God.

" Leges autem iliac naturae sunt Deorcta Dei lumine naturali
revelata. Decreta deinde Dei immutabiiia esse jam demonstravi-
mns. Ex quibus omnibus clare concludiraus, Deum suam immu-
tabilem voluntatem circa durationem animarum hominibus non
tantum revelatione sed etiam lumine naturali patefecisse."

The lumen naturale is in this sense, as creation itself, the first
revelation.

"Nee obstat," he continues, "si aliquis objiciat, Deum leges
illas naturales aliquando destrucre ad efficienda miracula : nam
plerique ex prudentioribus Theologis concedunt, Deum nihil con-
tra naturam agere [for Creation is his Will] sed supra naturam,
hoc est, ut ego explico, Deum multas etiam leges operandi habere,
quas huinano intellectui non cominunieavit, quae si humano intel-
lectui communicatae essent, aeque naturales essent, quam caeterae.
Unde liquidissime constat, mentes esse immortales."

We have now arrived at a point where we may touch more
definitely a question which runs secretly through the whole his-
tory of the doctrine of immortality, and which throughout is met

' Nothing U more misunderstood in the much misunderstood philosophy than the
sublime conclu.'<ion of that vast cathedral structure which Hegel built for our ago in his
" Phenomenologj' of Spirit."

186 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

by an unexpressed answer. This question is whether the immor-
tality of man can be recognized immediately by the light of na-
ture or only in the light of the special divine revelation through
the "Word of God. "We are pointed toward the answer by the
second proof of immortality, which goes back to God and reads
the Will of God in the nature of the finite spirit. Our whole
present explanation is, in fact, nothing more than an answer to
the question concerning the source of our knowledge. The first
necessity is that we should make the question itself clear to our
minds. This done, the answer is ready. The question is whether
the immortality of man can be recognized in the creation of man
alone. This question contains the presupposition that creation
is something once done and finished, and that man once created is
emancipated. In other words, creation is conceived as an accom-
plished fact and not as a continuing process. With such a crea-
tion and such a nature — a creation which has ceased to be, and a
nature wliieh, having lost its source, has lost its life — not only the
demonstration of immortality but immortality itself is impossible.
If, however, we apprehend creation as progressively continuous,
and in this continuous creation recognize the persistence of tlie
finite spirit, we do not get this knowledge from nature, but from
the source of nature — viz., from the Spirit of God, which is pro-
gressively revealed in creation. The concept of a progressively
continuous creation includes the revelation of the Absolute Spirit
in the finite : this creatio (?OHfi«Ka manifests itself as Providence,
and after the fall (/. e., the actual abstraction from the continuous
creation) as Redemption, which is therefore apprehended as a
second creation. A perpetually flowing stream of water is mani-
festly unthinkable without a perpetual source ; the stream may
be cut off from its source, but, by as much of flowing water as it
contains, it is nevertheless united with it. In the same way, by
as much light as remains in fallen man, his reason is united with
the Spirit of God and his nature still in relation with its su-
pernatural origin. We must therefore afiirm that the personal
immortality of man can only be recognized in its participation
with the personality of the Absolute Spirit ; this participation is
recognized onlyan the progressively continuous creation and reve-
lation of God, and this revelation after man's alienation from God
is recognized only in Redemption, God's second act of condescend-

Goeachel on the Immortality of the ik>uL 187

ing grace. Herein is cancelled the confusing difterence between
an immortal itas naturd taught by the lirst proof, and the immor-
talitas (jratid upon which the second proof essentially rests. So
far as tlie natural creation still endures it endures through the
continuity of its relationship with God — i. e., through the grace
of God.

With this continuous creation and revelation is given the con-
cept of immortality from which the third proof deduces the being
of immortality. In the light of speculation, however, it has be-
come clear that the Notion or Thought as Spirit is itself the high-
est, the eternal and indestructible. It therefore needs not the
imputation of Being as something external to itself in order to be.
It is merely a proof of the power which natural Beitig has usurped
over the natural man, and herewith over the naturalized reason of
Thought. When fettered by sensuous modes of thinking, we still
desire something fixed and tangible to which Thought or Con-
sciousness may attach itself. All such sensuous thinking implies
that thought in itself is not — that only in the tXt) can it find its
vTTOKeifuvov, and that it needs matter for its support just as the
Hebraic Vocal, which Spinoza compares with the soul, demanded
a fulcrum external to itself as its body.

Thought, however, is really so little dependent upon Being that
the truth rather is that eternal persistence l)elongs essentially to
and is immanent in Thought. This is the distinctive content of
the third proof. Spinoza touches this third proof when he teaches
that the idea of persistency as well as that of progressive develop-
ment, under varying modifications of the form of existence, is im-
mediately necessary to the soul, while the idea of its destruction is
wholly alien to and contradictory of its substance. He expresses
this proof negatively when he says : NuUam nos ideam habere,
qua concipiamus substantiam destrui. To deny to Thought its
persistence is nothing more nor less than to deny persistence to
the persistent. Therefore the positive statement is as follows:
Homo, cum se sub aeternitatis specie contempletur, se aeternum
esse scit. The sci*m,tia aeternitatis is herewith also essentia aeterna.
It is most remarkable that Spinoza again and again ascribes the
eternity which he finds as idea in consciousness not to conscious-
nes.s itself, imt to Being. Throughout his system is manifest with
reciprocal overthrow and destruction the confiict of Being and

188 The Journal of Speculatwe Philosophy.

Thought. The truth is that the being of persistence is not some-
thing external added to the notion of persistence, but, just as being
is contained in consciousness, it dwells within the concept of per-
sistence as its determination.

The explicit content of the third proof is that in Consciousness
is contained all Being — that all that is is preserved in Thought
and included in the Notion. As the Subject is preserved in Per-
sonality, so the Natural Individual is preserved in the Species, for
in the Notion nothing is lost. Augustine says : " Si nulla essentia,
in quantum essentia est, aliquid habet contrariuni, multo minus
habet contrariuni prima ilia essentia, quae dicitur Veritas, in quan-
tum essentia est. Primum autem verum est. Omnis essentia non
ob aliud essentia est, nisi quia est. Esse autem non liabet con-
trarium, nisi non esse: unde nihil est essentiae contrariura. Nullo
modo igitur res ulla esse potest contraria illi substantiae, quae
maxime ac primitus est." — (Augustine, " De immort. animae,"'
liber unus, c. 12.)

Kelatively to the third proof there is still one observation to be
made. It would be wonderful if it had not been urged against
the triplicitj of the proofs of immortality that the essential con-
tent of the third ])roof falls into the much-articulated sphere of
the second proof. The essential basis of the second proof is that
the soul, in its most sjieciiic determination, is stamped with the seal
of immortality, or, in a word, is itself the embodied concept of im-
mortality. Upon this concept also rests the third proof. Insofar
the two proofs agree; their difference lies in the fact that in the
second proof the concept as concept is not explicit, but the capa-
city for infinite development is grasped as objective quality of the
existent soul ; or, again, reminiscence is apprehended as the inborn
knowledge of an eternal past, and from this eternal past is inferred
an endless future. The process here moves from past to future
being ; in other words, from the nature of being is deduced its
future. In the third proof, on the contrary, the concept of per-

' Besides this book — which contains an entire series of proofs of immortality, although
in fact they are all contained substantially in the above-discussed triplicity of proofs —
should be mentioned the dialogue Dc Quantitate animae, as of importance in the history
of the doctrine of immortality. It mentions seven grades or stations through which the
soul is developed before it comes to God and dwells with him. The last station is the
mansion of " contemplatio Dei apud Deum." See also the writing of Augustine " De
spiritu et anima."

Immortality of the Individual. 189

siBtence is comprehended as Thouglit, ami from this transition is
made to the Bein<; of persistence or to the actuality of the con-
cept ; the movement, thorofure, is from subjective thought to its
objective reality-. A siniilur dirtereiice is found between the teleo-
ological and ontological proofs of the existence of God : the former
finds God as subject in the objective world, in that from tlie reality
of the object, api)rchendcd as creation, it deduces the reality of the
subject apprehended as Creator; the latter thinks God and moves
from the thought to its actualization, from that which is necessary
to Thought to that which necessarily exists. The outcome of this
proof is the concept of Thought which includes Being, and does not
have to seek it elsewhere. Thus, too, the first proof coincides with
the third in that both rest upon unity : their diflerence lies in the
fact that the immediate unity of the first proof is mediated in the
third.

IMMORTALITY OF THE INDIVIDUAL.'

BY W. T. HARRIS.

I. Introduction.

1. Our argument for immortality will be based chietly on psy-
chology. Tlae proofs on which most men rely for their convic-
tion that they will continue their individual existence after death
we therefore pass over.

The proofs that we omit from our discussion are —

a. Tlie return to life of those who have died — a resurrection
in the body — notably the example which the Christian Church
teaches as the basis of its faith and as the symbol of the resurrec-
tion of the individual man.

h. The physical manifestation of individuality after death by
the exertion of power to control matter, or to materialize in tem-
porary bodies as in cases of reported modern and ancient spirit-
ualism.

' Read at the ConeonJ Sctiool of Philosopliy, Aupust 1, 1884.

' As, for example, TertuUian, " De Animu," Cap. ix; 1 Sum. xxviii, 16.

190 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

c. General belief in the existence of the soul after death, and
the probability that such general beliefs of mankind are well
founded.

d. General desire of man to live forever, and his horror at an-
nihilation ; probability that a desire imparted to his nature has a
reality correspondent to it.

e. The infinite perfectibility of the human mind ; its full capa-
city never realized in this life ; each new growth in knowledge or
insight, or power of will, or in love for the race, being always a
means of greater growth in the same and other directions ; con-
trary to the course of nature, or to the divine character to endow
a being with capacities never to be developed.

y. A special phase of proof that belongs to the foregoing is,
since Kant and Fichte, the favorite ground for the philosophic
doctrine of immortality. The moral proof (or the " proof of the
practical reason ") asserts that, according to Kant, " a iioly will
can be realized onlyLn the thinking of an intinite progress, which
is possible only under the presupposition of an infinitely continu-
ing existence and personality of the same rational being." Fichte
says: " If this obedience to the law of duty is to be recognized as
a reasonable service. . . . and not a mere fanciful entliusiasm
.... this obedience must have some consequences, must serve
some end. It is evident that it does not serve the purjiose of the
world of sense ; therefore there must be a supersensuai world
whose purpose it does promote." And, again : " The bond with
which this law of duty binds me is a bond for living spirits only
.... it addresses its decrees only to living and free beings. . . .
In tlie eternal world, will alone, as it lies concealed from mortal eye
in tlie secret obscurities of the soul, is the first link in tiie chain
of consequences that stretches through the invisible realms of
spirit, just as in the physical world action — a certain movement
of matter — is the first link in a material chain that runs through
the whole system of nature."

g. Besides these there is the proof from the standpoint of Evo-
lution. The world is so made that the principle of the survival
of the fittest causes intellectual and moral beings to come to tlie
top. Spiritual beings gain the mastery inevitably and subordinate
all others — reverse, in fact, the laws of survival in the lower orders.
Preserve delicate plants and ■ delicate animals and eradicate nox-

Immortality of tlie Individual. 191

iou6 oiies. Such trend of the imiveree toward spiritual being
points out, unmistakably, that being as the highest and best and
most persistent. The spiritual jirinciple alone is loved by the
universe, and this points to its origin in a spiritual principle
which thus loves it8 own. A God of Reason who creates the world
in order to bring into being independent realizations of himself is
thus presupposed by the doctrine of evolution as propounded by
its most consistent advocate (Mr. John Fiske).

2. It is to be pointed out that the question of immortality hinges
on the question of first principle of the world — or the nature of
God. AVTien the highest principle is regarded as something inde-
terminate — as something above all form — even as al)ove conscious-
ness or reason — it is obvious that there can be no permanent form
at all — not even of conscious being. "When the highest principle
is regarded as personal and conscious, conscious and personal
being would have the form of the abiding — and the interest of the
first principle would favor that which possessed its own image or
likeness.

3. I do not find that the studies' in physiological psychology,
now become so prevalent, have thrown any light on the question
of indi\nduality after death, although they are of great value in
education, criminal jurisprudence, and therapeutics — especially so
in that which concerns the treatment of the insane.

The most important facts in physiological psychology are patent
always: (a) an energy acting as cause (1) formative of aggregates
and organisms, (2) attacking other aggregates and organisms; (J)
assimilating others into its own organism ; (c) feeling, specified
into five special senses ; ((/) general ideas or tiioughts (1) expressed
in language, (2) the basis of institutions, which in the aggregate
form civilization (3) systematized in science.

It is a mere fancy that new discoveries in cerebral physiolog)'
have changed our attitude toward these important facts.

Man has known for thousands of years of the interaction be-
tween soul and body. Such interaction can never be explained
except by a combination of introspection with observation of
physiologic facts — for the elements of tiie problem are of two
orders: (1) inner facts of feeling and thougiit, and (2) outer facts
of material organism. There is no possible method of observing
facts of feeling and thought except that of introspection. There

192 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

is no possible method for observinc; changes of matter or bod^-, in-
cludin<r nerves, brain, and such, except by sense-perceptioti.

II. Immortality of the Species.

4. The demonstration of the indestructibility of force, matter,
or mind may have great scientific value in itself, but it does not
establish our thesis. Inasmuch as the abiding force is that which
outlasts particular forces and the abiding matter retains its identity
at the expense of infinite particular forms of individual things,
the argument for the existence of a general mind that does not die
may seem to make the loss of individuality in the case of the par-
ticular man all the more certain. Thus the phrase " Immor-
tality of the soul " may refer only to the species or to the mental
principle in nature, and not to the special example.

Just as the life-process of the animal or plant migrates from in-
dividual to individual and the species lives, though the individuals
all die, so, too, the human race abides on the earth while countless
particular human beings have disappeared through death and,
perhaps, like the plant, perished altogether as individuals.

5. There may be a sort of persistence of the individual in his
eft'ects and influences. His deeds continue to act long after he
has passed away. A specially favored plant has been permitted,
by external conditions, to develop great size and strength. Its
seed will continue to manifest for a long time greater power to
react on the environment. An animal has been stimulated to e.x-
ert his energies and has become exceptionally strong through the
discipline. lie transmits to offspring habits or tendencies that de-
velop in the same way. Man also transmits personal influence by
hereditary descent, and also far more potently through intellectu-
al and moral ideas and usages preserved and transmitted by the
aid of language. The efl'ort of the individual may be exerted to
reach points of view regarding the world, or regarding the social
conduct of life, or the management of the State, that will exist as
influence down through all ages — Confucius, Zoroaster, Moses,
have this permanence to their influence. This is much like the
Kanua of the Hindu, the transmission of the deeds of a former
life.

6. The immortality that is attained through hereditary trans-
mission or through the educative influence of moral and intel-

Immortality of the Individual.. 193

lectual principles is an immortality of the species only. It is not
the goal of our inquiry, but a necessary piiase of it, iiiasiniich as
the persistence of personal identity involves the same generic
activity that we find in the species, but with the additional modi-
fication that it is the particular individual who realizes within
himself the entire species. For to be immortal siirnifies that the
individual is recipient of the eft'ects of his own deeds, and that he
grows or develops throu<]jh this means, so that his changes are
only stajies of self-realization, and not his dissolution.

When ail change in an individual is progressive self-realization
tlie individual preserves his identity. If the change is caused from
without and represents external influences, the change is loss of
identity.

The exertion of personal force or power to change or modify
one's self is the realization of that power and the preservation of
identity even under change. In so far as the plant is modified
through its own forces, each new phase is a revelation of its indi-
viduality, but, in so far as its modifications are the product of ex-
ternal forces, they are destructive of the plant. Self-modification
is self-preservation. Suicide happens not through self-inoditica-
tion, but through invoking deadly external influences.

III. Agnosticism.

7. We have explained the nature of our problem without
alluding to the doctrine, very prevalent in our day, which holds
tiiat questions touching the essentials of human nature, or the na-
ture of first principles in the world, are insoluble. It is necessary
here to make only a pas.sing notice of the alleged limits of human
knowledge. A sacred college of agnostics that should undertake
to place on its Index Prohibitory any or all questions relating to
God, Freedom, or Immortality, must base its action either on the
fact tbat its limited investigation has hitherto been unsuccessful in
finding a solution, or on the fact that its investigation has discov-
ered necessary limits in the nature of human knowledge. The
mere tact of such a want of success on the part of the agnostic
does not justify liim in j)ronouncing anything either unknown or
unknowable. It warrants only the modest attitude of the skeptic
who attirnis his own present ii;norance. What man has a ri<'ht to
atlirni besides his own ignorance the ignorance of all men '{ Au
XIX-13

194 Tlie Journal of Sjpeculative Philosophy.

affirmation of necessary ignorance is still more unwarranted.
Modern agnosticism rests chiefly on metaphysical grounds which
profess to have discovered tlie inherent incommensurableness of
the infinite or absolute with human capacity for cognition. Such
discovery implies acquirements in ontology, a knowledge of the
nature of the infinite and absolute, for purposes of comparison,
that are utterly destructive of the agnostic hypothesis. The worst
possible basis for agnosticism is the metaphysical one. But, if the
metaphysical basis is removed, there is left only the simple indi-
vidual fact that such and such gentlemen have not succeeded thus
far with the efforts that they have chosen to make in reaching
certitude regarding freedom, immortality, etc.

To individual cases of doubt and uncertainty it is possit)le to
oppose other individual cases of knowledge and certainty. Doubt
and knowledge, however, are alike uninstructive to the one who
does not investigate the occasion of the ^doubt [or verify the sup-
posed knowledge for himself.

8. One of the most distinguished writers of our time, a high
authority among agnostics, says : ' " Self-existence necessarily
means existence without a beginning, and to form a conception of
self-existence is to form a conception of existence without a begin-
ning. Now, by no mental effort can we do this. To conceive ex-
istence through infinite past time implies the conception of infi-
nite past time, which is an impossibility." In another place the
same author claims the persistence of force as an " ultimate truth
of wliich no inductive proof is possible," and explains that "as-
serting the persistence of force is but another mode of asserting an
unconditioned reality, without beginning or end." But he asserts
the indestructibility of matter and the persistence of force. " The
annihilation of matter is unthinkable for the same reason that the
creation of matter is unthinkable; and its indestructibility thus
becomes an a priori cognition of the highest order — not one that
results from a long-continued registry of experiences gradually or-
ganized into an irreversible mode of thought, but one that is
given in the form of all experience whatever." The inconceiva-
bility of self-existence by reason of its involving infinite past time
is evidently shared by all such ideas as the indestructibility of

' Herbert Spencer, " First Principles," pp. 31, 241, 254.

Immortality of the Individual. 195

matter and the persistence of force, for tliey require the thouglit
of infinite time, i>!ist or futnre, quite as much as self-existence.
Thus inconceivability is no bar to '■^ a priori cognition of the high-
est order," and when it is used for agnostic purposes it is misused.
The term " inconceivable " is here used in the sense Hamilton and
Mansel gave it, namely : it signifies 7iot picturahU hy the imcKjlna-
tion. It does not mean unthinkahJe. Whatever will not make a
picture is " inconceivable " in the agnostic sense, and whatever is
essentially connected with an ^'■inconceivable" or unpicturable is,
or ought to be, " vnknown and unknowable.'''' In fact, however,
only a few of the unpicturable notions are placed on the Proliibi-
tory Index by general consent, but caprice or convenience strikes.
now at this and now at that.

9. Thus Space is one of the favorite " inconceivables." One
cannot conceive or i)ieture it as finite, because he would then pic-
ture it as located within itself; nor can he picture it as infinite, be-
cause a picture must have bounds, limits, or external form in order
to be a picture. The thought of Space is a very difierent matter.
" Space is of sucii a nature," says thought, " that any finite space
requires space beyond it, for the limits require space to exist in.
Hence Space is infinite, because all its boundaries aflirm instead
of negate it ; they continue it rather than limit it." On the other
hand, the concepts of matter and force, although pronounced incon-
ceivable and unknowable, are everywhere used freely by agnostics
as subjects of such predicates as " indestructible and jjersistent "
— predicates that arc alwaj-s noted as " inconceivable" because in-
volving unpicturable infinite time.

IV. Conceimahility of the Infinite.

10. Because of the subtle intrusion of this notion of the "incon-
ceivable'' as a test of the knowable, it has been necessary to make
this reference to the doctrine here. Immortality involves infinite
future time, but individuality after death does not necessarily do
so. Only as we prove such survival of deatli by an ai)pcal to the
nature of the conscious being do we imply infinity. That whose
nature involves imperishability would thus be called unknowable,
because imperishability involves the thought of infinite future
time. The triviality of this objection may be seen by applying it
to mathematical truth. Two and two make four; this is neces-

196 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sary and imperishable truth ; the shortest distance between two
points is a straight line ; this, too, will be true throuo-h infinite
future time, and hence is inconceivable by the same test that holds
self-existence to be inconceivable.

11. Space is known to be infinite because all limits of it would
continue it; so, too, time is infinite for the same reason. Every
object of experience is necessarily an object in time and space, and
hence it presupposes or implies those two infinite correlatives of
its existence. Every effect, too, presupposes as its correlative an
energy producing it, and the energy which prod^ices is either self-
produced or derived from a self-produced or spontaneous source of
energy. When we undertake to count the links or steps between
an effect or phenomenon before our eyes and the spontaneous self-
cause that is implied as its ultimate correlative, we may well find
that relation altogether inconceivable, because the number of links
is indefinite, being as many as one chooses to make. It is a mat-
ter of subdivision, and the effect is capable of being divided to in-
finity, making an infinite series of effects, each one of which may
be regarded as effect of the previous link and as cause of the sub-
sequent.

12. The old fallacy of Achilles and the Tortoise is similar to
this one of the infinite regress of causes which Kant has used in
his third antinomy. One foot is divisible to infinity ; so too is a
space of ten feet; you can never accomplish the infinite division
of the smallest distance in your imagination, and hence Achilles
can never overtake the tortoise (if he has to wait for you to picture
infinite divisibility). Everything in our experience can be sub-
divided by analysis into component things indefinitely, and every
phenomenon is in like manner divisible without limit into links of
a series of causality.

13. We do not, however, find any diflieulty^in thinking a thing or
a phenomenon, or a distance or a duration. The picturing or con-
ceiving is altogether an indifferent affair, and gives us no concern.
We grasp together in a synthesis the phenomenon as an effect by
thinking it with its correlative — i. e., with the energy from whicli
it has proceeded. So, too, if we subdivide the j^henomenon and
make one part the effect of the other, then the effect is made a
correlative of its antecedent phenomenon, which, as cause, includes
the energy that acts to produce the effect. Whether one analyzes

Immortality of the Individual. 197

the complex phenoiueuou into parts or combines the parts and
thinks the series as one phenomenon, it is all the same, for the
thouj^ht of effect, great or small, involves tlie thought of an effi-
cient cause, whether near or remote, it does not matter. If there
was no cause, this phenomenon is not an effect bnt a self-existent,
or, if it really undergoes change, it changes itself and is causa sui.
If we deny the concept of true cause or of spontaneous energy by
placing it at infinite distance, as Kant does, or as the agnostic
does, then, too, we deny the concept of phenomenon or effect and
come at once on self-cause as the alternative,' and thus are com-
pelled to accept what we tried to elude.

14:. This thought of self-cause, or spontaneous energy, is not to
be repudiated by the agnostic on the ground that it cannot be
pictured, lie might as well repudiate the idea of ten feet be-
cause it can be subdivided indefinitely and he cannot picture its
parte.

15. Every object of experience, then, involves as correlatives
infinite space, infinite time, and self-cause, or spontaneous energy.
These correlatives are necessarily thought as the conditions which
render the existence of the object of experience possible. If the
object of experience possesses reality, those conditions possess real-
ity because it is their reality that this object manifests. The con-
cept of efficient cause is essential, as we shall see further on, to the
concept of individuality or self-identity, and hence it has been
mentioned in this connection with other unpicturable notions that
underlie all knowledge.

16. That wliich is originating cause or spontaneous energy can-
not be pictured in the mind, because the same self is both cause
and effect. But the idea of such a cause is implied in all thought
of causality. Xo effect without a real cause of it, and no matter
how long the series, down which the energy has descended to reach
this particular effect — the number of links in the series is indefi-
nite, depending on the analytic discrimination of the beholder.
The walking-stick with which I push open the gate is conceivable
as an infinite number of pieces of cane, each an infinitesimal in
length, down which is transmitted from my hand the energy that
pushes the gate; this play of imagination does not help, but hin-

• Because, if the fact u not phcDomenal, j. e., an effect of an underlying cause, then
it must be self-existent or caiua »ui.

198 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ders tlie true thought, which is this : my liand pushes the gate and
cane together, and their motion is the effect ; or, still more accu-
rately, my hand and arm and the cane and the gate are all moved
by the cause, which is my will, a pure energy. The effect may
be subdivided to infinity, but such subdivision does not alter tlie
conception of cause and effect, but is something altogether imper-
tinent to it.

Y. Empirical Proofs of Immortality.

17. Let us now inquire into the data given us by experience for
the solution of this problem of individuality after death. A strictly
empirical proof would adduce instances in which a human being
had given unmistakable evidence of his survival after the dissolu-
tion of his body. It must not be the reanimation of the same body,
for that would be rather a return to life in the body than a survi-
val of the body.

18. To be satisfactory, physical tests, or tests through physical
phenomena, must be such as (a) prove individuality, and not a mere
general force or combination of forces ; (J) prove an individuality
distinct from the individuality of the observer, and not caused by
his own energy consciously or unconsciously (" unconscious cere-
bration " for example) ; (c) prove that the identity of the individu-
ality that is manifesting itself through the physical phenomena is
identical with some individuality that has existed in the flesh.
This would establish the possibility of individuality after death.
To become complete, the proof must establish enough cases to show
what races of men, what degrees of mental and physical develop-
ment, what circumstances, are requisite to insure survival after
death of the body.

19. The most difficult part of the empirical proof would be
found in the requirement to prove the identity of the disembodied
individuality with any special one formerly inhabiting a body, pos-
sibility of deception being infinite at this point.

20. It is clear that physiology can throw no light on this ques-
tion of the survival of the individual except indirectly. The body
exhibits the ti-aces of the organizing energy that built it, and of
the inorganic forces that act to decompose it.

If it is said that physiology has discovered or will discover that
the organizing energy is simply a transmuted form of physical

Immartality of the Individual. 199

force, and that the physiologist can trace it, when it leaves the
body, into another form, say a new organism, or into inorganic
equivalents, a discussion of the nature of such experience, and its
possibility of estal>]i8hing such facts or principles, will furnish an
answer. The individuality or personal identity must be of such a
character that the physiologist can perceive it as a physiological
phenomenon, or at least recognize it in physical eftects if he is
ever to discover ita survival in other organisms, or its dissolution
into inorganic forces. If we shall find that we have to deal with
an individuality known essentially through introspection, it will
be clear that physiology cannot deal with the essential point under
investigation, for introspection does not belong to physiology, bnt
to psychology. Even physiological psychology must look within
to find the feelings, thoughts, or volitions that correspond to mo-
tions or physiological changes. The difference between a feeling
or thought and a pliysiological change perceptible by the eye is
so great that no amount of evidence could prove their identity, but
only their sequence in time. The question of causal action be-
tween the body and consciousness must be carefully considered
before we can be in a condition to answer this question of physio-
logical psychology.

■ 21. The perception of the evidence of conscious individuality in
other beings is, of course, conditioned entirely by tlie perception of
snch conscious individuality within ourselves. AVe note in other
beings such actions as express conscious individuality, because those
actions are such as we use or might use to manifest it in ourselves.
The manifestations are not the thing itself — they are not conscious
individuality, for that is itself an energy that is manifested or
tiiat manifests itself, and is not exliausted in the manifestation, but
remains in its entirety behind the manifestation invisible. All
investigation of sentient phenomena (not vital phenomena simply,
but phenomena of feeling, perception, and thought) involves the
act of introspection, as already shown, and it is impossible for me
to perceive the feeling of another, or his thought, except as I refer
his external manifestations to my own experience and interpret
them through it.

22. We cannot dispense with introspection in the solution of
our problem, therefore, unless we can disconnect personal identity
from consciousness. We see by this that it is necessary to consider

200 The Journal of Speculative Philosopky.

more carefully just what "individuality" may mean, and what
varieties of being may be included under it.

VI. Types of Individuality.

23. Human experience has distinguished, from time immemorial,
four classes of individualities — {a) men, {h) animals, (c) plants, {d)
inorganic things. Three classes can be made by including men
with animals, or two can be made by uniting men, animals, and
plants as the organic or living class of beings, and opposing to it
the class of inorganic beings or conditions. Science inherits this
distinction into four great classes from the unscientific experience of
the race, but it progresses toward a clearer definition of the boundary
lines and the laws of transition and development. It re-classifies
what had been wrongfully classified. While the savage or ancient
man includes many inorganic beings in the class of organic, and
peoples nature with good and evil spirits, science is disposed to
find much in organic (or life) processes to be purely inorganic and
mechanical.

2-i. Inorganic being does not possess individuality for itself. A
mountain is not an individual in the sense that a tree is. It is an
aggregate of substances, but not an organic unity. The unity of
place gives certain peculiarities and idiosyncrasies, but the moun-
tain is an aggregate of materials, and its conditions are an aggre-
gate of widely differing temperatures, degrees of illumination,
moisture, etc., etc.

25. Atoms, if atoms exist as they are conceived in the atomic
theory, cannot be true individuals, for they possess attraction and
repulsion, and by either of these forces express tiieir dependence
on others, and thus submerge their individuality in the mass with
which they are connected by attraction or sundered by repulsion.
Distance in space changes the properties of the atom — its attrac-
tion and repulsion are conceived as depending on distance from
other atoms, and its union with other atoms develops new quali-
ties and conceals or changes the old qualities. Hence the en-
vironment is essential to the atomic individuality — and this means
the denial of its individuality. If the euvirounieut is a factor,
then the individuality is joint product, and the atom is not an in-
dividual, but only a constituent.

ImmorUility of the Individual. 201

2G. In an organism each part is reciprocally means and end to
all the other parts — all parts are mediated through each.

Mere aggregates are not individuals, but aggregates wherein
the parts are at all times in mutual reaction with the other parts
through and by means of the whole are individuals. The indi-
vidual stands in relation to other indiviiluals and to the inorganic
world. It is the manifestation of energy acting as conservative of
its own individuality, and destructive of other individualities or
of inortranic asrcregates that form itd environment. It assimilates
other beings to itself and digests them, or imposes its own form
on them and makes them organic parts of itself — or, on the other
hand, it eliminates portions from itself, returning to the inorganic
what has been a part of itself.

27. Individuality, therefore, is not a mere thing, but an energ}'
manifesting itself in things. In the case of the plant there is this
unity of energy, but the unity does not exist for itself iu the form
of feeling. The animal feels, and, in feeling, the organic encirgy
exists for itself, all parts coming to a unity in this feeling, and
realizing an individuality vastly superior to the individuality
manifested iu the plant.

VII. The Individuodity of Plants and Animals.

28. The plant grows and realizes by its form or shape some
phase or phases of the organic energy that constitutes the indi-
viduality of the plant. Roots, twigs, buds, blossoms, fruits, and
seeds, all together manifest or express that organic energy, but
they lack tiiorough mutual dependence, as compared with the
animal who feels his unity in each part or limb. The individual-
ity of the plant is comparatively an aggregate of individualities,
while the animal is a real unity in each part through feeling, and
hence there is no such independence in the parts of the animal as
in the plant.

29. Feeling, sense-perception, and locomotion characterize the
individuality of the animal, although lie retains the special powers
W'hich made the plant an organic being. The plant could assimi-
late or digest ; that is to say, it could react on its environment and
impress it with its own form, making the inorganic into vegetable
cells and adding them to its own structure. Feeling, especially in

202 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the form of sense-perception, is the process of reproducing the
environment within the organisna in an ideal form.

30. Sense-pei'ception thus stands in contrast to the vegetative
power of assimilation or nutrition, which is the highest form of en-
ergy in the plant. Nutrition is a subordinate energy in the animal,
while it is the supreme energy of the plant. Nutrition relates to its
environment only negatively and destructively in the act of assimi-
lating it, or else it adds mechanically to the environment by sepa-
rating and excreting from itself what has become inorscanic. But
feeling, even as it exists in the most elementary forms of sense-
perception, can reproduce the environment ideally ; it can form
for itself, within, a modification corresponding to the energy of
the objects that make up its environment.

31. Sentient being stands in reciprocal action with its environ-
ment, but it seizes the impression received from without and adds
to it by its own activity, so as to reconstruct for itself the external
object. It receives an impression, and is so far passive to the
action of its environment ; but it reacts on this by forming within
itself a counterpart to the impression out of its own energy. The
animal individuality is an energy that can form limits within
itself. On receiving an impression from the environment it forms
limits to its own energy commensurate with the impression it
receives, and thus frames for itself a perception, or an internal
copy of the object. It is not a copy so much as an estimate or
measure effected by producing a limitation within itself similar to
the impression it has received. Its own state, as thus limited to
reproduce the impression, is its idea or perception of the external
environment as acting upon it.

32. The plant receives impressions from without, but its power
of reaction is extremely limited, and does not rise to feeling. The
beginnings of such reaction in plants as develops into feeling in
animals are studied by intelligent biologists with the liveliest in-
terest, for in this reaction we see the ascent of individuality
through a discrete degree — the ascent from nutrition to feeling.

33. Nutrition is a process of destruction of the individuality of
the foreign substance taken up from the environment, and likewise
a process of impressing on it a new individuality, that of the vege-
tative form, or the nutritive soul, as Aristotle calls it. Feeling is
a process of reproducing within the individuality, by self-limitation

Immofiaflty of the Individual. 203

or selt-determination, a form that is like the external energj- that
has ]>roiluced an impression upon it. The sentient being shapes
itself into the impression, or rei)rochice9 the impression, and thus
perceives the character of the external energy hy the nature of its
own etibrt rccjuiretl to reproduce the impression.

34. The difference between a nutritive process and a perceptive
or sentient process is one of degree, but a discrete degree. Both
processes are reactions on what is foreign ; but the nutritive is a
real process, destructive of the foreign object, while the sentient is
an ideal or reproductive process that does not affect the foreign ob-
ject. The nutritive is thus the opposite of the sentient ; it de-
stroys and assimilates, the latter reproduces. Perception is objec-
tive, a self-determination in the form of the object — it transforms
the subject into the object; nutrition is subjective in that it trans-
mutes the object into the subject and leaves no object. Perception
preserves its own individuality wliile reproducing the individu-
ality of the external, for it limits itself by its own energy in re-
producing the form of the object.

35. For the reason that feeling or perception measures off, as
it were, on its own organic energj- — which exists for it in the feel-
ing of self — the amount and kind of energy required to produce
the impression made on it from without, it follows that sense-per-
ception is not onl}- a reception of impressions, but also an act of
introspection. Bj' introspection it interprets the cause or occa-
sion of the impression that is felt. Feeling arises only when the
impression made on the organism is reproduced again within the
self — only when it recognizes the external cause by seeing in and
through its own energy the energy that has limited it. The de-
gree of objectivity (or the ability to perceive the reality of the
external power) is measured by the degree of introspection or the
degree of clearness in which it perceives the amount and limit of
the internal energy required to reproduce the impression.

YIII. Human Individualitij.

36. On this scale of degrees we rise from plant to animal, and
from animal to man. The individualit}- of each lies in its energy.
The energy of the plant is expended in assimilating the external ;
that of the animal in assimilating and reproducing; that of man
in assimilating, reproilucing, and self-producing or creating. The

201 T}ie Journal of /Speculative Philosophy.

discrete degree that separates the plant from the animal is naeas-
ured by the distance between destroying and reconstructing ; the
diflt'erence between the animal and the man is measured by the
distance between reproducing and self-producing, or, in another
form of statement, it is tlie diiference in two kinds of perception
— the perception of object as particular and the perception ot
object as universal.

37. It is comparatively easy to recognize the diiference between
nutrition and perception ; indeed, one would say that the diiiicult
part is the recognition of the essential identity of their energies.
On the contrary, the identity of sense-perception and thought is
readily acknowledged, but their profound difference is not seen
without careful attention. Inasmuch as the difference between
sense-perception and thought characterizes the diiference between
individuality that can survive death of the body and tliat which
cannot survive death of the body, our subject justifies a careful
discussion of this distinction.

38. The majority of thinkers who have advanced or defended
the doctrine of immortality of the human soul have drawn the
line of individual survival between the activity of sense-percep-
tion and the activity of reflection and reason, the former activity
being understood as that which perceives particular objects, while
the latter perceives general or universal objects. These general
or universal objects are not mere classes or abstractions, fictions
of the mind for genera and species, but they stand for generic
processes in the world — such processes in the world as abide while
their products come into being and pass away. The oak before
me is the product of a power that manifests itself in successive
stages as acorn, sapling, tree, and crop of acorns, etc., these stages
being successive and partial, while the energy is the unity whence
proceed all of these phases through its action on the environ-
ment. The energy is a generic process, and whatever reality the
particular existence may get from it is borrowed from its reality.
The reality of this acorn is derived from the reality of organic
energy of the oak on which it grew. The reality of that organic
energy is at least equal to all the reality that has proceeded from it.

39. In the two forms of the reaction of energy, or individuality,
which have been discussed as nutrition and feeling, the former
draws the object within itself and destroys its objective form,

Immortality of the Individual. 205

•while in feeling the individuality recoils from the attack made on
the organism and reproduces its symbolic equivalent. Both of these
forms find the occasion of action in the contact with the external.
"Without conjunction, without limitation of the imlividualiry by
the object, there arises neither nutrition nor feeling. Tliis mutual
limitation is the reduction of the two, the subject and object, to
mutual dependence, and hence it is the destruction of individu-
ality so far as this dependence exists. By the act of assimilation
the vegetative energy reasserts its own independence and indi-
viduality by annulling the individuality of tiie object. The sen-
tient process, on the other hand, reasserts its independence by es-
caping from the continuance of the impression from without, and
by reproducing for itself a similar limitation through its own free-
dom or spontaneity. It elevates the real limit, by which it is
made dependent on an external object, into an ideal limit that
depends on its own free act. Thus both nutrition and feeling
are manifestations of self-identitv in which the energv acts
for the preservation of its individuality against submersion in
another.

-to. These attempts to preserve individuality which we see in
nutrition and feeling do not succeed in obtaining perfect inde-
pendence. Both these activities, as reactions upon the environ-
ment, depend on the continuance of tiie action of the environ-
ment. When the assimilation is complete the reaction ceases, and
there must be new interaction with the environment before the
process begins again, iience its individuality requires a permanent
interaction with external conditions, and the ])lant and vegetative
process is not a complete or perfect individuality. It is not en-
tirely independent. Its process involves a correlative existence,
an inorganic world for its food.

41. The activity of mere feeling or sense perception, too, is
aroused by external impressions, and is conditioned by them. If
there is no object, then there is no act of perception. Every oc-
casion given for the self-activity involved in perception is an occa-
sion for the manifestation of self-activity, but a self activity that
acts only on external incitation is not yet separable from the body.

42. Tlie reproduction of impressions that we have described as
the essential function of feeling or sense-perception is not the re-
production known under the name of recoliectiun or memory.

206 The Journal of SpeculaUve Philosophy.

EecoUection is a reproduction of the perception, while perception
is a reproduction of the impression. The so-called faculties of the
mind rise in a scale, beginning with feeling. Each higher activity
is distinguished from the one below it by the circumstance that
it sees not only the object which was seen by the lower faculty,
but also \\\Qform of the activity of that faculty. Each new fac-
ulty, therefore, is a new stage of self-consciousness.

43. The human characteristic is the knowing by universals.
Man recognizes or sees all objects as specimens of classes. He
sees the particular in the universal. Hence his act of cognition
is more complex than that of mere sense-perception, which he
shares with the animal. The seeming dogmatism and assumption
of this statement will disappear when we can see what results fol-
low from knowing by universals, and what is presupposed in the
mental energy that possesses such knowledge.

44. The energy presupposed in the act of feeling and sense-
perception is a self-activity, but one that manifests itself in repro-
ducing its environment ideally. It presupposes an organic energy
of nutrition in which it has assimikited portions of the environ-
ment and constructed for itself a body. In the body it has organ-
ized stages of feeling, constituting the ascending scale of sense-
perception.

a. First there is the sense of touch — containing all higher senses
in potentiality. When the higher senses have not developed, or
after they have been destroyed by accident, the sense of touch
may become sufficiently delicate to perceive not only contact with
bodies, Init also the slighter modifications involved in the effects
of taste and smell, and even in the vibrations of sound and light.

J. The lowest form of special sense is taste, which is closely
allied to nutrition. Taste perceives the phase of assimilation of
the object which is commencing within the mouth. The indi-
viduality of the object is attacked and it gives way, its organic
product or inorganic aggregate suffering dissolution — taste per-
ceives the dissolution. Substances that do not yield to the attack
have no taste. Glass and gold have little taste compared with salt
and sugar. The sense of taste differs from the process of nutrition
in the fact that it does not assimilate the body tasted, but repro-
duces ideally the energy that makes the impression on the sense-
organ of taste. Even taste is an ideal activity, although it is pres-

Iminortalitij of the Individual. 207

ent only when the nutritive energy is assimilating — it perceives
the object in a state of dissolution.

c. Smell is another specialization which perceives dissolution of
objects in a more general form than taste. Both smell and taste
perceive chemical changes that involve dissolution of the object.

d. Hearing is a far more ideal sense, and notes a manifestation
of resistance to dissolution. The cohesion of a body is attacked
and it resists, the attack and resistance take the form of vibration,
and this vibration is perceived by the special sense of hearing.
Taste and smell perceive the dissolution of the object, while hear-
ing perceives the defence or successful reaction of an object in
presence of an attack. Without reaction of cohesion there would
be no vibration and no sound.

e. The sense of sight perceives the individuality of the object
not in a state of dissolution before an attack, as in the case of taste
and smell, or as engaged in active resistance to attack, as in case
of hearing, but in its independence. Sight is, therefore, the most
ideal sense, inasmucl) as it is fartiiest removed from perception by
means of the real process of assimilation, in which one energy de-
stroys the product of another energy and extends its sway over it.

45. Xutrition iin plies foreign objects on which to exercise its
energy. It manifests itself as a destruction of its environment
and the extension of its power by conquest. If it could conquer
all its environment it would become a totality ; but then its
activity would cease for want of food.

Sense-perception implies impressions from foreign objects as the
occasion of its activity of ideal reproduction. It cannot perceive
without objects ; hence its energy is always conditioned by ener-
gies independent of it.

Representation is rei)roduction without the preseace of the sense-
object ; recollection and memory are forms of this. In the form
of recollection the individual energy reproduces the activity of a
past perception. The impression on the sense-organ is absent,
and the freedom of the individual is manifested in this reproduc-
tion without the occasion whicli is furnished by the impression
on the organism from without. Tlie freedom to reproduce the
image of an object tiiat has been once perceived leads by easy
steps to the pcrcejition of genera! notions ; for, when the mind
notices its mode of activity by which the former perception is re-

208 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

produced or represented, it perceives, of course, its power of repeat-
inc; the process, and notes that the same energy can produce an
indefinite series of diftei'ent images resembling one another. It is
by this action of representation that the idea of the universal
arises. It is a reflection on the conditions of recalling a former
perception. The energy that can produce within itself the con-
ditions of a former perception at pleasure, without the presence of
the original object of perception, is an energy that is generic — that
is, an energy that can produce the particular and repeat it to any
extent. The universal or generic power can produce a class.

46. With this consciousness of a generic energy manifested in
the power of representation arises the recognition of generic energy
manifested in the external world as the producer of the particular
objects perceived, and each object is seen in its producing energy
as one of an indefinite number produced by the continued exist-
ence of that energy. The consciousness of freedom of the Ego in
this restricted form of freedom of representing or recalling former
sense-perceptions lies thus at the basis of the perception of objects
as specimens of classes ; hence representation or recollection, which
is special and individual, leads to the act of reflection by which
the energy is perceived and its generic cliaracter, and with it the
perception of the necessary generic character of the energy at the
foundation of every impression upon our senses or at the founda-
tion of every object perceived.

47. At this point the activity of perception becomes Concep-
tion, or the perception of the general in the particular. The
*' this oak " is perceived as " an oak," or a specimen of the class
oak. The class oak is conceived as an indefinite number of indi-
vidual oaks, all produced by an energy which manifests itself in
an organic process of assimilation and elimination, in which ap-
pear the stadia of acorn, sapling, tree, and crop of acorns — a con-
tinuous circle of reproduction of the species oak, a transformation
of the one into the many — the one acorn becoming a crop of
acorns, and then a forest of oaks.

4^. The rise of self-consciousness, or the perception of self-
activity, and the perception of the general object in the external
world, are thus contemporaneous. "With the perception of the
general energy the psychological activity has outgrown represen-
tation and become conception. With conception the energy or soul

Immortality of the Indivifhtal. 209

begins to be an iniliviiluality for itself — a conscious iiulivitluality.
It recognizes itself as a free energy. The stage of mere perception
does not recognize itself, but merely sees its own energy as the
objective energy, because it acts wholly as occasioned by the ex-
ternal object. In tiie recognition of the object as an individual
of a class the soul recognizes its own freedom and independent
activity. Recollection (A/-//; /(«;•««;/) relates to individuals, recall-
ing the special presentation or impression and representing the
object as it was before perceived. Memory (like the German
word GeddcJdnlss) may be distinguished as the activity which
reproduces the object as one of a class, and therefore as the form
of representation that perceives universals. With memory arises
language.

49. Language fi.Kes the knowledge of objects in universals.
Each word represents an indefinite number of particular objects,
actions, or relations. The word oak stands for all oaks — present,
past, or future. No being can use language, much less create lan-
guage, unless it has learned to conceive as well as perceive —
learned to see all objects as individuals belonging to classes, and
incidentallv recognized its own individualitv. All human beinss
possess language. Even deaf and dumb human beings invent and
use gestures with as definite meaning as words, each gesture deno-
ting a class with a possible intiiiitc number of special applications.

50. These distinctions of self-activity or of spontaneous energy
which have been pointed out in the stages of nutrition, feeling,
sense-perception, and recollection are often overlooked, or are ac-
counted as the direct product of the environment, and not admit-
ted as the reactions of individuiil energy. The science that ig-
nores the manifestation of energy in the reaction of the individual
is unreasonable, fur it assumes that all the energy is in the envi-
ronment, altiiongii tlie i)l)vi(ius fact is that tiiere is energy on each
side— on that of the individual and on tliat of the environment.

51. In these lower stages of the activity of individual energy
we have individuality that cannot recognize itself because it can-
not recognize the universal, and therefore cannot conceive of pure
causal activity, but identifies it with special manifestation. Hence
the permanence of such individuality would not be the continu-
ance of individuality in the sense of immortality any more than
a perpetual sleep would continue it.

XIX-H

210 The Joximal of Speculative Philosophy.

Even memory and the phenomena of languao;e are not recog-
nized b}' psychologists generally as being the first manifestation
of the self-conscious individuality.

52. Psychology, however, in the activity of reflection readily
recognizes the advent of universal ideas, and notes the self-activity
of mind in forming them and thinking witli them. It is usual,
however, to account for the production of these universal ideas by
supposing tliat the mind first collects many individuals and then
abstracts so as to omit the differences and preserve the likeness or
resemblance, and thus forms the conception of class. It therefore
makes reflection responsible, not only for the recognition of the
universal, but for its creation. But the act of reflection only dis-
covers what had already been elaborated in the lower faculty of
the mind. Self-consciousness is not the cause of universal ideas,
but the universal rises with it as its condition (the perception of
the universal being perception of the self). Both appear at the
same time as essential phases of the same act. The soul uses uui-
versals in language long before it recognizes the same as universal
(its first recognition of the universal being only self-recognition).
Keflection discovers that these ideas are general — but it has used
them ever since human beings became human. After reflection
has dawned, however, a new series of universal terms begin to
come into use, which denote not merely universal classes or gen-
eric energies, but the pure energy in its self-activity as producing
inward distinctions which do not reach external particular things
as results. Here begins conscious independence of the world of
sense-perception.

53. Tbe higher stages of thinking which perceive these more
universal phases of the activity of enei-gy — which deal with the
universals of universals — the genera of classes, are perceptions of
the necessary primordial conditions of the world — the most gen-
eral conditions of its existence.

54. The idea of evolution as a cosmical principle is of this or-
der. According to it, all individualization shall move from simple
forms to complex forms that are simple — the higher individual
shall be more of a totality within itself — and the highest individu-
ality shall be one that realizes the cosmos within itself and is the
Microcosm.

55. The highest principle of the universe is thus conceived by

Immortality of the Imlkndnal. 211

evolution as a principle of grace — a giving and imparting of tlie
perfection of the whole to the part or particular individual.

IX. Human ItuHvidxtality Immortal.

.">C. Why will one make imliviiliiMl immortality to begin with
the perception of universals and of self-identity rather tlian with
individual reaction in the plant, or in that of self-teeliug in the
animal ? or, still more, with that of free self-activity in recollec-
tion?

57. Undoubtedly there is individuality wherever there is re-
action. But mere reaction is not sufficient to constitute personal
identity. The activity in reaction arises on account of the activity
of another being, and hence is not entirely of itself in the case of
the plant or the nutritive form of life, or in that of the mere ani-
mal or the feeling and locomotive being. Were such individuality
to be imperishable it would be unconscious imperishability and
devoid of memory that recognizes its own being in the present
and in the past. Mere recollection is not the recognition of the
being of the self. A self must be universal, and can in no wise be
a mere particular thing or act such as can be recollected. The
self is the principle of the process of reaction against the environ-
ment and of the activity of reproduction and synthesis.

58. The individual, therefore, is not only a. '^elf — a universal —
but also an entire sphere of particularity. The self can generate
by the reproductive activity all that it has seen and heard, all that
it has experienced — reproducing it as often as it pleases and en-
tirely free from the presence of the objects perceived, and it can
generate from itself the ideas of the general processes in which
originated the special facts of sense-perception. Hence its par-
ticulars are also general. Such a stage we call Memory, in the
special and higlier sense of the word, as corresponding to, not
uvutivr)cn<;, but fiurj/Moainnj or fj.vijfin—i'iot Erinnerwig, but Geddcht-
ni«8— not the memory that recollects, but the memory that recalls
by the aid (jf universal ideas. (Such memory is creative as it goes
from the general to the particular.) These general ideas are mne-
monic aids— pigeon-holes, as it were, in the mind— wherei)v the
soul conquers the endless multiplicity of details in the world. It
refers each to its species and saves the species under a name — then
is able to recall by the name a vast number of special instances.

212 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

59. Language is the sign by which we can i-ecognize the arrival
of the soul at this stage of development into complete self-activity.
Hence language is the criterion of immortal individuality. In
order to nse language, it must be able not only to act for itself,
but to act wholly upon itself. It must not only perceive things
by the senses, but accompany its perceiving by an inner perception
of the act of perceiving (and thus be its own environment). This
perception of the act and process of perceiving is the recognition
of classes, species, and genera — the universal processes underlying
the existence of the particular.

60. Language in this sense involves conventional signs, and is
not an immediate expression of feeling like the cries of animals.
The immediate expression of feeling (which is only a reaction)
does not become language, even when it accompanies recollection
or the free reproduction — nor until it accompanies memory or the
seeing of the particular in the general. When it can be shown
that a species of animals use conventional signs in communication
with each other, we shall be able to infer their immortality, be-
cause we shall have evidence of their freedom from sense-per-
ception and environment sufficient to create for themselves their
own occasion for activity. They would then be shown to react
not merely against their environment, but against their own action
— hence they would involve both action and reaction, self and en-
vironment. They would, in that case, have selves, and their selves
exist for themselves, and hence they would have self -identity.

61. Take away self-identity, and still there may be persistence

of self-activity ; but it is only generic — that of the species and not

of the individual. The species lives, the individual dies in such

cases.

X. What Faculties survvve Death.

62. Having found the criterion of immortality, let us look at
some of the ideas and capacities which come with its endowment.

The ascent above sense-perception and recollection indicates to
us the subordinate place of those faculties, and also their mori-
bund character. As Aristotle hinted, in his profound treatise on
the Soul, these lower faculties are not immortal in their nature
(although they will long outlast this earthly life).

63. In thinking of such faculties in the lis-es of great men of
science — like Agassiz, Cuvier, Lyell, von Humboldt, Darwin, and

Immortality of the Individxcal. 213

Goethe — we see what this means. It is the tii-st and crudest stage
of mental culture that depends chiefly on sense-perception and
recollection. After the general has been discovered, the mind
uses it more and more, and the information of the senses becomes
a smaller and smaller part of the knowledge. Agassiz in a single
scale saw the whole tish — so that the scale was all that was re-
quired to suggest the whole. Lyell could see the whole history
of its origin in a pebble, Cuvier could see the entire animal-
skeleton in one of its bones. The ilemory, which holds types,
processes, and universals, the condensed form of all human ex-
perience, the total aggregate of all sense-perception of the universe
and all reflection on it — this constitutes the chief faculty of the
scientific jnaii, and sense-perception and mere recollection play the
most insignificant part.

64. This points to the complete independence of the soul as a
far-oflF idea. When the soul can think the creative thougiit, the
theoretic vision of the world — f) dempia, as Aristotle calls it — then
it comes to perfect insight, for it sees the whole in each part,
and does not require any longer the mechanical memory, because
it has a higher form of intellect that sees immediately in the in-
dividual thing its history, just as Lyell or Agassiz saw the history
of a pebble or a fish, or Asa Gray sees all botany in a single
plant. Mechanical memory is thus taken up into a higher " fac-
ulty," and, its function being absorbed, it gradually perishes. But
it never perishes until its function is provided for in a more com-
plete manner.

XI. Ethical Culture presiqyjjoses Immortality.

65. Man is born an animal, but must become a spiritual being.
He is limited to the present moment and to the present place, but
he must conquer all places and all times. Man, therefore, has an
ideal of culture which it is his destiny or vocation to achieve.

66. lie must lift himself above his mere particular existence
toward universal existence. All peoples, no matter how degraded,
recognize this duty. The South Sea Islander commences with
his infant child and teaches him habits that conform to that phase
of civilization — an ethical code fitting him to live in that com-
munity — and, above all, the mother-tongue, so that he may receive
the results of the perceptions and reflections of his fellow-beings

214 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and communicate liis own to them. The experience of the tribe,
a slow accretion through years and ages, shall be preserved and
communicated to each new-born child, vicariously saving him
from endless labor and suifering. Through culture the individual
shall acquire the experience of the species — shall live the life of
the race, and be lifted above himself. Such a process as culture
thus puts man above the accidents of time and place in so far as
the tribe or race has accomplished this.

67. Whatever lifts man above immediate existence, the wants
and impulses of the present moment, and gives him self-control, is
called ethical. The ethical grounds itself, therefore, in man's ex-
istence in the species and in the possibility of the realization
of the species in the individual. Hence, too, the ethical points
toward immortality as its presupposition. Death comes through
the inadequacy of the individual organism to adjust itself to the
environment; the conditions are too general, and the individual
gets lost in the changes that come to it. Were the individual
capable of adapting himself to all changes, there could be no
death ; the individual would be perfectly universal. This process
of culture that distinguishes man from all other animals ])oints
toward the formation of an immortal individual distinct from
the body within which it dwells — an individual who has the
capacity to realize within himself the entire species.

68. Immortality thus complements the ethical idea. In an in-
finite universe the process of realizing the experience of all beings
by each being must itself be of infinite duration. The doctrine
of immortality, therefore, places man's life under the form of eter-
nity and ennobles mortal life to its highest potency.

69. Since ethics rests on the idea of a social whole as the total-
ity of man, and on the idea of an immortal life as the condition
of realizing in each man the life of the whole, it lays great stress
on the attitude of renunciation on the part of the individual.
The special man must deny himself, sacrifice the present moment
in order to attain the higher form of eternity. To act indiiierently
toward the present moment is to " act disinterestedly," as it is
called. It is the preference of reflected good for immediate good
— my good reflected from all humanity, my good after their good
and through their good, nnd not my good before their good and
instead of their good.

Immortality of the ImUvidual. 215

70. This doctrine of disinterestedness has been perverted into a
doctrine of annihilation of all interest by a school of ascetic
moralists in our time — the school of the Positivists. According to
them, it were a higher form of disinterestedness to forswear all
interest, and to waive all return of good upon ourselves from
others. In fact, the ne plus ultra of this disinterestedness is the
renunciation, not only of mortal life, but of immortal life — the
renunciation of selfhood itself.

71. Such supreme renunciation is the irony of renunciation. It
would renounce not only the pleasures of the flesh, hut the bless-
edness of virtue and sainthood. It would renounce eternity as well
as the present moment.

7-2. The dialectic of such a position would force it into the next
extreme of pure wickedness. For, see, is it not more disinterested
to renounce eternal blessedness than the mere pleasure of the pres-
ent moment i The more renunciation, the more ethical. Ilence
the denizens of the Inferno — those plunged into all manner of
mortal sins — are more virtuous than the saints in paradise. For
the sinners — do they not renounce blessedness — the form of eter-
nity — the intinite happiness, and in their self-denial take up with
mere temporal pleasures that are sure to leave stings of pain ?
What nobleness to prefer hell with its darkness and lire and ice to
paradise with its serenity and light and love ! Is it not a step in
advance even over such abstract ethical culture as rejects immor-
talitv from disinterestedness to plunge into positive pain, and there-
by exhibit one's abstract freedom from all lures to happiness?

73. But such "ethical culture" is not true morality. Disinter-
estedness is only a relative matter in it — it is incidental, and not
the essential element in virtue. It is of no use whatever except
to eliminate the immediateness from life. The individual should
become the species, and, instead of receiving good directly, should
receive it as reflected from his fellow-men. Not to receive it as
reflected from his fellow-men would paralyze the circulation which
is necessary to the realization of the species, and man's ideal would
vanish utterly. The principle of altruism imi)lies receiving as
well as giving. No giving can remain where no receiving is.
Ilence ethics vanish altogether with the paralysis of the return of
good upon the individual from the whole of society. The indi-
vidual is cut ott' from the species by absolute renunciation, and

216 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

cannot ascend into it by substituting mediated good for immediate,
as all codes of morals demand. Humanity lapses into bestiality.
Civilization is impossible without this ideal of the race as the goal
of the individual. It is the object of language, literature, science,
religion, and all human institutions.

74. Thus, too, immortality is presupposed by all the instrumen-
talities of civilization. The completion of spiritual life in the
communion of all souls is the final cause or purpose of immortal
life.

XII. The Being of God presupposed hy ImrrwrUdity.

75. Our final consideration in this discussion is due to the ques-
tion of the absolute First Principle presupposed in this view of
the world — a world in which the process of genesis of immortal
beings goes on as the supreme object of all.

76. The senses pei'ceive particular things and events. These
are divisible and again divisible as we look more and more closely
into them. Each seems to be iu some way different from all
others. Infinite particularity seems to reign.

77. But to the eye of reflection all particularity is based on
iinity as logical presupposition. A priori conditions of experience
are seen which make experience possible. There can be no world
of experience without time and space. The mathematical laws of
time and space condition all things and all changes in the world.
Space and time, in fact, are pure unities, and all that is in time
and all that is in space must exist relatively to all else in time and
space, thus making a vast unity that we call the world :

" A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings."

78. It is the law of Space that all that is conditioned by it pos-
sesses externality and exclusion, and is conditioned from without.
Each body has external conditions, and thus forms an aggregate
with its environment. Each aggregate is a part of a larger aggre-
gate, and there is no end to this ascent from aggregate to aggregate,
from unity to unity. All that is in space — to wit, the world — is
included in a unity. This unity, too, is transcendent — it is the con
stitutive form of space itself, and hence above all that is included
in space.

Immortality of the Individual. 217

79. Time, too, is a form that gives unity to all change and suc-
cession, and hence to all events. The world of events transcends
the individual event, but is transcended bv that which gives unity
to all events.

80. The basis of the idea of causality is the idea of self-separa-
tion — the detaching of influence from an active being, and its
transference to another which thus becomes eftect. Self-separa-
tion — Causa 8ui — self-determination is the idea underlying not
only all change and movement, but even the static form of exist-
ence ; it underlies not only events, l)ut things.

81. All dependent being is necessarily explained through that
on which it depends. The independent must be originator of its
own determinations or qualities — else these are through others, and
the being is dependent and not independent. Or, if these qualities of
its being are supposed to be eternal and not eternally produced,
they must lack unity and fall asunder into independent things.
But the same necessity recurs for self-determination in these iso-
lated qualities.

82. Self-determined being, that which exists in pure activity, is
the only possible form of independence. It is the logical presup-
position of the world of time and space. The world, as an aggre-
gate of things and events, certainly has a Supreme Unity who is
self-active and the Creator of things and events.

83. But it is possible to accept the unity of the world as a crea-
tor of things and events and yet deny it as a creator of man.
Man, according to this doctrine, is immortal, and therefore trans-
cends space and time, and is not conditioned by the unity of the
world ; but each man is a transcendent unity himself.

To be consistent, this view must deny all genesis to man. Each
man is from all eternity individual and a transcendent unity.

84. But, then, what has an eternal individual to do with a
world of time and space ? There seems to be history. There
seem to be change of fortune and especially growth, progressive
development, and education in regard to man. All this can be
only seeming, however, according to a theory which makes man
eternally pre-exist.

bo. If there is genesis, if there is education and progressive de-
velopment, then there is presupposed a separation of ideal from
real. The being is not what it ought to be, and is therefore de-

218 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

pendent on the side of time npon development. If tliere is gene-
sis, it presnpposes a real being with potentialities existing within
a higher unity.

86. Human education is of the nature of a realization of the
race in each individual. Each man, therefore, presupposes a time
and space-unity witli other men, making up a unity of History.
Society, social existence, presupposes this form of unity.

87. Hence the unity of the world is the logical condition also
of men as historic existences. To make them to pre-exist out of
time and space is a piece of purely gratuitous assumption, and not
only does not explain what is the fact, but it actually renders the
fact itself utterly impossible.

88. The same Power which creates the world in the constitutive
unities of time and space, and causes the development from lower
to upper orders which we behold in Nature, also has in view the
erection of humanity on the summit of creation as His divine
image. He will impart his blessedness to others, and will there-
fore create intelligent beings " to know Him and enjoy Him for-
ever."

89. Thus we have the Divine in two forms — first, the Creator
absolute, self-existent, all-good and all-wise, who desires to share
his Blessedness, and therefore creates men, causes them to begin —
raising them up through Nature — a benignant and tender process
of nurture of individuality into freedom and self-knowledge.

90. Then there is a second form of the Divine — as it results
from the solidarity of the human race and of all intelligent be
ings throughout the universe — an eternal stream of creation —
especially after death has removed the dividing limits that sepa-
rate souls of one planet from those of another.

91. The ideal of the individual — that he must realize in him-
self the species, and that he must receive only such good as comes
to him from all humanity — this ideal presupposes and necessitates
the social unioTi of the world of intelligences. Each shall help all
— a finite act ; all shall help each — an infinite act. Each one thus
participating in the infinite, invisible communion of souls shall
thus be made infinite and divine. Hence the Invisible Church of
all immortal spirits becomes the Institution whose eternity is as
divine as the Creator's.

92. An institution eliminates from itself the defects of the in-

Notes and Discussions. 219

dividual composing it, and in tiiin helps the individuals to free
themselves of defect throngh it.

93. An infinite conununity of sonls. ineludinp; the inhabitants
of all worlds that have evolved human beings since the beginning,
is an institution become perfect and divine.

94. An institution is a unity of persons, and endowed by them
with personality. The Absolute institution is the archetype of
all other institutions, and a Divine Personality dwells in its
midst, and is God the Holy Spirit.

NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.

/iV MEMORIAM,
J. F. B.

JVon omnia moriar.
Upon thy soul lay not a fading hint

How dark fatality enwrapt thct round,
Tho' deathlike was thy cheek, nor least the tint

Of the heart's roseate parlance 'neath it found.

I was the la.il, within thy native vale,

Who heard that pay, delightful cadence fall

From tender, (luivering lips — that gentle tale
Cheered like a godsend from some angel's call.

Nor thrill of instant loss opprest thy heart ;

Like columns strong in falc thy Future stood,
And hope shone swift to guide thy steps to Art,

And Age, like softest verse, spake silvery good.

A shattered hearth — a chill o'erburdened sky,
A question at the gate that opes in heaven.

Thou restest calm, in love's tranquillity.
Hast thou not all /or which in life thou'sl striven f

Were torturing shafts, were pale sepulchral rhymes.
Were structures reared by Fame's enduring eong.

More fitting to thy right than Xuturc's chimes
That to the simple and the good belong ?

220 The Jouimal of Speculative Philosophy.

For many an eye shall weep Fate's hurrying call,
For many a band must empty fade away —

And should our grief like desolation fall,
The things untaught that higher Laws obey ?

Dear soul, whose pitying glance affection knew,
Whose voice, like mercy from a heart of love,

Rose welling bright, friend ! nur loves renew.

Make us like thee with thy pure thoughts above !

W. E. Channing.
Concord, Mass., February, 1885.

THE CONCORD SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY.

Tlie Concord Summer School will open for a seventh term on Thursday, July 16,
1885, at 7.30 p. ii., and may continue three weeks. The lectures in each week will be
eleven ; they will be given morning and evening, except Saturday evenings, on the six
secular days (in the morning at 9.30 o'clock, and in the evening at 7.30), at the Hillside
Chapel, near the Orchard House.

The terms will be S5 for each full week : for all the lectures, glO. Single tickets, at 50 cents
each, may he bought at the shop of H. L. Wbitcomb, in Concord, after July lOtb, in packages of
ten for $4.50, and of three $1.40. Any one to whom this circular is sent can now engage course
tickets by making application, and sending 85 as a guaranty. For those who make this deposit,
tickets wUl be reserved till the tenth day of July, and can then be obtained by payment of the
balance due. They entitle the holder to reserved seats. Students coming and going daily during
the term may reach Concord from Boston by the Fitchburg Railroad, or the Middlesex Central ;
from Lowell, Andover, etc., by the Lowell and Framingham Railroad ; from Southern Middlesex
and Worcester Counties by the same road. The Orchard House stands on the Lexington road,
east of Concord village, adjoining the Wayside estate, formerly the residence of Mr. Hawthorne.
For fuller information concerning the town and the school, we would refer applicants and visitors
to the "Concord Guide-Book "' of Mr George B. Bartlett.'

Lodgings with board may be obtained at the following houses in Concord village ;
Miss E. Babhett, Monument Street. Mrs. Kent, Main Street.

Mrs. O'Brien, Monument Square. Mrs. Goodnow, Main Street.

Mrs. CcTTEB, Sudbury Street. Mrs. How, Hnbbard Street.

Mrs. B. F. Wheeler, Belknap Street.
Lodgings without board can be obtained in the neighborhood of each of the above-named
houses. Students and visitors will make their own arrangements without consulting the under-
signed. . „

A. Bbonsos Alcott, Dean.

S. H. Emery, Jr., Director.
F. B. Sanborn, Secretary.
Concord, June 23, 1885.

PROGRAMME OF LECTURES.
JcxT. T885 :

JtTLT, 1885 :

16th, V.30 p. M., Mr. Albee.

17th, 9.30 a. m., Mrs. Cheney.

7.30 p. M., Mr. Snider.
18th, 9.30 A. M., Dr. Bartol and Dr. Hedge.
SOth, 9..30 A. M., Prof. Harris.

7.30 P. M., Mr. Sanborn.
2l8t, 9.30 A. M., Mrs. Sherman.

7.30 p. M., Prof. White.

22d, 9.30 A. M., Mr. Emery.

7..30P. M.,Mr. Snider.
23d, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Hewett.

7.30 p. M., Prof. Harris,
aith, 9.30 A. M., Mr. Blake.

7.30 P.M., Dr. Soldan.
asth, 9.30 A. M., Mrs. Howe.
!}7th, 9.30 A. M., Mr. Partridge.

' Published by D. Lothrop & Co., Boston, and containing an accoimt of the origin of the
School.

Notes and Discussions. 221

2nh, 7.S0 p. »., Prof. Harris. -Jirth, 7.30 p. M., Mr. Fiske.

28th. 9.30 A. M., Mr. Snider. 30th, B.30 a. m., Dr. Abbott.

7.80 p. a., Mr. Davidfun. 7.30 p. M., Prof. Harris.

S9th, 9.30 A. ».. Mr. Ernst. 31st, 9.30 a. m.. Dr. Peabody.

LECTURES AND SUBJECTS, 1885.

Thk General Sibjkcts for this Year will be

/. Goethe'n Oeniut and Work.

II. It Pantheism Ihe Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science ?

I. Goethe's Genu's and Work.

Under this head will come lectures on :

1. "Goethe's Self-Culture," I).t Mr. Jons Albee.

2. " Goethe and his ' Miihrchen,' " tiv Rev. Dr. F. H. Hedge.

8. " Goethe's Relation to Kant and Spinoza in Philosophy," by Dr. F. L. Soldan

4. " Goethe's Faust," by Prof. IIarris.

6. " Goethe's Youth," by Prof. H. S. White, of Cornell University.

6. " The ' Ewig-Weibliche,' " by Mrs. E. D. Cheney.

7. " Goethe's Faust," by Mr. D. J. Snider.

8. " Goethe's Relation to English Literature," by Mr. F. B. Sanborn.

9. A Lecture by Mr. Julian Hawthorne.

10. "The Novelettes in ' Wilhclm Meister,' " by Prof. Harris.

11. "'Wilhelm Meister' as a Whole," by Mr. D. J. Snider.

12. " Goethe and Schiller," by Rev. Dr. Bartol.

13. "The Women of Goethe," by Mrs. Jilia Ward Howe.

14. " The Elective Affinities," by Mr. S. H. Emery, Jr.

15. "Goethe's Titanism," by Prof. Thomas David.son.

16. " Goethe at Weimar," by Prof. Uewett, of Cornell University.

17. "Child-Life as Portrayed in Goethe's Works," by Mrs. Caroline K. Sherman, of

Chicago.

18. " Goethe as Playwright," by Mr. William 0. Partridge.

19. "The Style of Goethe," by Mr. C. W. Ernst.

IL A SrscPOSiCM : Is Pantheism the Legitimate Octcome of Modern Science?

Papers by Rev. Dr. Peabodv, Mr. John Fiske, Prof. Harris, Dr. G. H. Howison,
and Dr. F. E. Abbott.

" Readings from Thoreau," by Mr. H. G. 0. Blake ; and " Readings from Mr. Al-
cott's Diaries " may also be given.

IMMORTALITY.^

Welcome the tribute sometimes Fortune steals
From youth's exchequer to enrich old age !

What ample pension freely forth she deals
To gild with glory his gray equipage.

' This .sonnet was written the day before Mr. Aleott received the paralytic shock
which has since confined him to his room. — Editor.

222 The Journal of Spectdative Philosophy.

Whilst o'er Time's track slow roll his chariot-wheels,

Then Heaven's gate enters ! He, his heritage
Of life receiving, breaks the sacred seals,

High privilege sole given to saint and sage.
Life were but ashes, and one holocaust,

If no fair Future welcomed from its goal,
No gate swung open to admit us — lost

Were all companionship and blank the soul. —
Ah, dead to all life holds and knows its own.

If youth survive not and uphold its throne.

A. Beonson Alcott.
Concord, Mass., October 23, 1882.

SENTENCES IN PROSE AND VEESE.

SELECTION BY VT. E. CHANNINO.

Physiognomy is not a rule to judge people by, even if it may serve to
make a guess at them. — La Bruyere.

Men have three experiences — birth, life, and death ; they know not
when they are born, they suffer when they die, and they forget they are
alive. — Ibid.

Children are vain, disdainful, cross, envious, curious, self-interested,
lazy, volatile, timid, unrestrained, untruthful, and cheats ; they easily
laugh and cry, little things delight or annoy them, they prefer not to
suffer pain but to cause it ; they are miniature men. — Ibid.

Two opposite facts equally surprise — habit and novelty. — Ibid.

Crimes come from a bad heart, vices from the faidts of temperament
follies from a lack of perception. — Ibid.

Men appreciate others with difficulty, and have but a feeble style of
praising each other ; action, conduct, thought, expression, nothing de-
lights nor contents them. They put themselves in the place of the writer
or speaker, and narrate similar experiences on their own part, and are so
full of themselves they lack room for anybody else. — Ibid.

" Do like the rest," a suspicious maxim, which usually signifies, follow
evil. — Ibid.

By dying we may obtain the praise of the survivors, when our only
virtue consists in having died. Cato and Piso may use the same eulogy.
—Ibid.

We should not feel disagreeably because men evince hardness, ingrati-
tude, injustice, pride, self-love, and forgetfulness of others ; so are they

Notes and Diseussionx. 223

Qiade ; this is after huinnn nature. To make much account of similar dis-
plays is like worrying because stones fall or fire burns. — Ibid.

Failure is so common, .ind i;ood things are purchased by such extra-
ordinary pains, that what is easily done grows suspicious. We may
readily believe that we deserve to succeed, but we should not positively
rely on success before it arrives. — Ibid.

There is nothin<i men wish so much to keep, and which they husband
so ill, as their own lives. — Ibid.

Death can happen but once, and so we think about it all our lives ; it
is possibly worse in apprehension than in reality. — Ibid.

The certainty of death is a little mitigated by the uncertainty as to its
coming; it is an indefinite element iu time, which has something infinite,
or what we call eternal. — Ibid.

We forever dread that old age we can never be at all sure of reaching.
—Ibid.

Children have neither past nor future, and, what we can never hope
for, they delight in the present. — Ibid.

We may shorten or omit a host of discussions by concluding that cer-
tain persons can never speak justly, and condemning at once what they
may say, past, present, and future. — Ibid.

Between genius and talent there exists the same proportion as between
the whole and a part. — Ibid.

Children seize at the first glance upon latent and patent bodily defects,
and describe them truthfully in the finest words, that no one can better.
—Ibid.

Hate is so lasting and dogmatic, it is a sure sign of dissolution, in a
sick man, when he begins to forgive his enemies. — Ibid.

The judgment ctf men on each other's actions is efiBcacious ; soon or
late specific results flow from it. — Oiiizot.

Ce mondc, ch^re Agnes, est une dtrange chose. — Moliere.

I remember a rare experiment that a Nobleman of much sincerity, and
a singular friend of mine, told me he had seen : which was, That, by
means of glasses made in a very particular manner, and artificially placed
by one another, he had seen the sunbeams gathered together and precipi-
tated down into a brownish or purplish red powder. — Sir Kenebn Digby.

One would think it a folly to talk of washing hands in a well-polished
Silver Bason wherein there is not a drop of water, yet this may be done

224 Tfie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

by the reflexion of tlie Moon beams only . . . and this is an infallible
way to take away Warts from the hands, if it be often tried. — Ibid.

The Farcy is a venomous and contagious humor within the body of a
Horse; hang a Toad about the neck of the Horse in a little bag, and he
will be cured infallibly ; the Toad, which is the stronger poyson, drawing
to it the venome which was within the Horse. — Ihid.

And where he speaketh of Cupid, and of Beauty, it is in such a phrase,
as putteth me in mind of the Learned Chreeke Reader in Cambridge, his
courting his Mistris out of Stephens his Thesaurus [of Sir Thos.
Browne]. — Ibid.

This world was made to be inhabited by Beasts, but studied and con-
templated by Man. — Sir Thomas Browne.

The severe schooles shall never laugh me out of the opinion of Hermes,
that this visible world is but the picture of the invisible. — Ihid.

There are no Grotesques in nature ; not anything formed to fill up
empty cantons and unnecessary spaces ; . . . indeed, what reason may
not go to schoole to the wisedome of Bees, Aunts, and Spiders ? — Ibid.

So I could enjoy my Saviour at the last, I could with patience be noth-
ing almost, unto eternity. — Ibid.

I. TWO STATEMENTS OF A THOUGHT.

When consciousness has been bereft

Of all that can be from it rent,
That which, alone, behind is left,

Is self, in form and in content.

When all which can excluded be

Is from the self excluded all,
That which then by itself we see

Is what self-consciousness we call.

II. THE " MILK OF THE WORD.''

The tongue, a shepherd soft as silk,

His wealth of speech leads forth in herds ;

Who speech can milk to him its milk,
It yields in meanings of the words.

So Paul his readers once entreats

Of his epistolary herd
To strip the texts, as they were teats.

For " the sincere milk of the word ! "

W. R. Alger.
Boston, Mass., January, 1885.

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.

Vol. XIX.] July, 1885. [No. 3.

"THE DIAL":

AH HISTORICAJ. AND BIOGEAPHIOAL INTRODUCTION, WITU A LIST OF
THE CONTRIBUTORS.

BT OIOROE WILLIS COOKE.

"When the present essay was projected (in November, 1881),
little bad been written about " The Dial." Since that time the
Carlyle and Emerson Correspondence has been published, Froude's
" Lite of Carlyle," and biographies of Margaret Fuller, Thoreau, and
Ripley in the " American Men of Letters" series. Each of these
works has added considerable to our knowledge of that unique pe-
riodical ; but there is yet much left which can be said of it. All
that it was to the persons who wrote for it cannot be told even
now ; but it is possible to give a continuous narrative of its origin
and its influence. As the organ of the transcendental movement
it deserves all the recognition it has received. It also did a ser-
vice not to be forgotten in bringing before the public several
young persons who have since gained distinction in literature. It
WHS almost the first means of expression for all the writers who
contributed to its jiflges. Emerson and Alcott had printed some-
thing before, and bo had Ripley. In its pages Thoreau, W. E.
XIX— 15

226 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Charming, Dwight, Craiich, Curtis, Dana, and several others, ap-
peared for the first time in print. Nearly all the other writers
have in some way contriljuted to the literature of the time, or
offer something of interest to the student of that period. I
have been able to add much that seems to me of interest concern-
ing these lesser contributors to " The Dial," and to rescue some
names from the oblivion into which they had fallen. Some of
the names presented in these pages will recall pleasant memories
to those of " The Dial " writers now living.

Through the kindness of Mr. James Elliot Cabot I am able to
give several letters about " The Dial " from Emerson, Marga-
ret Fuller, and Miss Elizabeth Peabody, as well as two or three
extracts from Emerson's diary. In compiling a list of the con-
tributors I have had generous aid from Mr. F. B. Sanborn, Col.
T. W. Higginson, and Eev. J. F. Clarke. To Dr. E. W. Emer-
son I am indebted for the use of his father's copy of " The Dial,"
in which some of the names of tiie writers had been written by his
hand. With the aid obtained from these most friendly contribu-
tors to my enterprise, and that received from many other per-
sons, I have been enabled to make a nearly complete list of " The
Dial " writers. Only a few of the shorter and less important
pieces are left without the author's name.

At the time when Emerson began to lecture in Boston, and the
transcendental movement was taking shape, there was talk of a
periodical to represent the new thought. As early as March,
18.35, Emerson wrote of a projected " organ of a spiritual philoso-
phy " which several young men among his friends were discussing.
This journal was to have been called " ' The Transcendentalist,'
' The Spiritual Inquirer,' or the like," and it was proposed that
Eev. F. H. Hedge should be the editor. When Mr. Hedge went
to Bangor, in 1835, Emerson wrote to Carlyle, in April of that
year, suggesting that he become the editor of the proposed peri-
odical. At this time his American admirers were urging Carlyle
to come to this country and settle among them. He was to write
books, lecture, and edit " The Transcendentalist." " We feel
some confidence," wrote Emerson, " that it could be made to se-
cure him a support."

" The Diair 22Y

Hedge being too far away, and Carlyle not coming to America,
much ditRculty was found in securing an editor. Tlie subject was
frequently ilebated in the gatherings of the transcendentalists, as
they came together at the liouses of one or another of the be-
lievers. The discussion of the proposed periodical went on until
the autumn of 183fi, when the l)i-centeiinial of Harvard College
brought together four young Unitarian preachers, R. W. Emer-
son, George Ripley, F. H. Hedge, and George Putnam, who de-
bated the need of a better theology, and the advantage to lie
gained from an organ of that form of thought which they held
in common. The following week another meeting was held at
the house of George Ripley, and, in the same month of Septem-
ber, one with Emerson at Concord. Out of these meetings grew
an informal gatiiering of friends, which has been known as the
Symposium, the Transcendental Club, and by other names. It
seldom included more than a dozen persons — all idealists and read-
ers of German philosophy. There was no formal organization or
any distinct object set forth on the part of those who constituted
the membership. They were drawn together by a common desire
for a more spiritual interpretation of religion than that to which
they had been accustomed.

As opportunity offered these fi-iends met at each other's bouses,
and, though a periodical was often discussed, their plans did not
get shaped into action for some time. In 1839 the talk finally
grew more definite, and the correspondence of Emerson, Margaret
Fuller, and Alcott, at this period, frequently refers to the speedy
appeai-ance of the new journal. The friends of the proposed pe-
riodical were moved to commence their undertaking in earnest by
" The Monthly Magazine" of London, which, in January, 1839,
passed under the editoi*ship of John A. Heraud, a disciple of
Coleridge and a fifth-rate poet. He gave that periodical a new
tone and character, and it was read with delight by Ripley, Al-
cott, Francis, and others, on this side the Atlantic. Its character
was much more distinctively literary than "The Dial'' became,
but it had also much of the idealistic spirit of the time, and it was
saturated with the philosophic thought imbibed from Coleridge
and from Germany. The writings of Emerson and Alcott were
hailed witii delight in its pages, " Nature " being attributed to
the latter. In April, 1840, it published a master's oration by

228 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Robert Bartlett, which contained the essence of the thought which
was stirring so many minds in America.

Margaret Fuller attended the club September 18, 1839, and ex-
pressed her ideas about the projected periodical ; and on that occa-
sion the name " Dial " was used, it probably having been sug-
gested by Alcott. She was selected for the editor, and she began
at once to marshal the forces necessary to its appearance. It was
proposed to issue the first number in April, and she wrote to W.
H. Channing, Hedge, and others, urging them to contribute to its
pages. It was arranged that George Eipley should be the asso-
ciate editor ; and lie acted in that capacity so long as Margaret
Fuller was the editor. A plan was suggested for selling " The
Dial " by merit, not by subscription, which met with the approval
of Margaret Fuller ; but it probably met with no favor from her
assistant, who had charge of the publishing, and it was abandoned.
At the end of May only thirty subscribers had been received in
Boston ; but the work of preparation went on, and the new liter,
ary bantling made its appearauce in July. After years of talk and
hopeful anticipation, the organ of the new life was a fact. Too
much had been desired ; and all who took part in its preparation
were disappointed. Margaret Fuller wrote to Emerson, imme-
diately after its appearance, of its failure to reach her own ideal.
" I am glad," she says to him, " you are not quite dissatisfied
with the first number. I feel myself how far it is from the eaglet
motion I wanted. I suffer in looking over it now." Alcott found
little in it to please him ; and he wrote of it to Heraud in words
of ambitious hope for the future. "It satisfies me not," was his
complaint, "nor Emerson. It measures not the meridian- but the
morning ray ; the nations wait for the gnomon that shall mark
the broad noon." His wish that it become a more outspoken
organ of the subjective philosophy seems not to have been shared
in by Emerson, for he made this record of his hopes in his diary :

" And now I think our ' Dial ' ought not to be a mere literary
journal, but that the times demand of us all a more earnest aim. It
ought to contain the best advice on the topics of government, tem-
perance, abolition, trade, and domestic life. It might well add to
such compositions such poetry and sentiment as now will constitute
its best merit. Yet it ought to go straight into life with the devoted
wisdom of the best men in the land. It should — should, it not? —

''The Diuir 229

be a degree nearer to the hodiernal facts than my writings are.
I wisii to write pure mathematics, and not a culinary almanac or
application of science to the arts."

On the fourth day of August he wrote to Margaret Fuller of his
desire to make " The Dial " an organ of the higher life in the
daily aiiairs of men rather than a literary journal.

" I begin to wish to see a different ' Dial ' from that which I
first imagined. I would not have it too purely literary. I wish that
we might make a journal so broad and great in its survey that it
sliould lead the opinion of this generation on every great interest,
and read the law on property, government, education, as well as
on art, letters, and religion. A great journal people must read,
and it does not seem worth our while to work with any other
than sovereign aims. So I wish we might court some of the good
fanatics and publish chapters on every head in the whole art of
living."

Before the first number appeared he wrote to Garlyle : " It is
not much ; indeed, though no copy has come to me, I know it
is far short of what it should be, for they have suffered puffs and
dulness to creep in for the sake of the complement of pages ; but
it is better than anything we had." After it appeared he wrote
that it contained " scarce anything considerable or even visible."
When the second number was published, the satisfaction it gave
to some of its readers seems to have encouraged the editors, for
Margaret Kuller wrote in these words to Emerson, under date of
November 7th :

"I begin to be much interested in 'The Dial,' finding it brings
meat and drink to sundry fainisliing men and women at a distance
from these tables. Meseems you ought to know with what delight
the ' "Woodnotes ' have been heard."

The publication of " The Dial "' was not well managed, and it
sutFered many things from those who bad it in charge. Its sub-
scription-list did not at any time reach three hundred names. It
was proposed to pay Margaret Fuller two hundred dollars for her
work as the editor, but nothing could be paid, and her own in-
terests pressed. In November, 1841, she wrote : " ' The Dial ' is
likely to fall through entirely."

Its first publishers were Weeks, Jordan & Co., who were very
sanguine of its success, and with high anticipations published a

230 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

large number of copies of the earlier numbers. During the second
year they failed, and the copies on hand were distributed among
the contributors. With some effort the subscription-list was se-
cured by the editors, and the continued use of the name was only
retained witli difficulty. Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody, a Boston
bookseller at that time, then undertook the laborious task of pub-
lication. She and her aged father even wrapped the numbers for
mailing, and gave to its service a great amount of gratuitous labor.
An appeal was made to the public to sustain the magazine better.
Those interested in the fate of " The Dial " were requested to pay
promptly, and to become subscribers, instead of buying the single
numbers as they were published.

After Miss Peabody took its publication in charge she wrote to
Emerson that, having paid the printer's bills, she would pay Mar-
garet Fuller first before taking out any commission for her own
services, until the editor had received three hundred dollars a year.
Then she woiild take the usual commission for her services, after
which the editor and contributors should receive further compen-
sation. Alas, for so good a plan, so nicely laid out on paper, that
it should have failed utterly to remunerate either editor or con-
tributors ! Miss Peabody wrote of the former publishers as " that
rascally firm " ; but the list of subscribers fell off. Having made
an examination of the accounts of " The Dial," with the aid of a
friend, she found that they did not warrant any pay to the editor,
if even so much as the continuance of the journal. In March,
1842, immediately after this examination, Miss Peabody wrote to
Emerson that not more than three hundred subscribers could be
counted on. She said that if seven hundred and titty copies were
printed the expenses could not be met, after allowing twenty per
cent discount to agents ; but if only five hundred copies were
printed the expenses could be reduced within the receipts. She
also wrote : " Margaret, after knowing these items, decides she
cannot give her time to it any more. It is a great care and re-
sponsibility, and she is not able to give gratuitous labor. She has
gone on in the hope that it might afford her a sufhcient compen-
sation to enable her to give up her laborious teaching; but the
two labors are altogether too much for her."

Margaret Fuller had already found her health giving way, and
the 'VDrry of the editorship was more than she could endure. She

''The Dial." 831

wrote the following note to Emei-soii at the same time Miss Pea-
body sent the above letter :

" I grieve to tlisappuiiit you after all the trouble you have taken.
I am also sorry myself, for if I could have received a maintenance
from this ' Dial ' I could have done my duties to it well, which I
never have all this time, and my time might have been given to
my pen ; while now, for more than three months, I have been able
to write no line except lettere. But it cannot be helped. It lias
been a sad business."

Had " The Dial " been made a financial success, so that Marga-
ret Fuller could have given her whole tliought and time to litera-
ture, free from all distractions, the gain of it would have been
great to American letters. As it was, it was often a burden to
those who had charge of it, and, while laughed at for what they
produced, they were quite crippled against doing that which they
most of all desired to accomplish.

Margaret Fuller wrote a brief note announcing tlie suspension
of " The Dial " ; but she sent it to Emei-son, suggesting that he or
Parker might wish to continue the work. In wi-iting to liii\about
the withdrawal of the editor. Miss Peabody offered to act Herself
as the a-ssistant editor rather than have "The Dial" suspended,
and added: "Miss Fuller thinks you and Mr. Parker may think
it best to go on, in order to have an organ whereby the Free may
speak. If you think that you shall go on, that last notice — about
the suspension — you can cross out." The effect of this announce-
ment on Emei-son may be seen from a record in his Diary :

" ' The Dial ' is to be sustained or ended, and I must settle the
question, it seeuas, of its life or death. I wish it to live, but I do
not wish to be its life. Xeither do I like to ])iit it into the hands
of the Humanity au<l Reform Men, because they trample on letters
and poetry ; nor in the hands of the scholars, for they are dead
and dry."

To Margaret Fuller he wrote this letter :

" UoNDAY MoR.MNG, 20 March, 18^2.
"Dear Margaret: After thinking a little concerning this matter of
'Tlie Dial,' I incline to undertake it for a time rather than have it stop
and go into the hands that know not Joseph. I had rather it sLould not
be suspended. Your friends are my friends, and will give me such aid
as they would have given you, and my main resource is to adopt the ex-

232 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

pedient of selection from old or from foreign books almost with the liber-
ality to which Alcott would carry it, certainly to make Synesius, or Lu-
cian, or Chaucer speak whenever a dull article is offered and rejected.
Perhaps I shall rue this day of accepting such an intruder on my peace,
such a consumer of my time, as a ' Dial.' Perhaps, then, I shall find some
friend of Ilercules who will lend a shoulder to uphold the little world. At
all events, you have played martyr a little too long alone ; let there be ro-
tation in martyrdom. Yet shall you not forget to help. I think also I
had rather undertake it alone than with any partnership or oversight such
as Mr. Parker or Mr. Ripley, for example. So little skill have I in part-
nership that I am sure that we should make each other mutually unhappy.
Now I will ask of them their whole aid and furtherance. So I think you
shall withhold your notice to subscribers, and I will immediately consult
' Fabricius on Authors ' for solid continent to fill up July withal. You
will see at once what folios of information on details and good advice for
my first adventure I need. Send me word that your head aches less with
such prospect of present relief, and we will hope that our ' Dial ' will one
day grow so rich as to pay its old debts. Yours,

Waldo."

In writing to Carlyle a week later Emerson relates the history of
" Tlie Dial," and specifies the reasons for deciding to continue it.

" I had not the cruelty to kill it, and so must answer with my
own proper care and nursing for its life. Perhaps it is a great
folly in me, who have little adroitness in turning off work, to as-
sume this sure vexation, but 'The Dial' has certain charms to
me as an opportunity, whicli I grudge to destroy. Lately, at New
York, I found it to be to a certain class of men and women, though
few, an object of tenderness and religion. You cannot believe it ?"

It would seem by these letters that Emerson did not at all mis-
understand the task lie had assumed, how much of drudgery it
would be sure to involve, and the probability that it would not
pay him even the smallest compensation for his work. For the
sake, however, of what " The Dial " stood for, and with the pur-
pose of having in this country an organ for all free minds, he took
up this unpromising task. He took it up, too, perhaps, with the
hope of making it answer a higher purpose than hitherto. Writing
to him in April about securing an honest and reliable publisher,
Margaret Fuller alludes to his making of " The Dial " a different
periodical from what it had been, and her regret at having been
obliged to give it up.

''The Dial." 233

" The only way," she writes, " in which this will afiect me is,
that I tliiiik you will sonietiines reject pieces that I should not.
For }ou have always had in view to make a good periodical and
represent your own tastes, while I have had in view to let all kinds
of people iiave freedom to say tlicir say for better, for worse."

Einei-son's method of conducting a periodical was altogetiier the
better one. He made " The Dial " more to his own mind, kept it
open to the best writing he could secure, but made it also the or-
gan of those reforms with which he had sympathy in some greater
or less degree. His name now appeared at the top of the third
page of the cover as the editor, his editorship having been an-
nounced by the publisher with the number for July, 1842. But
the subscrijition-list did not grow. Charles Lane and Henry
Thorean spent some time in canvassing for subscribers, and Greeley
freely advertised " Tiie Dial " in his " Tribune." In June Miss
Peabody wrote to the new editor that not one half the copies
printed went to regular subscribers ; and Emerson mentions the
e.\act number as two hundred and twenty. In February Miss
Peabody wrote : ■' Little as ' The Dial ' is subscribed for, it is very
extra lively read"; but she also announced that the list was fall-
ing off. In a few circles here and there " The Dial " was read
with much of interest and satisfaction. At Brook Farm its ap-
pearance was watched for with eagerness, and all its pages were
devoured with delight. The young people found in it an ex-
pression of tiieir aspirations and hopes, and they eagerly dis-
cussed its better articles. The fact was, however, that only a
very small number of persons realh' cared for "The Dial" and
its idealisms.

Emerson not only acted as the editor, but also as the Ivinker of
"The Dial." He was obliged to endorse Miss Peabody's notes
for tlie current expenses, and when the publication went into the
hands of James Monroe & Co., at the end of the third year, she
notified liini that she might require him to pay $120 due on its
account. Monroe led Emerson to believe that with a more careful
business management, and in connection with his own publishing
business, " The Dial " could be made to succeed. It was there-
fore put into his hands; but the sul)scription-list did not increase,
while the expenses did. Monroe charged one third of the selling
yjrice for its management, and the result was the abandonment of

234 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the enterprise at the eud of the first year under his control.
Emerson took two years of the " martyrdom," and then " The
Dial "came to its end. It probably cost him some hundreds of
dollars, besides the time he gave to it. In September, 1854, Miss
Peabody wrote him that a large number of copies of " The Dial "
were Ivins: in lier brother's store, and asked him what should be
done with them. He carried many of them to his own house,
stoi'ed them in liis attic, and distributed them where he thought
they were desired or would do good. Tlie last ot them were
burned or sold to the ragman in 1872.

Though so poorly sustained, " The Dial " served an admirable
purpose. It enabled the transcendentalists to speak to each
other, it bi'ought their philosophy more distinctly before the pub-
lic, it enabled them to give their thoughts a clearer utterance tlian
they otherwise would have done, and it helped them to realize
what their own cause meant. It gave them courage to appeal to
the public with what they regarded as a larger and truer concep-
tion of life. It was not their aim to write fine essays and learned
books ; their movement was not purely literary in its nature. It
was religious as well as intellectual, moral rather than literary ;
and it had in it the prophetic spirit. It was not a new form of
inquiry about life and its problems, but it was a regenerating and
inspiring impulse, leading men toward " plain living and high
thinking." Transcendentalism came like a gospel to those who
accepted it. None of " The Dial " writers wrote merely as literary
artists. First of all, they had a word to utter, and they were
anxious to reform the world. In any age such aims, in connec-
tion with literature, meet with little appreciation and favor. The
highest service which was done by " The Dial " was to move a
large uumber of persons to express their thoughts on the printed
page. In itself this was nothing, but the persons who were influ-
enced proved to have something to say that the world needed to
hear. It is probable that Margaret Fuller, Thoreau, and Ellery
Chanuing would have found another way to give their essays
and poems to the public, but it is not to be forgotten that " The
Dial " first did this for them.

The support which " The Dial " received indicates that the
transcendental movement was not popular, that only a small
number of persons were genuinely in sympathy with its thought

''The Diair 235

and spirit. The tendency of the time was largely in the direction
of practical reform, while those who were favorable to tlie spirit-
ual philosophy were only interested in it as it came from the pul-
pit or the lecture-platform. Tlie more iconoclastic Theodore
Parker could win hearers and readers, but the ejreater number of
"The Dial" writers were too indefinite in thought and too noble
in sentiment to attract the readers they hoped for in the begin-
ning.

Small as was the success of " Tlie Dial," from a financial point
of view, it was hailed with delight by many of its readers.
Among those who listened to Emerson, and with scattered readers
in Xew and Old England alike, it was received with the deepest
satisfaction, and all its pages read with tlie closest attention. The
numbers were loaned from house to house, and its essays were
discussed wherever the transcei\dentalists met. The fervor of its
writers, the air of having something to say which outsiders could
not appreciate, and the unconcern for facts and literary laws,
made " The Dial " a source of ridicule to those not in sympathy
with its high purpose and its earnest spiritual conviction. Even
its friends could but smile at the extravagances of some of the
writers, for the period was one of excess and naivete. To those
who did not receive the gospel of freedom and newness there was
occasion in its pages for much of ridicule and sarcasm. Carlyle
thought " The Dial" had too little body, that it was too ethereal
and speculative. The same criticism was made nearer home, for
the " Boston Quarterly " said : " It is full of rich thought, though
somewhat injured by its puerile conceits and cliiklish expressions.
Its authors seem to have caught some partial glimpses and to have
felt the moving of a richer, a higher life, which carries them away,
and which as yet they have not been able to master. To our taste,
they want manliness and practical aims. They are too vague,
evanescent, aerial ; but, nevertheless, there is a sad sincerity about
many of them. On many sides they expose themselves to ridicule,
but at bottom they seem to have a serious, solemn purpose." No
better or truer word about " The Dial " could now be said for it
than this by Orestes Brownson, Iiimself a believer in the transcen-
dental philosophy and a member of tiie club which originated
"The Dial." lie had invited the membei-s of that club to write
for his journal instead of starting one of their own. Another

236 The Journal of Sjpec^ilative Philosophy.

friendly critic was found in the editor of the " Western Messen-
ger," who praised it for the great truths it stood for ; but its faults
were pointed out: "Thus far, to speak frankly, we do not think
they (the editors) have shown the power they possess. The articles
in the number before us, if we except two or three, will, we think,
do little good. However, we know that among the writers for
this work are some dozen of the purest, clearest, and truest minds
in the land, and such as will be felt, and felt deeply." To the
unfriendly critics nothing too severe could be said against a jour-
nal so opposed to custom in literature as was "The Dial." The
editor of the " Boston Times "quite exhausted his ingenuity in
laughing at it. " It is, to us, humble, uninitiated sinners, yet
ignorant of the sublime ' mysteries,' one of the most transcenden-
tically (we like big words) ridiculous productions." The " Boston
Post" spoke of its "dreamy, silly,' Carlyle-iniitating style of
writing," and said it was "rich in the profoundly allegorical and
hopelessly obscure." Yet this newspaper praised some of the
niimbei's for their freshness, high-toned sentiment, and truly
American spirit.

The " Orphic sayings" of Alcott, and the prose rhapsody called
" Dolon," occasioned great merriment and much ridicule among
the critics. In Louisville, Rev. J. F. Clarke and Rev. C. P.
Cranch, the latter then preaching in that city as a minister-at-
large, amused themselves by drawing caricatures of " The Dial "
writers and sayings. One of these represents a man lying on a
bed sipping wine, a copy of " The Dial " having fallen to the floor,
while his wife sits at the foot of the bed blacking his boots. This
was called "The Moral Influence of 'The Dial,'" and it had this
legend from the poem on " Life" :

'• Why for work art thou striving,
Why seek'st thou for aught ?
To the soul that is Uving
All thiugs shall be brought."

The same poem led to another sketch, representing an imn)ense
man, with a copy of " The Dial " sticking from his coat-tail pocket,
watching two companions of like dimensions dancing near him.
All utter the following sentiment to a lean and cadaverous man
gazing on them with amazement expressed on his features :

''The Dial." 237

'* Greatly to be
Is cnoujih for me.
Is enough for tbee."

Id one of the cleverest of these sketches Clarke represents Mar-
garet as driving a carriage, and Emerson as riding behind her.
The editors say :

" Our ' Dial ' shows the march of light
O'er forests, hills, and meadows."

To tin's a critic, trudging by, replies :

" Not so, and yet you name it right ;
It marks the flight of shadows."

Tliese witty pei-sons, laughing at " The Dial " in their lonely
outpost to keep their courage up, and all the time sighing for
Boston and the Dial circle, shot their shafts at higher game as
well, and did not spare Emerson. A bare-tooted rustic, with a
great eyeball for a head and gazing over valleys and hills, illus-
trated Emerson's saying in "Nature": "Standing on the bare
ground, I become a transparent eyeball." A man with an im-
mense melon-body, sitting among melons and corn in a field, is a
caricature of this sentence in the same work : "I expand and live
in the warm day, like corn and melons." Other sketches they
niatle, but a few of the sentences which excited their mirth will
show the drift of them all : " The great man angles with himself ;
he needs no otlier bait." " They are contented to be brushed like
flies from the path of the great man." '• The man has never lived
who can feed us ever." " We are lined with eyes. We see with
our feet." These sketches were never published, but Rev. J. F.
Clarke possesses a large number of them arranged in a vohnue
which bears the title, " Illustrations of the New Philosophy, 1835.
By C. P. Cranch." '

The work on " The Dial " of an editorial kind being done
gratuitously, the proof-reading was not so well cared for as it
might have been. Writing of the first number, Margaret Fuller
said : " The errors are most unhappy. 1 will not go away again
when it is in press." This was written of Thoreau's " Persins,"
but there were errors througiiout. In Dwight's essay on " The

' This date must represent the bc-ginning of the sketches.

238 The Journal of Speculati/oe Philosophy.

Religion of Beauty," the " grass studded with golden points " got
painted instead, while duty appeared instead oi' beauty at the end
of the third paragraph, and vuikes took the place of loakes near
the bottom of the fourth page. Printed slips appeared with some
of the numbers giving a list of corrections.

It is an indication of the literary condition of the country in
1840 that Emei-son should have been willing to contribute so much
of his best writing to " The Dial " without remuneration. Many
of his best essays and poems were given to it for publication, even
when other and more widely circulated journals were open to him.
It had his heartiest interest from the beginning, and he gave to it
much of time and money for the sake of what it represented. In
July, 1842, he wrote to Carlyle that he submitted to what seemed
a necessity of literary patriotism, and took charge of the thankless
little " Dial," giving as a reason for so doing that " it serves as a
sort of portfolio to carry about a \'evf poems or sentences." He
adds, in a strain of sadness over the thought of the hours it had
cost him : " But I took it, as I said, and it took me, and a good
deal of good time, to a small purpose."

A most interesting feature of Emerson's connection with " The
Dial " was his drawing to it so many bright and promising young
persons to become its contributors. It was at his suggestion and
request that Thoreau, W. E. Channing, Mrs. Hooper, Stearns
Wheeler, Charles Newcomb, Miss Clapp, and others, wrote for it
or sent to it what they had previously written. All these persons
were his friends and disciples, attracted to him personally and
enamored of his thouglit. Many of the contributors were also
Margaret Fuller's personal friends. Clarke, Hedge, Ripley, Caro-
line Sturgis, and Mrs. Hooper were her intimates, and they were
drawn to the pages of " The Dial " through her etibrts.

A remarkable feature of " The Dial," after Emerson became
the editor, was its selections from the Oriental Scriptures. He
anticipated the interest of later years, which has drawn so many
persons to the exploration of these " old flower-fields of the soul ; "
and he equally anticipated the more recent doctrine of " the sym-
pathy of religions." He eagerly read such translations as had then
been made of the Buddhistic and other Asiatic sacred writings,
and he brought into the pages of "The Dial" what his fine taste
showed was best in these writings. He had the aid of other per-

"77<e Dial." 239

sons ill preparing these " Ethnical Scriptures,'' that being the title
•which lie adopted for these selections. Thoreau gave his aid, as
did several others. The first series of selections, in the first num-
ber of '' The Dial " Emerson edited, was taken from the " Hitopa-
desa." His purpose in making these extracts lie stated in an intro-
ductory note, which shows that he clearly appreciated -what could
be said for these divine utterances of the far East :

" We commence in the present number the printing of a series
of selections from the oldest ethical and religious writings of men,
exclusive of the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures. Each nation has
its Bible more or less pure ; none has yet been willing or able in
a wise and devout spirit to collate its own with those of other
nations, and sinking the civil-historical and the ritual portions to
bring together the grand expressions of the moral sentiment in
ditierent ages and races, the rules for the guidance of life, the
bursts of piety and of abandonment to the Invisible and Eternal —
a work inevitable sooner or later, and which we hope is to be done
by religion and not by literature."

Mr. Higginson is quite riglit in regarding her connection with
" The Dial " as the most notable event in the literary career of
Margaret Fuller, and he has given it that proportion in his " Life"
of her which it deserves. Her best essays and sketches were
printed in it. Her later work was written for immediate publica-
tion, but what slie gave to " The Dial " was the slowly matured
result of her years of leisure and deliberate thought. Some of it
was hurried through to fill the pages, but all of it was tbe product
of quiet years of reading and thinking. Her papei-s on Goethe
and on " The Great Lawsuit " are the best she wrote. These are
the best monument of her literary labors. All else she wrote was
hurried, brief, and desultory in ciiaracter. Her aim was high, as
the editor of " The Dial," and she would have made a far better
periodical could she have carried out her own ideal into reality.
It was a great undertaking to conduct such a periodical without
financial support, and without a literary constituency which could
be relied on to i)rovide suitable contributions. Under the circum-
stances " The Dial " shows an amount of merit which was not to
have been exiiected.

George Kipley had much to do in establishing " The Dial," and
he was the resident editor until he went to Brook Farm, in 1841.

240 The Journal of Speculative Philosopliy.

He furnished the resolute purpose, the business sagacity, and the
skill for critical drudgery, which were necessary to its manage-
ment. An honored Unitarian preaclier in Boston, he entered
heartily into the spirit of the new philosophy, planned and estab-
lished Brook Farm, made it a noble school for a large number of
men and women, and afterward gave many years of patient criti-
cal labor to the " Tribune " and the " American Cyclopaedia." As
a critic of fine judgment he did much to make our literature worthy
of our hopes. His library of " Specimens of Foreign Literatui-e,"
begun in Boston in 1838, did excellent service in the quickening
of thought. Jouffroy, De Wette, Goethe, Cousin, Schiller, and
other German and French authors were thus made known in this
country in good translations. Margaret Fuller, J. S. Dwight,
J. F. Clarke, W. H. Channing, and C. T. Brooks, all " Dial " con-
tributors, were among the translators. Several essays were also
written for " The Dial " by Mrs. Ripley. As a maiden she was
Sophia Willard Dana, born in Cambridge, a woman of culture
and of great energy. She stood faithfully by lier husband's side
in his labors as a minister in Boston, and at Brook Farm she was
one of the leaders in all its social and educational enterprises. Not
sparing herself in any manner, she put her whole soul into that
undertaking. Finding all that she hoped to realize fail, she joined
the Catholic Church, being almost alone of " The Dial " writers
to forsake the ideas and purposes of that hour of youthful enthu-
siasm.

The " Harbingei-," begun at Brook Farm in June, 1845, was
to some extent a successor to " The Dial." The same persons
wrote for it, and the same spirit guided it. Ripley, Dwight, and
Dana wei'e the editors ; and among the contributors were W. H.
Channing, C. P. Cranch, G. W. Curtis, and J. F. Clarke. It was
ably edited, was strongly literary in tone, and it was conducted
with greater skill and judgment than " The Dial" had been. The
drift of tliehour toward reform found full expression in it, while
the transcendental philosophy animated its pages.

Elizabeth Palmer Peabody was born in Billerica, Mass., in
1804, her father being a pliysician in that town. Her earlier
years were spent mainly in Salem, where she received her educa-
tion. In 1822 she went to Boston to engage in teaching. She
became acquainted with Dr. Channing, read to him, and acted as

''The DinV 241

his literary assistant. This connection she has described in her
" ilecollections of Dr. Channing," published in 1880. Wlien Al-
cott beg'in his soliool in Boston she became one of his assistants,
and slie made a daily record of his teaciiing. As a result of this
connection she published, in 1835, the " Record of a School : Ex-
emplifying the Gcncnil Principles of S|>iritu;d Culture," in which
she fully explained his thoories and methods of teaching. Before
this she had published several school-books, among them an " In-
troduction to Grammar," " First Steps in Ilistorv," " Key to the
History of the Hebrews," " Key to Grecian History," and a " Chro-
nological History of the United States." Several tracts on educa-
tional topics were also written by her at this time. She early
became interested in the methods of Pestalozzi, and in 1830 pub-
lished lessons on Grammar after his plan. She did much to intro-
duce his teaching and to commend it to educators. About IS-tO
she opened a foreign book-store on West Street in Boston, and with
it she connected a small publishing business. In 1849 she began
the publication of a magazine culled " The Esthetic Papers,"
which was to have been issued whenever enough matter of a
valuable character had accumulated to make a volume of two
hundred and fifty-six pages. No subscriptions were asked for
beyond one number in advance. The introduction to the first and
only number was by the editor, in which she discussed the mean-
ing of the word sesthetic, which she said was " the watchword
of a whole revolution in culture." The articles which followed
made up a remarkable table of contents, and came in the follow-
ing order: "Criticism," S. G. Ward; "Music," J. S. Dwight ;
"War," R. Waldo Emerson; "Organization," Parke Godwin;
" Genius," Sami)Son Reed ; " The Dorian Measure, with a Mod-
em Application," the Editor; "Correspondence," J. J. G. Wil-
kinson ; " Mainstreet," N. Hawtiiorne ; " Abuse of Representa-
tive Government," Stephen H. Perkins; "Resistance to Civil
Government," a lecture delivered in 1847, H. D. Thoreau ;
"Language," the Editor; "Vegetation about Salem, Mass.,"
An Englisli Resident ; and there were lialf a dozen poems —
one by T. W. Iligginson, one by his sister, Louisa S. Higgiu-
son, and one of them probaljly by Mrs. Hooper. Only fifty
subscriptions were received, and a second number was not pub-
lished. During the last twenty years Miss Peabody has been an
XIX— I.;

242 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

earnest advocate of the kindergarten, has written largely on the
subject, lectured in its advocacy in many parts of the couutry, and
published several lectures, tracts, and books in its exposition.
Her zeal in behalf of the kindergarten has been effective in awak-
ening a deep interest in the subject wherever she has been heard.
Her life has been given to all good works, to culture and the higher
education. She has known manj' of the most notable people of
her time, and numbered not a few of them among her personal
friends. Her conversation is full of profit and delight. Pier paper
on " Christ's Idea of Society " was at first sent as a letter to Har-
riet Martineau, at the request of George Eipley. With charac-
teristic energy and self-forgetfulness she acted for a year and a
half as the publisher of " The Dial," devoting to it many hours of
drudgery.

Henry David Thoreau was born in Concord, Mass., July 12,
1817. His name appears on the Harvard CJollege catalogue as
" David Henry," and his contributions to " The Dial " were often
signed " D. H. T.," and it was not until later that he came to
write Henry first in his name. In August, 1839, Emerson wrote
to Carlyle : " I have a young poet in this village named Thoreau,
who writes the truest verses." The first thing by Thoreau to be
printed was his poem entitled " Sympathy," which appeared in
the first number of" The Dial." In the same number was printed
a prose essay on " Aulus Persius Flaccus," which showed his ge-
nius in full activity. To the first volume he contributed one other
poem, and two to the second. When Emerstin took charge of
" The Dial" Thoreau's pen was drawn on freely, and in the third
volume he appeared no less than fifteen times — with twelve poems,
his essay on the " Natural History of Massachusetts," a translation
of "Prometheus Bound," a brief essay on "Anacreon," and a
translation of eleven poems. To the last volume he gave his
" Winter Walk " and the long essay on " Homer, Ossian, and
Chaucer," and a number of translations from " Pindar," as well as
a paper on the " Herald of Freedom." Many of these pieces were
taken from his diary, as they were demanded by the editor. Nor
was this all the work he did for " The Dial," for several of the
Ethnical Scriptures were selected by him or with his aid. He also
gave Emerson substantial help in the work of proof-reading. For
all this work he received nothing whatever in the way of remu-

"77(6 Diair 248

Deration, though the ma$;aziiie inchuled some of the best of his
essays and poems. During this period Tiioreau lived in Emer-
son's house and workc<l with him in his garden ; and the two pur-
sued their literary tasks tt)gether. In May, 1S41, Emerson wrote
of Thoreau, that he "dwells now in my house, and, as I hope,
for a twelvemonth to o<imc," and describes him as "a noble,
manly youth, full of melodies and inventions."'

" The Dial " was greatly indebted to Theodore Parker for the
numerous sermons, essays, and book notices that he contributed,
and which gave it a point and purpose which it would not other-
wise have had. His papers were more popular than anything
which appeared in it, and two or three of them, especially that on
the llollis Street Council, helped to sell the whole edition. lie
contributed to all but one number while Margaret Fuller was the
editor, and three long papers from liis pen appeared while Emer-
son conducted the magazine. He sent the editor two love poems^
with a note of apology, which is published in Weiss's " Life."

To Amos Bronson Alcott " The Dial " was indebted for its
name, but it was not sufficiently the organ of the spiritual philoso-
phy to suit him. He made some selections for its pages from
his favorite authors, and he gave to it two series of extracts from
his diar3'. In the last number edited by Margaret Fuller was pub-
lished a collection of his tiioughts, quotations, and correspondence,
under the heading, " Days from a Diary." It not having ap-
peared at the time promised, he sent a note to the editor request-
ing tiie return of the manuscript, wliicli was published in the next
number in introduction to the paper itself. In this note he de-
scribed his attitude toward " The Dial ":

" ' The Dial ' prefers a style of thought and diction not mine ;
nor can I add to its popularity with its chosen readei*s. A fit
organ for such as inj'self is not yet, but is to be. The times re-
quire a full speech, a wise, humane, and brave sincerity, unlike all
examples in literature, of which ' The Dial ' is but the precui-sor.
A few years more will give us all we desire — the people all they
ask."

James Freeman Clarke, since so well known as a theologian ami
preacher, was one of those on whom ^fargarct Fuller relied to till
the pages of " The Dial." He had been the pastor of the Unita-
rian Church in Louisville from 1833 to 1840, and from 183(5 ta

2i4 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

1839 had edited the "Western Messenger," to wliich both Marga-
ret Fuller and Emerson contributed. In 1840 he returned to Bos-
ton, and in 1841 he establislied the free church where he has
preached so long. In 1841 he translated De Wette's " Theodore "
for Ripley's " Specimens." He took an active part in the anti-
slavery agitation, and he lias been a leader in whatever good work
his time has aftbrded. His c<intribntions to "The Dial" were
mostly poetical, showing the tendency of transcendentalism to
make even the theologian a poet. His most valuable prose con-
tribution was his tribute to the memory of George Keats, brother
of tlie poet, which he has republished in his "Memorial and Bio-
graphical Sketches." The little poem on Dante in the first num-
ber was written by his sister, Sarah Freeman Clarke. She has
long been an ardent student of Dante, as a series of papers in the
" Century " for 1884 will testify. S!ie was a pupil of Washing-
ton Allston in art, and she has published an account of him in
the " Atlantic Monthly." She has lived for several years in Italy,
devoting at least a part of her time to painting; she has since been
a resident of Newport, and now lives at Marietta, Georgia.

AViiliam Ellery Channing, a nephew of his great namesake,
and a son of Dr. Walter Clianning, was born in Boston, June 10,
1818. ' He pursued his preparatory studies at Northampton and
at the Boston Latin School, then entered Harvard College, but
did not graduate. Going to Illinois in 1839, he spent a year and
a half in a log cabin built by himself, and in 1840 he was an edi-
tor in Cincinnati. On the editorial staff of tlie " New York Trib-
une " in 1844, he went to Europe in 1846, and was an editor in
New Bedford in 1855. In 1842 lie married tiie younger sister of
Margaret Fuller, went to live in Concord to devote himself to lit-
erature, and has since given himself to a recluse life of study and
authorsiiip. He early wrote verses for the " Boston Journal," and,
when he was only twenty-two, Emerson made a collection of his
poetry for " The Dial," prefacing it with the heartiest praise. His
contributions to the last two volumes were numerous, and included
a prose romance, which he left uncompleted. He published a vol-
ume of poems in Boston in 1843, and a second series in 184Y. In
the latter year was published his " Conversations in Rome," a
prose work devoted to art and religion. " The Woodman and
other Poems" came out in 1849, and "Near Home" in 1858.

''The Blair 245

He then remained silent until 1871, when lie published "The
Wanderer," with an introduction by Emei-son. His next work
was a biography of Thorcau, with memorial vei-ses, published in
1873. In many respects this is the best account of Thoreau, as
Channing knew him intimately ; but it lacks in literary skill, and
it is too fragmentary in its character. His poems have never been
widely read, though they are highly appreciated by a few admir-
ere. Emerson praised them ; but they are too rough and uneven
to become popular. In his " Walden " and " Week " Thoreau
described him as " the poet," and Mr. Sanborn has written of him
with admiration in his biography of Thoreau. To " The Dial "
Channing was a frequent contributor of poetry, and some of his
best pieces appeared in its pages.

Christopher Pearse Cranch, a son of William Cranch, an emi-
nent jurist and a justice of the United States Supreme Court, was
born at Alexandria, March 8, 1813. He graduated at Columbia
College in 1831, then at the Harvard Divinity School, and spent
two or three years in Louisville as the assistant of Rev. J. F. Clarke.
In 18-t2 he took up art as a profession, and devoted himself to
landscape painting. He has spent many years in Europe, but
when in this country has lived mostly in Xew York and its vicinity.
At i>resent he resides in Cambridge. He spent a brief period at
Brook Farm, and was a contributor to the "Harbinger." In 1844
he published a volume of poetry in Pliiladcl])hia, which contained
many of the poems fii-st published in " The Dial." It was dedi-
cated to Emerson " as an imperfect testimony of regard and grate-
ful admiration." In 1856 he published a children's book, illus-
trated by himself, and called " The Last of the Huggermuggers."
It was followed the next year by " Kobboltozo," a sequel. In
1872 appeared his translation of the "^neid " of Virgil, in blank
verse. He aimed to make a literal and concise version, and it has
been received with much favor by the public. A little later ap-
peared a volume of line poetry under the title of "The Bird and
the Bell," and in 1874a short poem called "Satan, a Libretto."
He has been a frequent contributor to " Putnam's Magiizine," the
" Gala.xy," " Harper's Monthly," the " Atlantic Monthly," and
other magazines. His poems and sketches have shown marked
ability, but thoy have not been collected into an}' permanent form.
Cranch has a great variety of talent, and be is possessed of a de-

246 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

cided genius botli for art and poetry. He was one of the most
frequent contributors of verse to the first two vohimes of " The
Dial," and he also wrote in prose.

The settlement of Rev. Frederic H. Hedge in Bangor, in 1835,
as pastor of the Unitarian Church there, prevented his becoming
the editor of " The Dial," and it also kept him from making fre-
quent contributions to its pages. His fine poem called " Ques-
tionings " was reprinted in Emerson's " Parnassus," and his one
prose article deserves to be remembered. Born in Cambridge,
December 12, 1805, he was the son of a professor in Harvard
College. He went to Germany with George Bancroft in 1818,
and studied there. Keturning home, he graduated at Harvard
College in 1825, and was the poet of his class. Graduating at the
Theological School, he was settled at Arlington, Mass., in 1829.
Subsequently he was settled over churches in Bangor, Providence,
and Brookline. In 1857 he became the Professor of Ecclesiasti-
cal History in the Cambridge Theological School, and in 1872
Professor of German Literature in Harvard College. He has
been a frequent contributor to the " Christian Examiner," " Put
nam's Monthly," the " Atlantic Monthly," and other periodicals,
and his addresses and orations on special occasions have attracted
much attention. In 1818 he published a large work on the
" Prose Writers of Germany," containing biographical and criti-
cal sketches of twenty-eight authors, with extended extracts from
their writings, translated mostly by himself. His translations
from the German poets, especially Goethe and Schiller, have been
marked by skill and beauty. His " Reason in Religion," pub-
lished in 1865, "Ways of the Spirit," 1877, and "Atheism in
Philosophy," 1884, show the vigor and high range of his thinking
on theological and philosophical subjects.

John Sullivan Dwight was ^born in Boston, May 13, 1813.
Graduating at Harvard in 1832, he spent the usual time in the
Theological School, and was settled at Northampton in 1840, but
remained there only a few years. In 1838 he translated the minor
poems of Goethe and Schiller, with notes, and they were published
as the third volume of Ripley's " Specimens of Foreign Litera-
ture." For a short time, at this period, he edited the " Cliristian
Register," in Boston. He was one of the founders of the Brook
Farm Community, where he was the instructor in Italian and mu-

"77w Dial:' 247

eic. He was also one of the editors of the " Harbinger," writing
largely on music and in review of books. In 1844 he published
a pamphlet on association in connection with education. In 1852
he began the publication in Boston of " Dwight's Journal of
Music," which did much to develop a taste for the better kinds of
music in this country. Tiiruugh his efforts the great German
composers were familiarized here, and the classical music carefully
studied. He has published several essays, addresses and review
articles on musical subjects. lie has also written on literary sub-
jects in the " Christian E.xaminer," " Harbinger," the " J<]sthetic
Papers," and his own journal. To the first volume of " The
Dial " he contributed four papers, those on the " Ideals of Every-
Day Life " having probably been first used as sermons. To his
first pa])er,'on the religion of beauty, a poem was appended,
which had previously been published in the " Christian Regis-
ter." It contained these lines :

" Rest is not quitting
The busy career :
Rest is the fitting
Of self to its sphere.

" 'Tis the brook's motion
Clear without strife,
Fleeting to ocean
After its life.

" 'Tis loving and serving
The highest and best ;
'Tis onwards, unswerving —
And that is true rest."

This little poem has become one of the household gems of
treasured thought in many a home, and it is often quoted in
essay, sermon, and conversation. It has been attributed to Goethe,
and stanzas from it may often be found in the poetical corners of
newspapers so credited. It was written by Mr. Dwight ; and,
though a few uther short poems from his pen have been pub
lisiied, he has written no other equal to this. He is now the
president of tlie Harvard Musical Association of Boston, and his
home is in the rooms of that society.

2iS The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

George William Curtis contributed only one poem to the pages
of " The Dial." Born in Providence, lie was privately educated,
and in 1842 went for one year and a half to Brook Farm, where
he continued his studies. Then he spent two years in Concord,
devoting himself equally to study and to farm labor. He saw
something of Emerson and the other Concord authors ; but his
account of them in the " Homes of American Authors " contains
as much romance as fact. After his return from Egypt, in 1850,
he became the !New York correspondent of the " Harbinger,"
writing mostly on musical topics. The poem published in " The
Dial " was sent to the editor anonymously.

Charles Anderson Dana was Ijorn, August 8, 1819, at Hinsdale,
N. H. He entered Harvard College in 1839, but he did not
complete the course, owing to a disease of the eyes, although he
afterward received his degree. He was one of the founders of the
Brook Farm Community, its secretary throughout, the instructor
in Greek and German, and the managing editor of the " Harbin-
ger." After leaving Brook Farm he edited the " Boston Chro-
notype " for a short time. In 1847 he became connected witii the
" Tribune," and in 184S one of the proprietors and the managing
editor. Subsequently he founded " The Sun," which has attained
to a very wide circulation. He edited a " Household Book of
Poetry " in 1855. In connection with Eipley, he projected the
" New American Cyclopjedia," which appeared from 1858 to 1863,
and the later edition called the " American Cycloptedia," which
was published from 1873 to 1876.

"William Henry Channing was born in Boston, May 25, 1810,
graduated at Harvard College and the Theological School, and
was settled over the Unitarian Church in Cincinnati in 1835. He
became one of the most enthusiastic of the transcendentalists, and
a zealous believer in Christian socialism. At the same time he
was led to look for a union of all Christians on a higher plane of
faith and practice. To work out this idea he took charge of an
independent congregation or Christian Union in New York. He
also published there a weekly journal called " The Present," de-
voted to his form of socialism. In 1857 he went to England, and
became the successor of Dr. James Martineau in Liverpool. Re-
turning to America in 1861, he took charge of the Unitarian
Church in "Washington. His literary work has been mainly done

''The Dluir 249

in the intervals of his professional labors, but it has been of con-
siderable importance. In 1840 he translated JoufTroy's " Introduc-
tion to Ethics" for Ripley's '' Specimen?." In 1S51 he published a
two-volume memoir of Rev. James II. Perkins, his predecessor in
Cincinnati, and his cousin. After the death of his uncle, Dr.
Channing, he wrote his biography in three volumes, a work of
much discernment and ability. He was also one of the authors
of the " Memoirs of Margaret Fuller." Giving much time and
sympathy to the Oriental religions, he embodied the results of his
studies in a course ot lectures delivered before the Lowell Insti-
tute in 1870. He lived in London for many j-ears without pas-
toral relations, though often heard with delight in the pulpits of
both this country and England. His prose contributions to " The
Dial " indicate the rhapsody and spiritual fervor of his thought.
No one retained so much as he of what was most characteristic
of transcendentalism in the " Dial " period. He died in Decem-
ber, 1884, and his biography is being written by Mr. O. B.
Frothingham.

James Russell Lowell was just entering on his career as an au-
thor when " The Dial " was begun. He published " A Year's
Life" in 1841. In January, 1843, with Robert Carter, he be-
gan the pui>lication of " The Pioneer," but it failed in a short
time. Among the contributors were Poe, Neal, Hawthorne,
Parsons, and Dwight. He sent several sonnets to " The Dial,"
and among those not appearing with his name there may possibly
be a few which he wrote. To the " Harbinger " he contributed
one or two poems. In a general way he was in sympathy with
both enterprises.

Mrs. Ellen H. Hooper was the daughter of William Sturgis,
a wealthy Boston merchant, and the wife of Dr. Robert W.
Hooper, a Boston physician. She gave promise of much literary
capacity ; but she died at al)Out the age of forty, and not long after
" The Dial " was discontinued. Her contributions in verse were
among the best which it gave to the public. A few of her pieces
have gained a high reputation among those in sympathy with
the form of thought which " The Dial " represented. In the first
number was printed the little poem beginning with the line,

" I slept and dreamed that life was beauty,"

250 The Journal of Speculative Philosophrj.

whicli was translated into Italian and attributed to Kant. An-
other well-known poem was written by her :

" She stood outside the gate of Heaven and saw them entering in."

Emerson encouraged her to write, and he had much hope for
her poetic genius. To him she addressed one of the finest of her
poems. Her son, the present treasurer of Harvard University,
collected her poems, had them privately printed, and presented
copies to her fi'iends. Her poems are so suffused with private
feeling that her family has been very reluctant to have anything
written about her, and this has had the effect to keep her from
the reputation which she deserves. In the " Disciples' Hymn-
Book," compiled by Kev. J. F. Clarke, the liymns numbered from
628 to 537, inclusive, were written by her. In " An Old Scrap-
Book," compiled by John M. Forbes, several of her poems are
printed, her initials only being given in the index. Haifa dozen
of her poems are likely to live, and to hold a high place among
those pieces which delight a few in each generation. Col. T.
W. Higginson speaks of her as " a woman of genius," and Mar-
garet Fuller wrote of her from Rome : " I have seen in Europe no
woman more gifted by nature than she."

A sister of Mrs. Hooper's, over the signature of " Z," was a
frequent contributor of poems to the earlier numbers of " The
Dial." This was Caroline Sturgis, afterward the wife of William
A. Tappan, who found in Margaret Fuller an intimate friend,
and who has published " Rainbows for Children," " The Ma-
gician's Show-Box," and other children's books. She now resides
in Boston. Several of the best of Ellery Channing's early poems
were addressed to her. Her husband, AVilliam A. Tappan, had a
poem in the last volume.

The poem in the first number of the second volume, entitled
" The Future is Better than the Past," has often been credited to
Emerson. It first appeared over his name in " Hymns for the
Church," compiled by Rev. F. H. Hedge and Rev. F. D. Hunting-
ton, in 1853. Then it was so printed in the " Hymns of the
Spirit " by Rev. Samuel Longfellow and Rev. Samuel Johnson,
and in Dr. James Martineau's " Hymns of Praise and Prayer."
It was contributed to " The Dial," at Emerson's request, by one
of his most ardent disciples, Eliza Thayer Clapp. Miss Clapp

"77<e Dial." 251

was born in Dorchester, Mass., and has always lived a quiet home-
life in that suburb of Boston. The transcendental movement
brought new life to her Unitarian faith, and she entered into its
spirit with zeal. As a Sunday-school teacher, having charge of a
class of girls from ten to fifteen years of age, she prepared her
own lessons for their instruction. These were published as
" "Wonis in a Sunday-School.'' A little later, in 18-±5, another
book, prepared in the same manner, was published as " Studies
in Religion." These little books were received with much favor
by a small circle of readers, such as the Rev. W. H. Furuess, who
long kept a copy lying on his study-table for constant reference.
Miss Clapp has been an occasional contributor of poetry to the
" Christian Register," but she has published only a few pieces.
The five poems of hers printed in "The Dial" of July, 184:1.
all appeared there because Emerson solicited their publication.
The one which has been so often credited to him is worthy of his
genius, and it embodies, as no other poem of the period does,
the very heart and spii-it of the transcendental movement.

A brief essay was printed in " The Dial " from the pen of Lydia
Maria Child, and with her name signed to it. She was an ardent
transcendentalist, but she had little connection with " The Dial "
and those by whom it was managed.

William Batchelder Greene was born in Boston in 1829, the
son of an editor. He graduated at West Point, and did good
service during the Seminole War. Leaving the army, he seems
to have entered a Baptist theological school, but, becoming more
liberal in his theology, entered the Cambridge school, though
always claiming to be a Baptist. Ue was settled for several years
over the Unitarian Church in West Brookticld, Mass. lie was a
zealous believer in social reform. At Brookfield he opened a co-
operative store, and he made the pulpit a means of propagating
his .social theories. Finally abandoning the pulpit he removed to
the vicinity of Boston, and there devoted himself to literary work.
He had always been a zealous student of theology and meta-
physics, mainly through the French language, with which he was
very familiar ; gave some attention to Oriental literature, trans-
lated Job, and published various essays on metaphysical subjects.
Being in Paris when the Civil War broke out, he hastened home
and was made the colonel of the Fourteenth Massachusetts Volun-

252 The Journal of Speculaiwe Philosophy.

teers. He was stationed during a greater part of the war in the
forts about Washington, and under Butler at Bermuda Hundreds.
He was zealous, eccentric, arbitrary, and mystical, and very enter-
taining in conversation. In his later years he became a commu-
nist in theory, and a labor-reformer of an extreme type. He was
in 1873 an oificer of the Boston Labor Reform League, a member
of the Boston section of the Internationalists, and the associate of
Benjamin 11. Tucker and E. H. Heywood. He published a book
on national banking, and in 1875 appeared his " Socialistic, Com-
munistic, and Financial Fragments," consisting of his contribu-
tions to " The Word " and other radical journals. His earlier
publications were an essay called " The Doctrine of Life," a theory
which he claimed to have discovered, and essays on Edwards's
theory of the will, transcendentalism, the science of history, the
doctrine of the Trinity, the incarnation, consciousness as revealing
the existence of God, and various cognate topics. In 1871 he
published an essay on the " Facts of Consciousness and the Phi-
losophy of Herbert Spencer," and in 1871 an essay in reply to Dr.
Clarke's " Sex in Education." He also wrote on mathematical
and Masonic subjects. He died at Weston-Super-Mare, England,
May 30, 1878. Greene was well known to most of the transcen-
dentalists, though his extreme views were not acceptable to many
of them. In November, 1841, Margaret Fuller wrote to Emerson :
" How did you like the military-spiritual-heroic-vivacious plicenix
of the day?" This was in reference to Greene's essay in " The
Dial " discoursing of first principles.

Among those who fm-nished " The Dial " with only a single
contribution was Charles Newcomb, for many years a resident of
Providence, and who afterward found a home in England and in
Paris. He was early a member of Brook Farm, a solitary, self-
involved person, preferring to associate with children rather than
with older persons. He read a good deal in the literature of the
mystics, and was laughingly said to prefer paganism to Christian-
ity. He had a feminine temperament, full of sensibility, and an
independent turn of mind. Emerson was attracted to him, and
at one time had great expectations concerning his genius. His
paper, called " The Two Dolons," was much discussed and ad-
mired by " The Dial " set when it appeared ; and it is referred to
by Hawthorne in his " Hall of Phantasy." On the 9th of June,

'-Tlie Dial.'" 253

1842, Emerson wrote to Margaret Fuller : " I wish you to know
that I have ' Dolon ' in black and white, and that I account
Charles N. a true genius ; his writing tills me with joy, so simple,
60 subtle, and so strong is it. Tiiere are sentences in ' Dolon '
worth the printing of ' The Dial ' that they may go forth." This
paper was given to " Tiie Dial " at Emerson's request, and it is
not known that Xewcomb has published anytliiiig else. In 1850
Emerson said that he had come to doubt Newcomb's genius, hav-
ing found tliat he did not care for an audience.

The author of the account of a voyage to Jamaica, in the first
and second numbers of the last volume, was Benjamin Peter Hunt.
He was a pupil of Emerson's when he taught a district school in
Chelmsford, Mass., entered the Theological School in 1832, but
did not graduate. He spent some time in the West Indies, and
he resided for many years in Philadelphia. He was an earnest
friend and disciple of Emerson's.

The article in the first number, on Channing's translation of
Jonffroy, and that in the fourth number, on the Unitarian move-
ment in Xew England, were written by William Dexter Wilson,
who was born at Stoddard, N. H., February 28, 1816, and gradu-
ated at the Harvard Divinity School in 1838. He preached in
Unitarian churches for two or three years, but was not settled,
taking orders in the Episcopal Church in 1842. Settled at Sher-
burne, N. Y., he wrote a work on the Church. In 1850 he was
called to the professorship of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy
in Geneva College, and in 1868 he was appointed to the same
professorship in Cornell University. He holds that position at
the present time, as well as being the Registrar. Dr. Wilson has
been a contributor to " The Christian Examiner" and other peri-
odicals, to Appletons' " Cyclopaedia," and he wrote the article on
logic in Johnson's " CyclopoBdia." He has also written much on
mathematics and logic. Since he has been at Cornell he has piib-
iisJied several works of considerable importance. These are, in

1871, "Lectures on Psychology, Comparative and Human"; in

1872, '' Introduction to the Study of Metaphy.sics and the History
of Philosojihy " ; in 1877, "Live Questions in Psychology and
Metaphysics," and in the same year a volume on the " First Prin-
ciples of Political Economy " ; in 1883, " Foundations of Keligious
Belief." His work in philosophy is original and suggestive. In

25i The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the organization and management of Cornell University lie has
borne a leading part.

The anthor of the essay on Shelley, in the first volume, was
John Milton Mackie, who was born in Wareham, Mass., in 1813.
He graduated at Brown University in 1832, where he was a tutor
from 1834: to 1838. He subsequently resided in Providence, and
devoted liimself to authorship, but now lives at Great Barrington,
Mass. In 1845 lie published a life of Leibnitz, in 1848 a life of
Samuel Gorton in Sparks's biographies, in 18.55 a volume of Span-
ish travel, in 1856 a life of Schamyl, in 1857 an account of the
Chinese insurrection, and in 1864 a volume of Southern travel.

Another of the writers introduced to " The Dial " by Emerson
was Charles Stearns Wheeler, a native of Lincoln, Mass., where
his father was a farmer, and his grandfather the minister for fifty
years. He was a schoolmate with Thoreau in Concord, and they
graduated at Harvard together in 1837. Wheeler then pursued a
partial course of study at the Theological School. From 1888 to
1842 he was a tutor in Greek and instructor in history in Harvard
College. He edited the first American edition of Herodotus, with
notes, corresponded with Tennyson and edited his poems, sug-
gested to Emerson the first edition of his poems, and helped him
to edit the four volumes of Carlylc's writings which he brought
out in this country as his "Miscellanies." In 1842 Emerson de-
scribed him to Carlyle as " a man whose too facile and good-natured
manners do some injustice to his virtues, to his great iudustrv and
I'eal knowledge " — a wonderfully felicitous description. Wheeler
often gave in his rooms in Cambridge what he called an "aesthetic
tea," where Curtis, Newcomb, Samuel Longfellow, and others
came together for literary conversation. He was greatly admired
by a considerable circle of friends ibr his studious habits, as a very
good fellow, and for his high-minded devotion to the very best
things. As a college disci]3linai-ian he was not successful, and
became very unpopular with the students. In 1842 he went to
Germany to spend two years in study at Heidelberg, but died
there in 1843. Many high expectations were doomed to disap-
pointment in his early death. One or two of his letters from
Germany to Emerson were published in " The Dial."

A frequent contributor to the last two volumes was Charles
Lane, the friend of Heraud and Greaves, of whom Emerson gave

"57«e Dial" 255

an extended account. When Alcott went to England Lane was
publisliing tlie London " Mercantile Price Current," and lived at
Alcott House. He was a writer for Ileraud's " Monthly Maga-
zine," had published several reformatory pamphlets, and translated
a French work on Fourier's socialism, to which he prefixed an
introductory essay. lie was also one of the editors of the " Health-
ian," a journal of radical hygiene. He was a believer in socialism
of the Brook Farm type. The manager of Alcott House was
Henry G. Wright, a young man of some ability, and the autlior
of several pamphlets on moral and social subjects. Alcott House
failing through the death of Greaves, Alcott persuaded Lane and
Wright to return with him to America. Lane spent several
months in Concord with Alcott, writing for '" The Liberator,''
" The Tribune," and " The Dial." Tiien the two proceeded to
the town of Harvard, about a dozen miles west of Concord, where
they bought a farm of one hundred acres. In June, 18-i3, they
began their effort to establish a new form of social existence; but
in less than a year it was abandoned. The members of this new
paradise, whom the Rev. AV. H. Chanuiug called '" the Essenes of
New England," were A. Bronson Alcott ; Mrs. Abigail Alcott ;
their daughte:v, Anna Bronson, Louisa May, Elizabeth Sewall,
and Abby May ; Charles Lane and his son William ; Samuel T.
Lamed ; Christopher Greene ; Abram Everett ; Isaac T. Hecker ;
Joseph Palmer ; Charles Bower ; and Anna Page. It is interest-
ing to know that one of the membei"s of this community was after-
ward widely known in the Roman Catholic Church as " Father
Hecker." AVbile at Fruitlands, as this new paradise was called,
he wrote an account of it for " The Tribune." At the end of the
first uumlier of the fourth volume of " The Dial " a description of
this farm was given to its readers, being written either by Alcott
or Lane :

" We have made an arrangement with the proprietor of an es-
tate of about a hundred acres, which liberates this tract from
human ownership. For picturesque beauty, both in the near and
distant landscape, the spot has few rivals. . . .

" Here we prosecute our eftbrt to initiate a Family in harmony
with tlio primitive instincts in man. ... It is intended to adorn
the pastures with orchards, and to supei-sede ultimately the labor
of the plough and cattle by the spade and the pruning-knife. . . .

256 The Jownal of Speoulative PMlomphy.

" Ordinary secular farming is not our object. Fruit, grain,
pulse, garden plants and herbs, flax and otlier vegetable products
for food, raiment, and domestic uses, receiving assiduous atten-
tion, alford at once ample manual occupation, and chaste supplies
for the bodily needs. Consecrated to human freedom, the land
awaits the sober culture of devout men. . . .

" The inner nature of every member of the Family is at no
time neglected. A constant leaning on the living sj^irit within
the soul should consecrate every talent to holy uses, cherishing
the widest charities. The choice library (of which a partial cata-
logue was given in 'Dial' No. XII) 'is accessible to all who are
desirous of perusing these records of piety and wisdom. Our
plan contemplates all such disciplines, cultures, and habits as
evidently conduce to the purifying and edifying of the inmates.
Pledged to the spirit alone, the founders can anticipate no hasty
or numerous accession to their number. The kingdom of peace
is entered only through the gates of self-denial and abandonment ;
and felicity is the test and the reward of obedience to the un-
swerving law of love."

In his " Life of Thoreau," Mr. F. B. Sanborn prints a letter
from Lane, in which the Fruitlands experiment is described. The
serious and pathetic side of the experiment has been portrayed by
Louisa May Alcott in one of her shorter stories. After leaving
Fruitlands, Lane spent some time with the Harvard Shakers, who
were only two or three miles distant ; he then joined a com-
munity in New Jersey, and finally returned to England, where
he resumed his " Price Current," pmblishing it until his death.
Emerson described Lane in " The Dial " article on the English
Peformers as " a man of fine intellectual nature, inspired and
hallowed by a profound faith." He had many attractive quali-
ties, l)ut he was an extremist in his theories,, and was inclined to
the most radical forms of individualism. He refused to pay
taxes, and he lived on a diet of fruits and grains. He strongly
urged that the body must be kept down in order to build up the
soul. The review of an essay on transcendentalism in the third
volume of " The Dial " was by Lane, the author of the little book
discussed being Charles M. Ellis, a Poxbury lawyer.

The article on the English Peformers, written by Emerson,
indicates his interest in the theories to better the world which

"■The DiaJr 257

were so numerous at tliat i)eriocl. Carljle would have laughed
or growled at most of theui, but Emerson saw tlie good purpose
in such men <is lleraud, Greaves, Lane, and Wright, llis ac-
count of them is indicative of his willingness to listen to all sin-
cere men, however fanatical they might seem to be to others.

Thomas Treadwell Stone was born at "Waterford, Maine, Feb-
ruary 9, 1801. He fitted for college at Hebron Academy, and
graduated from Bowdoin in 1820. He was settled over the
Orthodox Church in Andover, Maine, in 1823. He became ac-
quainted with Mary Moody Emerson, and a letter written to her
was partly printed in a short paper on transcendentalism, written
by Emerson, which appeared in the second volume of "The
Dial." It is there attributed to a Calvinist; but Mr. Stone had
gradually outgrown that faith, and not long after he connected
himself with the ITnitariaiis, being settled over the First Ciuirch
in Salem in July, lS4t), wliere he remained until 1852. Tiien he
became the pastor of the Unitarian Church in Bolton, Mass., and
afterward of that in Brooklyn, Conn. He always preached with-
out notes, a thing then quite unusual in New England. In 1854
he published a volume of sermons, which is saturated witli the
spirit of transcendentalism. In 1856 he wrote for the Unitarian
Association a devotional work called " The Rod and the Stall","
full of the highest spirit of faith and worship. He has also
printed several sermons and addresses. He was an earnest advo-
cate of the antislavery cause. Since withdrawing from the
ministry on account of age, his residence has been successively at
Bolton and West Newton, Mass. He was made a doctor of
divinity by Bowdoin College.

Emerson gave to " The Dial " several selections from the writ-
ings of members of his own family'. In the first volume appeared
two poems by his first wife, Ellen Louisa Tucker, a native of Bos-
ton, to whom he was married in September, 1829. She was a
woman of many charms of ))erson and mind, and her vei-ses show
that she had the gift of poetic expression. Slie died in February,
1832. The "Last Farewell," of the first number, he selected
from the papers of his next younger brother, Edward Bliss Emer.
son, who studied law with Daniel Webster, broke down in health,
went to the West Indies, and died there in the autumn of 1834.
In the same number the "Notes from the Journal of a Scholar"
XIX-17

258 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

were from the papers of Charles Chauncey Emerson, another
brother, who gratluated at Harvard in 182S, began the practice
of law in Concord, but died May 9, 1836. Writing to Carlyle in
October, 1835, Emerson said : " Charles Chauncey Emerson is a
lawyer now settled in tliis town, and, as I believe, no better Lord
Hamlet was ever. He is onr Doctor on all questions of taste,
manners, or action. And one of the pure pleasures I promise
myself in the months to come is to make you two gentlemen
know each other." Holmes described him as tbe " calm, chaste
scholar" in Lis "Poetry: a Metrical Essay," while Emerson
wrote of both brothers in " In Memoriam " and other poems.
Both are held in loving memory by those who knew them, and
great promise died with them. The betrothed of Charles Emer-
son was Elizabeth Hoar, much beloved of all who knew her, a
woman of a bright and active mind. She wrote but little, though
her memoir of Mrs. Samuel Eipley, in the ""Worthy Women of
our First Centm-y," shows that she might have done excellent
work. Only as a translator did she appear in " The Dial."

Samuel Gray Ward was born in Boston, the son of Thomas W.
Ward, a banker there. He also began life in Boston as a banker,
and he has since been a member of a well-known banking firm in
New York, the agents of the great London banking house of Bar-
ing Brothers. His life has been that of a man of business, and
he has given little attention to literature. He found in Emerson
and Margaret Fuller life-long friends, and it was owing to this
fact that he became a contributor to " The Dial." Two of his
"Dial" poems— those entitled "The Shield" and "The Con-
solers " — were printed bj' Emerson in his " Parnassus," but with-
out the author's name. About 1840 he translated from Goethe
a volume of " Essays on Art," which was published in Boston.
It was at one time proposed that he should prepare a part of the
memoirs of Margaret Fuller, which were finally written by Emer-
son, Clarke, and W. H. Channing. In one of his letters to Car-
lyle, Emerson describes Ward as " my friend and the best man in
the city, and, besides all his personal merits, a master of the office
of hospitality."

Jones Very was born in Salem, August 28, 1813. He gradu-
ated at Harvard College in 1S36, was for two years tutor in
Greek there, and at the same time studied theology. In 18-43 he

"■The Dial." 259

was licensed to preach, but he was never settled. In 1S3'J he
publijlicd "Essays and Poems,'' with the advice and thron;;h tiie
aid of Emerson. He occasionally wrote for newspapers in Salem
and tor the Unitarian periodicals. Many of his poems have been
used as hpnns in the Unitarian collections. All his writings are
marked by a mystic piety and an exalted religious devotion. His
pocn)s were reprinted, with a memoir, in 1883.

Charles T. Brooks was born in Salem, June 20, 1813, graduated
at Harvard College in 1832, and at the Theological School in
1835. He was settled over the Unitarian Church in Xewport,
R. I., in 1837, and remained there until 1871, after which he con-
tinued to reside in the same city. He translated a volume of
miscellaneous poems for Ripley's " Specimens," and he also trans-
lated Schiller's "William Tell" and "Homage of the Arts,"
Goethe's " Faust" (the first part), Richter's " Titan " and "Hes-
perus," Schefer's " Layman's Breviary " and " World Priest," and
a volume of German lyrics. He also published an essay on the
old stone mill; " Aquidneck and other Poems" in 1S48; a vol-
ume of sermons in 1859, and many poems and romances. He
died at Newport in 1883. He was a prolitic literary worker, and
all his work was delicately and truly accomplished. A memoir
of Brooks, with selections from his poems, has been published by
liis successor, Rev. C. W. Wendt^.

James Elliot Cabot was graduated at Harvard in 1840, and
spent several years in Germany. He lives in Brookliue, Mass.,
and has spent much time in literary and philosophical studies,
being also associated for a time with his brother, Edward C. Ca-
bot, well known as an architect. To the " North American
Review " he has contributed a few valuable papers, and he has
also written one or two papers for the Massachusetts Historical
Society. For Agassiz's work on Lake Superior he wrote the nar.
rative of the tour. Before his death Emerson maiie Mr. Cabot
his literary executor, entrusting to his care all his papers, his diary,
and his correspondence. With the aid of Dr. E. W. Emerson he
has published two new volumes of Emerson's essays and miscel-
lanies, as well as a new and enlarged edition of his poems. At
present he is engaged in preparing an extended biography of
Emerson.

Jonathan A. Saxton was born in Deerfield, Mass., January 12,

260 The Journal of Speculatvve Philosophy.

1795. Early a zealous student, he spent two years at Yale, but
graduated at Harvard in 1822. He entered the profession of the
law, but did not tind it to his taste. He edited local journals in
Troy, Greenfield, and Northampton. For many years he was a
farmer in Deerfiekl, wliere he died in September, IST-t. He was
deeply interested in all the reforms of the day, being one of the
earliest of the abolitionists. He wrote much on slavery, temper-
ance, co-operation, and social reforms generally. In the days of
the lycenm he had something of a local reputation as a lecturer.
It was a great satisfaction to him when his son, Gen. Rufus Sax-
ton, was made the military governor of South Carolina during
the Civil War, to be ajipointed his yjrivate secretary, and to do
what he could toward the elevation of the freedmen, for whose
emancipation he had worked so long in a different way.

John Francis Tuckerman graduated at Harvard College in
1837, and received the degree of M. D. in 18il. He practised
his profession for a time, but he was for the greater part of his
life a business man, residing in Salem, but having an office in
Boston. He died in Salem, in May, 1885.

Benjamin Franklin Presbury was for many years editor of tlie
" Taunton Gazette," to which he contributed literary criticisms of
an imusually high order. He also wrote two papers in the " At-
lantic Monthly."

In the first number of " The Dial " edited by him, Emerson
gave an account of the Chardon Street Bible Conventions, held in
Boston in the winter of 184:0-'41 ; and he ])ublished in full " the
best speech made on that occasion," that of Nathaniel H. Whiting,
of South Marshfield, Mass. He descrilied Mr. Whiting in these
words: " Himself a plain unlettered man, leaving for the day a
mechanical employment to address his fellows, he possesses emi-
nent gifts for success in assemblies so constituted. He has fluency,
self-command, an easy, natural method, and a very considerable
power of statement. No one had more entirely the ear of his
audience." A shoemaker, and devoted to his calling, Mr. Whit-
ing improved his intellectual gifts by reading and such means of
culture as came in his way. He has been a prominent citizen of
Marshfield, a member of the State Legislature, and for some years
connected with the Boston Custom-House. He has been a radical
in religion, but greatly interested in theological questions.

''The Diair

261

"THE DIAL."
VonTMK I. — Number Onk.

58.

139.

tB8.
150.

161.
172.

1T3.

18S.

187.
187.
188.
193.
1«.
ISM.
195.
la-i.
19i;.
81«.
21C.
217.
217.
218.

The Edllore to the Reader. R. W. Emor-

i»on.
A Short Encay to Orltics. Marpiret Fuller. ■
To the Aurora Bor.alis. C. P. fninch. |

Notes from the Journal of a Scholar. C. C. I

Emerson.
The Hiliijion of Beaiitv. John 8. Dwight. |
Drown-on'H Wrilines. George Ripley.
The Last Farewell. E. B. Emerson.
Ernest the Seeker. (Chapter I.) W. H.

Channins.
The Divini- Presence in Nattire and the

Soul. T. Parker. I

Svmpalhv. U. D. Thoreau.
Line.«. Ellen Tucker Enienion.
A Keconi of ImpresdioiK* produced by the

Exhibition of Mr. All^<Il>n's Picture.i in

the Summer of 1839. Margaret Fuller.
To W. AllstoD on seeing his " Bride." S.

G. Ward.
To Allotou'B Picture " The Bride."
Song. S. G. Ward.

To • • • •. R. W. Emerson.

Orphic Saylugti. A. B. Alcott.

Stanzas. C. P. Cranch.

Channing'8 Translation of Jouflroy. W. D.

Wilpon.
AuliiB PersiuB Flaccns. H. D. Thoreau.
The Shield. S. G. Ward.
The Problem. R. W. Emerson.
Come Morir ? S. G. Ward.
(I slept and dreamed that Life wag Beauty.)

Ellen Hooper.
The Concerts of the Past Winter. J. S

Dwight.
A Dialogue. Margaret Fuller.
Richter. Margaret Fldler.
Some murmur at Ilic Want of System Id

RirhtiT's Writings. Margaret Fuller.
The Morning Breeze.
Dante. Sarah Clarke.
A Sketch. Margaret Fuller.
A Sketch. Margaret Fuller.
(Prose Paragraph.) R. W. Emerson.

NuMBEB Two.

Thoughts on Modem Literature. R. W.

Emerson.
Silence. R. W. Emerson.
First crossing the AUeghanics. J. F.

Clarke.
A Sign from the West. C. P. Cranch.
Angelica sleeps. (Translated from Italian

of Bemi.)
Nature and Art, or the Three Landscapes.

J. F. Clarke.
The Art of Life— the Scholar's Calling. F.

H. Hedge.
Letter to a Theological Student. George

Riplev.
" The Poor Rich Man." Ellen Hooper.
(Lines.) W. E. Channing.
Musings of a Recluse. C. P. Cranch.
The Wood Fire. Ellen Hooper.
The Dav Breaks. Caroline S. Tappan.
The Pmt. Ellen Hooper.
Life. Caroline S. Tappan.
Evening. Caroline S. Tappan.
A LeK-on for the Day. T. Parker.
Wayfarers. Ellen IJloopcr.
From Goelhe.

Pivan. Caroline S. Tappan.
Lvrlc. Can)liiie S. Tappan.
Truth agnmst the World. A Parable of

Paul. T. Parker.

219. Waves. Caroline S. Tappan.

219. (Lines.) Caroline S. Tappan.

220. New Poctrv. R. W. Emerson.
a'K. Artand Arlist. Caroline S. Tappan.
233. Ernest the Seeker. (Chapter II.) W,

Channing.
242. Woodnotes. R. W. Emerson.
215. Life and Death. Caroline S. Tappan.
248. Record of the Months.

210. Works of Dr. Channing. R. W. Em-
erson ( ?).
248. Two Sermons by G. F. Simmons. R.

W. Emerson.
251. Palmer's Letter to those who think.
258. Walker's Vindication of Philosophy.
260. Athentt'um Exhibition of Paintings.

Margaret Fuller.
283. "The Dream." Caroline S. Tap-
pan.
2W. Select List of Recent Publications.
'264. Dana's Two Years before the Mast.

R. W. Emerson.
265. Fourier's Social Destiny of Man. R.

W. Emerson.
288. Rauke's Popes. T. Parker.
287. Ilarw'Kid's Materialism in Religion,

R. W. Emerson.
271. Cousin's Plato,

NCMBKK TlIKKE,

if73. Man in the Al-cs. Thomas T. Stone.
889. Aftcmixiii (^arollne S. Tappan.

290. Oue-tii.nings F 11. Hedge.

291. Kmlviniou. C. I'. Cranch.

29-2. Hvn'in and Praver. J. F. Clarke.
•em. Mela. Margant Fuller.

298. The True in Dreams. C. P, Cranch.

299. The Magnolia of Lake Pontcliartraln. Mar-

garet F"ulli-r.
305. Love and Insight. Caroline S. Tappan.
anfi. Sunset. <^aroline S. Tappan.

300. (live us an Interpreter. Caroline S. Tappan.
806. (Lines. I Caroline S. Tappan.

309. Iileals of Ever)' -day Life. No, I, John S,

Dnight.
312, To Nvdia. James K. Clarke.
314, The V'iolcl. Ellen Tucker Emerson,

> On authority of Thoreau.

stanzas. H. D. Thorean.
German Literature. T. Parker.
The Snow-Siorni. R. W. Emerson,
Menzel's View of Goethe. Margaret Fuller,
Snum Cuique. R. W. Emers<ui.
The Sphinx. R, W. Emerson,
Orjihic Savings. A. B. .\lcotl.
Woman. Sophia Hipley,
Sonuei. To a Voice heard in Mount Au-
burn July, 18:)«. J. R. Lowell.'
Thoughts on .\rt. H, W, Emerson,
Glimmerings, C. P, Cranch.
Correspondences, C. P. Cranch,
Color and Light, C. P. Cranch,
My Thoughts. C. P. Cranch,
The Kiddle, C, P, Cranch,
The Ocean, C, P, Cranch.

262

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

400.

400.
401.

Lettcra from Italv on the ReprcBentatives

of Italv. S. G. Ward.'
To the Ideal. Ellen Hooper.
Record of the Months.
401. Michael Angelo. R. W. Emereon.

408. Select List of Recent PnblicationB.
402. Robbins's Worship of the Soul. R. W.
Emerson.

404. A Voice from the Prison.

405. Ha\vthome'8 Grandfather's Chair.

NlTMBEH FOUB.

409. The Unitarian Movement in New England.

W. D. Wilson.
44.3. Dream. James F. Clarke.
446. Ideals of Everv-day Life. No. 11. Home.

.John S. Dwight.
461. Listen to the Wind. Ellen Hooper (?).
461. The Wind again. Ellen Hooper (?).
463. Leila. Margaret Fuller.
468. The Genuine Portrait. James F. Clarke.

468. The Real and the Ideal. James F. Clarke.

469. Hermitage. W. E. Channing.

469. The Angel and the Artist. Caroline S.

Tappan.

470. Shelley. John M. Mackie.
494. A Dialogue. Margaret Fuller.

497. Thoughts on Labor. Theodore Parker.
519. The Out-bid. Ellen Hooper.
620. Theme tor a World Drama. W. E. Chan-
ning.

Man the Reformer. R. W. Emerson.

Music of the Winter. J. F. Tuckerman.

Farewell. EUen Hooper.

62.3
6.39
544,

Volume II. — Number One.

Goethe. Margaret Fuller.

Two Hymns. E. T. Clapp.

Night and Dav. W. H. Channing.

The Blind Seer. C. P. Cranch.

Wheat Seed and Bolted Flour. W. H.

Channing.
Song.

Need of a Diver. Margaret Fuller.
Clouds. E. T. Clapp.
" The Future is Better than the Past." E.

T. Clapp.
August Shower. E. T. Clapp.
The Pharisees. T. Parker.
Protean Wishes. Theodore Parker.
Painting and Sculpture. Sophia Ripley.
Sic Vita. H. D. Thoreau.
Bettina. Caroline S. Tappan.
Prophecy — Transcendentalism — Progress.

J. A. Saxton.

121. Sonnet to . W. E. Channing.

122. Letter. Sophia Ripley.
120. Lines. Caroline S. Tappan.

129. Sonnet. J. R. Lowell.

130. Notices of Recent Publications.

1.30. Jones Very's Essays and Poems. K.
W. Emerson.

Carlyle"s On Heroes. Margaret Fuller.

Lowell's A Year's Life. Margaret
Fuller.

Translations of Goethe.

H. Martineau's Hour and Man. Mar-
garet Fuller.

135. Tennyson, Stirling and " Festus."
Margaret Fuller.

136. " The" Plain Speaker." Margaret
Fuller.

136. Lines. Sara -\. Chase.

136. To Contributors. Margaret Fuller.

131.
133.

1.34.
134.

NUMBEB Two.

137.
148.

201.
205.
205.

286.
288.
290.
293.
313.

3.57.
357.
358.

358.
369.

.359.
.360.
361.

373.

Cupid's Conflict. By Dr. Hem'y More.
1647. Selected by A. Bronson Alcott.

Lives of the Great Composers. Haydn,
Mozart, Handel, Bach, Beethoven. Mar-
garet Fuller.

Light and Shade. Caroline S. Tappan.

Friendship. II. D. Thoreau.

Painting and Sculpture. R. W. Emerson.

Fate, R. W. Emerson.

207.

214.

338.
■2.30.
2.31.

Number H. R. W. Emer-

Woodnotes.

son.
A Ghmpse of Christ's Idea of Society.

Elizabeth P. Peabody.
Poems on Life.
WindmiU. W. E. Channing.
Festus. Margaret Fuller.
262. Walter Savage Lander. R. W. Emerson.
271. Inworld. C. P. Cranch.

Number Three.

First Principles. W. B. Greene.

(Poetical Motto.) W. E. Channing.

Tucca FUamentosa. Margaret Fuller.

Inworld. C. P. Cranch.

Outworld. C. P. Cranch.

Primitive Christianity. Theodore Parker.

Bettine Brentano and her Friend Giinde-

rode. Margaret Fuller.
Sonnet. J. R. Lowell.
Soimet. J. R Lowell.
Sonnet. To Irene on her Birthday. J. K.

Lowell.
The Hour of Reckoning. Ellen Hooper.
Sonnet. To Mary on her Birthday. B. F.

Presbury.
De Profundis Clamavi.
Music. To Martha. B. F. Presbury.
Plan of the West Roxbury Community. E.

P. Peabodv.
The Park. R. W. Emerson.

383,

385,

Forbearance. R. W. EmersOn.

Grace. R. W. Emerson.

The Senses and the Soul. R. W. Emer-
son.

Epilogue to the Tragedy of Essex. From
the German of Goethe. M. Fuller.

Editor's Table.

382. Transcendentalism. R. W. Emerson.

383. (Calvinist's Letter.) Thomas T. Stone.
383. (Friend's Letter.)

Notices of Recent Publications.
.3a5. Plan of Salvation. James F. Clarke.
.393. Motherwell's Poems.
394. Goethe's Egmont. Margaret Fuller.
396. Monaldi. Margaret Fuller.
399. Wilde's Conjectures and Researches.
Margaret Fuller.

407. Boston Academv of Music.

408. Theorv of Teaching.

408. "The Ideal Man." R.W.Emerson.

' On authority of Thoreau.

''The Dial:'

263

Nttmber Four.

409. Note to ihc Editor. A. B. Alcott.
409 D«v-. from a Dlarv. A. B. Alcott.
4S7. Mario van Odt-tiTwich. Translated from

the French bv Marpjret Fuller.
483. silence and SiK'ecli. ('. P. Cranch.
4S.1. Tll>■u!,■ht^• on Theoloiiy. Theodore Parker.
5a<. ller/.li.h-te. (.'liarle:' A. Dana.
529. Record of the Months.

Seal. Whcwell's Inductive Sciences. T.
Parker.

580. Wbewell'B Morals. T. Parker.

581. Moeheim's Ecclesiastical History. T.

Parker.
585. Harwood's Ocrman Anti-Sapematnral-

isni. T. Parker.
5.39. RepuhlicationB. T. Parker.
MO. Milman's History of Christianity. T.

Parker.
W2. Gibbon's Rome, edited by Milman.

T. Parker.

Volume III. — Numbeh One.

81.

ffi.

85.
86.

97.

Lectures on the Times. Introductory. R.
\V. Emervon.

Natural History of Massachusetts. H. D.
Thoreau.

Gifts. W. E. Channing.

The Lover's Sone. W. E. Channing.

Sea Song. \V. E. Channing.

The Earth-Spirit. W. E. Channing.

Pr.iver. \V. E. Channing.

Afler-Life. W. E. Channing.

Autumn Leaves. W. E. Channing.

Entertaiunientu of the Past Winter. Mar-
garet Fuller.

Tact. R. W. Emerson.

llolidavs. R. W. Emerson.

The Amulet. K. W. Emerson.

The Castle bv the Sea. From Uhland.
Translated by F. H. Hedge.

Eternity. Charles A. Dana.

Vespers.

I'rayers. R. W. Emerson.

7S. (Metrical prayer.) U. D. Thorcan.

80. (Praver.i Junius ,\lcott.

To Shakspeare. W. E. Channing.

Veeshnoo Sarma. R. W. Emerson.

(Lines. >

Fourierism and the Socialists. R. W. Emer-
son.

The Evening Choir. Jones 'V^ery.

99. The World. Jones Very.
100. Chardon Street and Bible ConvenUons. K.
W. Emerson.
I J 12. The Two Dolons. Charles N. Ncwcomb.
123. Agriculture of Massachusetts. R.W.Emer-
son.
I ia«. Outward Bound. B. P. Hunt.
VS. Record of the Months.

127. Borrow's Zincali. R. W. Emerson.

128. Lockhart's Spanish Ballads. R. W.

Emerson.

129. Colton'B Tecumseh. R. W. Emerson.

130. Hawthcinie's Twice-Told Tales. Mar-

garet Fullerl?).

131. Hawthonies Stories for Children.

Margaret Fuller (?).

131. Cambridge Miscellany.
181. (Short Notices.)

182. Intelligence.

132. W ilkes Exploring Erpedition.
Va. A.ssociation of State Geologists.

133. Harvard Iniversity.

135. (Wordsworth's New Poems.) R. W.
Emerson.

135. (Tennyson and Henry Taylor.) R. W.

Emerson.

136. Schelling in Berlin. R. W. Emer-

son.
136. New Jerusalem Church.

NtTMBEK Two.

1.17. Romaic and Rhine Ballads. Margaret Fuller.

180. The Black Knight. H. D. Thoreau.

181. Lectures on the Times. The Conservative.

R. W. Emerson.

198. The Inward Mnming. H. D. Thoreau. I

199. Free Love. II. D. Thoreau.

aoo. The Poet's Delay. H. D. Thoreau.

300. Rumors from an wEolian Harp. H. D.
Thoreau.

201. Ilollis Street Council. Theodore Parker.

222. The Moon. H. D. Thoreau.

24J. To the Maiden in the East. H. D. Tho-
reau.

224. The Summer Rain. H. D. Thorean.

2H. The Artist. ' C. P. Cranch.

2J7. Englbh Rcformern. R. W. Emerson.

278.

James Picrrepont Greaves. Charles Lane.

Dirge. W. E. Channing.

Cromwell. Charles Lane.

The Poet. W. E. Channing.

Lines.

Saadi. R. W. Emerson.

The Gallery. Samuel G. Ward.

Record of the Months.

273. Tennyson's Poems. Margaret Fnller.

278. Brownson's Letter to Dr. Channing.

R. W. Emerson.
277. Smvth's Lectures on History.
Editor's' Table.
2?.t. Ileraud's Lectures.

279. French Journals.

280. Schelling in Berlin.

NrsiBER Three.
(Continued.)

281. James Pierrepont Orcave«.

Charles Ijine.
297. Lectures on the Times. The Transcendent-

ali^t. R. W. Eniers<m.
313. .\ Sorignf Siiring. W. E. Channing.
814. I)isro%erie.* In the Nubian Pyramids. From

the tiermun of Dr. Cams. Elizabeth

Hoar,
aai. Anna. W. E. Channing.
a!7. To Eva at the South. R. W. Emerson.

3a<. The Brook. Caroline S. Tappan.

.'$29. "The River. W. E. Channing.

SS). Life. W. E. Channing.

.sao. To . W. E. Chauning.

331. The Laws of Menu.

»I0. Death. W. E. Channing.

343. Tlie Life and Character of Dr. FoUen.
j Theo(l()re I'jurker.

863. ThePronutheusBoimd. (Translated.) H.
1 D. Thoreau.

2r4

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

387. Literary Intelligence.

387. (Death of Dr. Channlng.) R. '
Emei-j^on.

387. (German topics.)

388. (German Letter.) C. S. Wheeler.
398. Schelling^s Introductory Lecture

Berlin (trans.). F. H. "Hedge.
404. Record of the Months.
4M. Life of Richter.

Transcendentaliem.

406. An Essay on
Charles Lane.
411. Letters of Schiller.

413. Fables of La Fontaine.

414. Confessions of St. Augustine.

Emerson.

415. (Notices of Books.)

416. Goethe and Swedenborg.

K. W.

NUMBEK FOCR.

417.
454.
484.

490.
493.

49.5.
SO.').
505.

506.
507.
508.
509.
511.

522.

A. Bronson Alcott's Works. Charles Lane.

Canova. Margaret Fuller.

Anacreon. (Eleyeu poems trans.) H. D.
Thoreau.

What is Beauty ? L. M. ChUd.

Sayings of Confucius. (Selected.) H. D.
Thoreau.

George Keats. James F. Clarke.

To a Stray Fowl. H. D. Thoreau.

Orphics. I. Smoke. II. Haze. H. D.
Thoreau.

Sonnets.

To * ♦ ♦. W. E. Channing.

To . W. E. Channing.

The Friends. W. E. Channing.

Europe and European Books. R. W. Emer-
son.

A Leaf from "A Voyage to Porto Rico."
C. C. Emerson (?).

527. Dark Ages. H. D. Thoreau.

529. Friendship. From Chaucer. Selected by

H. D. Thoreau.
538. Record of the Months.

532. Bremer's Neighbors.

5-32. Bulwer's Last of the Barons.

533. Fetis' Music Explained.

534. Sorrow's Bible in Spain. R. W. Emer-

son (?).

535. Browning's Paracelsus. R. W. Emer-

son (?).

535. Zschokke's Sleep Walker.

536. Heraud's Life of Savonarola. Charles

Lane.
541. Literary Intelligence.

541. (German Letter.) C. S. Wheeler.
545. Catalogue of Books. (Brought by Alcott
and Lane from England.) A. B. Alcott.

Volume IV. — Number One.

92.

93.
96.
103.

The Great Lawsuit. Margaret Fuller.
The Youth of the Poet and the Painter.

W. E. Channing.
Ethnical Scriptures. Desatir.
Springy

Aoou Ben Adhem. (Leigh Hunt.)
Tile Song of Birds in Spring.
The EartTi. W. E. Channing.
Social Tendencies. Charles Lane.
A Song of Death. George W. Curtis.
Notes from the Journal of a Scholar. (IT.)

C. C. Emerson.
Manhood. Charles A. Dana.
Gifts. R. W. Emerson.
Past and Present. R. W. Emerson.
An Old Man. W. E. Channing.

104. To Rhea. R. W. Emerson.

106. The Journey. W. E. Channing.

107. Notes on Art and Architecture. Samuel G.

Ward.

115. The Glade. W. E. Channing.

116. Voyage to Jamaica. B. P. Hunt.
IM. Record of the Months.

134. Pierpont's Antislayery Poems. R. W.
Emerson.

134. Garrison's Poems. R. W. Emerson.
l.'M. Coffin's America. R. W. Emerson.
l.S.'i. Channing's Poems. R. W. Emeraon.
1.35. Bremer's H. Family.

135. Intelligence.

135. Fruitlands. A. B. Alcott.

136. To Correspondents. R. W. Emerson.

Number Two.

137.

165.
174.

188.

210.
311.
226.
827.

Hennell on the Origin of Christianity.
Theodore Parker.

A Dav with the Shakers. Charles Lane.

The "i'outh of the Poet and Painter. (Con-
tinued.) W. E. Channing.

Autumn. W. E. Channing.

Social Tendencies. (Continued.) Charles
Lane.

Ethnical Scriptures. ^Chinese Four Books.
H. D. Thoreau,

Via Sacra. Charles A. Dana.

A Winter Walk. H. D. Thoreau.

The Three Dimensions. R. W. Emerson (f).

Voyage to Jamaica. (Continued.) B. P.
Hunt.

244. The Mother's Grief.

245. Sweep Ho I Ellen Hooper.

246. The Sail. William A. Tappan.

247. The Comic. R. W. Emerson.
257. Ode to Beauty. R. W. Emerson.
2.59. AJlston's Funeral. W. E. Channing.
260. To the Muse. W. E. Channing.

251. William Tell's Song. W. E. CTianning.
263. A Letter. R. W. Emerson.
370. New Books.

270. The Huguenots.

270. Longfellow's Spanish Student. R. W.

Emerson r?).

271. Percival's Poems. R. W. Emerson.
878. (Notes of Books.)

273. The Youth of the Poet and Painter.

tinned.) W. E. Channing.
285. Translation of Dante. Samuel G. Ward.
290. Homer. Ossian, Chaucer. H. D. Thoreau,

306. Lines. Ellen Hooper.

307. The Modern Drama. Margaret Fuller.

Number Thkbe,

(Con-

349. To R.B. [Robert Bartlett]. Charles A. Dana.

350. Autumn Woods. W. E. Channing.

351. Brook Farm. Charles Lane.
357. Tantalus. R. W. Emerson.

364. The Fatal Passion.— A Dramatic Sketch.
W. E. Channing.

Philosophy of Religion.

265

878. Interior or Hidden Ufe. Charles Lane.
87». Pludiir. (Nou- and translations.) H. D.

Thortiui.
891. Th.- l^nschins of Buddha. (Sclccllons.t

H. D. Thnreail.
■Wl. Erw. H. W. Emerson.
402. EtUniculScriptiin-n. Hermes Trismeglstns.

H. D. Tliort-aa.

406. The Times. A Fragment. R. W. Emer-

son.

407. Criiical Notices.

Wl. Child's Letters from New York.
4117. Channine's Present.

407. Hopkins s Address.

408. Deutsche Schnellpost.

NcMBKR Four.

409. Immaniiel Kant. J. Elliot Cabot.

41.'). Life in the Woocls. Charles Lane.

425. The EmlLtants. From Freiligrath. Charles

T. Brooks.
4*7. The Youth of the Poet and Painter. (Con-

tiniie<l.i Vk. E. Cliantiins.
4.S5. The Twin Loves. .Samuel 0. Ward.
4.W. Dialogue. MaTL'aret Fuller.
469. The Consolers. Samuel G. Ward.
471\ To Readers. W. E. Channirj.

471. The Death of Shelley. \V. E. Channing.

472. A Song of the Sea. W. E. Channing.
47a To the Poets. W. E. Channing.

473. Fourierism. E. P. Peabody.

4&1. The Young American. R. W. Emerson.

507. Herald of Freedom. H. D. Thoreau.

Fragments of Pindar (trans). H. D.
Thoreau.

The Tragic. R. W. Emerson.

Satunlav and Sunday among the Creoles.
SS."!. The Moorish Prince. From Freiligrath.

C. T. Brooks.
ri28. The Visit. R. W. Emerson.
529. Ethnical Scriptures. Chaldean Oracles.
.'■i37. Millennial Church. Charles Lane.
540. Notice of "Human Nature."

513.

.'iii}.
.21.

Note.— I am desirous of completing and perfecting the list of contributors to "The Dial,"
and shall be thankful for any help to that end. Those who can furnish information may address
me at West Dedhani. Mass. I also desire further information about the lesser-known contribut ors
Any errors into which I have fallen I wish to correct. G. W. C.

PHILOSOPHY OF llELIGION.

TBAKSLATKD rBOX TH« QEBMAN OF O. W. r. UEOEL, BY F. LOUIS SOLDAN.

The Relation of the Philosophy of Religion to the Present Prin-
ciple of Religious Consciousness.

If in our own days philosophy is attacked on account of its in-
quiry into religion, it will not cause us any astonishment if we
consider tlie general characteristic of the times. Whoever tries
to occupy himself with the recognition of God and to compre-
hend his nature through thinking must expect either to be ignored
or to be subjected to individual or joint attacks.

The more the cognition of finite things has spread on account
of the almost unbounded growth of science through wliich all de-
partments of knowledge have been expanded beyond the individ-
ual horizon, the more has the circle of the science of God been
narrowed. There was a time when all knowledge was a knowl-
edge of God. The characteristic of our own time, on the con-
trary, is that it knows eacii and every thing, that it knows a mul-

266 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

titude of facts, but knows nothing of God. Formerly intelligence
[der Geist] found its highest interest in its knowledge of God,
and in fathoming his nature. In this occupation alone it found
rest; it felt unhappy wlien it could not satisfy this craving. The
spiritual struggles wiiich the cognition of God calls forth within
us were the highest that our spirit knew and experienced within
itself; all other kinds of interest and knowledge were held in light
esteem. Our time has appeased this need, these endeavors and
struggles ; we have done with them, they are disposed of. What
Tacitus said of the ancient Germans, that they were seouri adver-
sus deos, we also have become in regnrd to cognition — -seciiri
adversus deum.

Our age no longer grieves that it lacks [philosophic] cognition
of God ; on the contrary, it is considered the highest wisdom to
hold that no such knowledge is poBsil)]e. "What the Christian re-
ligion declares to be tlie highest, absolute commandment — " Ye
shall know God" — -is looked upon as folly. Christ says : " Be ye per-
fect even as your father which is in heaven is perfect." This high
injunction is a word devoid of meaning for the wisdom of the pres-
ent day. It has made of God an infinite spectre, dwelling in tiie
distance ; and it has likewise made human cognition a vain spec-
tre of finitude by considering it a kind of mirror which reflects
naught but unreal shades or phenomena. How, then, is it possible
that we should honor and understand the command, " Be ye per-
fect even as your father in heaven," if we have no cognition of the
Perfect, if our knowledge and will are therefore strictly limited to
[the] phenomena [of experience], and if truth is made absolutely
transcendent, a something which belongs to the [unattainable]
world beyond ? We should like to ask what there is that is worth
while to understand if God is unintelligible ?

If this standpoint is judged by its content, it must l)e looked
upon as the lowest level of man's degradation, notwithstanding
that he seems to take pride in occupying it because he imagines
that he has proved that it is the highest point [of knowledge] that
is attainable for jiim, and is therefore his true position. Although
such a standpoint is diametrically opposed to the grand nature of
Christian religion, which commands us to know God, liis nature
and essence, and to hold such knowledge in the highest esteem
(the distinction whether this knowledge is the result of fiiith, au-

Philosophy of Religion. 267

tbority, revelation, or reason is liere irrelevant), and altliougli this
staniljioint lias done with the content of the divine nature which
is conveyed by revelation, as well as with [the claims of] reason,
its blind presumption is such that it docs not hesitate to turn in
every one of its lower ramilications ao-ainst philosophy, notwith-
standint; the fact that the latter is the means of freeing the spirit
from that disgraceful degradation and of extricating religion from
the position which that standpoint assigned to it and in which it
has suffered greatly. And yet this class of theologians, who feel
at home in tliat standpoint of vanity only, have ventured to ar-
raign philosophy and charge it with destructive tendencies — theo-
logians who no longer possess in themselves any content which
could be destroyed. In onler to refute these objections — which are
not only groundless, but also frivolous and unscrupulous — we need
but look at what [this class of] theologians have done to dissolve
what is [real and] definite (das Bestinmitc) in religion: (1) either
by placing the dogmas in the background or by speaking of them
as indifferent matters, and (2) by looking upon them as categories
made and used by somebody else, and as transitory events in a
history that is past. And after having thus contemplated the
content, and having found that it is restored by philosophy and
rendered safe from the devastation of theology, we shall (3) reflect
upon the form of that standpoint and discover that the view
which attacks jdiilosophy in regard to form knows so little about
itself as to ignore that it contains within itself, potentially and im-
plicitly, the very principle of pliilosoph}'.

1. PHILOSOPHY AND THE INniKFEKKNCE WTTH WHICH CONORETE
DOGMAS ARE LOOKED UPON AT PRESENT.

If philosophy in its relation to religion is charged with lowering
the content of religion, ;ui<l more particularly of Christian reli-
gion, and with destroying ami corrupting the dogmas of the latter,
tliese objections have l)een removed by modern theology itself.
There are but few dogmas of the former system of Christian creeds
left in the position of im])()rtaiice which was formerly conceded to
them, and no otlier dogma has taken their place. Anybody can
convince himself easily of this by considering the actual esteem
paid to dogmas of the Cliurch at ]>resent, and by remembering
that in the religious world an almost universal indilierence pre-

268 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

vails in regard to doctrines of faith which were formerly held to
be essential. Some examples will show this. Clirist is still made
a centre of faith in his quality as mediator and redeemer ; yet
what was formerly called the work of redemption has assumed a
very prosaic, merely psychological signification, and the essential
part of the old church doctrine has been obliterated, although the
edifying woi'ds are retained.

" Great energy of character, steadfastness in the conviction, for
which he would willingly give his life "—these are the general
categories through which Christ is dragged down to the general
level of human action (although not of common every-day ac-
tion) ; he is placed within the sphere of such actions as even
heathens like Socrates were capable of. There is no doubt that,
with many who hold this view, Christ remains the centre of faith
and worship in a deeper sense, but it is nevertheless true that on
the whole this [special] view limits Christianity to this direction
of worship, and neglects or fails to attach the proper importance
to the dogmas of the Trinity, of the Resurrection of the body, and
to the miracles in the Old and New Testaments. The divinity
of Christ, the dogmatic factor, that which is the distinguishing
and peculiar characteristic of the Christian religion, is put aside
or reduced to a generalization. Not only raticmalism does this,
but even the more pious theologians. The latter agree with the
former in saying that the Trinity is an innovation introduced into
Christian doctrine by the Alexandrian school, by the Neo-Platon-
ists. Even if it must be admitted that the fathers of the Church
studied Greek philosophy, it is nevertheless irrelevant here whence
this doctrine has come. The question is simply whether it is true
in and for itself; but this is not inquired into, although the dogma
is the basis and principle of Christian religion.

If a majority of tiiese theologians were compelled to state truth-
fully whether they consider the belief in the Trinity indispensably
necessary for salvation, and whether they believe that its lack
would lead to damnation, their answer cannot be doubtful.

Eternal salvation and eternal perdition, howes'er, are words
which are not to be used in polite society ; they are considered
app-qra, expressions which one would hesitate to use. There
may be a disinclination to deny the fact, but it would be embar-
rassing [for those persons] to be compelled to give a plain affirma-

Philosophy of Religion. 269

tive answer. It will be found that the dogmas have become very
much attenuated and shrunk in the doctrines of these theologians,
even wlieii there is an abunthincc of verbiage otherwise.

If we were to take for examination a hirge number of prayer-
books, books of worship, or collections of sermons, in which it
might be presumed that tlio principles of Christian religion are
set forth, and if we were called upon to express judgment on the
majority and to state whether in many of them the principles of
Christianity find orthodox expression, without ambiguity and re-
serve, our answer could not be in tlie least doubtful.

The importance which the principal doctrines of positive Chris-
tianity otherwise possessed when they were still considered prin-
cipal doctrines is never attached to them by the theologians (such
as their general culture is) except when these doctrines appear in
a mist of uncertainty and indetiniteness. Should philosophy ever
have been considered an opponent of the dogmas of the Church, it
can be an opjionent no longer when in public opinion those dogmas
to which it seemed pernicious are no longer valid. It should seem,
therefore, as if there could no longer be any apprehension of
danger in this direction from philosophy in its attempt to arrive
at a comprehension of these dogmas through contemplation, and
as if it might now approach them without fear since they have
lost 60 much as objects of interest for the theologians.

2. THE HISTOEIOAL TEEATMENT OF THE DOGMAS.

The most decided indication of the diminished importance of
these dogmas may be found in tlie fact tliat we see them treated
historically chiefly, and thereby represented as if they were con-
victions belonging to somebody else, as stories which do not repre-
sent events within the mind, and answer to none of its needs.

The whole interest seems to spend itself in studying the attitude
of others toward these dogmas, and [in showing] how they came
to assume it ; those theologians study the contingent origin and
form, but they marvel when they are asked the question what
conviction they entertain themselves in regard to tiiese dogmas.

This historical treatment slights the absolute origin which these
dogmas have in the depths of our own mind, and thus disregards
their necessity and truth for oursidves ; it devotes much zeal and
learning, not to the study of their content, but to that of tlie ex-

270 Tlie Journal of Sjjeculative Philosophy.

teriial features of the controversies which they called forth, and
of the passions arising in connection with their growth. The-
ology assigns to itself a low enough place thereby. If there is
to be no other but the historical conception of religion, those
theologians who have not risen above that standpoint appear to
us necessarily like clerks of some mercantile house, who keep ac-
count only of somebody else's wealth without having any property
of their own ; it is true that they receive a salary ; but their sole
merit is, that they serve others as recorders of their wealth. Such
theology no longer stands on the ground of thought, it no longer
occupies itself with the infinite thought in and for itself, but deals
with it merely as a finite fact, an opinion or notion, etc. The
truths with which history deals are those that loere, that were for
others, and not with truths which are the property of him who
occupies himself with them. Those theologians do not attain to
the true content, the cognition of God. They know as little of
God as tlie blind man knows of the picture whose frame he has
felt. All they know is how a certain dogma was framed l)y this
or that council, what reasons the framers advanced, and how the
one view or the other predominated. This is, indeed, connected
with religion, but it is not an inquiry into religion itself. They
give us ample information in regard to the history of the painter
of a certain painting, in regard to the fate of the picture, in re-
gard to the price it brought at various times, in regard to the
hands through which it has passed, but they never afford us a look
at the painting itself.

The main point in philosophy and religion is that the mind
(der Geist) should enter into a direct communion with the highest
interests ; that it should not deal with them as if they were things
alien to itself, but that it should discover in their essence its own
content and hold itself worthy of attaining their cognition. Then
only man will feel that his task is the cognition of the worth of
his own spirit, and that he need not stand humbly outside and
slyly sneak away [from this inquiry].

3. PHILOSOPHY AXD IMilEDIATE COGNITION.

On account of the lack of content in the standpoint which we
have been considering, it might appear that we have mentioned
the objections which it raises against philosophy for the sole pur-

Philosophy of lieliglon. 271

pose of statint; in opposition to it our intention of seeking to cog-
nize Goii, and tlius of doing the opposite of that which it considers
highest [wisnioni] ; but that otaniipoint has in its form a really
rational interest for us. If we consider this form, we find that the
recent position of theology is still more favorable to philosophy.
For with the idea that all o'ljective determinations converge and
coalesce within the inwardness of subjectivity the conviction is
connected that God reveals himself immediately in man, and that
religion is man's immediate knowledge or cognition of God ; this
immediate cognition is called reason, or faith — using this word in
another sense than tiiat in which the Church uses it. Tliis stand-
point asserts that the basis of all conviction and piety is, that the
consciousness of God is immediately present in the mind with the
consciousness of itself.

a. This assertion, taking it in its direct sense and without at-
tributing to it a polemic attitude toward philosophy, is looked
upon as needing neither evidence nor proof. This general idea —
which has at present become a prejudice — contains the quality or
determination (Bestimmung) that the highest or religious content
manifests itself in the spirit [of man], that Spirit manifests itself
in spirit — namely, in my own spirit ; and that this belief springs
from my innermost individuality, of which it is the most inalien-
able part. It is therefore inseparable from the consciousness of
pure spirit.

With the assertion that this knowledge is [not acquired but is
present and] immediate in ray soul, all external authority, all
other or alien evidence is discarded. In order that anything
should be valid for me, it nmst be credited and approved by my
spirit ; in order that I should believe, the evidence of my spirit is
required. It may, for all that, originate externally, for the ex-
ternal origin means notiiing in itself; but, if it is to be valid, such
validity can rest on no other foundation except on that which is
the basis of all truth — namely, on the testimony of spirit.

This principle is indeed the plain principle of philosophic cog-
nition itself; and philosophy not only does not reject it, but con-
siders it one of its own fundamental principles. Thus it may be
considered a profit, a piece of good fortune tiiat the fundamental
principles of philosophy live in the general mind, and have be-
come the general bias, in order tliat thereby the philosophic prin-

272 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ciple may gain more easily the approbation of the educated and
cultured in general. In this universal disposition of the times
philosophy has gained not only external favor — it does not care
for external advantages, and especially not where it and its teach-
ing are institutions of the State — but it is favored intrinsically if
its principle lives by its own force as a pre-supposition in the
minds and hearts.

i. The principle of immediate cognition does not stop at this
simple determinateness (Bestimmtheit), this unbiassed content;
it does not confine itself to affirmation, but enters upon a polemic
warfare against cognition, and, more particularly, against the cog-
nition and compreliension of God. It is asserted not only that
He must be believed in this manner and immediately known, nor
is the proposition simply that our consciousness of God is con-
nected with self-consciousness; but it is affirmed that our relation
to God is such an immediate one only. The immediateness of
[this] connection is taken in the sense of excluding the other de-
termination, that of mediation, and, accordingly, it is asserted
that philosophy, because it is mediated knowledge, is finite knowl-
edge oi the finite only.

Moreover, it is demanded that this immediateness of knowledge
should rest satisfied with knowing that God exists, and refrain
from seeking to know his nature. By this demand the content
and substance of the idea of God is negated. The meaning of
knowing or cognizing is not only that we know of an object that
it exists, but also that we know its nature ; and it means, further,
tiiat this knowledge of its nature consists of more than some sim-
ple information or certainty in regard to some qualities, but means
that the cognition of its determinations, characteristics, and con-
tent is full and valid, so as to include the cognition of the neces-
sity of the connection of these determinations.

A closer examination of the hypothesis of immediate cognition
shows [that it implies] that consciousness is related in such a man-
ner to its content that it and its content, [which is] God, are in-
separable. It is this relation in general — namely, the knowledge
of God and this inseparableness of consciousness from this con-
tent — that we call religion. This assertion involves, however, that
we should stop at the contemplation of religion as such, or at the
contemplation of the relation to God, and refrain from rising to

Philosoj>hy of Iteligion. 273

tlie cognition of God and of the divine content in its iniierent
essence.

In tiiis sense it is asserted, furtlior, we can know only our re-
lation to God, but never God himself; our relation to God, alone,
falls within the field of religion. This is the reason whj' so
inueli is said at the present day about religion, and yet no one
seeks to know what the nature of God is, or what God is in him-
self, and in what manner such nature should be determined. God,
as such, is not made the [subject of] study ; knowledge does not
seek to grow and increase within this subject, and does not eluci-
date distinct determinations therein, so that God might be con-
ceived as the relation of these determinations, and as self-relation.
It is not God that is placed before us as the object of cognition,
but solely our relation (Beziehung) to God, our connection (Ver-
haeltniss) with him ; less and less is said about the nature of God,
and only the demand remains that man should have religion, that
he should be content with having it, and not proceed to the cogni-
tion of its divine content.

c. If we look at the gist of the theory of immediate cognition,
at its direct meaning, [we shall find that] it expresses God in rela-
tion to consciousness, and maintains that this is an inseparable
relation, or, in otlier words, that both must be considered together.
This is, in the first place, an acknowledgment of the essential dif-
ference contained in the idea (Begrift") of religion, namely, sub-
jective consciousness on one side, and God, as self-exis ting object
(Gegenstund an sicli), on the other. And it contains, in the sec-
ond place, the assertion that there is an essential relation between
the two, and that this inseparable relation of religion, and not our
idea or opinion of God, is the main jjoint of importance.

The true pith of this assertion is the philosophical idea itself,
with this diftcrence, that the latter is restricted, by the hypothesis
of immediate cognition, to limits which philosophy removes, and
whose one-sidedness and untruth it exposes. According to the
))hilosophic conception, God is spirit and is concrete. If we now
raise the question as to what Spirit is, [the answer must bo given
that] the fundamental principle of spirit is that of which the whole
content of all religious doctrine is but the development and ampli-
fication. We may say for the present that [the characteristic of]
spirit is to manifest itself, to exist for spirit. Spirit exists for
XIX— 18

274 The Jownal of Speculative Philosophy.

spirit, not in an external, contingent way, but it is spirit in so
far only as it has existence for spirit; this constitutes the very
idea of spirit. Or, to express it in a more theological form, God
is essentially spirit when he is in his church. It has been
said that the world, the sensuous universe, presupposes spectators
and an existence for spirit ; how much more must God exist for
spirit.

For this reason our inquiry should not be a merely one-sided
study of the subject, according to its tinitude, or in its contingent
life, but we should study it in as far as it has the infinite and ab-
solute object for its content. For, when the subject is considered
in itself, it is considered in finite knowledge, within the knowledge
of the finite. It is likewise asserted that God, on the other side,
should not be considered by himself, since God is known only in
relation to consciousness. But the unity and inseparableness of
both determinations, of the cognition of God and of self -conscious-
ness, presuppose in themselves that which is meant by the word
identity, and the assertion therefore implies in itself that identity
which it dreads.

Thus we see that the fundamental principle of philosophy ap-
pears as a general element which permeates the culture of the
times, and it is evident here also that philosophy, in its form, is
not above the times by diftering absolutely from their general
determinateness [or character]. On the contrary, one spirit per-
meates reality as well as philosophic thinking, although the latter
remains the true self-comprehension of reality. It is one and the
same movement which underlies the times and their philosophy,
the only diiference being that the determinateness [or character]
of the times seems to exist contingently merely, without [rational]
justification, and that it may stand therefore in an irreconciled,
hostile relation to its truly essential content, while philosophy, on
the contrary, is a justification of the principle, and for this reason
is general pacification and conciliation. Similar to the reduction
by which the Protestant (lutherische = Lutheran) Eeformation
led faith back to the basis of the first centuries, the principle of
immediate cognition has reduced Christian knowledge to first
elements. At a first glance, the result of this reduction seems to
be the dissipation of the essential content ; but philosophy has
stepped in, and, recognizing that this principle of immediate cog-

Leibnitz's Critiqtie of Locke. 275

nition if^ itself the content, it proceeds to unfold it in its true de-
velopment within itself.

TIk" niiive simplii-ity of this opposition to philosophy is unlimit-
ed. Those very assertions which ure put forth to n)ilit:ite ajiainst
philosophy, and which seem to embody the most pointedly hostile
arfjument, are found, upon a closer inspection of their content, to
be in harmony with what they are intended to oppose. The re-
sult of an inspection and study of philosophy, on the other hand,
renders those partition-walls, which have been reared in order to
bring about absolute division, transparent, and, looking through
them, we see harmony where we expected to find the greatest pos-
sible contrast.

LEIBNITZ'S CRITIQUE OF LOCKE.

BEI.no a translation from TBE FUESCIl or LEIBNITZ BY ALFRED G. LANGI.ET.

new essays on human understanding.
Introductory Note.

The te.xt adopted as the basis of this translation is that of
C. J. Gerhardt, in his " Die philosophischen Schriften von G. W.
Leibniz," Berlin, 1875-'S2, of which up to the present time Vols. I,
II, IV, and V have appeared, Vol. V containing the ''Nouveaux
Essais." For the use of this edition I am indebted to the courtesy
of Harvard College Library. The texts of Erdmann (J. E.), " Leib-
nitii Opera Philosophica," Berlin, 1839- iO, and of Jacques (M. A.),
" (Euvres de Leibniz," Paris, 1842, have also been consulted.
The edition of the philosophical writings by P. Janet, two vols.,
Paris, 1800, I have not seen. These, with that of Raspe (K. E.),
Amsterdam and Leipsic, 1765, which has been used by the sub-
sequent editors, are the only known editions of the philosophical
works.

The three texts of whicli I liave made usediflfer very little from
one another in the cha])ter translated. The variations, so far as I
have noticed them, are chiefly verbal, and do not essentially, if at
all, modify the thought. The only important difference in the

276 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

text of this chapter between the edition of Gerhardt and those of
Erdmanii and Jacques consistsof a transposition in G. of a certain
portion of the text as given by E. and J. This transposition,
which I suppose to be due to Gerhardt's fidelity to the original
text of Leibnitz himself, is fully indicated in a note at the point in
the translation where it occurs, so that those who have not Ger-
hardt's text can easily make it up, "with the exception of the minor
verbal differences above alluded to, from that of E. or J., by fol-
lowing tlie indications given in said note. These slight textual
variations are ultimately due either to the autograph of Leibnitz —
which Erdmann (Preface, p. xxii) says is " written in such small
characters often, and so full of corrections, that it is very difBcult
to read it" (tarn parvis saepe Uteris conscriptum et coi-rectioni-
bus adeo abundans ut perdilBcile sit lectu) — or to certain changes
made for the purpose of improving the literary style of the author,
and of thus making his work more acceptable to his French read-
ers. With regard to Gerhardt's edition in general, the "■ Encyclo-
pedia Britannica," ninth edition, American reprint, vol. xiv, p.
423, b, says it " will, when finished, be the most complete." Merz
(J. T.), in his "Leibniz" in the "'Philosophical Classics for Eng-
lish Headers," published by William Blackwood and Sous, Edin-
burgh, 1884, calls it (Preface, p. vii) " the most important edition,"
and adds, '' it contains valuable introductions, and gives the cor-
respondence with eminent contemporaries. It is unfinished, and
hence incomplete, like all the other editions of the philosophical
works, but every student of Leibniz must eagerly look forward to
its completion."

Volume Y, " Leibniz and Locke," contains, besides the text of
the " Nouveaux Essais," an excellent introduction b}' the editor,
giving an outline of Locke's work, and an historical sketch of the
growth and publication of Leibnitz's reply, together with valuable
bibliographical and interesting historical notes throwing light upon
the relations of the two great authors, and their estimate of each
ether's labors. Some new material appears, viz. : "two fragments
of the year 1698, . . . here for the first time printed under the
superscription: 'Echantillon de Reflexions sur le I. Livre de
I'Essay de I'Entendement de I'homme. — Echantillon de Reflex-
ions sur le II. Livre ' " (Einleitung, S. 7) ; together with a sketch of
Locke's work made by Leibnitz on the occasion of the appearance

Leibnitz's VriUqiie of Locke. 277

of the French translation ot'M. Pierre Coete, 1700, for the " Monat-
liche Auszug" (September, 1700, p. <Ul-036), and thesnpplenicnt
of the tbllowinir year, 1701. "In tliis sketch Leibnitz discusses
two of tiie weijjjiitiest of Locke's atiditions, tilling two separate
chapters, viz. : Chapter 33 of the Second Book, wherein Locke treats
of the Association of Lleas, and then Chapter 19 of the Fourth
Book, in wliich he discourses of Entliusiasni" (Einleitung, S. 7).
This sketch, as the "Review" in which it appeared would indi-
cate, is in German.

Througli this French translation of Coste, made from the fourth
English edition and containing the additions wliioli Locke had
made to the preceding editions. Leibnitz first gained real access to
Locke's work. In a letter to Thomas Burnett, i7tli-27th July,
1696, Leibnitz says : " ' I could wish I had the same knowledge of
the English language '(as I have of the French); ' but, not having
had the occasion for it, all I can do is to understand passably the
books written in this language. And at tlie age at which I have
arrived, I doubt if I could ever make myself better acquainted with
it'" (Gerhardt's note, p. 7, Introduction). Leibnitz followed this
version in the comi)osition of his " Nouveaux Essais," as appears
from his letter to Coste of June 16, 1701 : "I have followed your
French version, because I thought it proper to write my remarks
in French, since nowadays this kintl of investigation is but little
in fashion in the Latin district " (part of Paris in the neighborhood
of the Sorbonne. — Spiers and Surenne's French Dictionary).

In conclusion, I translate the following paragraphs, together
with the appended notes, or so much of them as is necessary to
make clear or to substantiate the statements in the text, from the
Introduction of (ierhardt, as the best method of making known
the special merits of his edition, and the grounds upon which it
is adopted as the most reliable text.

Leibnitz "recognized the importance of its contents" (Locke 3
work) " in its fullest extent ; at the same time the extremely large
circulation and the univei"sal recognition, which expressed itselt
through the editions following each other iu rapid succession, must
have made upon him a deep impression. Evidently for these rea-
sons Leibnitz conceived the plan ot answering L'lcke's work with
a more extensive writing. It grew out of the often hastily-tlirown-
off remarks which he occasionally put on paper in the yeai-s fol-

278 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

lowing that of 1700, in which he was not permitted to undertake
any continuous work.' In order to obliterate the traces of this
method of work, Leibnitz considered it advisable, before he pub-
lished it, to submit his book, as to composition and style, to the
judgment of a native Frenchman. This revision was protracted
until the year 1705, as appears from a writing which has no signa-
ture." Anotlier delay occuri-ed by reason of tlie fact that Leibnitz
in the following year, 1706, entered into correspondence with
Pierre Coste, the translator of Locke's work ; he told hina (April
20, 1707) that the translation of Locke itself would be examined
and furnished with important improvements ; he might give him
(Leibnitz) the urgent advice to put off the publication of his work
until he obtained a knowledge of these changes of Locke. This
further consideration, that he learned of the dissenting opinions of
Locke in his correspondence with Molyneux, as also Locke's death,
which had already followed in the year 1704, altered Leibnitz's
original plan.

" In order to obtain an easier entrance for his own ideas, and at
the same time to make his reader familiar with those of Locke,
Leibnitz had composed his work in the form of a dialogue. Two
friends, Philalethes and Theophilus, converse together; the first
states the views of Locke, the second joins thereto his own (Leib-

' " I have maJe these remarks in the leisure hours when I was travelling or at Herren-
hausen, where I could not apply myself to researches which required more care " (hesoin
in sense of soin ?).

- " The frequent diversions to which I have been exposed have prevented me from push-
ing forward my remarks. Besides, I have been obliged to divide my time between the
reading of your work and the commissions with which I have been entrusted by the
Count de Schwerin, of which I must give account to him. You will find few remarks
upon this paper ; but I have taken the liberty of changing in the work itself a large
number of places in reference to which 1 did not at all hesitate when I saw that I could
do this without disarranging the rest of the writing. I have not touched what is prop-
erly called the style ; but the confidence n ith which you have honored me obliges me to
say to you here that it greatly needs amendment, and that you seem too much to have
neglected it. You know, sir, to what excess our French people have carried their well-
or ill-founded delicacy. Too long periods are distasteful; an And (Et) or some other
word too often repeated in the same period offends them ; unusual constructions embar-
rass them ; a trifle, so to speak, shocks them. However, it is proper to accommodate
yourself to their taste if you wish to write in their language ; and, in case you should de-
cide to print your work, I believe you will do well to retouch it with a little more sever-
ity. 1 am certain that you will not be displeased at the freedom with which I speak
to you, since it comes from a person devoted to your service." — February 2, 1Y05.

Leihnitz's Critique of Locke. 270

nitz's) remarks. This form of composition Leibnitz thought of
abandoning. He writes to Thomas Burnett, Mav 26, 17i>C : 'Tlie
deatii of Locke has taken away my desire to publish my remarks
upon his works. I prefer now to publish my thoughts indepen-
dently of those of another.' On the other hand, he remarks, well-
nigh it seems in tlic opposite sense, to the same, three years later,
Mav 12, 1700: ' Mv remarks upon the excellent work of Locke
are almost finished ; although we are not of the same opinion, I
do not cease to value it and to find it valuable.'

" Leibnitz's work remained, iu form at least, unfinished ; a mag-
nificent torso, and unpublished. He turned to the composition
of the ' Theodicy.' For the first time, fifty years after his death,
it was sent to the press in ' (Euvres Piiilosophiquus latines et
fran^oises de feu Mr. de Leibnitz. Tirees de ses manuscrits qui
se conservent dans la bibliotheque Royale k Hanovre, ct publiees
par Mr. Kud. Eric. Kaspe. Avec une Preface de Mr. Kaestiier,
Professeur en Mathematiques a Gottingen. A Amsterdam et a
Leipzig, 1765.' The present impression has been newly compared
with the original, so far as it is still extant.' The corrections in
reference to the style proposed by the native Frenchman are not
taken into consideration, in order not to obliterate Leibnitz's style
of expression ; they relate, indeed, only to the first books."

One sentence from the letter of Leibnitz to Coste, June 16, 1707,
as significant of his character and illustrative of his spirit, more
truth-loving than polemical, shall bring this note, already too long,
to an end. It is this: Mon but a este plustost d'eclaircir les
choses, que de refuter les sentimens d'autruy — i. e., my jnirpose
has been to throw light upon things rather than to refute the
opinions of another. — Translator.

Book I. — Innate Ideas.

CUAI'TKR L

Are there Innate Principles in the Mind of Man ?
PhilaU'th'-s. Having recrossed the sea after having finished my
business in England, I thought at once of ]iaying you a visit, sir,

' In the original, Leibnitz lias enclosed the words of Pliilalctlies, who states the views
of Locke, in [], perliaps as an indication that they arc not his own. Raspe has omitted
them. — Geriiahdt's Notk. In this translation (Jerhardt's use of [] has been strictly
followed.— Tb.

280 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

in order to cultivate our former frieiidsliip, and to converse upon
matters which lie close to onr hearts, and upon which I believe I
have acquired some new liglit during my long stay in London.
When we were living formerly quite near each other at Ainstei'-
dani we both took much pleasure in making researches into the
principles and into the means of penetrating into the heart of
things. Although our opinions often ditfered, this diversity in-
creased our satisfaction, when, in our conference together, without
the contrariety which has sometimes existed, there has mingled
nothing disagreeable. You were for Descartes and for the opinions
of the celebrated author of the " Search after Truth," and I found
the opinions of Gassendi, cleared up by Bernier, easier and more
natural. ~Sow I feel mj'self greatly strengthened by the excellent
work which an illustrious Englishman, with whom I have the
honor of a particular acquaintance, has since published, and which
has several times been reprinted in England, under the modest title
of " An Essay Concerning Human Understanding." And I am
delighted that it has appeared lately in Latin and in French, in
order that it may be more generally useful. T have greatly prof
ited by the reading of this work, and indeed from the conversa-
tion of the author, with whom T have talked often in London, and
sometimes at Gates, at tiie house of my Lady Masham, worthy
daughter of the celebrated Cudworth, a great English philosopher
and theologian, author of the " Intellectual System," from whom
she has inherited the spirit of meditation and the love for good
learning, which appeared particularly in the friendship which she
kept n\y with the author of the Essay. And, as he had been at-
tacked by some clever Doctors, I took pleasure in reading also the
defence which a very wise and very intelligent young lady made
for him, besides those which he made for himself. This author
writes in the spirit of the system of Gassendi, which is at bottom
that of Democritus ; he is for void and for atoms ; he believes that
matter could think ; that there are no innate ideas, that our mind
is a tahda rasa, and that we do not always think ; and he appears
disposed to approve the most of the objections which Gassendi has
made to Descartes. He has enriched and strengthened this system
by a thousand beautiful retlections; and I do not at all doubt that
now our party triumphs boldly over its adversaries, the Peripa-
tetics and the Cartesians. This is why, if you have not yet read

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 281

this book, I invite you to do so, and, if von have read it, I ask you
to pive me your opinion of it.

Theophilm. I rejoice to see you, on your return alter a lon<; ab-
sence, liappy in tlie conclusion of your important business, full of
healtli, steadfast in your friendship for me, and always transported
with an ardor c(pial to the search for tlie most important truths.
I no less have coiitiiiueil my nioditatidiis in the same spirit, and I
believe I have profited as much as, and, not to flatter myself, perhaps
more than yourself. Indeed, my need therein was srreater than
yours, for you were more advanced than I. You were more con-
versant with speculative pliilosophers, and I was more inclined
toward ethics. But I have learned more and more how ethics re-
ceives strength from the solid principles of true ])]iilosophy ; there-
fore I have lately studied these principles more diligently, and have
begun meditations quite new. So that wc shall have the means of
giving ourselves a reciprocal pleasure of long duration in communi-
cating the one to the other our solutions. But it is necessarv for me
to tell you anew that I am no longer a Cartesian, and that, neverthe-
less, I am farther removed than ever from your Gassendi, whose
knowledge and merit I elsewhere recognize. I have been im-
pressed with a new system, of which I have read something in the
" Journaux des Savans " of Paris, Leipzig, and Holland, and in
the marvellous Dictionary of Bayle, article •' Rorarius " ; and since
then I believe I see a new aspect of the interior of tilings. This
system appears to unite Plato and Deinocritus, Aristotle and
Descartes, the scholastics with the moderns, theology and ethics
with the reason. It seems to take the best from all sides, and
then it goes nnich farther than any has yet gone. I find an intel-
ligible explanation of the unidn of soul and body, of which I had
before this despaired. I find the true principles of things in the
Units of Substance, which this system introduces, and in their
pre-established harmony in the primitive Substance. I find a
simplicity and a wonderful uniformity, so that you can say that
this substance is everywhere and always the same thing, by degrees
aijproaching perfection. I see now what Plato meant when he
assumed matter to be an existence imperfect and transitory ; wliat
Aristotle meant by his Entelechy ; what that promise is of another
life which Deniocritus even made at the house of Pliny; how far
the Sceptics were riglit in declaiming against the senses ; how

282 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

aniaials are in fact automatons following Descartes, and how they
have, nevertheless, souls and feeling according to the opinion of
mankind ; how it is necessary to explain rationally those who have
lodged life and perception in all things, as Cardan, Campanella,
and, better than these, the late Madame the Countess de Conna-
way, a Platonist, and our friend, the late Francis Mercure van
Helmont (although elsewhere bristling with unintelligible para-
doxes), with his friend the late Henry More. How the laws of
nature (a good part of which were unknown before this system)
have their origin in principles superior to matter, and which,
nevertheless, play their part entirely mechanically in matter, in
which the spiritualizing autliors I just named have erred with
their Ai'chaei,' and even the Cartesians, in believing that immate-
rial substances altered if not the force at least the direction or
determination of the movements of the body, instead of the soul
and the body observing perfectly each its own laws, according to
the new system, and that each, nevertheless, obeys the other as
much as is necessary. In fine, it is since I have contemplated this
system that I have found that the souls of beasts and their sensa-
tions are in no sense prejudicial to the immortality of human souls,
or rather how nothing is more suited to establish our natural im-
mortality than to conceive that all souls are imperishable {niorte
carent animae), without, however, the fear of metempsychoses,
since not only the souls, but, further, the animals endure and will
endure living, feeling, acting ; it is everywhere as hei-e, and al-
ways and everywhere as with us, following what I have already
said to you. If only the conditions of animals are more or less
perfect and developed, without there ever being a need of sonls

' "Archie, s. f. Terme de physiologie ancienne. Principe immaterial different de
r^me intelligent et qu'oa snpposait presider il tons les phiinomenes de la vie mat6-
rielle." Littr^.

" Archaeus, n. [L. L. archaeus, fr. Gr. arche, beginning.] A term used especially by
Paracelsus and Van Helmont, and signifying the vital principle which presides over the
growth and continuation of living beings ; the principle or power which presides over
every particle of organized bodies, and to which it gives form ; an immaterial principle
existing in the seed prior to fecundation."

The Imperial Dictionary of the English Language, a Complete Encyclopedic Lexicon,
Literary, Scientific, and Technological. By .John Ogilvie, LL. D. New edition, carefully
revised and greatly augmented, edited by Charles Annandale, M. A. London: Blackie &
Son. The Century Company, New York. 4 vols. 1883. — Tr.

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 288

wlioUj separate, while we nevertheless have always spirits as pure
as possible, the origans do not hinder us, which we should not be
aware of as disturbing- bj any inducncc the laws of our spontane-
ity. I find void and atoms, though otherwise excluded by the
sophistry of the Cartesians, grounded in the pretended coincidence
of the idea of body and extension. I see all things determined
and adorned beyond everything that one has hitherto conceived ;
organic matter everywhere, nothing void, sterile, slighted, nothing
too uniform, everything varied, but with order; and, what passes
imagination, the entire universe in epitome, but with a different
aspect in each of its parts, and likewise in each one of its units
of substance. Besides this new analysis of things, I have a better
comprehension of that of notions or ideas, and of truths. I under-
stand what idea is, true, clear, distinct, adequate, if I dare adopt
this word. I understand what are the primitive truths, the true
axioms, the distinction between necessary truths and truths of fact,
the reasoning of men and the thought-consecutions of animals,
which are a shadow as compared with that of man. Finally, you
will be surprised to hear all that I say to you, and, above all, to
understand how much the knowledge of the grandeur and of the
jjerfections of God is therein exalted. For I should not know liow
to conceal from you, for wjiom I have had nothing concealed, how
I have been thrilled now with admiration and (if we may dare to
make use of the term) with love for this sovereign source of things
and of beauty, having found that what this system discovers sur-
passes everytliing one has hitherto conceived. You know that I
had gone a little too far elsewhere, and that I commenced to lean
toward the side of the Spinozists, who allow God only an infinite
power, without recognizing either perfection or wisdom in his case,
and regarding with contempt the search for final causes, deriving
cvcrvthin£r trom brute necessitv. But these new lights have cured
me of this ; and since then I sometimes take the name of Theophi-
lus. I have read the book of this celebrated Englishman of whom
you have just spoken. I value it highly, and I have found in it
some good things. But it seems to me necessary to go much far-
ther, and necessary even to turn aside from his views, since he has
made more of our limits than is necessary, and lowered a little not
only the condition of man, but, besides, tliat of tlie universe.
Ph. You astonish me in fact with all the marvels whii-h vou

284: The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

have recited to me in a manner a little too assuming for an easy
credence of them on my part. However, I will hope that there
will be something solid among so many novelties with which you
desire to regale me. In this case you will find me very docile.
You know that it was always my disposition to surrender myself
to reason, and that I sometimes took the name of Philalethes.
This is why, if you please, we will now make use of these two
names which are so congruous with our mental constitution and
methods. There are means of proceeding to the trial, for — since
you have read the book of the celebrated Englishman, which
gives me so much satisfaction and which treats a good part of the
subjects of which you were just speaking, and, above all, the
analysis of our ideas and knowledge — it will be the shortest way
to follow the thread of this work, and to see what you will have
to say.

Th. I approve your proposition. Here is the book.

§ 1. Ph. [I have read this book so well that I have retained
some of it even to the expressions, which I shall be careful to fol-
low. Thus I shall not need to recur to the book, as in some en-
counters where we sball judge it necessary. We shall speak first
of the origin of ideas or notions (Book I), then of the different
kinds of ideas (Book II), and of the words that serve to express
them (Book III), lastly of the knowledge and truths which therein
result (Book IV) ; and it is this last part which will occupy us tiie
most. As for the origin of ideas, I believe, with this author and a
multitude of clever persons, that there are no innate ideas nor in-
nate principles.] And, in order to refute the error of those who
admit them, it is sufficient to show, as it appears eventually, that
there is no need of them, and that inen can acquire all their
knowledge without the aid of any innate impression.

Th. [You know, Philalethes, that I have been for a long time
of another opinion ; that I have always held, as I do still hold, to
the innate idea of God, which Descartes has supported, and as a
consequence to the other innate ideas, which could not come to us
from the Senses. Now, I go still farther in conformity to the new
system, and I believe even that all the thoughts and acts of our
soul come from its own depths, without a possibility of their be-
ing given to it through the Senses, as you are going to see in the
sequel. But at present I will put this investigation aside, and,

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 285

accommodating myself to received expressions, since in fact tbey
are good and tenable, and one can say in a certain sense that the
external Senses are in part causes of our tliouglits. I will consider
bow one should say in my opinion, still according to the common
system (speaking of the action of the body upon the soul, as the
Copcriiicans speak witli otlier men of the movement of the sun,
and with cause), tiiat there are some ideas and some priiiciides
which do not come to us from the Senses, and which we tind in
ourselves without forming them, although the Senses give us occa-
sion to perceive them. I believe that your clever author has re-
marked that under the name of innate principles one often main-
tains his ju-ejudices, wishes to free himself from tlie trouble of dis-
cussion, and that this abuse will have stirred up ids zeal against
this supposition. He will have chosen to combat the indolence
and the sui)erficial manner of thinking of those who, under the
specious pretext of innate ideas and of truths naturally engraved
upon the mind, to which we readily give our consent, care noth-
ing about investigating or considering the sources, the relations,
and the certainty of this knowledge. In that I am entirely agreed
with him, and I go even farther. I would that our analysis
should not be limited, that definitions should be given of all the
terms which are capable of detiidtion, and that one should demon-
strate, or give tiie means of demonstrating, all the axioms which are
not primitive, without distinguishing the opinions which men have
of them, and without a care whether they give their consent or
not. There would be more profit in this than one thinks. But it
seems that the author has been carried too far on the other side
bv his zeal, otherwise very ]>raisewortliy. He has not sufficiently
distinguished, in my opinion, the origin of those necessary truths
whose source is in the understanding from that of those truths of
fact which one obtains from the exi)erience of the Senses, and
even those confused perceptions which are in us. You see, then)
that I do not agree with what you lay down as fact — that we can
acquire all our knowledge without the need of innate impressions.
And the sequel will show which of us is right.]

§ 2. Ph. We shall see it indeed. I grant you, my dear Theophi-
lus, that, there is no opinion more commonly received than that
which establishes that there are certain principles of truth in
which men generally agree; this is why they are called General

286 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Notions, KOival evvoiai; whence one infers that those principles
must be so many impressions which our minds receive with their
existence. § 3. But though it slioukl be certain that there are
some principles with which the entire liunian race lives in accord,
this universal consent would not prove that they are innate if one
can show, as I believe he can, another way through which men
have been able to reach this uniformity of opinion. § -t. But,
what is much worse, this imiversal consent is nowhere found, not
even with regard to these two celebrated speculative principles
(for we shall speak about the practical ones later), that what-
ever is, is ; and that it is impossible for a thing to be and not
to be at the same time. For there is a large part of the hu-
man race to which these two propositions, which will pass doubt-
less for necessary truths and for axioms with you, are not even
known.

Th. [I do not ground the certainty of innate principles upon uni-
versal consent, for I have already told you, Philalethes, that my
opinion is that one ought to labor to be able to demonstrate all
the axioms which are not primitive. I grant you also that a con.
sent very general, but which may not be universal, can come from a
tradition diffused through the whole human race, as the practice of
smoking tobacco has been received by nearly all peoples in less than
a century, although there have been found some islanders who, not
being acquainted with tire even, were unable to smoke. It is
thus that some clever people, even among theologians, hut of the
party of Arminius, have believed that knowledge of the Deity
came from a very ancient or very general tradition ; and I am
willing to believe indeed that instruction has confirmed and recti-
fied this knowledge. It appears, however, that nature has con-
tributed aid to lead us thither without the doctrine ; the marvels
of the universe have made lis think of a superior power. One
has seen a child born deaf and dumb show veneration for the full
moon, and one has found nations, that he did not see had learned
anything of other peoples, fearing itivisible powers. I grant you,
my dear Philalethes, that this is not yet the idea of God that we
have and ask for ; but this idea even is not allowed to be in the
depths of our souls without being put there, as we shall see, and
the eternal laws of God are there in part engraved in a manner
still more legible and through a species of instirtct. But there are

Leibnitz' 8 Critique of Locke. 287

practical principles of which we shall have also occasion to speak.
It must be admitted, however, that the inclin.ition we have to
rccuiTiiize the idea of God is in human nature. And, thouirh
one sliould attribute the tirst instruction therein to revelation, the
readiness which men have always sho\\ n tn receive this doc-
trine comes from the nature of their souls.' lint we will suppose
that these ideas which are innate comprehend incompatible no-
tions.

§ 10. Ph. Altiioufjh you maintain that these particular and
self-evident propositions, whose truth is recognized as soon as one
hears them stated (as that green is not red), are received as conse-
quences of these other more general propositions, wliicii are re-
garded as so many innate principles, it seems that you do not at
all consider that tiiese particular propositions are received as in-
d\ibitable truths by those who have no knowledge of these more
general maxims.

Th. I have already replied to that above. One builds on these
general maxims as one builds upon the majors, which are sup-
pressed when you reason through entliymenies ; for, although very
often one does not think distinctly of what he does in reasoning
any more than of what he does in walking and leaping, it is al-
ways true that the force of the conclusion consists in part in that
which is suppressed and could not come from any other place,
which you will find whenever you are pleased to justify the state-
ment.

§ '10. Ph. But it seems that general and abstract ideas are more

' From this point ou Gcibardt, wliose eJition, it will be rcinembeicd, is tlic basis of the
present translation, transposes the text as given by Erdmann and .lacques as follows :
J/au notu juijcrorui que rn iileen qui mnt inneef, renfennent dea notions incompatihlen, the
first three words of which will be found in Ei-dniinn, p. 207, b., about two thirds down
the page, Jacciucs, vol. i, p. 29, about two thirds down, the remainder in Erdmann, p.
211, a., at the middle of the page, Jawiues, p. 30, first third, just preceding 5; 19 in each
case, whence the three texts go on in agreement until ^ 26, G., p. 72, E., p. 212, b., J.,
p. 39. Here the (Jerhanlt text has the following: S'il ;i a de» verilh inneen, ne fnul il
pan i/u'il 1/ iiit ijfint In Kuite, que la doctrine ezteriie ne fait qn'exciter icy ce que eat at nous •
taking up with the words dnn» la mite, the text as given by E., p. 207, b., J., p. 29,
where it previously left it, the three texts continuing again in agreement until the words
dis qu'on s'apperfoit, G., p. 79, last third, E., 211, «., at the middle, J., 36, first third,
whence G. completes his sentence with the last three words of the first sentence of
§ 28, as given by E., 212, b., J., 89, from which point again the three texts substantially
agree to the end of Chapter 1. — Tr.

288 • The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

foreign to our mind [than notions and particular truths; conse-
quently particular truths will be more natural to the mind than
the principle of contradiction, of vvliicli you admit they are only
the application].

Th. It is true that we commence sooner to perceive particular
truths when we commence witli ideas more complex aiid more
gross ; but that does not prevent the order of nature I'j'om com-
mencing with the most simple, and tlie proof of the more particu-
lar truths from depending upon the more general, of which >they
are only examples. And when one is willing to consider what is
in us virtually and before all apperception, one has reason to com-
mence with the most simple. For general principles enter into
all our thoughts, of which they form the soul and the connective.
They are as necessary as the muscles and sinews are for walking,
although one does not at all think of them. The mind leans upon
these principles every moment, but it does not come so easily to
distinguisii them and to represent them distinctly and separately,
because that demands great attention to its acts, and the majority
of people, little accustomed to think, has little of it. Have not
the Chinese articulate sounds as we? and yet, being attached to
another manner of writing, they have not yet thought of making
an alphabet of these sounds. Tlius it is that one possesses many
thiny;s without knowin^j; it.

§ 21. Ph. If tlie mind acquiesces so promptly in certain truths,
cannot that acquiescence come from the consideration even of the
nature of things, which does not allow it to judge of them other-
wise, rather than from the consideration that these propositions
are engraved by nature in the mind ?

Th. Both are true. The nature of things and the nature of
mind agree. And since you oppose the consideration of the
thing to the apperception of tliat which is engraven in the mind,
this objection even shows that those whose side you take do not
understand by innate truths what one would approve naturally
as by instinct, and even without knowing how confusedly he does
it. There are some of this nature, and we shall have occasion
to speak of them. But what is called the light of nature sup-
poses a distinct knowledge, and very often the consideration of the
nature of things is nothing else than the knowledge of the nature
of our mind, and of these innate ideas which one has no need to

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 289

seek outsiilt'.' I luive alreiuly rt'iilied (§ 5) to the objection (§ 22)
which intended, wlien one says tliat innate notions are implicitly
in tlio mind, that the statement slionld sii^niity only that there is
the ability to know tiiem, tor I have already remarked tliat be-
sides that there is the power of finding tiiem in itself, and the
disposition to approve tluMu whenever it thinks of them as neces-
sary.

§ 23. Ph. It seems, then, tliat you su])pose that those to whom
one proposes these general maxims for the first time learn nothing
which is entirely new to them. But it is clear that they learn
first the names, then the truths, and even the ideas upon which
tliese truths rest.

Th. The question here is not of names, which are in some sense
arbitrary, while ideas and truths are natui-al. But, with respect
to these ideas atnl truths, you attribute to us, sir, a doctrine which
we have strongly re|>udiated ; for 1 agree tliat we learn ideas and
innate trutiis either in considering their source, or in verifvinof
them tiirough experience. Tims I do not make tiie supposition
which you aver, as if, in the case of which you speak, we learned
nothing new. And I would not admit this ])roposition : all that
one learns is not innate. The truths of numbers are in us, and
one is not left to learn them, either by drawing them from their
source when one learns them through demonstrative proof (which
shows that they are innate), or in testing them in examples, as is
done by ordinary arithmeticians, who, in default of a knowledge
of the i)roofs, learn their rules only by tradition, and, at most,
before teaching them, justify them by experience, which they con-
tinue as far as they think expedient. And sometimes even a very
skilful mathematician, not knowing the source of the discovery of
another, is obliged to content himself with this method of induc-
tion in examining it; as did a celebrated writer at Paris, when
I was there, wlio continued a tolerably long time the examina-
tion of my arithmetical tetragonism, comparing it with the num-
bers of Ludolphe, believing he had found there some error ; and he
had reason to doubt until some otic communicated to him the

' Erdinanii's ami Jiiciiiies's text Ima the following ajditioual sentence: Aiusi j'appelle
inn6es Ics v6rit6.i, qui n'ont besoin que de eette eonsid6ration pour etre verifi<!es ; i. c,
thus I call iniinte the truths which have no hiccd of this consideration for their verifi-
cation. — Th.

XIX-ll)

290 The Journal of Speculative Pldlosophy.

denionstratioH, which dispenses for us with these tests, which
could always continue without ever being perfectly certain. And
it is the same thing to know the imperfection of inductions, which
one can verify by instances of experience. For there are jirogres-
sions in whicii one can go -vqv^ far before noticing the changes
and the laws that are found there.

Ph. But is it not possible that not only the terms or words
which we use, but even the ideas, come to us from without ?

Th. It would then be necessary that we should be ourselves
even outside of ourselves, for the intellectual or reflective ideas
are derived from onr mind ; and I should much like to know how
we could have the idea of being if we were not beings oiu'selves,
and did not thus find being in ourselves.

Ph. But what do you say to this challenge of one of my
friends? If any one, says he, can find a proposition whose ideas
are innate, that he can name to me, he would do me a very great
favor.

Th. I would name the propositions of arithmetic and geometry,
which are all of this nature ; and, in point of necessary truths, one
could not tind others.

§ 25. Ph. That will appear strange to most people. Can you
say that the most diflicult and the most profound sciences are
innate %

Th. Their actual knowledge is not, but much that you may call
virtual knowledge, like the figure traced by the veins of the mar-
ble, is in the marble, before one discovers them in working.

Ph. But is it possible that children, while receiving notions that
come to them from without, and giving them their consent, may
have no knowledge of those which you suppose to be inborn with
them, and to make, as it were, a part of their mind, in which they
are, you say, imprinted in ineffaceable characters in order to serve
as a foundation ? If that were so, Nature would have taken trouble
for nothing, or, at least, she would have badly engraved their
characters, since they would not be perceived by the eyes which
see very well other things.

Th. The apperception of that which is in us depends upon at-
tention and order. liow, not only is it possible, but it is even
proper, that children give more attention to the notions of sense,
liecause the attention is regulated by the need. The outcome,

Leibnit£s Cn'iifue of Locke. 291

however, sliows in the seijuel that Xiiture has not gi\-eii her-
self useless trouble to impress upon us innate knowledge, since
without it there would he no means of t-ominj^ to the actual
knowledj^e of necessary trutiis in the demonstrative sciences,
and to the reasons of facts; and we should uot be above the
beasts.

§ 26. P/i. It' tliorc are innate truths, does it not ueeeisarilj fol-
low that the external doctrine only can stir up here what is in us ?
I conclude that a consent sufficiently general among men is an
indication, and not a demonstration, of an innate principle ; but
that the exact and decisive proof ot these principles consists in
showing that their certitude comes only from what is in us. To
reply further to what you say against the general approbation
whicii is given to the two great speculative principles, which are,
nevertheless, the best established, I can say to you that if they
could not be known they would not be innate, because they are
recognized as soon as heard ; hut 1 wi)uld add further that at bot-
tom everybody knows them, and that you make use every moment
of the principle of contra<Hction (for example) without consider-
ing it distinctly; and there is no barbarian wiio, in an affair of
any moment, is not offended by the conduct of a liar who contra-
dicts himself. Tlius, tliese maxims are employed without au ex-
press consideration of them. And it is about the same as if you
have virtually in the mind the propositions suppressed in enthy-
memes, which are laid aside not only outside, but further in our
thought.

§ 5. J'/i. [What you say of this virtual knowledge and of these
internal sujipressions surprises me] ; for to say that there are truths
imprinted upon the soul which it does not perceive is, it seems to
me, a veritable contradiction.

T/i. [If 3'ou are thus prejudiced, I am not astonished that you
reject innate knowledge. But I am astonished that the thought
has not occurred to you that we have an infinity of knowledge
which we do not always perceive, not even when we need it. It
is for the memory to guard this, and for the reminiscence to repre-
sent tiiem to us, as it often, but not always, does at need. That is
very well called remembrance (subvenire), for reminiscence needs
some aid. And it is well that in this multitude of our knowledge
we are deterniineil by something to renew one rather than another.

292 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

since it is impossible to think distinctly all at once of everything
we know.]

Ph. In that I believe you are right ; and this too general affirma-
tion, that we always perceive all the truths which are in our soul,
escaped nie without my having given it sulBcient attention. But
you will have a little more trouble in replying to what I am going
to show you. That is, that if you can say of some pai'ticular ])ro-
positiou that it is innate, you could maintain by the same reason-
ing that all propositions which are reasonable, and which the mind
could always regard as such, are already impressed upon the soul.

Th. I agree with you in regard to pure ideas, which I oppose
to the phantoms of the senses, and in regard to necessary truths,
or those of the reason, which I oppose to truths of fact. In this
sense it should be said that all arithmetic and all geometry are
innate, and are in iis virtually, so that one can find them there in
cousidering attentively and setting in order what he already has
in the mind, without making use of any truth learned through ex-
perience or through the tradition of another, as Plato has shown
in a dialogue in which he introduces Socrates leading a child to
abstract truths by questions alone without giving him any in-
formation. One can then make for himself these sciences in his
study, and even with closed eyes, without learning through sight
or even through touch the truths which he needs ; although it is
true that he would not look upon the ideas in question if he had
never seen or touched anything. For it is through an admirable
economy of nature that we could not have abstract thoughts which
have no need whatever of anything sensible, when that would only
be of such a character as are the forms of the letters and the sounds,
although there is no necessary connection between such arbitrary
characters and such thoughts. And if the sensible outlines were
not requisite, the pre-established harmony between soul and body,
of which I shall have occasion to speak more fully, would have no
place. But that does not prevent the mind from taking necessary
ideas from itself. You see also sometimes how it can go far
without any aid, by a logic and arithmetic purely natural, as this
Swedish youth who, in cultivating his own (soul), went so far as to
make great calculations immediately in his head without having
learned the common method of computation, nor even to read and
write, if I remember correctly what has been told me of him. It

Zeibnits^a Critique of Locke. 293

is true tliat lie eaiiiiut work out cross-grained problems, such as
those wliieh demand the extraction of roots. But that does not
at ail prevent liim from being able still to draw them from its
depths by some new turn of mind. Thus tiiat proves only that
there are degrees in tlie difficulty of perceiving wh;it is in us.
There are innate principles which are common and very easy to
all ; tliere are theorems whicli are discovered likewise at once, and
which compose tlie natural sciences, vvhicii are more understood
in one case than in another. Finally, in a larger sense, whicii it is
well to employ in order to iiave notions more comprehensive and
more determinate, all truths which can be drawn from primitive
innate knowledge can still be called innate, because the mind can
draw them from its own depths, although olten it would not be
an easv thing so to do. But, if any one gives another meaning to
the terras, I do not wish to dispute about words.

Ph. [I have agreed with you that you can have in the soul
what you do not perceive there, for you do not always remember
in the nick of time all that you know, but it must he always what
one has learned or has known in former times expressly. Thus]
if you can say that a thing is in tiie soul, although the soul has not
yet known it, that can only be because it has the capacity or faculty
of knowing it.

Ih. [Why could not that have still another cause, such as the
soul's being able to have this thing within it without its being per-
ceived ? for since an acipiired knowledge can there be concealed
by tlie memory, as you admit, why could not nature have also
concealed there some original knowledge? iliist everything that
is natural to a substance wluL-h knows itself be known by it actu-
ally at once i Cannot and ought not this substance (such as our
soul) to have inanj' properties and atfections which it is impossible
to consider all at once and all together^ It was the opinion of the
Platonists that all our knowledge w.us reminiscence, and that thus
the truths which the soul has brought with the birth of the man,
and whicii are ciilled innate, nmst be the remains of an express
anterior knowledge. But this opinion has no foundation ; and it
is easy to believe that the soul should already have innate knowl-
edge in the precedent state (if there were any pre-existence), some
remote state in which it could exist, entirely as here : it should
then also come from another precedent state, where it would be

294 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

iiiiallj innate, or at least concreate; or else it would be needful
to go to infinity and to make souls eternal, in which case this
knowledge would be innate in fact, because it would never have
commenced in the soul; and if any one contends that each ante-
rior state has had something from another more previous, which
it has not left to the following, the reply will be made that it is
manifest that certain evident truths must have been in all these
states, and in such a manner that you may assume that it is always
clear in all states of the soul that necessary truths are innate, and
can ])i'ove by what is within that they cannot be established tlirough
experience, as you establish thereby truths of fact. Wh}- should it
be, also, that you could have no possession in the soul of which you
might never be aware? And is it the same thing to have a thing
without knowing it as to have only the faculty of acquiring it?
If that were so, we should possess ever only those things which
■we enjoy ; instead of whicli, yon know that, besides the faculty
and the object, some disposition in tiie faculty or in the object,
and in both, is often necessary, that tlie faculty may exercise itself
uj>on the object.]

PJi. Taking it in that way, one could say that there are truths
written in tlie soul which the soul has, however, never known,
and which, indeed, even it will never know. That appears to me
strange.

Th. [I see there no absurdity, although in tliat case you could
not be assured that there are such truths. For things more exalted
than those which we can know in this present course of life can
be developed some time in our souls, when they will be in another
state.]

Ph. But sujtpose there are truths which could be imprinted
upon the understanding without its perceiving them ; I do not see
how, in relation to their origin, they could differ from the truths
which it is only capable of knowing.

Th. The mind is not only capable of knowing them, but further
of iinding them in itself; and, if it had only the simple capacity
of receiving knowledge, or the passive power for that, as inde-
terminate as tiiat which the wax has of receiving figures and tlie
blank paper of receiving letters, it would not be the source of
necessary truths, as I have just shown that it is; for it is incon-
testable that the senses do not suffice to show necessity, and that

Ze'ihmtz's Critique of Locke. 295

thus the mind h.is a disposition (active as well as passive) to draw
these for itself even from its own dej^tli^j, altlu)u<;]i the senses would
be necessary to give it the occasion and the attention for the same,
and to carry it to the one rather than to the other. You see, then,
sir, that these elsewhere very clever persons who are of another
opinion appeared not to have thought enough upon the conse-
quences of the diflerence which there is between necessary or
eternal truths and between the truths of experience, as I have
already observed, and as all our discussion shows. The original
proof of necessary truths comes from the understanding alone, and
the other truths come from experience or from the observation of
the senses. Our mind is capable of knowing both ; but it is the
Source of the former, and, whatever number of particular experi-
ences you could have of a universal truth, you cuiild not assure
yourself of it forever by induction witliout knowing its necessity
b}' reason.

Ph. But is it not true that if the words, to be in the under-
standing, involve something positive, ihey signify to be perceived
and com]>reliended by the understanding?

Th. They signify to us wholly another thing. It is enough that
what is in the understanding can l)e found there, and that the
sources or original proofs of the truths which are in question are
only in the understanding; the senses can hint at, justify, and
confirm these truths, l)Ut cannot demonstrate their infallible and
perpetual certainty.

§ 11. Ph. Nevertheless, all those who will take the trouble to
reflect with a little attention upon the operations of the under-
standing will find that this consent, which the mind gives without
dithculty to certain truths, depends ujion the power of the human
uiiixl.

Th. Very well. But it is this particular relation of the human
mind to these truths whicii renders the exercise of the power easy
and natural in respect to them, and wiiich causes them to be called
innate. It is not, then, a naked faculty which consists in the single
possibility- ot understanding them ; it is a disposition, an aptitude,
a preformation, which determines our soul .unl which makes it
possible for them to l)e flerived from it. Just as there is the dif-
ference between the figures which are given to the stone or to the
marble indifferently, and between those which its veins already

296 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

indicate, or are disposed to indicate, if the workman profits by
them.

Ph. But is it not true that the truths are subsequent to the ideas
of wiiich tiiey are born? Now, the ideas come from the senses.

Th. Intellectual ideas, which are the source of necessary truths,
do not come from the senses ; and you admit that there are some
ideas wliich are due to the reflection of the mind u|jon itself.
Besides, it is true that the express knowledge of truths is subse-
quent {tempore vel natura) to the express knowledge of ideas ; as
the nature of truths depends upon the nature of ideas, before both
can be expressly formed, and the truths, into Avhich enter ideas
whicii come from the senses, depend upon the senses, at least in
part. But the ideas which come from the senses are confused,
and the trutlis which depend upon them are likewise confused, at
least in part ; wliile the intellectual ideas, and the truths depend-
ent upon them, are distinct, and neither the one nor the other have
their origin in the senses, although it may be true that we would
never tiiink of them without the senses.

Ph. But, in your view, numbers are intellectual ideas, and yet
there is the difliculty depending upon the express formation of the
ideas ; for example, a man knows that 18 and 19 equal 37 with
the same evidence that he knows that one and two equal three ;
but yet a ciiild does not know tlie first proposition so soon as the
second, which comes from the fact that he has not formed the ideas
so soon as the words.

Th. I can agree with you that often the difliculty in the express
formation of truths depends upon that in the express formation of
ideas. Yet I believe that in your example the question concerns
the use of ideas already formed. For those who have learned to
count as far as 10, and the method of passing farther on by a cer-
tain repetition of tens, understand without difficulty what are 18,
19, 37 ; viz., one, two, or three times 10 with S, or 9, or 7 ; but, in
order to draw from it that IS plus 19 make 37, more attention is
necessary than to know that 2 plus 1 are 3, which at bottom is
only the definition of 3.

§ 18. Ph. It is not a privilege attached to the numbers or to
the ideas, whicii you call intellectual, of furnishing propositions
in which you infallibly acquiesce as soon as you hear them. You
meet these in physics and in all the other sciences, and the senses

Leihnitss Critique of Locke. 297

even furnisli them. For example, tliis proposition: two bodies
cannot l>e in the same place at the same time, is a truth of which
you are not otherwise! convinced than of the following maxims :
it is impoi-silde for a thing to be and not to be in the same time ;
white is not red; the square is not a circle; yellowness is not
sweetness.

Th. There is a ditference between these propositions. The first,
which declares the impenetrability of bodies, needs proof. All
those who believe in true and strictly formed condensations and
rarefactions, as the Peripatetics and the late Ciievalier Digby, re-
ject it, in fact ; without speaking of the Christians, who believe,
for the most part, that the contrary view — namely, the penetration
of space — is possible to God. But the other propositions are identi-
cal, or very nearly so, and identical or immediate propositions do
not admit of proof. Those who look upon the senses as furnishing
them, as that one who says that yellowness is not sweetness, have
not ai)plied the general identical maxim to particular cases.

Ph. Every proposition which is composed of two different ideas,
of which one is the denial of the other — for example, that the
square is not a circle, that to be yellow is not to be sweet — will be
as certainly received as indubitable, as soon as its terms are under-
stood, as this general maxim : It is impossible for a thing to be
and not to be in the same time.

Th. That is, the one (namely, the general maxim) is the prin-
ciple, and the other (that is to say, the negation of one idea by
another opposed to it) is its application.

Ph. It seems to me rather that the maxim depends upon this
nesation. which is its irround ; and that it is, besides, much easier
to understand that what is the same thing is not ditterent : than
the maxim which rejects the contradictions. Now, according to
that statement, it will be nece-sary for you to ailmit as innate
truths an infinite number of propositions of this kind which deny
one idea by another without speaking of other truths. Add to
that that a proposition cannot be innate unless the ideas of which
it is composed are innate; it will be necessary to suppose that all
the ideas which we have of colors, sounds, tastes, figures, etc., are
innate.

Til. I do not well sec how this: what is the same thing is not
dilicrent, is the orighi of the principle of contradiction, and

298 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

easier; for it appeai-s to ine that you give yourself more freedom
in adv^aiicing tliat A is not B than in saying that A is not non-A.
And the reason that prevents A from being B is that B involves
non-A. Besides, this proposition : sweet is not bitter, is not in-
nate, following the sense which we have given to this term innate
truth. For tlie sensations of sweet and bitter come from the ex-
ternal senses. Thus it is a mixed conclusion {hyhrida conclusio),
where the axiom is applied to a sensible truth. But as regards
this proposition : the square is not a circle, you can affirm that it
is innate, for, in looking upcm it, you make a subsumption or ap-
plication of the principle of contradiction to what the understand-
ing furnishes for itself as soon as you perceive innate thoughts.

Th. Not at all, for the thoughts are acts, and the knowledge or
the truths, in so far as they are within us, when even we do not
think of them, are habitudes or dispositions, and we are well ac-
quainted with things of which we think but little.

Ph. It is very difficult to conceive that a truth may be in the
mind if the mind has never thought of that truth.

Th. That is as if some one said it is difficult to conceive that
there are veins in the marble before you have discovered them.
It seems, also, that this objection resembles a little too much the
begging of the question. All those who admit innate truths,
without grounding them in the Platonic reminiscence, admit
some of which they have not yet thought. Besides, this reason-
ing proves too much; for, if truths are thoughts, you will be de-
prived not only of the truths of which you have never thought,
but, further, of those of which you have thought, and of which you
no longer actually think ; and if the truths are not thoughts, but
habitudes and aptitudes, natural or acquired, nothing prevents
there being in us some of which we have never thought, of which
we will never think.

§ 27. Ph. If general maxims were innate, they would appear
more vividly in the mind of certain persons where, however, we
see no trace of them ; 1 may mention children, idiots, savages, for
of all men these are they who have the mind less altered and cor-
rupted by custom and by the impress of extraneous opinions.

Th. I believe we must reason entirely otherwise here. Innate
maxims appear only through the attention which is given to
them ; but these persons have little of it, or have it for quite an-

Goeschel on the Immortality of the Soul. 299

other tiling. Their thoughts are mostly confined to the neeik ot
the hotly; and it is reasonable that pure and spotless thoughts be
the reward of cares more noble. It is true that children and
savages have the mind less altered by customs, but they also have
it nurtm"ed by the teaching, which gives attention. It would be
an inappropriate endowment that the brightest lights should
better shine in the mind of those who less deserve them, and who
are enveloped in thick clouds. I would not have you, then, glory
too much in ignorance and barliarism, since you are as learned
and as clever as you are, Pliilaiethes, as well as your excellent
author; that would be lowering the gifts of God. Some one will
Bay tiiat tiie more ignorant you are the more you approach the
advantage of a block of marble or of a piece of wood, which are
infal]il)le and sinless. But, unfortunately, it is not by ignorance
that you approach this advantage; and, as far as you are capable
of knowledge, you sin in neglecting to acquire it, and you will
err so much the more easil_^ the less information you possess.

GOESCIIEL ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERUAN' OF CARL FRIEDRICH GOE3CHEL, BT SCSAS E. BLOW.

Chapter III — {Continued').

The Triplicitu of the Proofs of Iiamortalitij in the Li<jht of

Specidation.

We have seen how the current proofs of immortality are re-
flected and transfigured in the light of speculation. The most sig-
nificant feature of our investigation, however, is that we have found
the threads of this development in the very system which seems
most antagonistic to personal immortality. That Spinoza himself
has forged for u.* the arms with which we combat pantheism is
overwhelming testimony to the inextirpability of the concept of
persistence.

It is also remarkable that while Leibnitz, like Epicurus, moves
from atoms as his starting-point, he reaches a result diametrically
opposed to that of the ancient philosopher in that he proves per-

300 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

soual itnmortality from the indivisible internality of the Monad.
Not less noteworthy is it that in the system of Leibnitz the three
proofs develop out of and successively to each other. Leading
first from the compound to the simple, Leibnitz begins the de-
velopment of his system with the content of the first proof; he
then leads us through the varied orders and series of monads to
the rational Monad, and Hnaliy to the divine primitive Monad, in
which all things live and move aiul have their being (the kernel
of the second proof), wherefore throughout creation nothing can
perish (and here we reach the third proof). Immediately there
is attributed to each Monad certa quaedam avrapKeia ; then it is
recognized that originally this autarky belongs only to the primi-
tive Monad, and created monads exist as continual divinitatis
fulgurationes, and are preserved through continuous creation. The
consequence is that nothing perishes. Nequeuut monades interire
nisi per annihilationem. But such annihilation would be anni-
hilation of the divine will, and thus we reach the final result, viz.,
quodlibet animal, quamvis machina ipsius saepiusex parte pereat,
animaque involncra organica vetera relinquat, vel nova capiat,
esse indestructibile. It may be added that the Monad theory of
Leibnitz which moves through the complete cycle of the proofs of
immortality has recently taken on flesh and bone and appeai'ed
in concrete poetic iovm in the Conversations of Goethe with.
Falk.

An evident result of our investigation up to this point is that,
on the one hand, the first proof of immortality, commonly called
the metaphysical proof, is the basis of all the subsequent proofs,
and that on the other it requires these subsequent proofs for its
own development and completion. It is clear also that within its
own sphere the content of the first ])roof has two apparently
antagonistic sides. The one is that the soul as immaterial is ex-
hibited in independence and separability from its external body,
and is thus withdrawn from the power of death. But this very
independence of a visible external and tangible body presupposes
in the soul a separating and self-limiting moment, and this mo-
ment is the body which the soul has in itself. The second phase
of the first proof is, therefore, that immanent unity and insepara-
bility of the soul and the body which is indispeusaijle if the soul
after separation from its external body is to persist in its indi-

Geoschel on tlw Immortality of the Soul. 301

vicinal t'oriii. Tlio tioiil must be difiEerent from its external body,
but indissoliibly one with its internal body if .after death it is to
preserve its individuality and substantiality. When Philo, essay-
ing to (k-in(instrate iinniortaiity, rci^ts the whole weight of his
argument iiiion the separability of the reasonable God-conscious
soul from tlie body which fetters and clogs it, ho necessarily pre-
supp(^ses in the soul an immanent organ, and implies the insepa-
rability of the soul from its inmost bond. The second moment
leads immediately to immortality ; the first mediately througli its
content to resurrection, wliich in its first phase is concerned with
that external body which has been given over to death. Tlie
deatii of the body is nothing more than the continuance of the
disjectio membrorum, the sensible completion of that schism in
which the whole creation travails and groans. We may see also
in the philosophy of Philo how the content of the first proof leads
over to the second. He claims iimnortality only for the ■^vxv
\oycKr), BiavorjTiKrj, because this is divine, and as divine free. The
source of this divinity and freedom is the spirit of God breathed
by God into man, whom he thus created in his own image. There-
fore the destiny of man is to behold God. So, too, teaches Plo-
tinus. According to this insight, on the one hand the separation
of the soul from the body develops to reuiiion of soul and body by
means of the resurrection ; and, on the other hand, the indivisible
Being-for-self or individuality of the soul in its internal body, in
that it wakes and ascends into conscionsness, leads in its progress-
ive course to communion witii God, and consequently to that per-
sonality of the spirit without whicli comnninion is uiithiidvable,
and the vision of God, remaining external, contradicts itself.

As we trace the progressive movement of proof througii its
various phases, it is most importatit that we seize definitely and
clearly its i)hysiological aspect and significance. The develop-
ment of the soul is essentially physiological; it is constituted, iu
fact, by the relationship of the soul to the body. The soul does
not abstractly develop itself, but it develops, transforms, and
penetrates its body and its relationshii) to the body. For this
reason, the crown of physiological development is personality.
We recognize the physiological ))rincii)le in the second phase of
the first proof which is the first mark of the advancing move-
ment ; the physiological principle emerges simultaneously with

302 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the corporeality of the soul. Most significant in tins connection
is the procedure of the school of Wolf, which, in the sphere of the
metaphysical proof, does not rest in an abstract and formal unity,
but, moving forward at once to the corporeality of the soul,
grounds the persistence of self-consciousness primarily in the
soul's physiological development. The abstract simplicity of the
soul is, of course, the starting-point. Anima est ens simplex:
from tills follows the incorruptibility of the soul. This incor-
ruptibility of the soul is, however, no voucher for the persistenc
of self-consciousness. Self-consciousness rests upon the union of
the soul with its inborn body ; this inborn body "Wolf indicates
by a special word in order to distinguish it from the external
body, which is merely its palpable manifestation, and he appre-
hends the soul in its marriage with this inborn body as person.
The presupposition of this union is the creation which renews
itself in each generation and birth, and accompanies each freshly
begotten soul throughout life and beyond death ; the incarna-
tion of the soul is an act of creation, in whose uninterrupted con-
tinuance consists the |>hysiological process. Immediately, ex sua
natura, in virtue of its simplicity, the soul is imperishable ; but its
indissoluble union with its body follows, not from its nature, but
fi'ora the concept of creation or from the nature of God, who must
so perpetuate the soul as he has created the soul. The death of
the body must therefore not be apprehended as the disembodying
of the soul. The soul does not become bodiless when it leaves
the body soulless. As consciousness rests upon the union of the
soul with its organ, the body, the persistence of consciousness, or,
more deiinitely, reminiscence (recordatio), may now be physiologi-
cally explained. Death is followed by ever deeper inter-penetra-
tion of body and soul ; the result of this conformably with self-
revealing physiological laws ia that reminiscence, together with
all its representations and images, grows ever clearer, more
definite, and more luminous. Thus, in virtue of its perfectibility,
the soul mounts from light to light. Herewith we are already in
the sphere of the second proof, which completes itself in the third
through the concept of personality.

The physiological principle oi the process of proof moves from
the connection of the psychic and somatic moments which condi-
tions consciousness and culminates with the unity of these mo-

Goesehel <m the Immortality of the Soul. 303

ments iu the concept of personality. Tlie phases of the move-
ment are, first, pre-existence ; or, better] still, essence; second,
creation and generation, throngh which the divine and the
hninan, tiie intinite and the tinite, merge in one; tliird, perfecti-
bility, which, and that too in the form of consciousness, is an in-
di>pensable stipulation of the union between the infinite and finite.
Adequately apprehended, this perfectibility is the development of
the created spirit through which it becomes what it is created to
be. In this power of development is, however, necessarily in-
cluded the possibility of lapse. The soul must develop itself by
its own activity into the image of God ; yet it can do this only by
constantly drawing freely power from God. Obviously, in the
course of its self-development, it may tear itself away from God
and may persist in this fallen state of subjective isolation until
divine power condescends to a second act of creative grace. The
culmination is always personality, by means of which perfecti-
bility completes itself without ceasing to be, and finds peace
without sinking into sleep. With reference to these representa-
tions and concei)tions, we have already referred to Dante, " Pur-
gatorio," xviii, 49 ; xxv, 37.

In our own day the validity of this pliysiological considera-
tion has been profoundly discussed on many sides. Finally ydni-
bert has gone straight to the kernel of the whole matter and
given us a history of the soul replete with suggestive reflections
and profound insights. From the surface of appearance he finds
a path into the hidden depths of existence; from abstract, color-
less light he leads us into night and mystery, into the very essence
of Being. Througii the profound darkness Faith, with her torch,
leads the way, and we emerge at last out of night into the morn-
ing, where the truth we have wrested from the gloom reflects
itself in a thousand shining forms. Night is the iriother of light,
the body of translucent color. Without descending into the
darkness we can never mount to the light. What is still neces-
sary is that the rich nniterial which Schubert has accumulated
should be inwardly digested ; tiiat with a deeper plunge into the
hidden world of miracles we may find a fairer morning and gaze
with clearer eyes while the crimson glow of the sunrise grows
into the perfect day.

We have already indicated how the triplicity of the proofs of

304 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

immortality is repeated and transiipjured in tlie immanent de-
velopment of the concept of the soul. This triplicity rests, first,
upon the simplicity of the soul; second, upon its infinity; third,
upon thought. So, in the development of the concept, the soul
reveals itself fii'st as individual, or the one in opposition to its
other; second, as consciousness of itself and of its other; hence,
consciousness of God ; third, as spirit in its personality — i. e., in
the identity or mediation of self with its other in the individual.

This triplicity develops of itself from the position in which
we find the soul. This position is the middle point between two
extremes. As we find the soul, the soul already is; wiiat the
soul has been, lies, as essence, behind it ; what tiie soul shall be,
lies, as actuality, before it.

The question of the immortality of the soul is therefore immedi-
ately a question asked by the present of the future. Therefore
in our investigation we first essayed to follow the forward move-
ment of the soul toward its culmination In the finite spirit,
starting with it from that middle point of time in which it is
placed. And as the present asked the question, so in the present
we found its answer ; the present answered instead of the future
by becoming itself the future it questioned. Upon this procedure
rests in its final ground the so-called metaphysical pi'oof of the
personal persistence of the soul, for this proof seizes the soul in its
immediacy and seeks for it in the future what it lacks in the
present. A parallel to this process is found in the cosmological
proof of the existence of God, which, seizing the world in its im-
mediacy, seeks what it lacks in the highest essence. The nature
of the world is to seek that wliifli fulfils and explains it — that
without which it is nothing. The Jirat lonijing asjjiration after
God seeks him in the future, because it has not found him noiv,
because it misses him here.

The path of the soul out of the present into the future is scarcely
trodden ere it points from the future into the past, which is the
background and ultimate presupposition of the soul. Thus, in
its second phase, the question of immortality is addressed by the
present to the past ; the essential basis of the present and future is
sought in what has been. Thus, the finite spirit, which was the
actualization and unveiling of the soul, pointed us back to that
Absolute Spirit which was prior to the finite Spirit and as Abso-

Goeschel on the Immortality of the Soul. 305

lute ever is and shall be. In the Absolute Spirit we found the
origin or essence of the pre-existent internality of the soul, which,
by ineuiis of externalization or existence, passes over to the future
of the soul in God. Tiie same patli from the present into the
past and through the past into the future may be detected in the
moral proof of immortality, for this leads from the nature of the
soul as determined to the determining essence, which is both the
presupposition of the soul's existence and the guarantee of the
soul's immortality. We find in the finite spirit power over all the
dimensions of time, ilemory guards the content of the past.
Reminiscence makes this past content present. In reminiscence
Plato finds the pledge of that self-conscious future to which it
bears a content. Whence comes reminiscence unless from the
Essence which has been < To what end is reminiscence given if
not tor the time which shall be ? Similarly the physico theological
proof of the existence of God leads not only from the conditioned
to the prior unconditioned, but also from the contingent existence
of the world to the essential nature of the world, and from this to
its aboriginal determining principle. Thus, originating in reflec-
tion upon the nature of the world, the search for God in its second
phase looks for him in the past as the Absolute First.

But the question with regard to the persistence of the human
soul grows keener and more pressing in its forward movement. If
in its importunity it turned first from the present to the future, or
to that post-existence with which it was immeiliately concerned ;
if, next, it addressed the future mediately through the past, with-
out which as essence it could have neither completion nor fulfil-
ment, it turns finally to the totality of time, which is the media-
tion of the present ; to the unity of the three dimensions of time
penetrated by the concept of Spirit, sub specie aeternitatis ; to the
outcome of time, which revealt; itself as eternity. It was thus that
in our investigation of the soul's development we attained ulti-
mately the concept of Absolute Personality, which, penetrating
all time, wa,';, is, and shall be, and from this insight pressed on to
the nature of conditioned personality, which, according to its es-
sence, includes in itself with the present both the future and the
past. Crudely parallel with this movement was the process of the
third proof of immortality, which found in Thought itself the
pledge of its persistence, because it includes in the present all the
XIX— 20

306 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

dimensions of time. So, too, the ontological proot of the existence
of God found the existence of the Perfect Being included in the
concept of the Perfect Beina;. Perfection implies that nothing
is lacking — that all moments of the Totality are simultaneously
present — hence eternity. The present is only complete when it
includes the past and the future. "Where life feels the joy of
living, the past endures, the future hastens, and the moment is
eternity."

The spirit is immortal because it is eternal, and it is eternal
because it has the torm of infinitude. Its so-called future is only
the concrete realization of its infinite form. Just as the essence,
oiicria, was and is now to tI ?]v ehai, so is it also present as future :
the first is also the last, Ti\o<;. The infinite first attains its truth
and actuality through the fact that it is complete or totality,
and has done with further growth. As complete it is not only
past, but also present. Entelechy, or perfection, is essentially en-
delechy, or persistence. This is the outcome of all demonstration.

The immortality of the soul must therefore not he conceived as
something which shall be hereafter; it is the present quality of
the soul. The spirit is eternal, therefore present ; the spirit is
present, therefore already eternal. This inherent eternity of the
spirit in its first phase is the Individuality of the soul ; its second
phase is the unrealized ideal, which emerges from the discord of
consciousness — i. e., that the spii'it should not remain in its Srst
state of nature, but should become what by its essential nature it
is destined to be; in the third phase it realizes its own image and
becomes like unto itself. It is evident that the first of these phases
corres])onds to the metaphysical proof, the second to the moral
proof, the third to the ontological pruof, the concept of the spirit
itself, which is mediated only through Personality.

It has therefore been said with truth that the determinations of
time, through whose epochs moves the process of the soul's devel-
opment, are themselves only the moments of the spirit which in
its self-generation perpetuates its identity with itself through the
unity of its content with its form. With this insight the triplicity
of development receives additional confirmation.

In accordance with this attained result of our investigation, the
immortality of the soul is grasped as the outcome and actuality of
the soul, and the future as the concrete present. This outcome

Goeachel on the ImmortaliUj of the Soul. 307

develops itself tiret out of the being of the individual ; second,
out of the essence of the Subject ; finally, out of thought itself,
which alone is real, and as spirit is personality.

In its ultimate analysis the whole process of proof rests upon
the three words : Cogito, ergo sum. The content of this statement
is, however, (leve]o|>ed tliroui^li it? various stages ; the present tense
of Being made fruitful by Thougiit has its development in itself.
The Hrst and obvious meaning of the statement is this: the soul
thinks, therefore it is simple, and as simple it is unchangeable —
the same to-morrow as to-day. Its deeper meaning is diremption ;
the soul thinks, therefore it is infinite; it thinks itself and that
which is other than itself, hence God ; the soul thinks and is
thought — it is thought by the thinking subject as subject. Co-
gito, ergo cogitor ; cogitor, ergo sum. The soul ^«, and the object
of the soul is j both think and both are thought. The ultimate
meaning is thought itself, which includes being; the reasonable
is the actual ; spirit is of and for the spirit.

It may be mentioned here that in dogmatic philosophy not
only the existence, but also the essential nature of God is sought
and indicated in three different ways. These ways are known
as via negationis, causalitatis, and eminentiae. There are implicit
in them essentially the same categories which we have discovered
in the proofs of the existence of God and of the actuality of the
Soul. AVe find them also as Reality, Negation, and Limitation in
tlie Kantian Table of categories under the head of Quality. The
parallelism of these methods of ascent toward the nature of God
with the theological proofs of existence and the psj'chological
proofs of immortality needs only to be indicated.

In the cosmological i)roof, by the method of negation is de-
duced, from what the world is not and has not in itself, an exist-
ence outside of the world. The teleological proof, like the argu-
ment from Causality, deduces the presupposition of the world
from the nature of the world. Finally, the ontological proof in
accijrd with the method eminentiae infers the reality of perfec-
tion from its concept.

The same correspondence may be traced in the psychologi-
cal sphere. Analogically with tiic method of negation the meta-
physical proof ascribes to the soul the future it lacks, deducing the
reality of this future out of what the soul as yet is not but in ac-

308 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

cordance with the concept of simplicity should be. Moreover, we
are really led to this simplicity or immateriality of the soul itself
by the path of negation, for we find the soul immediately im-
mersed in matter, and we reason from the contradiction between
this condition of the soul and its essential nature to its imma-
teriality, inferring its internality from its externality and deduc-
ing the imperishability of the internal from the transcience of the
external. The moral proof, on the contrary, infers from the po-
tentiality of the soul its realization, and therein accords with the
method of causality which, from what is, I'easons backward to a
cause corresponding to the efl'ect, and forward to a goal corre-
sponding to origin and development. Out of this twofoldness
of the law of Causality is developed the double form of the moral
proof which, as we have seen, leads from existence backward to
pre-existence or the essence before existence, and forward to post-
existence or the Actuality after existence. Tiie oOev lies as Ori-
gin behind ; the ov evsKa, as goal before ; bat as the Good both
are one. Finally, the ontologieal proof of immortality develops
by the path of " Eminencfe " ; the eminence of being is being in
all its dimensions ; the outcome of this pregnant being is thought.
Thought is the Alpha and Omega of Being.

From these remarks it is clear that all these varied forms of
proof differ in their content only because they develop separately
the existence and the nature of God, and similarly seek the im-
immortality of the soul as distinct from the nature of the soul.
According to this content must be determined the relationship of
the varied forms of proof. Being and Essence are so related that
only in the unity of both can be found the trntii of each.

Before continuing the development of our subject it may be
well to mention a construction of the soul which proceeds from
the critical philosophy, and which merits the greater consideration,
because it not only unconsciously includes the three dogmatic
spheres of proof, but also from the present standpoint of philoso-
phy finds its justification in the immanent development of the
soul. This construction attributes to the soul, without detriment
to its unity, two distinct elements ; these elements are defined as
expansive and attractive force, as relationship to the object and to
the subject, more briefly still as impulse and sense. The unity of
these two elements is the truth of both. They are real and active

Goeschel on the Immortality of the Soul. 309

only in tlicir synthesis or dynamic unity. Out of their rehition-
ship are developed, according^ to the category of quantity, the three
prineii)al powers of the soul : Representation, in whicli the pre-
ponderating element is sense; as Appetite, wherein the balance in-
clines to the side of outward impulse ; and Feeling, wherein neither
element outweighs the otiier. From this same relationship are
developed, according to the category of quality, the three different
stages of unfolding upon wiiich rests the perfectibility of the
human soul.

The first stage is the period of Individuality or sense, which is
followed by the period of Understanding, to which succeeds the
period of Reiison. The object of the first period is the sensible ;
the object of the last period is the supersensible or infinite ; the
middle period oscillates between the two. Omitting much inter-
esting detail which belongs to this peculiar standpoint, we recog-
nize in its outline, first, the unity of tiie different ricterminations
of the soul, or simplicity, apprehended as the unity of the internal
and the external, of the soul and its immanent body ; second,
the diremption of this unity, recognized quantitatively in the out-
wardly directed Apiietite, and qualitatively in the Understanding,
which vibrates between the internal and the external, and, while
separating, seeks to unite them ; third, mediated unity appre-
hended quantitatively in Feeling, which is seized not as the
neutralization, but as the equalization of the two elements, and
qualitatively in Reason, to which belongs Will as distinguished
from Appetite. Reason, in distinction from Individuality, is
grasped as Universality. Universality is literally the unity medi-
ated through the circular development of the Concept or 2^^otion.
We have already recognized the truth of this Univei'sality as Per-
sonality, just as the truth of sensuousness is Individuality, and the
truth of Understan<iing the dujilex nature of Consciousness.

From the standpoint of this ingenious conception of the nature
and activity of the soul it may be said that the first or theoretical
proof relates to the soul in its narrowest sense, the second or
practical |)roof to the l)'>dy, also in its narrowest sense, while the
third, or oiitological proof, includes body and soul, being and
thought, the 6v and the \o^fo<;. The object of the first proof is the
simple, internal, the essential — the intensive being of force as
feeling; the object of the second proof is the expansion of force,

310 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the impulse outward. T!ie first proof is theoretical because it
apprehends its object accordina; to its nature ; the second proof ia
practical because its attention is directed to the body of its object,
or, in other words, to its active manifestation. As externalization,
the body is essentially the practical direction of the soul, the deed
of thought, as the soul is the thought of thought. In the light
of speculative philosophy, soul and body are revealed as the mo-
ments of the spirit, neither of which is independent of the other.
The soul, as internal, is the calm, in itself inactive centre; the
body, as externalization of this internality, is activity. This in-
sight confirms the validity of the former as the theoretical, and of
the latter as the practical moment. The soul is the calm, con-
templative ruling moment: the body the active, effective, serving
moment. Neither is itidependent of the other, for creation, as the
active corporeality of the Supreme Principle, itself participates in
this principle.

NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.

ANALYSIS OF OOETHE'S ''ELECTIVE AFFINITIES:'

[We reprint the following remarkable article on Goethe's " Elective Af-
finities" from " Tbe Index " of June 12, 1870. — Ed.]

The central idea of the " Elective Affinities " is the sanctity of the mar-
riage relation. " What God or Fate hath joined together, let no man
put asunder '" — is the lesson to be learned in this most moral of moral
tales. With a skilful hand Goethe has laid hare the inmost recesses of
the human heart, held up to view its loves, its passions, and its weakness,
and shown too its superhuman strength, its firmness, and its nobility.
He brings before us a couple, happy in their relation to each other as
husband and wife. No strong, passionate sentiment binds them together;
their tastes are similar, their friendship sincere ; and this friendship and
similarity of tastes they mistake for conjugal love. Meanwhile Charlotte,
the prudent, discreet wife, all unconsciously finds herself in love with and

Notes a/id Discxts»ion4. 311

beloved by her husband's friend, the Captain ; and quite as unconsciously
Edward, tlie impetuous husband, falls in love with and is loved bv his
wife's niece Ottilie. Under these circumstances it becomes a serious
question whether the present legal condition of affairs ought not to give
place to a higher law — whothor the marriage ought not to be one of heart
to heart and not a mere outward form.

Before the question is fairly decided a new obstacle presents itself — a
child comes, having claims on the united love of father and mother. The
mother, keen-sighted and rigidly loyal to duty, gladly accepts this solu-
tion of the problem as sufficient; but the father, blind to everything ex-
cept his own impulsive wishes, recognizes this obstacle as really no
obstacle. To be sure, he is the flesh and blood parent of his child, as is
also Charlotte ; but in his heart he had embraced Ottilie, and his wife in
her heart had embraced the Captain. Edward declares such a union to
be a moral adultery, and the offspring illegitimate in the highest sense.

Ottilie will take no decisive steps. Here is one of those dec]), mag-
netic natures, passive rather than active — one whose mysterious attraction
is wondrously felt, and yet never to be explained. With Edward we too
find lier irresistible. We cannot blame him for loving what is so lovely.
Ue has great regard and respect for his wife, but Ottilie stirs the depths
of his heart. With his wife his cup of happiness seemed full, but with
Ottilie his cup ran over; and this excess was almost essential to the im-
pulsive, intemperate Edward. The Captain is a staid, reasonable man,
always with an eye to the eternal fitness of things; and if, in a incunent
of passion, he went so far as to kiss Charlotte's hand, he recovereil himself
immediately and begged her forgiveness. Throughout the story he is ready
to act as propriety demands, and it is not strange that Charlotte, with her
great love of order and her rare domestic accomplishments, should have
an affinity for so proper a man as the Captain.

There is a spirit of fate brooding over this novel that reminds us of the
fate in the old Greek dramas. Neither party dares to take active re-
sponsibility. Even Edward, who is precipitately active, is willing that
fate should decide for him. He enters the army, is always in the fore-
most ranks, always rushes upon the enemy as if he knew Ottilie were be-
yond. He has continually in mind the thought of the glass bearing his
initial and Ottilie's which did not break when it was tossed recklessly in
the air, and he believes the same fate will he quite as careful over their
united destinies, let him risk what dangers he may. Ottilie patiently
waits her fate to be decided so soon as Charlotte and Edward shall have
separated. Full of intense yearning and longing, of love which beareth
all things and hopeth all things, every thought, every act, is for Edward.

312 The Journal of Speculative Phihsophy.

In tlie plants, the trees, she sees only Edward's plants, Edward's trees.
She tends the child because it is Edward's child. Love for Edward be-
comes her existence. As Ottilie represents love, Charlotte represents a
wise, judicious understanding. Deliberately she weighs the jiros and
cows, leaving her own heart entirely out of the balance. She waits, hop-
ing that time and the thought of his boy will cool Edward's passion ; that
employment and perhaps a new lover will divert Ottilie. As for the Cap-
tain, he can always wait for the fit time and place.

The fate which Edward trusted so implicitly does not desert him.
Safe from the untold dangers of the war, he believes that fate has decided
for him. He meets the Captain, tells him of his decision, overcomes the
Captain's scruples as to public opinion, and, having arranged suitably for
the maintenance of the Captain and Charlotte, starts the Captain for the
execution of his plans. Here again fate steps in. Ottilie with the child
had gone to the farther shore of the pond ; the boy asleep on the grass,
Ottilie sits beside him reading ; Edward suddenly appears. With all her
surprise and emotion, Ottilie will make no promise to Edward until she
hears the result of the Captain's interview with Charlotte. Full of agita-
tion, she leaves Eldward, goes to the boat ; but alas ! in her confusion she
loses her foothold just as she is stepping into the boat. The child falls
into the water and is drowned.

Fate seems now to have answered the question. So Charlotte thinks,
so the Captain, as well as Edward. Then it is that Ottilie with super-
human courage and fortitude declares that she will never marry Edward.
Clearly she sees the sin in which she is entangled, and in the depths
of her heart she will forgive herself only under condition of fullest re-
nunciation. And Ottilie remains inflexibly firm in her purpose. With
this state of affairs, nothing remains for her but death. Love is her ex-
istence; deny her that and she must die. The poet could not do other-
wise than follow the course of Nature. To Edward life is nothing with-
out Ottilie. Only death is desirable, for death alone restores Ottilie to
him. A gracious fate grants his desire.

Such is the phase in which Goethe has viewed one of the most vital
([uestions of the present time. He has chosen no random characters for
his dramatis personce. All who are needed to discuss or weigh the im-
portant subject are brought together. Cool, calm, deliberate reason we
see in the person of Charlotte. Passion is represented by Edward.
Ottilie is love, and the Captain public opinion. For, in discussing this
question of the marriage relation, all of these have a voice in the matter.
Passion is loud and demonstrative. It knows only its own desires. It
will overthrow everything between itself and its object. Its own might

NoU% and Discussions. 313

makes its right, ami it acknowledges no law but its bliml instincts.
Reason too, as well as passion, has an interest in discussing this question.
Nature has made the parents the guardians of the child, and reason
doubts whether it may be right to leave the child to the protection of
others, however suitable tlicv may be ; but, on the other hand, reason
sees that where two are unequally yoked toLTother there is discord which
cannot have other than ill efiects on t\w chil.l. In this dilemma reason
cannot decide, but appeals to a highci- triluinal — to love ; for love alone
can solve the question — a love whicii is true to the highest and noblest,
a love free from passion; and this love promptly decides upon self-
renunciation. So when reason and passion and public opinion would err,
love in the person of Ottilie reveals the highest truth. She decides all.
She alone is capable of seeing the truth— feeling it, perhaps we should
say ; for it is the heart, not the head, which makes the decision.

Whoever calls this novel of Goethe's immoral and lax in its principles
must needs be more spotless than sanctity itself. With rigid sacrifice and
renunciation, Goethe demands not only the sacredness of the marriage re-
lation in outward form, but also that its inmost spirit should be innolate.
He requires that marriage should be no mere friendship brought about by
propinquity or a harmony of tastes ; he demands that the highest love,
the utmost fidelity, the closest union, should be the bonds of marriage.
If marriage has been established on any other basis, he gives to the un-
fortunate pair no alternative but the strictest loyahy to each other. If
diversion is to be found, it is in useful employment and not in the arms
or caresses of another.

It has been said of Shakespeare's plays that each is an organic whole,
that every subordinate part has its peculiar fitness and adaptation to the
entire play, as the leaf, the twig, and the roots do to the tree. So of
this novel of Goethe's. Not simply by its fruits, as seen in the denoue-
ment, do we know it, but every minute part reveals the nature and char-
acter of the whole.

Almost at the outset the chemical affinities of metals and fluids become
the subject of conversation. No better figure or illustration could be
found to show the wonderful, secret workings of heart to heart and soul
to soul than this affinity of matter for its own. Hence, magnetism and
the mysteries of love play an important part throughout the book. The
induence of Ottilie is magnetic. She attracts, not by her brilliant intellect
or rare abilities, but by her magnetism ; therefore it is those of the oppo-
site sex who are drawn to her. The Superior, Luciana, and Charlotte
know nothing of those hidden qualities of Ottilie's which attract the
Assistant and the Architect as well as Edward. Edward on one occasion

314 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

thinks Ottilie's conversation wonderful, and Charlotte coolly reminds
him that Ottilie had not said a word.

Not only does magnetic force play an important part in the book, but
also that force which comes from human law and social organization.
We find much said here in relation to order, harmony of arrangement,
and taste. Landscape gardening is introduced, as also architecture ; this,
too, with no slight or indirect bearing on the whole. As the gardener, in
subduing and compelling Nature to his own ends and purposes, must first
consult her original tendencies, and govern all his plans by that ; and as
the architect cannot build according to his own wilfulness or caprice, but
must subject himself to the eternal laws of beauty and order, so must
man in his social relations look not merely to his own passions and de-
sires, however lawful in and of themselves. He must conform to the
social laws of Nature, must do no violence to the spirit of the times, but,
on the contrary, come into a sacred harmony with it.

Like Shakespeare, Dante, and Homer, Goethe gives a portrait of his
characters with a single stroke of the pen. Ottilie's beautiful eyes, Char-
lotte's foot, Edward's deep, rich voice, are as significant as Homer's
" white-armed Juno " or Shakespeare's " gentle Desdemona." It was
absolutely essential that Ottilie should have beautiful eyes. Reticent as
she is, it was necessary that " the windows of the soul " should reveal the
inner life. Love does not express itself in words. It has no voice.
Passion is deep, intense, expressive. Hence, Edward's voice is deep and
rich. Goethe was right in giving fate so active a part in this novel ; for
ouside the human will, beyond human forethought, there seems at times
a destiny, perverse or otherwise, that stands at the helm of aflTairs and
gives direction, if not decision ; and in no affairs does a destiny or blind
fate seem to take more control than in matters of the heart.

Goethe is no cruel scientist dissectmg human weakness merely to
gratify his own or a public idle curiosity. He is a healing physician.
CooOy and calmly he makes a diagnosis of the case, then prescribes, how-
ever severe, the needful remedy ; and, as already hinted, the remedy in
the case before us is useful activity. The old legend relating to the fall
of man makes God pronounce labor as a curse upon the guilty pair.
Goethe changes this curse into the greatest blessing, making it the heal-
ing balm for sin-sick souls. Thus renunciation, that sacrifice of self for
the highest good of others, becomes that losing of life which shall find
itself again ; not a narrow, individual life, but a life which opens out into
the broadest personality, a life which has become one with God.

Mrs. C. K. Sherman.
Chicago, III.

Notes and Discusswns. 315

10 X: A MO your.

I.
Why, ye willows and ye pastures bare,
Whv will ye thus your blooms so late delay,
Wrap in chill weeds the sere and sullen day,
And cheerless prcet me wandering in despair ?
Tell mc, ah, tell me ! ye of old could tell —
Whither my vanished Ion now doth fare —
Sav, have ye seen him lately pass this way,
Te who his wonted haunts did liuow full well V
Heard ye big voice forth from the thicket swell,
Where midst the drooping ferns he loved to stray ?
Caught ye no glimpses of my truant there ?
Tell me, oh, tell me, whither he hath flown —
Beloved Ion flown, and left ye sad and loue.
Whilst I through wood and field his loss bemoan.

II.
Early through field and wood each Spring we sped.
Young Ion leading o'er the reedy pass.
How fleet his footsteps and how sure his tread !
His converse deep and weighty — where, alas !
Like force of thought with subtlest beauty wed,
The bee and bird and flower, the pile of grass,
The lore of stars, the azure sky o'erhcad.
The eye's warm glance, the Fates of love and dread-
All mirrored were iu his prismatic glass.
For endless Being's myriad-minded race
Dad in his thought their registry and place.
Bright with intelligence, or drugged with sleep.
Hid in dark cave, aloft on mountain steep.
In seas immersed, ensouled in starry keep.

III.
Now Echo answers lone from cliff and brake,
Where we in springtime sauntering loved to go.
Or to the mo.ssy bauk beyond the lake —
On its green plushes oft ourselves diil throw —
There from the sparkling wave our thirst to slake,
Dip|)ed in the spring thai bubbled up below
Our hands for cups, and did with glee partake.
Next to the Hermit's cell our way we make,
Where sprightly talk doth hold the morning late.
Departed now — ah, Hylas, too, is gone !
Hylas, dear Ion's friend and mine — I all alone.
Alone am left by unrelenting fate —
Vanished my loved ones all— the good, the great :
Why am I spared » why left disconsolate y

316 Tha Journal of Speculatwe Philosophy.

Slow winds our Inilian stream through meadows green,

By bending willows, tangled fen and brake.

Smooth field and farmstead doth its flow forsake :

'Twas in far woodpaths Ion, too, was seen,

But oftenest found at Walden's emerald lake

(The murmuring pines inverted in its sheen) ;

There in his skiff he rippling rhymes did make.

Its answering shore echoing the verse between.

FuU-voiced the meaning of the wizard song.

For wood and wave and shore with kindred will.

Strophe, antistrophe, in turn prolong : —

Now wave and shore and wood are mute and still.

Ion, melodious bard, hath dropt his quill,

His harp is silent and his Toice is still.

Blameless was Ion, beautiful to see.

With native genius, with rich gifts endowed ;

He might of his descent be nobly proud.

Yet meekly tempered was, spake modestly.

Nor sought the plaudits of the noisy crowd,

Wlien duty called him in the thick to be.

His life flowed calmly clear, not hoarse nor loud ;

He wearied not of immortality.

Nor, like Tithonus, begged a time-spun shroud.

But life-long drank at fountains of pure truth,

The seer unsated of eternal youth.

'Tis not for Ion's sake these tears I shed,

'Tis for the Age he nursed, his genius fed —

Ion immortal is"; he is not dead.

Did e'en the Ionian bard, Mscondes

(Blind minstrel, wandering out of Asia's night,

Tlie Iliad of Troy's loves and rivalries

In strains forever tuneful to recite).

His raptured listeners the more delight ?

Nor dropt learned Plato, 'neath his olive-trees.

More star-bright wisdom in the world's fuU sight.

Well garnered in familiar coUotiuies,

Than did our harvester in fields of light ;

Nor spoke more charmingly young Charmides

Than our glad rhapsodist in his far flight

Across the continents, both new and old ;

His tale to studious thousands thus he told

In summer's solstice and midwinter's cold

Notes and Discussions. 317

■m.

Shall from the shades another Orpheus rise,
Sweeping with venturous hand the vocal string;
Kindle glad raptures, visions of surprise,
And wake to ecstasy each slumbrous thing ;
Flash life and thought anew in wondering eyes,
As when our seer, trnuflcendent, sweet, and wise,
World-wide his native melodies did sing.
Flushed with fair hopes and ancient memories ?
Ah, no ! his matchless lyre must silent lie.
None hath the vanished minstrel's wondrous skill
To touch that instrument with art and will.
With him winged Poesy doth droop and die.
While our dull age, left voiceless, with sad eye
Follows his flight to groves of song on high.

Come, then, Mnemosyne, and on me wait.
As if for Ion's harp thou pav'st thine own !
Recall the memories of Man's ancient state.
Ere to this low orb had his form dropt down.
Clothed in the cerements of his chosen fate ;
Oblivious here of heavenly glories flown,
Lapsed from the high, the fair, the blest estate,
rnknowing these, and by himself unknown :
Lo ! Ion, unf alien from his lordly prime,
Paused in his passing flight, and, giWug ear
To heedless sojourners in weary time.
Sang his full song of hope and lofty cheer ;
Aroused them from dull sleep, from grisly fear.
And toward the stars their faces did uprear.

Why didst thou haste away, ere yet the green
Enamelled meadow, the sequestered dell.
The blossoming orchard, leafy grove, were seen
In the sweet season thou hadst sung so well ':'
Why cast this shadow o'er the vernal scene?
No more its rustic charms of thee may tell,
And so content us with their simple mien ;
Was it that memory's unrelin<iuishcd spell
(Ere men had stumbled here amid the tombs)
Revived for thee that Spring's perennial blooms,
Those cloud-capped alcoves where we once did dwell *
Translated wast thou in some rapturous dream ''.
Our once familiar faces strange must seem
Whilst from thine own celestial smiles did stream

318 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

I tread the marble leading to his door

(Allowed the freedom of a chosen friend).

He greets me not as was his wont before,

The Fates within frown on me as of yore ;

Could ye not once your offices suspend ?

Had Atropos her severing shears forbore,

Or Clotho stooped the sundered thread to mend !

Yet why dear Ion's destiny deplore ?

What more had envious Time himself to give?

His fame had reached the ocean's farthest shore.

Why prisoned here should Ion longer live ?

The questioning Sphin.x declared him void of blame.

For wiser answer none could ever frame ;

Beyond all time survives his mighty name.

Now pillowed near loved Hylas' lowly bed,
Beneath our aged oaks and sighing pines.
Pale Ion rests awhile his laurelled head.
(How sweet his slumber as he there reclines !)
Why weep for Ion here ? He is not dead ;
Naught of him Personal that mound confines;
The hues ethereal of the morning red
This clod embraces never, nor enshi'ines.
Away the mourning multitude hath sped.
And round us closes fast the gathering night ;
As from the drowsy dell the sun declines,
Ion hath viinished from our clouded sight.
But on the morrow, with the budding May,
Afield goes Ion, at first flush of day.
Across the pastures on his dewy way.

A. Bronson Aloott.

Concord, May, 1883.

THE ATOM AND THE VOID.— A SPHINX-RIDDLE FOR MATE-
RIALISM.

[We copy the following passage from an address of Rev. Dr. R. A.
Holland before the alumni of the St. Louis High School — June, 1878 —
the theme being " The Spirit of our Time," or, as the Germans call it, the
" Zeit-Geist."— Ed.]

Then came (Edipus himself, our own Zeit-Geist, and, seizing the Sphinx
by the ear, jerked her proud head to one side and hallooed boldly, " No
airs with me. I have read thy riddle. The universe is dust — nothing but
dust. Dust gives to matter all the flexibility it needs. The smaller and

Note« and Discussions. 319

more numerous the joints, the greater the capability of contortions ; and,
if its joints are almost points and numberless, Matter can writhe and
wrigfle into any shape of solid, liquid, or gjis — can even take its tail into
its mouth and prove itself to be without beginning or end. Besides, all
bodies are resolvable into dust ; feldspar, fungus, centipede, herring,
snipe, bear-fat, and the brain of Goethe — ail are resolvent into dust. Dust
is as spry as Puck ; dust is as familiar as the sight of a school-boy's hand
and face; and do not familiarity and serviceableness constitute the value
of a theory .' ilowbeit, I must admit that the dust of the universe is not
common dust. To do its work it has to be too fine for vision. It must
be imperceptible in order to explain perception. True imperceptibility in
the abstract is mysterious; but the mystery in this case is too small for
consideration — only an atom, nearly nothing." Whereupon the Zeit-
Geist crops the ear of the Sphinx and lets it go.

But the Zeit-Geist has forgotten that his little mysteries, his nearly
nothings, added together make up the big mystery, or the universe.
Though he has ground the worlds to powder, the powder remains in his
mortar without the loss of a grain. The weight of the problem is exactly
the same. This very fine dust — what is it? What moulds it into the
wondrous form of earth and sea and air? Does it originate its own mo-
tion ? How ? By simple attraction ? Attraction alone w ould draw the
universe into a solid impenetrable mass without possibility of motion. By
simple repulsion '. Repulsion alone would scatter the universe out of all
possibility of form. Form implies bounds, and bounds imply a binding
force. The diffusest gas must have some continuity to distinguish it as a
gas. But simple repulsion would destroy all continuity, leaving not close-
ness enough for the encounters of a chaos. Naught could exist but inde-
pendent and alien atoms. Xay, the atoms themselves could not exist, for
they must exist in space and have their limit or bound which absolute re-
pulsion would explode at once, hurling their contents to uttermost no-
where.

Moreover, if these two contradictory forces should inhere in the atom
and vet remain equal and constant, the universe would have the same
density throughout and forever— be everywhere solid, everywheie liquid,
or everywhere gaseous, and not multiform and mobile as it now is.

Hence every atom must have power to attract, power to repel, and a
choice which of these powers to use, and in what degree to use it, so as to
make now the granite crag, now the mosses that grow on its clefts, and
now the ciiscadc that breaks against its midway ledges to a downward
breeze of mist.

Cunning atoms! they explain the mystery of the universe by easy

32iJ The Journal of Speculatime Philosophy.

condensation. They resemble the Norse ship Skidbladner, which could
be folded to fit in a side-pocket or spread larije enough to carry all the
gods at once, raising whatever wind it needed by the mere set of its
sails.

" Out and open, little atom," says the Zeit-Geist, with a pat of his hand
and a puif. "Out and open, big, bigger, biggest; a sail for heat, a sail
for light, a sail for electricity ; three sails for life, and now the jib, fore,
main, mizzen, and spanker all a-flying, with the gods themselves at the
ropes for a Shakespeare's ' Tempest ' or the rhyme of the ' Ancient
Mariner.' "

And yet the ship does not go, because it has no sea. Were the atoms
in contact, they would, as we have seen, no longer be atoms, but a solid
mass incapable of motion — dry ground everywhere. But if they are apart
thev have spaces between them, and these spaces are voids, and voids are
nothings. Now, nothings cannot transmit, cannot undulate, have points
of the compass or degrees of distance. It was to fill up such an abvss
of nothing between the sun and the earth that the Zeit-Geist poured
into it a sea of billowing ether, for heat and light to drift across. But
the ether turns out to be no sea, for it, too, is composed of atoms, sepa-
rated by voids. And these voids need each to be filled with ether as
much as did the great void between the earth and the sun ; and should
other seas of ether be poured into them, this ether would likewise prove
to be atoms separated by voids, or nothings. Since, then, the least sepa-
rative nothing is as large as the largest — nothing divided by ninety-five
million miles being no less than nothing multiplied by the same amount
— the nearest atoms are as wide apart as worlds, and the magic ship, with
canvas and crew to circumnavigate the universe, lies high and dry aground
in its own atomic insulation, unable to budge. Oh, befuddled Zeit-Geist,
to rig a ship to sail without a sea !

" Not so quick," replies the Zeit-Geist with some thickness of tongue.
" The fault is not in the atom, but in the void ; atoms are facts, but voids
are metaphysical. I hate metaphysics. Give me facts — facts like atoms
which a man can take hold of and verify. Independent of the problem of
creation, facts or things are the only truths. What one sees, hears, tastes,
smells, handles— that alone is credible. Ideas are abstractions, spooks of
a mental dark seance whose tin horns cannot impose on inductive philoso-
phers like myself and Comte and Mill and Macaulay and Buckle and
Thomas Gradgrind. Gradgrind — you remember him ? A man of cosmic
intellect and my most intimate friend. I shall never forget with what
oratorical force he used to declare, ' Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant
nothing else and root out everything else. You can only form the minds

Notes and Discussions. '^21

of reasoning animals upon facts. Nothing else will ever be of any service
to them. . . . Stick to facts, sir.' "

But, if a man stick to facts, how shall he advance in knowledge^ Im-
mediate observation is the only sort of knowing that sticks to facts. Re-
flection leaves them at once and strays off into ideas. The less the
thought, the tighter the adhesion, and hence it were stickiest not to think
at all. Tlie child knows the flower in this way better than the botanist ;
the coou-hiintinir negro fools the sweet influences of the Pleiades more
distinctly than the Smithsonian astronomer; and a fool, who can only see
and remember, has the absolute genius of tar and feathers. For these
simple minds are unbewitched by Science, who makes hor living by dis-
solving facts into vaporous abstractions. Moreover, the mind that would
stick to facts must never talk. As soon as its tongue begins to wag, that
mind breaks loose and runs away. Language will lie.

Describe, O Zeit-Geist! in glutinous words, if possible, the "three black
crows which sat on a tree," as thou art wont to sing. They were "three";
but three is not a fact ; nobody ever saw three ; three applies to any other
crows as well as to those that sat on a tree; three is an abstraction. They
were "black"; but black is not a fact; no such thing exists; it is a meta-
physical cheat which identifies my lady's moire-antique with yon charcoal-
vender's cheek. They were "crows"; but many crows arc dead and many
yet unborn ; among such as live, some are jackdaws, some are rooks, and
some are known by their love of carrion, yet all are crows. Which were
the three that sat on a tree ? Certainly they were not all — the dead, the
unborn, the living — jackdaws, rooks, and lovers of carrion. What is crow —
pure crow ! Nobody knows but a repentant politician, and he only by
eating the words he has spoken. In the effort to describe his three black
crows, the Zeit-Geist gets utterly bewildered. They vanish into birds, the
birds into animals, the animals into organisms, the organisms into things,
the things into blank being, which, without some other characteristic, is in-
distinguishable from nothing. If he tries to specialize them with proper-
ties, the properties leail liim the same wild chase after phantoms that melt at
last into nothing. Beaks, claws, feathers, are no more real than three and
black and crow. The beaks, for example, are horn ; horn is a compound
of phosphate of lime and albumen ; phosphate of lime is the combination
of a certain acid with a certain base ; acid is a substance that, under cer-
tain conditions, combines with bases, and bases are elements that, under
conditions, combine with acids ; but elements, substances, conditions, are
metaphysics — the worst kind — what the Zeit-Geist calls "shadows of nun-
entity."

Still our great sticker to facts does not despair. Ilis crows may be torn
XIX— 21

322 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

to pieces by words which divide them into parts, elements, chisses, but he
insists that they do not exist as divisible compounds or anatomies. They
are a relation of things rather than the things themselves. What, then, are
these things of which they are relations but themselves the relations of
other things which are also relations I And what at last do all chese rela-
tions relate to ? To nothing i But a relation that relates to nothing were
no relatioij. And is thy fact, O giddy Zeit-Geist 1 this one mesh of a net
which unweaves the universe and yet has not a single strand ? Thinkest
thou to catch crows and hold them in so loose a snare I Lift up its pouch
and look. No crows are there. Instead of the jet gloss of plumage, with
purple-blue reflections, thou seest transient hidings of the sun ; what
seemed the crooked feet arc liills and valleys with their strength of forests
and fruitful fields ; and that semblance of wings was but a mock of the
wind whose rush thou feelest between thy fingers in grasping where the
phantoms last appeared.

When old Thor strove in Yotun-land to lift a cat which proved to be
the Midgard serpent that coils around the world, and to drain at one swill
a horn whose end lay open in the sea, the gods who heard of it laughed a
laugh of thunder, and swore he was drunk. What, then, shall we think of
thee and the three black crows flown through the meshes of thy strand-
less net of unrelenting relativities ? O too confident Zeit-Geist ! Would
not a swallow more of Pierian settle thy stomach and unkink thy brain ?
Might not one deep-drawn thought disclose to thee that a totality of rela-
tions which relates to nothing else must relate to itself ; that self-relation
differs from the relation of one thing to another by its independence amid
dependencies, and its permanence under changes ; that such a relation, at
once both active and passive, both means and ends, both subject and ob-
ject, exists only in mind which knows itself, in will which determines itself,
in personalitv which throuifhout the passing phases of knowledge and voli-
tion abides, yesterday, to-day, and forever, the same ; and that this all-
enfolding, all-upholding personality explains the universe in whole and
every part infinitely better than thy very fine dust ?

''THE DIAL" AND CORRIGENDA.

The following corrections have been received since the article on " The Dial " was
printed. The extracts made from " The White Lotus of the Good Law " were by Miss
E. P. Peabody, and translated from Burnouf. Mr. C. P. Cranch (whose father was
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court) spent only one winter in Louisville, supplying the
pulpit of Rev. J. F. Clarke and editing " The Western Messenger." At this time the
Emerson caricatures were made; but those on "The Dial" came later. Mr. Cranch
says: " I don't remember that Clarke made any drawings, but he sometimes suggested

Book Notices. 323

tlu'ni. I think it wiis hid idea, first, that of illustrating some of the quaint seDtences of
Emerson. It should be stated, too, that these and subsequent sketches were not in-
tended as anything more than humorous attempts to put into a literal form on paper
some of Emerson's quaint sentences. There was no one else I tried my hand on at that
time, and the first thinps I did in that way were really for the private amusement of
Clarke and myself and a few other Emei-sonians ; and there was never any intention
that they should be known to the public. I always took pains to repudiate any Philis-
tine idea that anything like ridicule was here attempted." Mr. Clarke's statement is
quite in agreement with this. Mr. Cranch adds: "It ought to be stated that, though I
preached several years in various parts of the country, I was never ordained or settled as
a parish minister; and that, though I have given a good deal of time to literary work,
I have endeavored to keep mainly to my profession as a painter." He is about to pub-
ish a volume of his later and riper poems, which may appear in the course of the year.

Mr. Curtis claims that there was nothing of romance in his paper in the " Homes of
-Vmerican Authors," and that every incident mentioned was an actual occurrence. He
had letters from Emerson and Hawthorae before he wrote his paper, to enable him to
verify certain details. Mr. Curtis seems to have been misled, however, in regard to
some of the incidents he relates. W. H. Channing was ordained in Cincinnati, May 10,
1839, and was not there much before that time. W. B. Greene entered the Baptist
l<eminary at Newton, Mass. Steams Wheeler, as Mr. Lowell informs me, was the com-
panion of Thoreau in a fii-st experiment in camping-out on the borders of Lincoln pond.
This was during their senior year in college, and the scene of the experiment was but a
few miles from Walden pond.

In regard to his own contributions to " The Dial," Mr. Lowell writes me as follows r
"I would gladly help you if I could, but have no memoranda which would help me. I
think you have noted all my contributions to ' The Dial.' After forty-five years one has
forgotten much, and wishes he had never had so much to forget ! Till you reminded
me of it I had forgotten that I had written for ' The Dial ' at all. The teeth of memory
loosen and drop out like those of the jaws."

G. W. C.

1300K NOTICES.

La Kcvvk Philosophiuue de la Fra.nc£ £T de l'Etranqkh. Paraissant tous les mois ;

dirigde par Tn. Ribot.
jANrARY, 1880:

The .Innuary number of " La Revue Philosophique " for 1880 containa the following
articles :

" The Sense of Color ; its Origin and Development," by A. Eapinas.

" The sense of color is inspired in birds and insects through their pursuit of flowers^

324 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and from them man has inherited his instinct for color, and in this way the correspond-
ing arts have been produced." The author continues to explain color in the animal and
vegetaljle kingdom and its effect on men and animals, and the reason for their prefer-
ence for certain hues.

" Contemporary Philosophers — M. Vacherot," by G. S^ailles.

The author praises a work by M. Vacherot, regarding it as not only Interesting as the
history of a free mind, but as part of the logical development of French philosophy in
the nineteenth century. " Science," says M. Vacherot, " is reality, and the study of
metaphysics is the explanation of reality ; the first controls the second, and the second
completes the first."

" The Problems of Educiition," by Emile Boirac.

Notes and Dooviments :

" Notes on the History of my Parrot in its Relation to the Nature of Language," by
Dr. Samuel Wilks, a member of the Royal Society of London. Extract from the " Jour-
nal of Medical Science" (Eng.).

According to Dr. Wilks, there is no difference between the vocal apparatus of animals
and that of men; the power of language comes from the cerebral organization.

Books examined are :

" The Data of Ethics," by Herbert Spencer. " The Idea of Right in Germany, England,
and France," l)y A. FouilliSe. " Error," by V. Brochard. " Monads and Imagination as
a Principle of Development of the World," by Froschammer (Fr.). " Principles of the
Algebra of Logic, with Examples," by Maefarlane (Eng.).
Februart, 1880:

" La Revue Philosophique " for February, 1880, contains :

" Sleep and Dreams — III. Their Relation to the Theory of Memory," by J. Del-
bceuf.

" The Sense of Color ; its Origin and Development," by A. Espinas (concluded).

" Contemporary Philosophers — M. Vacherot " (concluded).

Books examined are :

" Metaphysics ; its Nature and Laws in its Relations with Religion and Science, to
serve as an Introduction to the Metaphysics of Aristotle," by Barthdlcmy Saint-Hilaire.

Bibliographical Notices.
March, 1880:

" La Revue Philosophiiiue " for March, 1880, contains :

" The Law of Similarity in the Association of Ideas," by V. Brochard. " Two per-
fectly similar ideas," says the author, " would be only one idea." He compares the mind
to a musical instrument in which the keys are in close relation to each other, and ex-
plains the degree of similarity of one idea with another.

" The Masters of Kant — III. Kant and J. J. Rousseau," by D. Nolen. M. Nolen com-
pares Kant and Rousseau, who see themselves in nature. Their philosophical ideas and
temperaments are studied in their points of contrast in this interesting article.

" Thales and what he has borrowed from Egypt," by P. Tannery. The author gives
the progress of philoso|)hy in Thales, and notes what is original and what has been bor-
rowed from Egypt.

Notes and Documents :

" Memory and the Phonograph," by Guyau.

" The Somnambulism of Socrates," by Dr. P. Despme. The author regards the som-
nambulism of Socrates as a cataleptic state, and not madness or ecstasy.

Book Notices. 325

Books examined are :

" The Evolution of Morality," by Stttnilnnd Wnke (Eng.). " Scientific Philosophy,"
by Girard. " Contompuniry German rsyrliolopy," by Th. Riliot. " Thoughts, Maxims,
and Fr,ii;iuents," by Sehopcnhaucr.

Review of " The Journal of Speculative Philoaophy." " Mind," October, 1879; Janu-
ary, 1880.
April, 1880:

" La Revue Philosophique " for April, 1880, contains: "Synthetic Views on Sociolo-
gy," by A. Fouill^e.

" Sociolog)'," according to this author, "springs from a study which is in a great
measure mythical or poetical, and, besides moral and social, the new sociology has meta-
physical i-onsequences." The subject is considered minutely under many heads,

"The Dcveliipment of the Moral Sense in the Child," by B. Perez.

At the age of three or four u child forms regular habits, which are not moral because
he has no consciousness of them, and at seven months it is only through the association
of ideas that he learns obedience. The author continues his subject by showing the
development of the moral sense, external influences, and the effect of voluntary observa-
tion in the child.

" Sleep and Dreams," by J. Delbceuf (concluded).

Notes and Documents :

"On the Influence of Movements on the Sensations," by Ch. Richet.

" On the Impossibility of obtaining Knowledge of Geometry through a Simple Con-
densation of the Results of Experience," by J. Boussinesq.

Books examined are :

" Lectures and Essays," by W. K. Clifford (Eng.) ; " History of Moral Ideas in
Antiijuity," by J. Denis, 2d ed. (Fr.) ; " Superstition in Science," by W. Wundt,
taken from " Cnsere Zcit." An article by Wundt, says his critic, is always welcomed
by the philosophical world, as one is sure to find erudition united to science and good
sense.
Mat, 1880:

"La Revue Philosophifpie " for May, 1880, contains: "Is the Actual Infinite contra-
dictory?" An answer to M. Kenouvier, by U. Lotze.

Wherein M. Rcnouvier and Lotze differ, according to the latter, is that the former
believes the existence of the infinite to be impossible, because we can reach it only by
the synthesis of its elements; Lotze believes that, if there is an infinite, it cannot,
according to its nature, be exhausted by the addition of its finished parts, and that when
the terms of a series are of such a nature that one cannot conceive of them except as
succeeding each other, it is impossible for the scries to form a finished whole, but it
does not prove that a succession is impossible because it is not finished.

" Visual Forms and ^Esthetic Pleasure," by J. Sully.

The author regards it as a truth, furnished by experience and deduced from general
laws, that the movement of every organ is accompanied by a sensation of pleasure, which
he analyzes, and various kinds of movement.

" Ml inory as a Biological Fact," by Th. Ribot.

.M. Ribot offers a scientific analysis of memory, and shows how much it is acquired
and how much it is inherited.

Notes and Documents :

" Descartes as a Stoic," by V. Brochard.

326 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Books examined are:

"Physiology of Grief," by Mantegazzii (Ital.); "More Light — Kaut and Schopen-
hauer," by Last (Ger,).

Bibhograpliical Notices.
June, 1880:

"La Revue Philosophique " for June, 1880, contains: "Considerations of Chemical
Philosophy," by F and R ; " Sleep and Dreams " (concluded), by Delbceuf.

" A Criticpie on Kant and Religion," D. Nolen,

"Kant distinguishes two forms of soTereign good — that which is met only in God, and
that which the human will seeks to realize as its supreme ideal and consists in the har-
monious development of virtue and happiness."

Notes and Discussions :

"Is the Actual Infinite contradictory?" Answer to M. H. Lotze, by Ch. Renouvier.

Renouvier chiefly repeats his arguments as misunderstood by M. Lotze, as he believes.

Books examined are :

" The Religion of the Future," by T. Mamiani ; " Illusory Movements," by Dr. Hoppe ;
" On the Physiology of Writing," by C. Vogt.

Bibliographical Notices.
July, 1880 :

The July number of "La Revue Philosophique" for 1880 contains : "Introduction
to the Study of Natural Law," by E. Beaussire.

The hypothesis of a state of nature jirevious to the social state has served as a point
of departure for the science of natural law, but has no historic or philosophic founda-
tion, and gives an idea of anarchy. Nature has its real place, and the only mistake is
in separating it from the social state. The writer considers natural law in its position
among sciences, and gives a detailed account of the history of justice.

" The Theory of Wundt's Knowledge," by H. Lachellier.

Wundt is the Professor Ordinary of Philosophy at Leipzig, and is much occupied in
physiological psychology. Lachellier, in this article, makes a scientific study of his
principles and his theory of knowledge. " Wundt," he says, " praises Schopenhauer
for having taken for a point of departure in his philosophy tlie logical principle of Rea-
son which dominate.* all human knowledge.

" Personality," by F. Paulhan.

This subject is considered from the standpoint of a spiritualist, and the views of vari-
ous writers are compared.

Notes and Discussions :

" Historical and Geographical Determinism," by E. Ijavisse.

Books examined are :

"Moral Solidarity," by It. Marion; "The Origin of Language," by Zaborowski (Fr.);
" The Characteristics of the Philosophy of the Present in Germany," by Benno Erd-
mann (Germ.); "The Science of Education," by P. Siciliani (Ital.).
AconsT, 1880.

" La Revue Philosophique" for August, 1880, contains: "Physiological Localizations,
from the Subjective and Critical Point of View," by A. Debon.

This article is a discussion on the relation between the mind and physical sensatiotis.

" Belief and Desire, the Possibility of their Measurement," by G. Tarde.

The author bases his arguments on the question whether psychological quantities can
be measured.

Book Notices. 327

" General Disorders of Memory," by Th. Ribot.

This subject ia considered as to the peculiarities of discnse, ami many cases are given
as examples.

Books examined are :

" Studies on the History of German Esthetics," since Kant, by Neudecker (Germ.) ;
" On the A.<sociation of Ideas," by W. James (Eng.).

Intelligent criticisms on the articles in " The Journal of Speculative Philosophy,"
" Mind," conclude this number.
Skptehber, 1880.

"La Revue Philosophique " for September, 1880, contains: ''The Theory of the
Comical in German Esthetics," by Ch. Bernard.

Very little attention has been given this subject by philosophers until Meier, Eber-
hard, Mendelsohn, and Sulzer, who have described it in every form with fincme and
sagacity. " The risible," says Mendelsohn, " is a contrast of perfections and imperfec-
tions." The science is making progress, but is as yet in the state of mere assertions
not grouped or combined. Lessinghas made the boldest strides in his definition, where
he establishes a point of approach between the risible and ugly ; he admits ugliness in
art as a necessity to produce mixed sensations, the terrible and risible. The author
specifies the various elements of the comical, and what is lacking in tlie conception of
it by numerous writers.

" Belief and Desire, the Possibility of their .Measurement," by G. Tarde, is con-
cluded.

Notes and Documents :

'• The Fusion of Similar Sensations," by A. Binet.

The author gives a great variety of mental and physical sensations in examples for
comparison.

" Observations on Animal Psychology," by D. Delaunay.

The author does not ascribe moral qualities to dogs, but discovers in them attention
and impressions ; a young dog is more governed by them than an old one which has
acquired experience and intellectual qualities transmitted by inheritance. His observa-
tion on animals and their peculiarities are generally just.

Books examined are :

" Darwinism, the Sign of the Present Time," by Wigand (Fr.) ; " Antitheistic Theo-
ries," Robert Flint ; " Invention in the Arts, in Sciences, and the Practice of Virtue,"
E. Jnyau.
October, 1880.

"La Revue Philosophique " for October, 1 880, contains : " Somnambulism questioned,"
by Ch. Richet.

There i.'' a great diffei-cnoe between sonmambulists, but the state of somnambulism is
the same with all ; it can be characterized in one word — automatism. The writer refers
the reader to the words of Hamlet as an analysis of somnambulism.

"An English Idealist in the Eighteenth Century, Arthur Collier," by G. Lyon.

This article comprises a personal sketch ^and a philosophical review of Collier as an
idealist, scientist, and a man of piety.

"The Pessimism of Leojiardi," by Krantz.

The fixed idea which prevails in pessimist systems gives them a deceptive appearance
of strength and simplicity, according to this author, who contends that pessimism is
some improvemcut on optimism, which says all is for the best, not that all is well ; pes-

328 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

simism is more radical. The poet, being more accessible than a philosopher like
Schopenhauer, enables one to see the weak side of this subject.

Varieties :

" The New Programme of Philosophy," by H. Marion.

This programme has been revised, and the most important improvement is found in
the following note : The order adopted in this programme should not restrain the liber-
ty of the professor, provided the questions pointed out are all treated, which means that
any professor, master of his material and sure of himself, can manage his course as seems
most logical to him.

Books examined are :

" The Psychological Doctrine of Association," by Luigi Ferri (Fr.) ; " Psychology of
Sensibility in its History and Foundation," by Nicolas Grote ; " Studies on the Manu-
script of Pierre de Fermat," by C. Henry.
November, 188. i :

"La Revue Philosophique " for November, 1880, contains: " Political Institutions —
Preliminaries," by Herbert Spencer ; " Somnambulism questioned," by Ch. Richet (con-
cluded) ; " Partial Disorders of the Memory," by Th. Ribot ; and " Platonic Education,"
by P. Tannery.

In the latter article the author essays to show the importance to science of the ideas
of Plato and what influence he has exerted upon the mathematical movement of his
century, and among the beliefs of Plato as to education is the one of great interest to-
day, that girls should receive the same education as boys, only that they should be edu-
cated apart.

Books examined afe :

" Moral Certainty," by 0116-Laprune ; " History of Philosophy in France in the Nine-
teenth Century," by Ferraz (Fr.).

DECE.MBER, 1880:

"La Revue Philosophique " for December, 1880, contains: "The Method and Uni-
versal Mathematics of Descartes," by L. Liard. " Descartes's doctrines," says the writer,
"have been the soul of all the sciences in the seventeenth century, and have remained
in part the soul of contemporary sciences." The discussion of his method is complete
and interesting.

" Madness in the Child," by G. Compayr6.

Many samples of moral as well as mental insanity are herein given, and the ages at
which it develops and the causes.

" Political Organization in general," by Herbert Spencer.

Notes and Discussions :

" On the Fusion of Similar Sensations," by J. Delbceuf .

Books examined :

" From Magdeburg to Konigsberg." An interesting sketch of Karl Rosenkranz by
the author prefaces this article.

Bibliographical Notices :

" On Intuition in Discoveries and Inventions," by Dr. Netter; A. Poey on " M. Littr^,
and A. Comte " ; Coste on " God and the Soul," an Essay on Experimental Idealism ; " Ele-
ments of Philosophy," by Th. Bernard (Fr.); "Pictures and Resemblances in Philoso-
phy," by R. Eucken ; " The Order of Succession in Platonic Dialogues," by FruhmuUer ;
" Lessing's Nathan, a Brochure," by Bloch (Germ.) ; " Moral Doctrines in Relation to
Reality," by Sergi. "Psychological Evolution," E. J. Varona (Ital).

Virginia Champlin.

Book Notices. 32!)

I. German Pbilosopbical Classics for Enolisb Readers asd Students.'

Four volumes of this series have already appeared, and each one of them is an impor-
tant contribution to phila<>ophic literature. Before pnK'eedinf; to examine the merits of
these works separately, a few words ought to be said concerning the general purpose of
the series. It is characteristic of Americans to desire to gather to themselves and assimi-
late results from every quarter and of all descriptions. But it has been questioned if
their avidity would not meet with a serious check when they should be brought face to
face with the details of German metaphysics. Judging from the present series, this does
not appear to have been the case. It indicates that the promoters of the undertaking
believe that the time has come to have these very details made accessible to the general
reading public. The series comes at a period when scientific activity is at its height, and
when very few people are confident enough even to pretend that they know what philoso-
phy is. In the presence of these facts, also, its projectors betray no misgivings as to the
requirement of the public for such a labor, and we have to inquire whether they have
reckoned wisely in this matter.

We shall be helped in our estimate by reference to the prospectus, in which the editor
of the series has defined its scope and intention. It is there stated that the aim of each
volume " will be to furnish a clear and attractive statement of the special substance and
purport of the original author's argument, to interpret and elucidate the same by refer-
ence to the historic and acknowledged results of philosophic inquiry, to give an inde-
pendent estimate of merits and deficiencies, and especially to show, as occasion may
require, in what way German thought contains the natural complement, or the much-
needed corrective, of British speculation."

The general object of the scries, as a whole, is " to render reasonably accessible to the
intelligent English reader a knowledge of German philosophic thought in its leading out-
lines, and at the same time to furnish the special student with a valuable introduction
and guide to more comprehensive studies in the same direction."

We find the justification for a work of this nature in several important considerations,
one or two of which only can be alluded to here. At all times the distinctively human
needs remain the same, and they are always pressing. Certain questions face every man
more or less persistently, and he cannot wait for future generations to pass a verdict
upon them. If he consents to live at all he must define his own relation to them. Wis-
dom plainly demands that he shall bring to his aid the best light that has yet been shed
upon these subjects ; and the Germans have surely said much about them that no man
can afford to pass by slightingly.

Philosophy is valuable, however, only as it is, in a way, the product of each man's own
thought and life activity. Moreover, these forms of activity are constantly unfolding
themselves. An ade<|uate philosophy will recognize both the new and old. In its form
of statement emphasis will be laid upon different points in different periods. Hence the
need of a continual restatement of the old problems, and of their solution, and the need
among different peoples of such a treatment of these problems as shall meet their own
particular requirements. In other words, they must have a philosophy of their own, in
the sense of dealing, from their own point of view and in an original manner, with the
universal problems of philosophy.

But wc fail utterly to comprehend the situation if we suppose that any age can build
its philosophy entirely anew. The old problems remain, and every step of thought

' Pabliahed by Messrs. S. C. Griggs & Co., Chicago.

330 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

progress is conditioned upon wliat lias already been done. Those wlio deprecate the
detailed study of German philosophy lose sight of this fact. They would virtually ignore
one of the most important phases of thought that the world has known. Of course this
omission is impossible. The essential results of German thinking on this subject must
become a part of the intellectual fibre of all who deal with these questions before any
noteworthy progress in philosophy can be made. To this end the series under considera-
tion looks, and it will be, when completed, the most important contribution that has yet
been made toward its realization.

Mention should be made of the editorship of the series. Great credit is certainly due
to Prof. Morris for having undertaken so large a task, and he is to be especially con-
gratulated upon having secured the co-operation of so many eminent philosophical writers.
The editor lias himself contributed one volume already, and it is to be hoped that others
will follow from his pen.

II. Kant's CRiTrQUE of Pure Reason. By George S. Morris, Ph. D., Professor of

Philosophy in Michigan University.

All students of Kant are aware of the conflicting lines of thought which meet in the
first of his " Critiques." The old philosophical method, which his work did so much to
supersede, was the one in which Kant grew up, and he did not wholly rid himself of its
preconceptions. His work was essentially a " voyage of discovery," and for this reason,
" as the inquiry proceeds, words and phrases acquire, and have attached to them, new
meanings." In the midst of these difficulties, to set forth Kant's meaning in a satisfac-
tory manner requires skilful treatment. The old metaphysical point of view, that occu-
pied by Kant at the beginning of his philosophical endeavors, must be made clear,
together with the influence exercised by these early opinions on his subsequent thought.
We want an exposition, moreover, of Kant's own results, precisely as he stated them,
and, in connection with this, an explanation of what is implied in his premises when
freed from extraneous conceptions, or, in other words, of the logical outcome of his
system, when rigorously developed according to its essential spirit. All this is admirably
done in the work before us. The writer's exposition of Kant's thought is clear and vig-
orous, and he brings to his aid an intimate acquaintance with the later phases of the
movement which Kant originated.

The introduction contains a brief examination of the theory of knowledge, which Kant
so energetically attackeil. According to this view, knowledge is a mechanical process.
Subject and object are opposed to, and outside of, each other; and are related after the
manner of two physical objects. To explain how the object comes to be taken up into
the opposed subject and known is more than any philosopher of mechanism or sensa-
tionalism has been able satisfactorily to do.

At each stage of the progress of the work, Kant's repeated limitations of the applica-
tion of his own argument are considered, and the arbitrariness of these limitations is
pointed out. A good example of this treatment is to be found in the chapter on " The
Non-contingent Form of Sense." After proving to his own satisfaction the ideal nature of
space and time, Kant goes on to caution the reader against the inference that space and
time are therefore real in the noumenal sense. His proof has been that they are not
entities, things apart from the mind, but forms of human consciousness. He now de-
clares that they are " exclusively subjective," that " they correspond to nothing which is
contained in the real nature, whether of the absolute subject or of the absolute oliject."
They have no " absolute objective validity." This assertion Prof. Morris shows to be

Book Notices. 331

purely dogmalic, and |)oiiit:« out tliut Kunt i.s led to it \>y having here adopted, as his
conception of the absolutely real, the conception of " thing," or " substance," in its
mechanical meaning. Of course, if " the notion of dead, inert, opaque substance is the
synonym of absolute reality," space and time as forms of the mind cannot partake of
absolute reality. But the "Critiiiue" ugaiu and again shows that this "conception of
substance or thing is relative and not absolute." And I'rof. Slorris concludes that, if,
as Kant demon.st rates, " the conception of substance, or ' subsistence,' is applicable only
to phenomenal — not to absolute — existence, and if the relation of ' inherence ' is a purely
phenomenal relation, then the jiroof that space and time neither fall under this concep-
tion nor exhibit the mentioned relation is surely no proof that they, too, are purely phe-
nomenal ! "

An important chapter is that on " The Limit of Science." In this the vexed questions
of the nature of phenomena and noumcna, and of the " thing-in-itself," are discussed.
Upon these points, as every one knows, Kant himself is neither clear nor consistent.
The various positions occupied by him from time to time aic reviewed, with the conclu-
sion that his confused treatment only serves to teach again " the untenableness of all
ontological theories, which are colored by materialism," and " the truth of philosophy's
universal doctrine concerning the exclusive primacy of spirit in the world of absolute
reality." Kant's cardinal error at this point consists, according to the author, in making
the distinction between ]ihenomeua and noumena, or things-in-themselves, rest on a dis-
tinction irithoul our knowledge, or possible experience. A more complete philosophy
sees that this distinction is one made within consciousness, and resting in the very nature
of the knowing process.

Prof. Morris does not agree with Kant as to the " futility of metaphysics," provided
the term metaphysics be taken in a rational sense. In speaking of the denionstra-
bility of God's existence he says : " ' Demonstrable' means ' capable of being .shown,' or
' immediately jMinlal out ' ; and, in the way just described [i. <■., the making explicit of
that ivhich is implicit in the living experience of the human spirit], (!od, as a spirit,
comes to be recognized as the present and immediate, universal, living and demonstrulilc
precondition and goal of all our life and all our consciousness, l)e the object of the latter
ostensibly man, (lod, or world."

From the beginning the author makes his own position perfectly dear. Indeed, we
count it one of the leading merits of the book that it is written with the energy of con-
viction. In this non-committal and balancing time it is a pleasure, both to the believer
and to the unbeliever, to meet with a vigorous affirmation now and then. Prof. Morris's
affirmation takes the form of a defence of the position that we can penetrate in knowl-
edge to reality ; that a true science of knowledge furnishes a key to those great secrets
of the universe which most vitally concern man, because such a science is a science of
being or reality ; an<l that we learn from this science that the imiversc is not, in its ulti-
mate essence, mechanical, but spiritual.

As a concise statement and criticism of Kant's thought, this little book is invaluable.

111. Kiimite's Sciknck of Knowledox. By Charles Carroll EvERtrrr, I). D., of Ilar-
varrl University.

It is not a difficult matter to give, in a brief chapter or two, the general results of
Fichte's philosophizing, and to define his phicc among the thinkers of his time. It is
<piite another thing, however, to follow his reasonings, step by step, through the elabo-
rate and often apparently fanciful deductions, and to make them comprehensible and

332 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

even attractive to ordinary thought. Dr. Everett has undertaken the latter task, and is
deserving of the highest commendatiou for the remarkable manner in which he has car-
ried it through. We rank his book without hesitation among the very first of its kind.

It has been said by a writer on Fiehte that " his work is as arid and forbidding as the
desert of Sahara. It is a tour de force of abstruse and repulsive metaphysics." Cer-
tainly, to one who is new to this order of conceptions, there is an air of strangeness and
unreality about Fichte's whole procedure, while the relation of his thought to the familiar
problems of philosophy is continually obscured by the rigorously technical natvire of his
various expositions, from which he seldom departs.

Dr. Everett's method of dealing witli these difficulties is well chosen. Believing that
" no system can be understood until belief in it is seen to be possible," he seeks to iden-
tify himself with Fichte's work, and " to make its reasonings seem conclusive where that
is possible, and plausible where plausibility is all that can be hoped." In conformity
with this purpose we find him, in addition to the continuous unfoldment of Fichte's
thought, pausing frequently to sum up results, and to translate them into the language
of common use and specify their bearing upon familiar philosophical problems. It be-
comes necessary, moreover, if Fiehte is to be fairly represented in modern dress, to con-
sider, to some extent, the objections raised against him by critics of his own and a later
day, as well as the positive teachings of philosophers antagonistic to him. In this way,
as occasion requires, we are brought into contact with some of the doctrines of Hume,
Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer, J. S. Mill, and others, on various fundamental points,
and we are made to fee! whatever of force there may be in Fichte's position by coutrast
with theirs.

An adequate treatment of Fiehte requires continual reference to Kant, and a compari-
son of doctrines. But the author is careful to remark that the main justification for
examining the relation between the two is to discover the signification of the problems,
considered in themselves. What is said in this connection bears so aptly upon the anti-
quarian spirit which many bring to the study of philosophy that it deserves citation at
length, " Indeed," he says, " the study of the history of philosophy fails of its true end
when it is pursued merely as a matter of historical or curious interest. One might as
well watch the changing forms in the kaleidoscope, or the shifting shadows of interlacing
branches, as to study the changing forms of human thought, considered simply as chang-
ing forms. For one who feels no need of an answer to the questions with which a system
of philosophy deals, that system has no significance." It is the " permanent human
interest which is involved in the problems which Fiehte undertakes to solve " that is
sought in the work before us.

Kant left many unsolved problems, but he also left a method for their solution. Upon
these problems Fiehte projected his full force, divesting himself of all preliminary expla-
nation. The categories had been taken up bodily mto Kant's system, without deduction
from any common unifying principle ; the thiug-in-itself was unexplained ; there were
many questions arising out of Kant's use of the Practical Reason ; and, finally, liis system
was completely wanting in unity. All these deficiencies Fiehte attempted to supply.
The I is the unifying principle sought ; the categories, and forms of perception, and
mental faculties, are deducible from it, and, as there is nothing beyond and without it,
the phantom thing-in-ilself vanishes. Moreover, Fiehte undertakes to overcome the
externality and arbitrariness with which Kant had invested his postulates, by deriving
them from the nature and essence of the I, and not merely assuming them, as Kant had
done, to satisfy the needs of the individual.

Book Notices. 333

Now, if we follow Fichte somewhat into details, his parallelism witli Kant, together
with the extoiit of his solution of the problems which baffled the latter, becomes mani-
fest. The dilHcult point for Idealism, which acknowledges only spiritual activity, is to
explain the external world. With Fichte this dilhculty appears in the antinomy of the
not-inc. It is possible to prove that I do not, and cannot, transcend my own conscious-
ness. What we call the external world lies, therefore, within this world of consciousness.
On the other hand, all proof avails nothing, for the " world of objects remains to me a
world that is foreign to myself." As Dr. Everett further expresses it, " If these objects
arc outside of my consciousness, how did they ever get into it ? or, if they are in my
consciousness, how did they ever get out of it "i " Idealism requires that the absoluteness
and independence of the I be preserved; but this is only accomplished when the I, by
its own activity, and without the aid of any foreign element, produces the world of
objects.

Fichte finds no theoretical solution for the contradiction here involved. The nearest
approach to a solution only reduces the dilHculty to its lowest terms, and is as follows :
The not-me is found to be, as required, the result of the activity of the I, and not some-
thing lying outside of it. But this not-me is produced because the activity of the I is
reversed, or thrown back upon itself. The occasion of this reversal is an obstacle with
which the activity of the I collides. This obstacle is not, however, the not-me — the latter
being produced, as already stated, by the reversed activity of the I. The nature of the
obstacle is that of a mere limit.

The antinomy still remains, for even this faint limitation of the I destroys its absolute-
ness.

Stated in a slightlv different form, the nature of the above contradiction reveals itself
even more clearly. Intelligence implies limit, and limit implies fiuitcness. Thus we
have the 6nitc I, which is intelligent. But the I as practical has no limitations. It
passes into the infinite. The result is that the infinite I and the finite I stand opposed
to each other. " The one will assert itself, and will therefore be absolute. The other
will be intelligent and self-conscious, and mtist therefore be limited. . . . Both of these
elements belong to the nature of the I." Briefly, then, the antinomy is this : " The I is
both infinite and finite," and the jiroblem is to reconcile these opposing elements. Hav-
ing failed theoretically, Fichte fulls back upon a practical solution. It is true that the
Ego is compelled to recognize a limit, and is therefore finite ; but it is not constrained as
to the place of the limit, and may vary it at will. In this respect it is therefore unlimited
anil infinite. The I, as practical, may continually remove this limit farther and farther
into its own infinitude. Although the liounds of the finite can never be overstepped,
this possibility of constant approach to the infinite confers upon the Ego the character
of infinitude. " The reconciliation," says Dr. Everett, •' is found in the fact that, while
the limitation must be assumed by and for the sake of the intelligence, as a reality, ab-
solute freedom from limit exists as a postulate. The postulate is always accomplishing
itself, though it is never accomplished."

Fichte's similarity to Kant in the above reasoning is obvious. The antinomies of the
latter rest upon the opposition of the understanding and the reason; that of the former
depends upon the irreconcilability of two similar elements, the theoretical and practical
reason, as expressed in the two phases of the Ego already considered. In the systems
of each a practical solution is found for the dilliculties which the theoretical rea.son can-
not solve. But Fichte's .system is the more adecpialc and complete. By substituting for
the practical reason of Kant his own infinitely striving Ego, the postulates arc capable

334 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of a more natural explanation. For example, immortality is implied in the inherent
striving of the I to realize itself, which requires an eternity tor its fulfilment. The
starting-point of Fiehte sheds light upon the advance achieved by him. In the " Critique
of Judgment " Kaut suggests that there may be some principle of unity — the su])ernatu-
ral he calls it — in which the antagonistic theoretical and practical reasons are reconciled
to each other. This principle Fiehte set himself expressly to discover, and he found it
in the Ego. It is in this manner that he claims to have established philosophic unity of
principle.

We have given a brief outline of Fichte's general procedure, as unfolded liy Dr.
Everett, but enough, perhaps, to show the manner in which the subject is liandle<l.
Some mention ought to be made, in closing, of the literary merits of the book. It is rich
in apt illustrations which make one at times almost forget that the author is engaged
upon the most difficult philosophical problems. — M. I. Swift.

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Booh Notices. 335

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336 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

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THE JOURNAL

OF.

SPEOULATIA^E rillLOSOniY

Vol. XIX.] Octobek, 1885. [No. 4.

IS PANTHEISM THE LEGITIMATE OUTCOME OF

MODERN SCIENCE?'

BY ANDREW p. PKABODY.

Pantheism ]iresupposes monism. If God is the All, or if the
All i> God, the All or God must be homoLceiieons, — either spirit or
matter. The distinction between the two must be nominal, not
real. Either matter must be a mode of spirit, or spirit a develop-
ment of matter.

Pantheism is in itself an uml)iiiuous terra. It may denote what
mii^ht be called hypertheism, or it may be a mere euphemism for
a denial of the being of God. It may be consistent and co-exist-
ent with sincere devotion and fervent piety, or it may exclude the
relifrious element from thought and feeling. Under the first ot
these phases of pantheism I might class together, very widely as
they difFiT, Spinoza, Berkeley, and Schleiermacher, who, in their
protouncl and vast conception of the All-wise, Almiglity, and In-
finite Being, coidd not ima<;ine existence as detached from him,
nay, not even by liis own creative fiat. As the atmosphere en-
folds the earth in its elastic embrace, pulses in every type of organ-
ized being, is insphered in tlie countless globules on the crest of

■ Read at the Coauord School of I'hilosuphy, July 31, 1885.
.\ I X -22

338 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the wave, swells the liird-sonp;, is lirokeii into mm umbered diver-
sities ot pitch and tone in i)ipe, Hiite, and (iro-an, lends and reclaims
its constituent elements in the unceasing routine of chemical pro-
cesses ill Nature's laboratoi'v, yet is one and the same atmosphere,
entire, continuous, unbroken, undiminished, unincreased, — so does
He, who alone is, breathe in all life, assume all forms, appear in
all phenomena, constitute all harmony, beauty, and grandeur, and,
no less, all that seems fearful, malignant, and evil, which seems so
only because we, infinitesimal though integral portii^ns of the
supreme whole, have not perception sufficiently keen and pene-
trating to take in the diapason in which we bear our several parts,
and for that very reason can hear little outside of the melody
we make. In this system the One Being is self-conscious, freely
willing, and morally perfect. As compared with him, we men
have such consciousness as might be conceived of as residing in
the individual organs and members of the human body, if each
were conscious of itself, its place, and its functions, and of nothing
more, while the man in his totality comprehended all these indi-
vidual consciousnesses, with the sole directing and controlling
power over the organs and members. On this hypothesis we
might conceive, in each individual consciousness, of reverence,
trust, and love for that on which all depend for guidance and
government. Thus the individual man, though himself a part of
God, may cherish sentiments of loyalty and devotion toward the
Divine Totality of which he is a part.

Pantheism of this type has its logical issue in the denial of the
existence of matter. God must be homogeneous, else not perfect.
If nature and man are, in philosophical strictness, "but the varied
God," and if Pie exists independently of material conditions —
which is the only definition that we can give of spirit — then what
we call matter is but a mode of spirit, having no existence except
in the consciousness of God, and in the ideas which his presentific
volition otfers to those sub-consciousnesses which are parts of his
own all-embracing consciousness.

Toward this type of pantheism modern science manifestly does
not tend ; for on this theory there is neither creation, nor devel-
opment, nor evolution, but only emanation, contingent solely on
the Divine will, in such a way that causation can be no more than
an arbitrary and in no wise necessary relation of antecedence and

If I'aiith)!nin the L''(jiUuuite Outcome of Modern Science f 33!>

ooDiicMiiienfe. Tliis fonn of paiitlieism, tlionjjli philosopliiciilly iin-
teiirthle, as I liiive no (loul)t you tliiiik with me, so far from being
aiiti-religioii!;, is in no deirree repugnant to Ciiristianity in its most
.orthodox type, and in those peculiar features of its liistory which
in tliis sceptical age of ours lie most open to objection and cavil.

But the pantheism with which modern science is charged with
being in alliance is mati'rialistic. The only God that it owns is
impersonal Law, pervading tiie universe, necessitating all beings,
events, and phenomena, inevitable and. inexorable. Tiiis Law
exists only in the multiform univei-se which it pr(i(hices, sustains,
and iroverns, and with wiiieh it is identical in such a sense that
God and the LTniverse, the Whole, to irav, are mutually converti-
ble terms. In the totality there is no self-consciousness. Conse-
quently prayer and communion with God cannot be. The only
self-consciousness in the universe is tliat of individual beings suffi-
ciently developed to possess it. God himself is an agnostic. Ue
knows not himself nor anytliing else. You and I know just as
much of him as we know of the univei-se.

This form of pantheism, if you will not rather term it atheism,
is certainly not inconsistent with such statement as might be made
and has been made of the development theory. If matter is un-
created and eternal ; if its elementary atoms had during a past
eternity, and have now, the intrinsic power of self-organization and
self-developnient, so that one of the nebuhi? now floating in the
far-off heavens, without any will or law save its own autonomy,
must of necessity have in the process of ages its flora and fauna,
its rational beings, its genius, taste, love, faitli, and piety, which
will in due time culminate in agnosticism ; if the growth of man
from a primitive si)eck of proto]>lasm is as normal and inevitable
as the growtli of the oak from the acorn in a congenial soil, — then
there is no place for a personal God in our philosophy, and. if we
shrink from the ]>rofession of blank atheism, the only alternative
is to apply the name of God to embodied Law. This was the
position occupied by John Stuart Mill during the larger part of
his life, though he had recedeil fmm it when he wrote the essay
on potential theism, published after his death. The avowed ag-
nostics assert that no more tiian this is cognizidde, though they
give the more religiously disposed the benefit of a doulit. a possi-
bility.

34t) The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

But let ns see liow tiincli of tliis theory rests on substantial
grounds. Remember that it is at heat a theory, an hypothesis,
Whether it will ever be more tlian this we cannot say. There
seem, however, to be insurmountable obstacles in the way of its
absolute demonstration, though not in the way of the establish-
ment of the law of evolution on such a basis as to insure for it the
general consent of thoughtful and scientific minds. Indeed, it has
already reached that stage, except with certain persons who are
stubborn literalists in the interpretation of Scripture. It is now
generally believed, among those who are entitled to have oj)inion3
on such subjects, that the solar system — the same being probably
true of other like systems — was originally a conglomeration of
incandescent matter, which, in cooling, threw off successive rings
that globed themselves into planets; that in this star-mist were
the germs of all organic being; tliat specks of primitive ]iroto-
plasm became self-multiplying cells; that from these cells were
developed the earliest forms of self-transmitting life; that the
existing species of plants and animals have been in large part the
natural progeny of these earliest forms of life, and the result of
originally intinitesimal differences, and aecumuhtted increments of
these differences, occasioned by varieties of position and surnnind-
ing^, and that in the history of tiie physical universe normal de-
velopment holds the same place that used to be accorded to spe-
cific creation, and may account for almost all things as they have
been and are.

There are. however, points as to which a reasonable doubt exists
in many minds not unscientific. It matter is eternal, how is it
that it has not done more for itself in a past eternity, — that in our
world there has been active development within what to the man
of science is an historical epoch, — that there is incandescent star-
mist still afloat in the heavens? Is it conceivable that the being
that is from eternity can be mutable ? Can the law of development
have sprung up spontaneously ? Can that law — uniform and act-
iiii;- upon matter originally homogeneous — account for all forms,
diversities, and stages of being? Does it account, if for man, for
all that he now is? Does it account for all the facts and phenom-
ena which we call moral and spiritual? These are, all of them,
points on which observation and analysis give us no data, — no
grounds for reasoning. The law of development, even if estab

Is Pani/ieimn the Lt'gliimate Outcome of Modern Science^ ;>4l

lisheJ beyond doiilit, does not of necessity eover the whole fiehl.
There is not siitticient proof tliat it coui|ireheiKls all the working
forces whicli iiave been or are in the universe. There inav be, for
nni^iit tiiat the scientist can atttrni witii certainty to the contrary,
otlier laws, forces, and causes behind it, acting concurrently with
it, or supiilenicnting it. This certainly has been the belief of men
who have had the highest reputation and authority as evolution-
ists. Darwin never fails to recognize the Supreme Will and
ProvidLiice, and with so much of manifest sincerity and devout
reverence that it cannot have been with him a mere concession
to popular prejudice. Asa Gray, rather Darwin's coadjutor than
his follower, and now justly holding the foremost place among
evolutionists, is not only a theist, but a believing member of a
Christian church of unchallenged orthodoxy. The theory in ques-
tion does not in any sense or degree militate with theism. The
only reason why it has been supposed to be anti-theistic is that
very many persons have so identified the origin of the universe
with the cosmogony of the Pentateuch, that they can conceive of
God as the Creator only in the mode there specified.

Now, I do not believe that cosmogony was within the purpose
of the author or compiler of the book of Genesis. His aim was
to connect the name and thought of the Supreme Being with the
various objects of false worshi]), as light, the sun, moon, and stars,
and divers forms of animal and vegetable life, which had divine
honors paid to them by the Egy[)tians and the Canaanites. Witii
poetic feeling, and probably with a mnemonic purpose, he grouped
these objects into a drama of creation in six successive acts, cor-
responding to the six working days of the week, in the hope, as it
seems to me, that his devout readers might take those several
days' works as themes for meditation, praise, and thanksgiving on
the successive six days of the week, as all together on the seventh.

As a theist I look with special favor on the theory of evolution.
The shaping i)f worlds and their inhabitants by unnumbered ex-
press acts of creation from nothing or from brute matter is incon-
ceivable, and seems irrational, — especially so as to the creation of
the many groups of species, not very far apart, which now never
run into one another, and equally as to annoying and venomous
plants, insects, and reptiles, which serve no discernible purpose in
the economy of nature. It is difficult to imagine mosquitoes.

342 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

rattlesnakes, and skunks, witli precisely sucli endowments as thej
possess, as speeifically created, whether for their own happiness or
for their services to other animals; while under the theory of
evolution nothing is more probable than that certain conditions
niii;ht lead to the contingent development, and equally to the
ultimate disappearance, of forms of organized being that should
sustain other than pleasant and healthful relations to tlieir fellow-
beiugs.

Tliat the evolution theory presents itself to the human mind
as pre-eminently ratiomil and natural, that by its simplicity it
commends itself to our I'eady adoption, that it has the advantage
of intrinsic probability, so far from excluding a Supreme Creative
Power, is precisely what we should expect in case the universe
was and is tiie work ot Omnipotent Wisdom. If there is a God,
our own intelligence was derived from his, and must of necessity
be in many respects in accordance with his. Though immeasur-
ably transcending us in wisdom, he yet must, in portions of his
character and administration, be intelligible and appreciable by
minds that are what he has made them. The reasonableness of
the development theory easts discredit, indeed, oti the old idea of
specific creation, but not on the belief in a Creator. Omnipotence
could of course choose its own cosmogony ; but it was antecedently
probable that its cosmogony would be such as would be recog-
nized with admiration by the most advanced and deep-seeing
minds.

But not only is this theory consistent with theism ; it is absurd
on any other hypothesis. The pantheism which would claim kin-
dred with the evolution theory wholly ignores conscious intelli-
gence in the development of the universe. Yet eternal matter
must have had in its primitive atoms the capacity of becoming all
that it has been and is ; that is, there must have been in the struc-
ture of those atoms that which could not fail of becoming life, mus-
cular power, volition, miiid, and soul. Each succeeding develop-
ment must have had its germ in the preceding ; all must have had
their germs in the primitive cells; and these cells must have
chanced into being hy fortuitnus combinations of atoms swirling
in chaos. Under such conditions, combinations must have taken
place ; but that they should have been effected with the prophecy of
.<uch marvellous and diverse issues, that our own ancestry should

Is Panthelmi the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science ? 343

have thus liad tlieir birth with the certainty tliat tlieir posterity
wonUl, alter some tiiousaiuls of generation?, trace tiie long ])edi-
gree bacic to the time wiien " tlie waters stood above the nioun-
tain^" and that all tliis sliouid liave tai<en place by a spontaneous
energy in the stuff of which the worlds are made, by law without
a law-irivcr, taxes and exceeds our credulity. On the whole as-
cending series we have, at each stage, a cause more big with
effects, till we reach the i«rimitive cell, or the atoms whose com-
bination formed it, where we have a cause containing a series of
etfects reaching on through myriads of iVoiis. itself uncaused. I
say uncaused ; for law is not a cause, but a mode of being or of
action. Moreover, man is as far as ever from discerning any
efficient material cause. There were several alleged causes, such
as gravitation, magnetism, electricity, caloric ; but they, even
when we believed in their separate existence, were names, not for
what we knew, but for what we did not know, — fence-words set
np to hide our ignorance. They told us how, not wliy, things
took place. They designated laws, not powers ; and now, wlien
they are found to be mutually convertible, and but one under
several names, still the force of which they are modes and mani-
festations is as truly an unknown essence as they wei'e. It shows
us how, but does not tell us why, phenomena occur. Force is not
creative, but executive. It has laws, but cannot make laws. It
is an essential agent in evolution ; but there is nothing in our ex-
perience or observation to indicate it as the original cause of
being for that which is evolved. Force and matter conjoined
could not make a univei-se, a world, an elephant, a bnttertly, a
moth, a fruitful germ.

Yet the agnostic, or the pantheist of the type now under con-
sideration, admits the certainty of no uther primitive existences
than matter and force ; for, if Cind and the universe are identical,
God was not wlieii the universe was not ; he is the slowly shaping
birth of matter and force, and, so long as there are nebulae still to
be condensed and pcopU-d, he is not yet all that he will be. But
evohititin imi)lies tiie primitive existence of that which was to be
evolved. Nothing can have come out of i)rotoplasm whicii was
not potentially in it. There must have been in rudimentary ex-
istence, uncounted ages ago, that from which omniscience could
have prophesied the being of your lecturer, of bis mind with such

344 The Jorirnal of Speeulathw Philosophij.

powers as it lias, and of the stage of mental ilcveloitnient — imper-
fect as some may think it — in wliicli he has lived and is likely to
die a believer in a personal God. Tiiis, to me, is not incredible;
but, in order to believe it, I must have, behind and beyond the
law of development, an efficient creative cause. That cause I can
find only in a self-conscious and freely willino; Being of infinite
resources and unbounded power. Such a Being could lodge in
primitive atoms the capacity of becoming all that they have be-
come.

The origin of existence is, indeed, inconceivable; but equally
so are the processes of nature with which we are most familiar.
The growth of the oak from the acorn, were it a unique phenome-
non, would present as difficult a problem as the formation of a
world or a system of worlds. I find it as hard to conceive of the
one as of the other occurring by any potency that can have been
innate in the constituent atoms. Yet the material universe can-
not have been uncaused ; while the farther back we go in any
imagined series of antecedent material causes, we only increase
the complexity of the problem, and ascribe an ever-growing mass
of causative power to each remoter member of the series, without
ever arriving at a member that can have been uncaused.

But, on the hypothesis of a Creator God, there is less sti'ain
upon our faith under the evolution theory than under that of spe-
cific creation. In the former case we ascribe to him in the vast
whole what takes place, as must be admitted, in separate parts of
that whole; while in the latter we ascribe to him that of which
we have no known precedent or example. The theist of the old
school has no doubt that life has been transmitted from the parent
stock of each race, that species have been greatly modified by
climate, soil, culture, and circumstances, and that in every individ-
ual instance the living plant or animal is developed from a germ
issuing from antecedent life. The scientific evolutionist simply
asserts that the laws or processes which are manifested in all the
organic being that now exists preceded, aud were represented in,
the initial stages of organized life ; in fine, that the Creator made
the nnivei'se in the same way in which he is constantly making it
anew, — that the pristine development of nature was in close analo-
gy with what the course of nature always has been and is now.
The evolution theory, then, has no pantheistic tendencies which

Ix Ptmtliflxiii tlif Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science f 345

do lint eijuiilly belonjif to tlie known and indubitable facts and
plienoniena that are of familiar and constant recurrence.

I have spoken of tlio nnivorse as if it began to lie. The theory
that the present order of nature is but the continuance of what
always was, of an eternal past, is set aside by modern science.
Matter inav be eternal in the past ; the cosmos is not so. If the
cosmos is God, there was a time wlien, there being no cosmos,
there was no God. We know tliat tliere was a beginning. Tlie
shape of an oblate spheroid could have been given to the earth
only by revolution on its axis in a semi-Huid state. Moreover,
planetary and — so far as it can be determined — stellar motion is
not in a vacuum, but in a resisting and retarding ether, so that
the planetary orbits are not circular, but spiral, with diameters
decreasing, in an intinitesirnal ratio indeed, yet in a ratio which
could not have been maintained througii a past eternity without
the absorption of the planets into the sun from which we have no
reason to doubt that they were thrown off. Thus, while on the
one hand geology is multiplying by myriads the formerly reputed
centuries of the earth's duration, astronomy bears equally clear
testimony to the beginning of the workls that are now, and of
the present laws and system of the universe. Nay, geology equally
refutes the theory of an unbeginning, eternal series of genera-
tions, indicating a birth-time, though in an anti(piity whose depths
imagination cannot fathom, for organized existence, — a time when
on our planet life was not. Thus, science gives us an epoch of
which one of the tenable theories is that announced in the first
sentence of what many believe to be the oldest book in the world :
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

Let us now consider somewhat in detail the alternative theory
to that of an intelligent Creator. There are two alternatives.
The universe either was the product of intelligent design, with
power adequate to actualize its purpose, or it chanced into being.
There is no middle ground ; for, as I have said, if the universe is
(rod, God was not when the univeree was not. In the pantheistic
theory, matter must have been eternal in the past. Its primitive
atoms must have been self-existent, of various shapes, according
to Epicurus and his followers; of different chemical pro|)erties,
according to other later authorities ; according to still later, homo-
geneous, but varying both in sliajte and in bulk. As detached

346 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and separate, tliej were in, or ratlier tliey constitnted, a fluid state,
and were in incessant motion. For some unexplained reason their
motion was not rectilinear, so that mutual impacts, adberences,
and entanglements were inevitable. Thus were formed clusters
of atoms, some of which blundered into symmetry, thence into
organic structure, theuce into life, which was the necessary out-
con)e of organism, — a process which had been going on for myriads
of ages, and the completion of which in any single portion of mat-
ter had not been without myriads of failures, — of such failures as
may at this moment be represented in the still uncondensed ncbulsB.
Failures, of course, leave no definite record, so that successful and
fruitful impacts and combinations alone remain from the innu-
merable seoiis of dice-work that must have elapsed before the
swirl of atoms was abated and chaos yielded to law and order.

There are about sixty elementary substances which constitute
the organized and inorganic bodies on the face and in the crust of
the earth. If, in the last analysis, they are homogeneous, and are
— as I have no doubt that they will be found to be — one element,
they can hardly represent a less numerous diversity in the shape
and bulk of their component atoms; and, however this may be,
it is virtually as elements that they enter into the torms in which
they constitute, and must from the first have constituted, organized
being. Were we to belt the solar system with figures, we could
not express the number of possible combinations of two or more
of these elements, any of which might have taken place in chaos;
But of these combinations the immeasurably larger part would have
been of elements mutually incongruous, incompatible, destruct-
ive, — a very large proportion, such as could not happen without
wide-spread devastation and ruin. With the perpetual imminence
of catastrophe we can hardly conceive of the survivance of any
of the more congenial and hopeful combinations that had begun
to be, still less of such combinations as would constitute a cosmos,
an orderly worhl, so pervaded with mutual dependencies, minis-
tries, and uses as to suggest to minds, if not of the highest type,
considerably above the average, a unity of plan and purpose in
an intelligent Creator as the only tenable cosmogony. In point
of fact, we find no combinations that look as if they had merely
happened into being, — none that do not seem to belong to a sys-
tem ; and there are very many systems which, without any mu-

Is I'linthehm the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science? 347

tiial CHiHative relations, tit into one another as do the several
partts of a skilfnllj constructed niacliine, supplying; one anotlier's
deficiencies and needs, their very discords resolving themselves
into staccatos or interludes in the universal harmony. In tine,
this world is so made that the theory of design in the Creator is
in accordance with spontaneous impression and iirst thought. One
is disabused of it only by ])hilusi)pl>ical processes tiiat are at the
outset uncongenial, — by a great deal of making believe before the
belief is really entertained.

Still further, in the solar system there are many identities, pro-
portions, and relations whicli denote a oneness of plan in the
structure au'l motions of the planets and their satellites. Gravi-
tation is indeed said to account for tiiein ; but, as I have shown,
gravitation is a law, not a force, and in a chance-maile universe
there is an intense improbability that bodies would act upon one
another at such enormous distances. Gravitation, so far from
accounting for these things, is itself to be accounted for. But
there are harmonies and analogies in the planetary system which
it is not even pretended that gravitation can explain, and which
therefore either happened or were designed. Laplace, who was a
professed atheist, admitted tiiat, over and above gravitation, there
was some inscrutable cause for these phenomena. Ue subjected
them to mathematical calculation, and as to forty-three concur-
rent motions of planets and satellites he made the probability of
their occurrence by chance to be one to four billions four hundred
millions. Until some other efficient cause shall be discovered or
imagined, I must regard these myriads against one as affording a
strong presumption in behalf of an intelligent Creator.

Astronomy has gone still further and extended a like calculus,
with similar results, though, of coui-se, only with approximate ac-
curacy, to the stellar universe beyond our system, to tlie binary
stars, to the drift of stars in space, and to the nebulous patches in
the heavens.

There is indeed a logical possibility that the entire univeree
may have been evolved by chance, especially as there is a past
eternity for the play of chance. The probability that Milton's
"Paradise Lost" might be constructed by drawing letters one by
one out of a bag hiis been calculated, and it would take live hun-
dred thousand figures — four figures representing thousands; seven,

348 Till', Jonrnal of Speculative Philosophy.

iiiilliDiis, aiul so on — to express the adverse proliability, and yet
eternity is loiii>; enough for the one chance to occur ; Imt an im-
measurahly larii-er draft on eternity would be necessary for the
successful, ]>erniaiient, fruitful relations and analogies of a chance-
made universe. The mathenisiticians in my audience w ill apjjre-
ciate my statement when I say that it' m re|iresents the number
of chances against any single combination, relation, or analogy,
■m raised to the x power would express the chances against the
number x of such combinations, relations, or analogies as enter
into a harmonious system; and x in this universe of ours would be
a number so far beyond the possibility of estimate that only an
infinite mind could form any conce;)tion of the x power of in.'

1 do not myself feel the need of mathematical reasoning on a
subject which belongs so intimately to the heart and soul ; but
chance is sometimes talked of in a vague way, as if it were the
most natural of suppositions that things happened to be as they are,
while in truth chance is a mathematical idea, with its determinate
logic and calculus, and what it really means and is actually worth
can be made plain only by a mathematical statement.

Let me now speak of some portions and features of the univei'se
which are not accounted for by the evolution theory alone, — which
indicate choice, design, and will in a sense other than can be im-
plied in the conception of a God merely co-extensive and identical
with nature. This may be affirmed of beauty. Symmetry and
adaptation, though not infrequently essential to beauty, do not of
themselves create beauty. In the process of evolution every organ
and member of every planet or animal must have been generated
by need and circumstance, and perfectetl by use; and, were this
all, tliere could be nothing in the vai'ious organisms that was
not necessarily allied to the condition, habits, wants, or further
development of the species, or was not the vestige of some ante-
rior stage of development. There could have been no surplusage,
but only rigid parsimony. We see, however, much that does not
serve, and never has served, any functional purpose. Over and
above all possible use, present or past, there is a superfluity of
beauty, — flowers of the richest dye and most graceful contour, a

' The matheniatii'al calculations licie given formed, in siilistance, a part of an article
by the writer in the " Princeton Review " for March, 1881), on '" Tlie Religious Aspects
of the Logic of Chance and t'rohabilitv."

In Panfhelxin the J^giilmatif Outcome of Modern Science? 349

bundred-lold larger lliiin are laeded to shelter the tiny seed ripen-
ing at tlieir base, iridescent plumage which gives no added speed
or power, in fine, numberless combinations of forms and tints tliat
have no imaginable i)urp()se but to adorn the gala-robes wliich
are Nature's working-day attire.

The beautv of the universe is the nu)re noteworthy when we
consider that it belongs to decay no less than to growth, to autumn
no less than to spring, to death no less than to lite. The system
is one in which decline and dissolution are perjietual ; death feeds
lite, and life, while it lasts, is prolonged only by dying daily. Were
the problem presented to a theoretic world-builder of a world in
which the tokens and asi)ect> of vigorous and fruitful life shall
alternate with periods as long or longer of life waning, extinct,
renewed only by infinitesimal increments, he might proviile in
bis schenie for some fair show of bloom, fruitage, and exuberant
irladness, but could in thought and vision go no fartlier. So to
end)roider the veil thrown over retreating and perishing life as to
make it even more gorgeously and gloriously beautiful than that
whose vanished splendor it covei-s, postulates a more than auto-
matic process, more than a God imbedded in nature, unconscious,
otiose. It implies in the creative force a conscious love of beauty,
— an aesthetic nature which must have rejoiced in the loveliness
of its works when the only song of praise was that of the morning
stars, and wliich kindled a kindred aesthetic sense and joy in the
living souls of men. I do not mean to except beauty from the
evolution theory. I have no doubt that what of beauty there is
in beast and bird, tree, slirub, ami fiower, was potentially in the
primitive cells from svhicli they sprang; but that every member
of each ascending series should be so fringed and garlanded as to
serve no purpose save that of gladdening the eye and heart, be-
tokens not mere self-<leveloping nature, but a beauty-breathing,
joy-giving ?pirit presiding over the birth of nature, flowing in the
myriad streams in which the fountain of life has parted itself
alonj: the ages, and ever revealing itself to recipient minds and
souls.

To pass to another to})ic of similar bearing, on the pantheistic
hy|>othesis life must have been at the outset spontaneous. Matter
under certain conditions crystallized — if I may borrow the ti.-rm —
into cells, from which sprang, was propagated, transmitted, de-

350 Ths Journal of SpeGulative Philosopliy.

velopefl, all tlie life that lias been and is in uur planet. If this,
was the case, is it conceivable that matter should no longer be
capable, undei' the most favorable conditions, of burstinc; into life ?
Spontaneous life has, indeed, its placie in the po])ular belief. Stag-
nant water, decaying vegetables, decomposing animal tissues, have
been thought to breed insects and worms. But science interposes its
negative. Some thirty or forty years ago there was almost a psean
chanted by scientists of the then nascent and anathematized school
of evolutionists when the Acarus Crossii was announced as a par-
entless species of animalcules that had been born of pure water ;
but the experiment, on more minute investigation, proved unsatis-
factory, and has, I believe, never been successfully repeated. Thus
we have no evidence that there has been in this world life which
was not derived from pre-existent life. What life is we know
not; but we do know all the constituent elements of animal and
vegetable structure, all the methods of their combination, and all
their modes of action. If matter and force alone existed in the
beginning, they equally exist now, are at onr free command, and
can be combined in unnumbered ways so as to perform move-
ments and acts analogous to those of living beings. Yet matter
has as yet never, within the knowledge of man, begun to live,
whether by its own inherent tendencies or by the application of
science, art, and skill. If the source of life were in matter, we
might not un fitly expect the originatiosi of life within historical
epochs. But, as we can trace back to matter everything in organic
being, life alone excepted, is it not at least probalde that life came
from elsewhere ? If all the life of which we have any knowledge
was derived from pre-existent life, does not analogy point to pre-
existent life as the primeval source of all terrestrial life, and thus
justify our belief in a self-existent life-giver %

But, even if life in itself be not admitted to indicate primeval
and underived life as its source, there are characteristics of human
life which contradict the theory of a material origin. Human
life, we cannot doubt, has been transmitted through a long suc-
cession of human ancestors, and, it may be, through previous aeons
of a subter-human parentage. Yet, as it now exists, it can be dis-
criminated in certain essential aspects from brute life. We have
no reason to suppose that other animals than man hav^e any ideas,
conceptions, purposes, sentiments, aspirations which have not their

In Pantlieisvi the LeijithnaU Outcome of Modern Science? 351

source, their object, tlieir measure, their limit in \\w inatLM'ial uni-
verse. Tlie most intelligent of them have taken in tlimunh the
senses all that thev know and think, anil can have been prDinpted
by experiences derived oidy thruuiih tiie senses in all that they do.
Their enjoyment is commensurate with favoraitii' externa! cundi-
tions, — the only seeming exceptions, those of strong attachment to
human beings, being really cases in point ; for the3' are cases in
which the animal's self-dependence has been merged in a depend-
ence the withdrawal of which leaves him destitute and incapable of
any other resource. J>ut num has a supra-sensual lite, lie has
conceptions to which nothing in the material universe corresponds,
sentiments that have no material counterpart or object, desires
and aspirations entirely indepenilent of the outward world, the
capacity of a happiness so utterly non-contingent on external con-
ditions that it can be maintained in its fulness under circum-
stances that in themselves can be productive only of suffering and
misery. Human ethics are super-sensual. Developed man has a
system of morality to which hedonism does not hold the key. He
recognizes virtues wliich can give no pleasure except in the con-
sciousness of their exercise, — moral evil which inthcts no other
misery than the sense of its evilness. The intrinsic and eternal
Right comprehends fitnes.ses and excludes unfitnesses which can by
no possibilit}' have become known through any material sources
or by any material experiences. This supra-sensual life must have
had its origin, its beginning, ami can have been derived only from
a kindred parent-life, — not from a God co-extensive and identical
with material nature, but from God who is a spirit, and of whose
moral nature man's is the outcome.

Finally, the religious consciousness of men under all forms of cult-
ure and of worship bears testimony to the existence of him whom, in
distinction from the pantheistic conception, we term a personal (iod.
In the most literal sense, we cannot, indeed, be conscious of the
being of God, or of any being but our own. But we can be con-
scious of a Divine sonship, as we are of traits inheriteil from
human parents or ancestors, — of a tendencj* to worship without
wliich no mere training could make us worshippers, — of a ca[>acity
for love which human loves can never satisfy, — of an appetency tor
good which the thought of One supremely good underlies. All
that is most noble in us, while consciously subjective, blends

352 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

spontaneonslv with and in tiie conception of objective truth,
beauty, and goodness ; and the traits of that trutli, beauty, and
goodness, so far as thej are objective in our thought and feeling,
are imitied. The more intense these conceptions are, first sub-
jectively, then and thence objectively, the less are they scattered,
the less is their polytheistic tendency, the uaore distinct and un-
varying is their polarization in One supremely True, Beautiful,
and Good.

Isor yet can we shut out the testimony borne in all ages by
the souls that have prayed in faith and sincerity. That in the
inner man they have experienced what seemed an answer to their
prayers none can doubt ; for it is the very persons that have asked
of God strength for duty, support in trial, peace under adverse
•conditions, who have wrought the most valiantly, endured the
most bravely, lived the most truly above the care-cumbered and
sorrow-stricken world. Somehow, men have been lifted by prayer
into a higher region of experience. Either they have lifted them-
selves without a purchase, or they have got a purchase on the
throne of the Eternal God. The former alternative is opposed to
all known laws of spiritual dynamics ; the latter cannot be if tiaere
is no God other than Nature.

IS PANTHEISM THE LEGITIMATE OUTCOME OF
MODERN SCIENCE?'

BY EDSirXD MOXTGOMEKY.

The question here proposed is a timely one. It ought to re-
ceive a prompt and decisive answer. After so much accurate re-
search into the constitution of things, modern science ought to be
able to tell us whether it rightly leads to the conclusion that all
natural occurrences are manifestations of one and the same eternal
power. If this is its legitimate outcome, then we may safely re-
joice that the long conflict between science and religion has at last
ended in peaceful union ; that modern Science and modern Chris-

Read before the Concord School of Philosophy, July 31, 1885.

Itt Pantheism the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science? 353

tianity, in s^pite e)t'6o inufli ostensible iMiiiiitv, liiive nevertheless —
each by its separate road — reached tlie same haven nf tnitii ;uiil
repose. For impartial jii>l!;es will hardly deny that Tuodcrn
Christianitv, freeinir itself more and more thoroughly trom
authoritative decrees, trustiuir more and more imjilieitly the dic-
tates of rational self-consciousness, has come in its inmost heart to
avow the transcendent unity of all that is essentially real, and
therewith its identity with the one eternal power, from which
evervthinir is believed to orij^inate, and in which we oui-selvcs are
said "to live, and move, and have our beinj;." Indeed, the /•«-
tioiude of modern Christianity, in its esoteric formulation, has be-
come one with the philosophy now taught in our foremost Chris-
tian universities — a philosophy endeavoring to prove the reality-
constituting etticieiiey of thmight, and the resting of all such real-
ity in one supreme, universal Intelligence.

It is an historical fact that human thinking, whenever it has
been free to expand to its utninst, has all hut invariably reached
pantheistic conclusions. From whatever manifold data it may-
start, it generally ends by identifying and unifying evervthinir.
The manifest interdependence of all natural plieiiotnena, and their
unitary wielding from a hidden sphere of efficiency, has always
impressed contemplative minds with ;i keen sense of its paranKnint
import.

In the Vedas, the great Power underlying phenomena is made
to exclaim : '' I am the light in the sun and moon ; I am the brill-
iancy in flame, the radiance in all shining things, the light in all
lights, the sound in the air, the fragrance in earth, the eternal
seed of all things that exist, the life in all ; I am the goodness of
the good ; I am the beginning, middle, end, the eternal in time,
the birth and death of all.''

An ancient Egy|)tian hymn thus addresses the same unitary
Power : " Thou art the Lord of Lords, who revealcth himself in all
that is, and hath names in everything. Thou art Youth and Age.
Thou givest life to the earth and its streams. Thou art heaven,
thou art earth, thou art fire, thou art water, thou art air, and
whatever is in the midst of them."

It is universally felt, the world over, that the essence of reality
is acting-pDWer, which to us means phenoiiiena-produeing etli-
ciencv. Ami it is a natural tendency of our human comprehen-
" XIX— 23

354 The Jniirnal of Speculative Philosophy.

sion to nnify siicli power; to regard all pheTioinenal revelations as
the manifestation of one and the same eternal efficiency.

In its early poetic rapture, the mind of world-dependent man,
intoxicated with jiaiitheistic veneration and awe, finds divine pres-
ence and fulfilment in every natural object and event. But, sooner
or later, ripened experience, \\\\\\ its miseries and disappointed
hopes, causes it to relinquish its youtliful faith in temporal facts
and aspirations. Sickened at all the cruel happenings of this de-
lusive and transitory realm of sense, it ends in yearning toward
deliverance from the insufficiency of time-mutations, through re-
union with the eternally One.

The transcendent enlightenment that, in the solitude of Bohi-
manda, tilled the ardent soul of Gautama with blessed peace, and
the message of deliverance to all men ; that in the Judean wilder-
ness entered the compassionate heart of Jesus, bracing it with un-
wavering fortitude to show — in opposition to all the killing pow-
ers of this earth — the way to the kingdom " which shall never be
destroyed," there to become " perfect as the Father in heaven is
perfect " ; tiie enlightenment tliat with ineffable satisfaction has
entranced the mystics and saints of all ages and climes; that bea-
tific enlightenment has ever consisted in the penetration of the
dreamlike evanescence of this whole checkered display of sense,
urijing the undying life in us to draw near and nearer the un-
broken light of eternal Perfection ; renouTicing for evermore the
delusive allurements of this temporal scene of passionate strife.

Manifest existence, restless shifting in Time ; it is only an un-
real semblance, a phenomenally estranged emanation from eternal
All-Being. This is the conviction that has ever formed the cen-
tral incentive to saintly life.

Now, is it true that modern science, assiduously testing sucli
phenomenal existence, following it up in all its intricate relations
with rigorous precision, that genuine olijective science, has actually
arrived at the same ancient pantheistic conclusion ? Does it, in
all verity, likewise teach us that the things and events of this
world are but transient manifestations of one and the same tran-
scendent and eternal Force, Energy, Power, or whatever name
may be given to the inferred cause and substratum of all apparent
existence "i

If, as now claimed by eminent philoso])hers, science has posi-

Is Panihi'lsm the Legiti inati'. Outcome of Modem Science f 355

lively sliuwii tliat all natural piienomena are but so many modes
of nianitestatiou of one persistent Force or Efficiency, all such
moiles bi'ini; nuituaily convertil)le, so tliat new plienomena only
arise tliri>u<;h metamorplioses of previous modes of manifestation
— if such is really the verdict of modern science — then assuredly
its outcome is full-fled>red Pantheism.

I have no desire whatever to contest any legitimate outcome,
and if it were Buddhistic Nirvana, or even the place where Dives
received his compensation. But let us scrutinize somewhat more
attentively the great princii)le of the Conservation of Energy or
Persistence of Force, which seems so suddenly and strangely to
have landed modern science in the mystic realm of transcendental
Pantheism. I say transcendental Pantheism, because natural
science has often before been tempted to acknowledge in the com-
mon material substratum a pantheistic One-and-All, differing al-
together from the transcendental source of immaterial oncrgy Ihtc
assumed.

Natural science has reached the luimiple of the Conservation
and Transmutation of Energy by detaching, from the constant
quantity known as matter, or rather mass, all modes of motion,
and therewith all activity in nature. To such activity it gives the
name of Energy, and maintains witii regard to it that it is like-
wise a constant (piantity, never diminishing nor augmenting, but
undergoing transmutations fmm one mode into anotlier.

Mayer, uf IIei]l)ronn, the illustrious discoverer of this great
magistral and potent .Mn-acadabra of modern science, explains
that matter, the passive half of nature, being notably a ponder-
able object, activity or energy is distinguislie<l from it by being
an imi)on(lcrable ''object"; and that this immaterial object is the
cause of all effects ; at once ])roducer and product; at once natura
nuturans and natura naturata ; effect of itself, veritable causa
8ui. One mode of energy — kinetic energy, for example — is the
cause of another mode of energy — heat, for example — and the
kinetic energ}' causes the heat-effect simply by converting itself
into it. Mayer says: ''Since c becomes e, and e becomes/, etc.,
we must reganl these various magnitudes as different modes, under
which one and the same object makes its appearance."

Modern science, however, while jilaying such surjirising jug-
glingtricks with the immaterial "object" called energy, refrains

356 The Journal of S.peoilaiive Philosophy.

from (loiiitr tlie like with tlie material object called mass. And
here it is tliat our pantheistic imagination encounters its tirst
serious check. Ne^er, by any means, does modern science con-
trive to maive it plaubihle that one kind of mass becomes con-
verted into another kind of mass — a pound of oxygen into a pound
of hydrogen, or a pound of carbon into a pound of sulpiiur. And
no alchemy of art or thouglit can avail to make different masses
result from the varied manifestation of one and the same unitary
power. For, even if we admit that our present chemical elements
are really compounds, consisting of multiples of one and the same
primordial unit of mass, such original homogcTicous substratum
science looks u)ion, and is in fact compelled to look upon, as made
up of discrete elements of stuff — of such stuff, we may philosophi-
cally add, as matter is likel}' to be, independently of our perceiv-
ing it. As far as natural science can at all proceed with its anal-
3'sis — and, by dint of its newly acquired apjiliance of spectral
analysis, it can proceed very far — it everywhere detects persistent,
individuated units, as the original material, of which all things in
nature are composed. It finds elementary separateness, primordial
multiplicity, and by no means indiscerptible Oneness, invariably
underlying that reality, which we perceive as the objects of this
world. These are, evidently, compounds of definite given units,
not differentiations of a conjectured unity. They are gradually
elaborated combinations of primitive particles of world-stuff, uot
particularizations within the identical perfection of pre-existent
All-Being. Further into the mystery of creation science cannot
penetrate. But such is its ultimate, veritable, legitimate outcome
— an outcome utterly and uncompromisingly ww-pantheistic.

And now to revert to the energy by which the natural com-
pounds are moved to display their various modes of activity ; it is
indeed only a whimsical tiction, a conceptual trick of our alistract-
ing and unifying mind, to conceive such energy as one and the
same immaterial, indestructible entity, entering in and out the
inert masses, and metamorphosing itself into all manner of modes.
A motion cannot possibly exist independently of its moving mass.
It cannot detach itself from such a mass and become a separate
thing in oi-der to enter some other mass. Energy is avowedly a
product of mass and velocity. IIow, then, can energy, leaving its
mass behind, nevertheless remain quantitatively equal ?

h PantheiHtn the Legitimate Outcome of Modem Science f 357

Modern science, so naivelv proud of t\\\^ its "Will-o'-the-wisp
conception of natural etiiciency, has obviously — here at the very
startin<.'-i)oint of its deductions— lost itself in fancies as erratic as
any dream of speculative pliilosophy. With deeply-telt humilia-
tion be it confessed that tin- notion of an iiiiniaterial agent play-
ing in luid-air, in free space, a complicated game of billiards with
elements of mass, is not a very edifying cosmological outcome of
our much-vaunted modern science. And this outcome is certainly
not Pantheism.

But, perhaps, by allowing full swing to conceptual Thought,
that arch-juggler — by force of some dexterous dialectical handling
of the stubborn results of science— may, after all, succeed in bring-
ing about a pantheistic outcome. Indeed, accepting the notion of
Energy as formulated by modern science, if the stolid capiU moi'-
tuum of things called mass could only itself be somehow con-
verted into such energy, then we should have in our world but
one single immaterial entity, met:uiior))hosing itself into every
known mode of manifestation ; and that would evidently be Pan-
theism.

Nothing easier, says our juggler. For, if mass were not energy,
how could it affect our own being so as to become conscious to
us? In fact, when the matter is reconsidered, it will become clear
that mass, instead of being etlectless inertia, must itself constitute
a very centre of efficacious energy. Mass exists and is known to
us bv its resistance ; and what is resistance but energy i It is
measured by means of its weighing pressure ; and what is weigh-
ing pressure but again energy { Obviously, in whatever way we
may ascertain the existence of mass, and by wiiatever sense we
may realize such existence, energy, and nothing but energy, is
found as the whole essence and substance of it. Mass, then, is no
effectless cajjut mortuum, as assumed by philosophically unen-
lightened science, no inert plaything of a disparate immaterial
power, but is itself identical with that power, forms itself part of
the energy-emanating potency, through which our phenomenal
world issues into manifest existence. I think our dialectical jug-
gler may contiilently challenge any one within hearing distance
to disprove the truth of these assertions — assertions which un-
doubtedly have the genuine pantheistic ring.

15ut now arises the supreme puzzle in the world-problem, and

358 The Journal of Speculatvve Philomphy.

that is to fix the veritable seat ot tl]e uature-constitntino- power,
of the plieiiomena-proilucing etficieiicy. Here again mir cuiisiini-
mate Juggler steps in, seizes npi>n tiie only reality whic-h his art
has left in existence, and, with a facile tiii-n of his dialectical skill,
shows ns that this sole efficiency in iiatnre can be nothing but
mental intelligence. For is it not true that the subjective sensa-
tions of resistance and pressure, or other subjective sensations,
standing as signs for these ; is it not true that such mental facts
are the only actual data from which our conscious being, our un-
derstanding or intelligence, constructs that phenomenon of solid-
ity which we call mass ? And are not all other properties of this
intelligence-constructed nucleus of objective phenomena, its mo-
tions included, likewise put together by our constructive intelli-
gence from other data of sense, which are also onl}' purely mental
facts ? Resisting, extended, shaped, visible, tangible, audible,
tastable, scented objects, and all their sundry relations to each
other within that system of phenomenal existence, which in our
consciousness constitutes the world we know, is it not all in all
the work of our constructive intelligence? And this being so, is
it not undeniable that all objective world-phenomena are intellec-
tual constructions, products of synthetical thought ; that Thouglit
is thus the veritable, universal power, the great and sole creator
and artificer of phenomenal existence? — No reality whatever, no
world — external to Thought.

If mental philosophy be admitted into the system of knowledge
here designated under the name of " modern science," then this,
its Eleatic, neo-Platonic, neo-Kantian, transcendentalistic out-
come is outright Pantheism, whatever Theistic twists nuiy be
given to it in some quarters. It does not essentially aifect the
pantheistic character of this outcome, whether the all-efficient,
reality-coTistituting power be conceived by human understanding
as eternal lieason, or creative Will, or all-embracing, super-mental
Perfection ; the universal meaning of it all is an entity infinitely
transcending all modes of phenomenal existence, being the com-
mon, identical source and origin of them all.

On various occasions, while propounding and defending my
own naturalistic views, I have endeavored, to the best of my
ability, to enter into the spirit of this profound and venerable sys-
tem of thought that, from old, has inspired so many noble minds.

h Pantheism the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science f 359

and from which all otiier jitiilosophy lias emanated. In tlic light
of a new science of vitality and organization I have soutrht to
give a dirterent ex^)lanation to its trntiis, and to lay open its de-
tifieiicies and fallacies. Here I will oidy reassert that the ethical
aims of <remiine Transcendentalism and the ethical aims of genu-
ine Xatnralism are <liametrically ojjposed to each other, and can
never be reconciled. Itsnpreme reality and truth are indeed ])re-
existent tacts, securely resting in a nnivcrsiil Intelligence, and
our phenomenal world means mdy the inade(|iiate rethinking on
our part of such eternal reality and truth, then, consistently, our
final aim must necessarily be the dissipation, through adequate
thinkin<r, of the illusive phenomenality which difterentiates our
individual intelligence from universal Intelligence. Our inmost
striving can oidy be for deliverance from the sense-wrought con-
fusion of temporality, leading to complete re-identification with
the eternally One.

Asceticism and Quietism are the necessary outcome of all lofty
Pantheism ; and Pantheism the necessary outcome of the religion
of self-questioning consciousness, as well a^ of that of an cm anv-
plixsimirm or Absolute.

The central belief of Xatnralism, on the other hand, is the
conviccion of the extra-mental existence and veritable reality of
powei-s actually atfectiug our sensibility. It finuly maintains, as
a steadfast basis of all its reasoning, that individual perceptions
are comi>elk'il l)y powers not forming part of our own conscious-
ness ; and tliat these perceptions signify representatively, but with
minute precision, the true characteristics of the compelling pow-
ers. All doings of natural life, ail investigations ot natural science,
are, in fact, prompted by this fundamental l)elief. and find their
realization and verification in the woi-ld of perceptual compulsion.
It follows therefrom that what we consciously realize as our own
body is likewise only a group of such compelled perci-ptious and,
that not these perceptions themselves, but the powei-s compelling
them, are constituting our real bodily existence — an existence
forming part of the great system of extra-mental powers, of which
onr whole perceptual world is but a more or less faithful symboli-
cal reiiresentation.

Naturalism further recognizes that this our extra-mental being
is standing in most manifold and complicated relations to other

3fi0 The Journal of Specidative Philosophy.

extra-mental esisteiits; and that it has been gradually, phyloge-
netically moulded and intimately organized through constant in-
teraction with these existents. In consequence of this, its vital
reactions are found to constitute pre-organized responses to the
actions of the other power-complexes, and its own actions show
themselves ca|)able of influencing, in pre-established ways, the
existence of other power-complexes.

Veritable reality, then — the reality phenomenally represented in
consciousness — is found to consist of a system of definite, interde-
pendent, interactiuiT, extra-mental power-complexes. These effi-
cient existents, compelling the perceptual objects of our conscious-
ness, have to be looked upon as of complex nature, because analysis
proves them to be composed of constituent parts. The dream-
like phenonienality in nature, the transient appearance and eva-
nescence of perceptive realizations, is evidently due to the nature
of our consciousness, and not t" the nature of the power-complexes
compelling its perceptions. Our consciousness or mind represents,
in fltful gleams, under varying conditions and temporal intermis-
sions, the incomparably more steadfast existence and nature of tbe
extra-mental power-complexes. And the natural phenomena or
perceptive objects of our conscious world are therefore by no
means manifestations ot one and the same Force or Unknowable,
but, on the contrary, manifestations of an extra-mental, non-
phenomenal nature, at least as diversified and specialized as its
mental representations. Pantheism is consequently no legitimate
outcome of Naturalism, the genuine philosophy of natural science.

The utterly erroneous conception, that manifest existence con-
sists of nothing but phenomena which are mutually convertible,
has given rise to this pseudo-seientitic revival of the ]iantlieistic
piiilosophj' of the Absolute. But not even within the world ot
phenomena, which exists only in individual consciousness, does
one phenomenon or mode of manifestation become really meta-
morphosed into another. Physical modes, which as such are only
peculiar conscious phenomena, do not become transformed into
other such physical modes, or into any other kind of conscious
phenomenon whatever. The preceding mental state, whether ob-
jective or subjective, whether physical or purely ideal, whether
extrinsically compelled or intrinsically arising, does not \XiQ\i pro-
duce the following mental state, as Fichte once tried to make us

1h Pantheism the Legitimate Outcome of Modern Science? 3»!1

believe. Miiuli less does an extra-mental ])u\ver-coniplex become
transformed into its mental representation ; for example, that defi-
nite piiwer-fomi>lex steadfastly ahidiiijr out tliere into tliat ocea-
sionally-ajipearinn; conscious object which I call a Tree. And still
less are the chancres in phenomenal iiianitestations caused bv one
power-complex beini; metamorphosed into anotiier power-complex.
The action and effect of one jiower-complex on another does not
consist in their beini; mutually transformed one into the other.
And neither is the channje, perceived hv us, during activity, as
motion, itself an etticient entity, passiu'^ over from one power-
complex to another. Chan<jes in nature, while occurrinfr, att'ect
onr sensibility, and are realized by us through the shifting of the
whole or of parts of our perceptual objects. It is this sensible
shifting which we call motion. Quite obviously, such motion is
a mere mental sign of the changing influences which the extra-
mental comjilexes exert on each other. TUit by illusively objecti-
fying and fictitiously endowing witii independent efficiency this
mere mental sign of veritable change, modern science arrives at
its false conclusion couecrning the persistence of Force and con-
vertibility of its modes. It mistakes motion, the perceptual phe-
nomenon, for an actual and direct manifestation of objective,
extra-mental Force. And as changes manifest themselves to ns
as motions, and one mode of motion seems to produce or to trans-
form itself into another, it rashly concludes that motion, wjiich
thus stands for all activity in nature, is itself the causative force;
that its various modes are, therefore, modes of efficient power;
and that the unitary entity, thus metamorphosing itself into all
manner of modes, is an all-efficient ITnknowable. This panthe-
istic conclusion is — as has been here clearly shown — the outcome
of ilk'ijitimate reasoning, and not of genuine tnodern science.

The results of modern science point to a gradual elaboration of
abiding and diversified power-oom|)lexes, not to the metamorpho-
sis of rieeting modes of manifestation of one and the same eternal
Power. The philosophy of Evolution is quite incompatible w itli
the jiliilosophy of a protean, all-powerful Unknowable. Evoiutioii
which conceives "every kiiul of licing as tiie product of modifica-
tions wrought by insensible gradations on a pre-existing kind of
being" cannot be brouglit in harmony witii the convertibility of
one mode of an uiikii.iwable into another.

362 Tlie Journal of /Speculative Philosophy.

The extra-iiieutal jjower-coinplexeri with which niodern science
actually deals modify each other, mostly very gradually, through
intricate modes of interaction. Tiiey are therefore slow results of
complicated elaboration, which process is altogetlnir operated in
tlie non-phenomenal sphere of extra-mental subsistence.

Our own personality we are justified in regarding as the most
consummate outcome, within our own ken, of this natural process
of development — a development wliolly inscrutable in its origin
and elSciency. The mental phenomena of our personality are
certainly not produced by motions within the percei)tual body,
which constitutes for us and others its sensible realization. But
they are the outcome of transcendent activities, occurring in that
mysterious entity which, beyond all consciousness, is carrying on,
with unremitting faithfulness, the wondrous functions of life.

In our being are consolidated the hard-won results of endless
vital travail. Wrought from insentient chaos, out world-harmo-
nized existence, with delicately sensitive throb, now answers to
most subtle and far-reaching influences. Sympathetically, with
ever-widening comprehension, it re-echoes the thrill of connatural
existence. But how precarious this precious, toil-wi'ought inheri-
tance of high-pitched, consentient vitality ! Within this very mo-
ment of actual presence, we here on earth, sole surviving embodi-
ment of ever-struggling, victorious life, only thi'ough the unrelax-
iug effort of uplifting efficiencies, are snatched, from instant to
instant, from the grasp of all-engulting Time and Death, a dizzy
whirl of creative commotion significantly shaping and livingly
sustaining our being. And on this restless foil of incessant forma-
tive stir, in self-luminous glory, the transcendent import of our
time-conquering, world-responsive nature stands revealed within
the phenomenal repose of our all-realizing mental presence.

Actual living existence, thus recognizing its transcendent indebt-
edness to the Past, and its sacred duty to a Future wholly depend-
ent on it, can it have the heart in self-indulgent renunciation to
abandon its creative trust and task, giving itself up to the quietis-
tic aims of Pantheism, by which it nu\v well enough succeed in
losing its own being in the eternal nonentity of Nirvana, but by
which it will also most assuredly cause surviving human life to
drop from its cultured height, and swiftly to fall a ])rcy to the
hideous miseries of mere instinct-driven savagery^

Jx Moilt-ni Science Panihelxticf 3*^3

A creed wliicli. \mi versa! ly iiml (•(insistently lived up to. involves
the voluntary extonnination of the human race, leaving our fair
dwellin<;-])lace one vast arena of murderous brute-passions, and
which, lived u|» to only Ity the better i)art of mankind, wouhl lead
to degradation of social existence — such a creed is not the one fos-
tered by science. Nowise is the legitimate outcome of modern
science Pantheism.

IS MODERN SCIENCE PANTHEISTIC?'

BY G. H. IIOWISON.

In turning over the foregoing question for several months, I
have become more and more impressed with the conviction that
any satisfactory answer to it depends upon a clear apprehension
of the meaning of its terms. What Is pantheism 1 And what
features are there in modern science that can give color to the sup-
position that pantheism is its proper results Or, if such a suppo-
sition is well founded, why should the result be regarded as unde-
sirable ? If science establishes, or clearly tends to establish, the
pantiieistic view of the universe, why should this awaken alarm?
What hostility to the vital interests of human nature can there be
m such a view t Can there be a possible antagonism between the
truth and the real interests of man i

The question before us probably does not convey to most minds
the depth and intensity of interest which is so manifestly conveyed
by the question of Immortality recently discussed — at least not on
its surface. Yet a consideration of it in the detail of the subsidi-
ary questions that have just been mentioned will not only secure
the clearness requisite to an intelligent answer, but will bring the
real depth of its interest into view, and will show this to be no
less profound, while it is fur more comprehensive than that of the
former proI)lem. It is for this reason that I venture to oti'er the
reriections that liave passed in my own mind in the endeavor to
clear up the detailed questions that the general problem involves.

' A paper prcscnt«l at the Concord School of Philosophy, July 31, 1886. Reprinted
from the " Ovcrluiul Monthly" for December, 1886.

364- The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

In the hope of contributing sometliing toward that detinite appre-
hension of its bearings wliich is indispensable to any real and
permanent effect of its discussion, I will proceed to consider those
questions in tlieir proper succession.

I. WHAT PANTHEISM IS.

Of the several questions that I have specified, perhaps none is
surrounded with such vagueness and obscurity as the first — What
is pantheism ? The generally recognized defenders of religion, the
theologians who s{)eak with the hoary authority and with the
weight of presumptive evidence that the traditional an<l, indeed,
historic bodies of organized and instituted religion naturally im-
part, are in the habit of drawing a sharp verhal distinction between
theism and pantheism, as they also do between theism and deism ;
but when the independent and unbiased thinker, anxious for clear-
ness and precision, inquires after the real distinction intended by
these names, he hardly find* it in any sense that awakened thought
will recognize as at once intelligible and reasonable. We con-
stantly hear that theism is contradicted by both deism and pan-
theism ; by the one through its assertion of the div-fne personality
at the expense of the divine revelation and providence; by the
other through its assertion of the divine omnipresence at the ex-
pense of tlie separateness of the divine personality from the world.
We hear constantly, too, that theism, to be such, must teach that
there is a being who is truly God, or that the First Principle of
the universe is a holy person, who has revealed his nature and
his will to his intelligent creatures, and who superintends their
lives and destinies with an incessant providence that aims, by an
all-pervading interference in the events of the world, to secure
their obedience to his will as the sole sufficient condition of
their blessedness. All this, however, is but an abstract and very
vague formula, after all. Of the qnomodo for reconciling the con-
tradiction whose extremes are represented by the deism and the
pantheism which it condemns it has nothing to say. Uoio the
divine personality is to be thought so as to comport with the divine
omnipresence, or hoiv the omnipresent providence of God is to be
reconciled with his distinctness from the world, the general procla-
mation of orthodox theism has no power to show. And, when we
pass from the general formula to the desired details, we are too

la J/uiLrii •Science I'antfuintic ? 3(i5

often then made aware that the iirofessedly theistic doctrine is
hampered up witli a mass of partieuhirrf wliich are, in truth, ])ro-
foundly at variance with its own principle; tliat confusion or con-
tradiction reitjns where clearness ouicht to be ; that merely antliro-
pomor|>liie and mecliainoal conceptions usurp the place of the
required divine and si)iritiial realities. We discover, for instance,
that, in the mechanical inrerpretation of theism, every doctrine is
construed as deism that refuses its assent to a discontinuous and
special providence, or to an inconstant, limited, and contra-natural
revelation ; and that, on the other hand, every theory is condemned
as pantheism that denies the separation of God from the world,
and asserts instead his omnipresent immanence in it. And we
even find that, in the hands of such intcrjircters, theism is identi-
fied with the belief in me(;hanical and artificial theories of the quo-
modo of atonement, or, as such writers are fond of calling it, of
"the plan of salvation." Into the rightful place of the sublime
fact of the all-pervading providence and all-transforming grace
that makes eternally for righteousness are set hypothetical ex-
planatory schemes of expiation by sacrifice, of appeasal by the
suflering of the innocent, of ransom by blood, of federal covenant
and imputation, of salvation by faith alone ; and the theories of
the divine nature and administration which omit these details, or
refuse to take them literally, are stam|>ed as deism or as pantheism,
even though the omission or refusal be dictated by a perception
of tlie incompatibility of the rejected schemes with the fundamen-
tal principles of ethics, and, therefore, with the very nature of
divine revelation. And thus, in the end, by mere confusion of
thought and by inability to rise above conceptions couched in the
limited forms of space and of time, the original theistic formula —
which, in its abstract setting off of theism against deism and pan-
theism, is quite unobjectionable, and indeed, so far as it goes, en-
tirely correct — is brought into contradiction with its own essential
idea.

Still, it must never be forgotten that these ill-grounded eftbrts
at the completer definitiun t>f theism are made in behalf of a real
distinction. We shall not fail to find it true, 1 think, that there
i« a view of the world for which deism may be a very proper
name, and another view which may most appropriately be called
pantheism ; that these are radically distinct from theism, defined

366 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

as the doctrine of a personal Creator wlio reveals himself by omni-
present immanence in the world, to the end of transforming it,
throiii!;h the agencies of moral freedom, into his own image, and
of establisliing a realm of self-determining persons, who freely
and immortally do his will. Nor, as I believe, shall we fail to
tind that the doctrines named deism and pantheism are historic
doctrines; that they are not merely conceivable abstractions, but
have been advocated by actual men, of a very real persuasion and
a very discernible influence. Nor can I doubt that these two doc-
trines, in their deviations from the theistic theory, will be recog-
nized by our sound judgment as defects, and consequently be
reckoned as injurious opinions. Only it must be understood that
the sole ground of this judgment is to be our untrammelled rational
conviction ; and that if we were to find tliis conviction on the side
of deism or of pantheism, we ought none of us to hesitate to take
the one or the other as the sounder and more commendable view.

In asking, now, what pantheism exactly is, we may avail our-
selves of a useful clue, for a beginning, in the apparent meaning
of the name itself. The derivation of this from the two Greek
wordsjyf^/i, all, and thfos, God, would seem to make it mean either
(1) that the All is God, or else (2) that God is all — that God alone
really exists. The name, then, hints at two very distinct doc-
trines : it signifies either ( 1) that the mere total of particular exist-
ences is God; in other words, that the universe, as we commonly
call it, is itself the only absolute and real being ; or (2) that God,
the absolute Being, is the only real being — all tinite existence is
merely his transitory form of appearance, and is thus, in truth,
illusion. We might convej' the one or the other of these diverse
doctrines by the name, according as we should pi'onounce \t pian-
theism or pan-iS/i^ism. In either way, the word may be made to
cover an absolute identification of God and the universe. In the
former way, God is merged in the universe ; in the latter, the uni-
verse is merged in God.

And, in fact, pantheism, as an historic theory, has actually pre-
sented itself in these two forms. The doctrine has come forward
in a considerable variety of expressions or schemes of exposition,
such as those of Heraclitus, Parmenides, and the Stoics, in ancient
times, not to speak of the vast systems lying at the basis of the
Hindu religions; or those of Bruno and Yanini, Schelling (in his

Js JIot/< /•/) Science Pantheistic ? 3f>7

early i>erii((l>, Okeii, SclRi)>L'iilianrr, ami llartinanii, in our modern
era. ]?iit various as are these sclienies, tliey may all be recognized
as fallinj; into one or the other of the two comprehensive forms
which we have just seen to be snsr<jested by tlie common name.
These two forms may evidently be styled, respectively, the athe-
istic and the acosmic form of pantheism, as the one puts the sen-
sible univei-se in the place of (rod, and thus annuls his being,
while the other annuls the reality of the cosmos, or world of finite
existences, by reducing the latter to mere modes of the beiuir of
the one and only Universal Sulistance. Both forms are manifestly
open to the criticism visited ujjon pantiieism by the standard de-
fenders of theism — namely, that it contradicts the essence of the
divine nature by sacrificin;: the distinctness of the divine person-
ality to a passion fur the ilivinc omnipresence; the sacrifice of the
distinctness, at any rate, is obvious, even if the incompatibility of
such a loss of distinct being with tlie true nature of a godhead be
not at first so evident; thougli that this loss is incompatible with
A real divinity will. I think, presently appear. And both forms
of pantheism are, in the last analysis, atheisms ; the one obviously,
the other implicitly so. The one may be more exactly named a
physical or theoretical atheism, as it disjienses with the distinct
existence of (iod in his function of Creator ; the other may prop-
erly be called a moral or practical atheism, as, in destroying the
freedom and the immortality of tiie individual, it dispenses with
God in his function of Redeemer. Under either form, the Fii-st
Principle is emptied of attributes that are vital to deity : in the
first the e«Y/;'<? proper and distinct being of God disappears; in
the second, all those attributes are lost that present God in his
adorable characters of justice and love, and in the ultimate terms
of his omniscience and omnipotence. Perfect omniscience and
omnipotence are only to be realized in the complete control oifree
beings, and the creation in tliein ot tlie divine image by tnoral
instead of physical influences.

II. rUli RELATION OK I'AMUKISM TO MATKKIALISM AND IDEALISM.

It will aid us in a correct apprehension of pantheism if we ap-
preciate its relations to other anti-theistic forms of i)iii!osophy,
particularly to materialism, an<l to what is known as subjective
idealism. It will become clear that it forms a higher synthesis of

368 Tlie Journal of Speculative PhVosophy.

tliouglit tliiiii either of these. Its conception of tlie M'orld may be
read out either in materialistic or idealistic terms ; and this is true
whether we take it in its atheistic or its acosmic form. Yet, on a
first inspection, this hardly seems to be the case. On the con-
trary, one is at first quite inclined to identify its iirst form with
materialism outright, and to recognize in its second form a species
of exaggerated spiritualism; and hence to contrast the two forms
as the materialistic and the idealistic. Further reflection does not
entirely do away with this mistake, for the apparent identity of
atheistic pantheism with materialism is very decided ; and the
only correction in our first judgment that we next feel impelled
to make, is to recognize the double character of acosmic panthe-
ism. The one and only Universal Substance, in order to include
an exhaustive summary of all the phenomena of experience, must
be taken, no doubt, as both extending and being conscious. But
is the Universal Substance an extended Ijeiiig that thinks? or is it
a thinking being that apprehends itself under a peculiar mode of
consciousness called extension? In other words, is the thinking
of the one Eternal Substance grounded in and mediated by its
extended being? or has its extension existence only in and through
its thinking \ Which attribute is primary and essential, and
makes the other its derivative and function ? Under the concep-
tion of the sole existence of the Absolute, the question is inevita-
ble, irresistible, and irreducible. It thus becomes plain that, to
say nothing of a third hypothesis of the mutually independent
parallelism of the two attributes, acosmic pantheism may carry
materialism as unquestionably as it cai'ries idealism, though not,
indeed, so naturally or coherently. And sharper inquiry at last
makes it equally clear that atheistic pantheism will carry idealism
as consistently as it carries materialism, if doubtless less naturally.
For, although in the sum-total of the particular existences there
must be recognized a gradation from such existences as are uneon-
sei(nis up to those that are completely conscious, and although it
would be the more natural and obvious view to read the series as
a devel<)|>ment genetically upward from atoms to minds, still the
incomprehensibility of the transit from the unconscious to the
conscious cannot fail to suggest the counter-hypothesis, and the
whole series may be conceived as originating ideally in the per-
ceptive constitution and experience of the conscious members of

A Modern Science P(inthei.-<t!cf 369

it. There is, iiuwevcr, a marked distiuctioii between the two
orders of idealism given, respectively, by tlie acosmic pantheism
and by tlie atlieistic : the former, gruiinded in the conscionsness
of the Universal Substance, has naturally a universal and, in so
far, an objective character ; the latter has no warrant except the
thonjiht in a particular consciousness, and no valid means of rais-
ing this warrant even into a common or general character, much
less into universality ; it is accordingly particular and nuhjective.
Pantheism, then, in both its forms, is not only a more comprehen-
sive view of the world tlian either materialism or any one-sided
idealism, whether abstractly universal or only subjective, inas-
much as it makes eitlier of them possible ; but it is also a (lce])er
and more organic view, because it does bring in, at least in a sym-
bolic fashion, the notion of a universal in some vague sense or
other. This advantage, however, it does not secure with any
fulness except in the acosmic form. Indeed, the atheistic form is
so closely akin to the less organic theories of materialism and sub-
jective idealism that we may almost say we do not come to pan-
theism proper until we pass out of the atheistic; sort and find our-
selves iu the act)smic. An additional gain afforded by pantlieism,
and eminently by acosmic pantheism, is the conception of the inti-
mate union of the First Principle with the world of particular
phenomena; the creative cause is stated as spontaneously mani-
festing its own nature in the creation ; it abides immanently in
the latter, and is no longer conceived as sejiarated from it and
therefore itself specifically limited in space and in time, as it is
conceived in the cruder dualistic and mechanical view of things,
with which human efforts at theological theory so naturally begin.

III. THE CONTRAST BETWEEN PANTHEISM AND DKISM.

At this point we strike the eminent merit of pantheism, as con-
trasted with deism. By the latter name it has been tacitly agreed
to designate that falling short of theism which stands counter to
pantheism. As the latter is defective by confounding God and
the world in an indistinguishable iilentity, so deism comes short
by setting God in an isolated and irn-ducilile separation from the
world. Deism thus falls partly under the same condemnation of
materiality which a rational jiid;;ment pruiinunces upon sensuous
theism, with its phvsicallv anthropoiiiorpliic conceptions of the
XIX— :>+

370 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .

Creator, dwelling in his peculiar quarter of space called Heaven,
and its mechanical theory of his comnnitiieation with the world
by way of ''miracle" alone — by way, that is, independent, and
even snbversive, of the ordered process of means and end in na-
ture.' But while thus sutfering; from mechanical limitations in
thouii'lit, deism must still lie allowed its relative merit, too. That
merit is the criticism which it makes upon the mechanical method
of physically anthropomorphic theism. If, in the interest of dis-
tinguishing the Creator from the creation, God is to be thought
as capable of existing without a world, and as separated from the
creation, then, as deism justly says, it is purely arbitrary to de-
clare the separation overcome by means of mechanical miracle.
Consistency, and, in so far, rationality, would rather require that
the separation be kept up; and the folly of the anthropomorphic
dualism is made to display itself in the deistic inference, vvhich it
cannot consistently refute, that tlie divine i-evelation and provi-
dence, without which the practical religion indispensable to the
reality of theism cannot have being, are, by the separateness of
the divine existence, rendered impossible.

IV. THE PERMANENT INSIGHT CONTAINED IN PANTHEISM.

In approaching, then, the question. Why should jiantheism be
regarded as a doctrine to avoid i we must be careful not to neglect
the fact that it plays a valuable and, indeed, an indispensable part
in the formation of a genuine tiieological theory. It is the transi-
tional thought by which we ascend out of the idolatrous anthro-
pomorphism of sensuous theism into that complete and rational
theism which has its central illumination in the realized truth of
the divine omnipresence. In the immanence of God in the world
it linds the true basis — the rational theory — of the divine perpet-
ual providence ; in his indwelling in the creature, as " the Light

1 1 must be understood here as reflecting only upon the popular thaumaturgical con-
ceptions of the supernatural. The genuine doctrine of miracle has, to my mind, a
speculative truth at its basis, profound and irrefragable ; the truth, namely, that the
causal organization of nature — the system of ever-ascending evolution from cause to
differing effect — -can never be accounted for in terms of the mere sensible antecedents,
but requires the omnipresent activity of an immanent but supersensible, transcendent,
rationally personal cause ; and that the system of nature is therefore a Perpetual Mira-
cle. The natural order flowing from this Miracle is, however, immutable and irreversi-
ble, and irreconcilable with the possibility of " miracle " in the vulgar sense.

Is Jfodvrn 'Science Pantheistic. 371

wliic'h lijjlitcth everv man tliat coiiieth into the world," it finds a
like l)!isis and theory tor the universal and ])erpetual divine reve-
lation. Indeed, in this realized and now fully uttered omnipres-
ence of (rod, and in God's active indwellin<i in the inmost spirit
of man, it lays the i-ational foundation for the Perpetual Inc-irna-
tion, the doctrine of the Divine Humanity ; and, when Christi-
anity sets the doctrine of the Triune God in the very centre of
practical reliirion, pantheism prepares the way to vindicate it as the
genuine interpreter of a rational theism. That the Eternal eter-
nally jienerates himself in our lu'iriier human nature ; that tliis
Son of Man is truly and literally tlie Son of Ct^mI, and the Son
only begotten : tliat, by the discipline of life in worlds of imper-
fection, men, and throujih them tlie whole creation, ascend bv
devout faith i^or fidelity) toward this Son, and, by his life, immor-
tally unto God in the Holy Spirit — this, the epitome and essence
of Christian theism, first becomes apjtrehended as a rationally
natural truth in the insight which pantheism brings with it, that
GoJ is not separate from the world but immediately present in it,
and that the distinction between the Creator and the creature, be-
tween the human soul and its redeeming God, can never be truly
Btated as a distinction in place and time, as a separation in space
and by a period. And it is not until the pantheistic insight has
been realized in our minds, whether by name or no it matters not,
that we discover clearly that this fundamental religious truth,
which none of us, upon reflection, would think of denying, and
which in some sense we may rightly say we have always known,
is eti'octually violateil by our ordinary anthropomorjihic oncep-
tious.

v. THK PEKMAXKXT DEFKCT OF PANTUKISM.

But, while this permanent insight of pantheism must be carried
up into all genuine theistic thought, it remains also true that it
falls seriously short of the theological conception demantled by
the highest practical religion. For the possibility of religion as a
practical power in human life — the very conception of theism as
an operative force in tlie s])irit — depends not merely on the omni-
present existence and work of God, but upon the freedom (that is,
the unqualified reality) and the immortality of man. Indeed, if
the space permitted, it might clearly be shown, not only that man
cannot be properly man apart from freedom, immortality, and

372 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

God, l)iit tliat God Ciiimot be properly God apart from man and
man's immortality and freedom ; in other words, that the self-
existent, free ])erfection of the Godhead, by virtue of its own na-
ture, demands for its own fulfilment the establishment and the
control of a world that is God's own imasje; the divine creatioa
must completely reflect the divine nature, and must therefore be
a world of moral freedom, self-regulating and eternal. But this
demand of a genuine theism pantheism cannot meet. Its theory,
whether in the atheistic or in tlie acosmic form, lies in the very
contradiction of human freedom and immoi'tality. Indeed, we
may say, summarily, that the distinction between theism and pan-
theism, even in the loftiest form of the latter, lies just in this —
that theism, in asserting God, asserts human freedom and immor-
tality ; but that pantheism, while apparently asserting God to the
extreme, denies his moral essence by denying the immortality and
the freedom of man.

VI. WHY PANTHEISM IS A DOCTRINE TO BE DEPRECATED.

And now we see why pantheism is at war with the permanent
interests of human nature. Those interests ai-e wholly identified
with the vindication of freedom and immortal life; and this not
on the ground of the mere immediate desire we have for freedom
and permanent existence, which would, indeed, be shallow and
even unworthy of a rational being, but on the profound and
never-to-be-shaken foundation laid by reason in its iiighest form
of conscience. For, when this highest form of reason is thor-
oughly interpreted, we know that the value of freedom and im-
mortality lies in their indispensableness to our discipline and
growth in divine life. To no theory of the world can man, then,
give a willing and cordial adhesion, if it strikes at the heart of
his individual reality and contradicts those hopes of ceaseless
moral growth that alone make life worth living. Not in its state-
ment of the Godhead as the all and in all, taken by itself, but in
its necessarily consequent denial of the reality of man — of his
freedom and immortal growth in goodness — is it that pantheism
betrays its insufficiency to meet the needs of the genuine human
heart. It is true, to be sure, that this opposition between the doc-
trine of the One Sole Reality and our natural longings for perma-
nent existence, or our natural bias in favor of freedom and re-

/.v Moihrn Science Pantheistic? 373

sponsibility, in itself settles nothing as to the truth or falsity of
the lioctrine. It misijlit bo that tiie system of nature — it mii^ht l)e
that the Author of nature — is not in sympathy or accord witli
"the bliss for whicli we si<;;h." But so loiiir as human nature is
what it is, so long as we remain ])reiiosses^c(l in favor of our free-
dom and yearn for a life tliat iii:iy |iut death itself beneath our
feet, so louiT will our nature rehu'tate, and even revolt, at the
prospect of having to accept the pantheistic view ; so long shall
we inevitably draw back from that vast and shadowy Being who,
for us and for our highest hopes, must be verily the Shadow of
Death. Nay, we must go farther, and say that, even should the
science of external nature prove pantheism true, this would only
array the interests of science against the interests of man^the
interests that man can never displace from their supreme seat in
hi« world, except by abdicating his inmost nature and putting
his conscience to an open shame. The pantheistic voice of science
would, only ])roclaim a deadlock in the system and substance of
truth itself, and herald an implacable conflict between the law of
nature and the law written indelibly in the human spirit. The
heart on which the vision of a pcjssible moral perfection has once
arisen, and in whose recesses the still and solemn voice of duty
has resounded with majestic sweetness, can never be reconciled to
the decree, though this issue never so authentically from nature,
that l)ids it count responsible freedom an illusion, and surrender
existence on that mere thresholii of mora! development whicli the
bound of our present life affords. Such a defeat of its most sacred
hopes the conscience can neither acquiesce in nor tolerate. Xor
can it be appeased or deluded by the pretext tiiat annihilation
may be devoutly accepted as self-sacrifice in behalf of an infinite
"fulness of life" for the universe — a life in which the individual
conscience is to have no share. In defence of this pantheistic
piety, fjuoting the iiatriarch of many tribulations, in his impas-
sioned cry, '' Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Ilim ! " is as
vain as it is profane. This is only to repeat the fallacious para
dox of those grim and obsolete sectarians who held tliat the test
of a state of grace was "willingness to be damned for the glory
of God." The spirit that truly desires righteousness longs with
an unerring instinct for immortality as the indispensable condition
of entire righteousness, and, when invited to approve its uwii im-

374 Till' Journal of Speculative PhUosophiJ.

molatioii for the furtherance of the divine gh^ry, will righteously
answer as a noble matron, applying for admission to the Churcli,
once answered tiie inquisitorial session of her Calvinistic society:
" I am assuredly not willing to be damned for the glory of God ;
were I so, I should not be here ! "

VII. THE PROFOUND INTEREST OF TIIE PANTHEISTIC PROBLEM.

This is what makes the question of pantheism, as a possible
outcome of science, of such vital concern. Science is thus made
to appear as the possible utterer of the doom of our most precious
hopes, the quencher of those aspirations which have hitherto been
the soul of man's grandest as well as of his sublimest endeavors,
the destroyer of those beliefs which are the real foundation of the
triumphs of civilization — of all that gives majesty and glory to
history. To present universal nature as the ocean in which man
and his moral hopes are to be swallowed up is to transform the
universe for man into a system of radical and irremediable evil^
and thus to make genuine religion an imi)ossibility ; and not only
genuine religion, but also all political union and order, which
stands, among the affairs and institutions of this world of sense,
as the outcome and the image of the religious vision. Belief in
the radical and sovereign goodness of the universe and its Author
and Sustainer is the very essence of religious faith and of politi-
cal fealty. It is impossible that either faith or fealty can continue
in minds that have once come to the realizing conviction that the
whole of which we form a part, and the originating Principle of
that whole, are hostile, or even indifferent, not merely to the per-
manent existence of man, but to his aspirations after the fulness
of moral life. A professed God who either cannot or will not
bring to fulfilment the longing after infinite moral growth that
has once arisen in his creature, is not, for such a creature, and can-
not be, true God at all :

"The wish that of the liviii<;- whole

No life may fail beyond the grave —
Derives it not from what we have
The likest (lod within the soul ?

" And he, shall he —

h Modem Science Pantheistic f 375

"Man, the last work, who sueiiied so fair.
Such splendid purpose in his eyes.
Who rollod the psalm to wintry skies,
Who Imilt him tanos dt' fruitless pra\er —

•' Who trusted (jod was love indeed,
And love Creation's final law,
Thoui;h Xature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shrieked atrainst his creed —

" Who loved, who suffered eouutless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just —
lie blown about the desert dust,
Or sealed within the iron hills?

" No more ? — A monster, then, a dream,
A discord ! Dragons of the prime.
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music, matched with him!"

It is this profound feeling, wliicli Tennyson has thus so faith-
fully expressed, tliat gives to tlie question hefore us in these days
its anxious import. Let us not fail to realize that pantheism
means, not simply the all-])ervasive interblending and interpene-
tration of (Jod and the creation, hut the sole reality of (iod, and
the obliteratiiiii of freeddiu, df mural lite and of ininiurtality for
man.

vni. wuY snoui.ii muhicrn science oivk alaum of pantheism?

It is urgent, then, to incjuire if tliere is anything in the nature
of modern seience that really gives color to the pantheistic view.
It is obvious eiiougii that there are not wanting philosophers, or
even schools of pliilosophy, wdio read pantheism in science as sci-
ence appears to them. J3ut the real question is : Is such a read-
ins; the authentic account of tiie teaciiings of science itself? Here
we must not mistake the utterances of men of science for the un-
adulterated teachings of science; for, on this borderland of seience
and |)hih>sophy, it need not be surprising if men familiar with
only that method of investigation which science pursues, and not
at home in the complex and varied liistoiy of pliilosophieal specu-
lation, siiould sometimes, or even often, be inclined to a hasty in-

376 77(6' Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ference wlien the borderland is readied, and, overlooking the fact
that tiieir science and its method have necessary limits, take that
view in phiioso|ihy which the illei^-itiinate extension of their
method woidd indicate. Disrefjarding, then, the mere opinions
of certain cultivators of science, we are here to ask the directer,
more searching atid more jtertinent question, What is there — if,
indeed, tliere be anything — in the nature of science itself, as sci-
ence is now known — what are the elements in it and in its method,
that might be taken to point toward a pantheistic interpretation
of the universe and its Source?

And to this it must in all candor be answered that. l>oth in the
metliod of modern science and in the two commanding princi})les
that have legitimately resulted from that method, there is that
which unquestionably suggests the pantheistic view. Nothing less
than the most cautious discrimination, founded on a precise and
comprehensive knowledge of the course of philosophical inquiry,
can detect the exact reach, the limits, and the real significance of
this suggestion, or expose the illegitimacy of following it without
reserve. The trait to which I am now referring in the method of
science is its rigorously experimental and observational character;
indeed, its strictly empirical or tentative character. And the two
commanding results, which now in turn play an organizing part
in the subsidiary method of all the sciences, are (1) the principle
of the cojiservation of energy, and (2) the principle of evolution
manifesting itself in the concomitant phenomenon of natural se-
lection — the struggle of each species with its environment for exist-
ence, and the survival of the fittest. The apparent implications
of this method and of these two principles accordingly deserve,
and must receive, our most careful present attention.

How, then, does the experimental, or, more accurately, the em-
pirical, method of science suggest the doctrine of pantheism ? By
limiting our serious belief to the evidence of experience — exclu-
sively to the evidence of the senses. The method of science de-
mands that nothings shall receive the high credence accorded to
science, except it is attested by the evidence of unquestionable
presentation in sensible experience. All tlie refinements of scien-
tific method — the cautions of repeated observation, the probing
subtleties of experiment, the niceties in the use of instruments of
precision, the principle of reduction to mean or average, the allow-

Is Moilern Science Pantheistic? 377

aiice tor the " personal eijuation," the tinal easting out of the
largest mean of possible errors in experiment or observation, by
such methods, for instance, as that of least squares — all those re-
finements are for the single purpose of making it certain that our
basis of evidence shall be confined to what has actually been pres-
ent in the world of sense ; we are to know beyond question that
such and such conjunctions of events have actuaJhj been present
to the senses, and precisely what it is that thus remains indisputa-
ble fact of sense, after all possible additions or misconstructions of
our mere thought or imagination have been cancelled out. Such
conjunctions in unquestionable sense-experience, isolated and puri-
fied from foreign admixture by carefully contrived experiment, we
are then to raise hy generalization into a tentative expectation of
their continued recurrence in the future — tentative nxitenXiiiwu, we
say, because the rigor of the empirical method warns us tiiat tlie
act of generalization is a step beyond the evidence of experience,
and must not be reckoned any part of science, except as it con-
tinues to be veriried in subsequent experience of the particular
event. Thus natural science climbs its slow and cautious way
along the path of what it calls the laws of nature ; but it gives
this name only in the sense that there has been a constancy in the
conjunctions of past experience, a verification of the tentative
generalization suggested by this, and a consequent continuance of
the same tentative expectancy, which, however, waits for renewed
verification, and refrains from committing itself unreservedly to
the absolute invariability of the law to which it refers. CTncon-
ditional universality, not to sa}' necessity, of its ascertained con-
junctions, natural science neither claims nor admits.

Now, to a science which thus accepts the testimony of experi-
ence with this undoubting and instinctive confidence that never
stops to inquire what the real grounds of the possibility of expe-
rience itself may be, or whence experience can possibly derive this
infallibility of evidence, but assumes, on the contrary, that the
latter is underived and immediate — to such a science it must seem
that we have, and can have, no verifiable assurance of any exist-
ence but the Whole — the mere aggregate of sense-presented par-
ticulars hitherto actual or yet to become so. Thus the very method
of natund science tends to obliterate the feeling of the transcend-
ent, or at least to destroy its credit at the bar of disciplined judg-

378 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

iiient, and in this way to bring the votary of natural investigation
to regard the Sum of Things as the only reality.

On this view, the outcome of the scientific method might seem
to be restricted to that form of pantheism wliieh I have named
the atheistic. Most obviously, the inference would be to mate-
rialism, the lowest and most natural form of such j)antheism ; yet
subtler reasoning, recognizing that in the last resort experience
must be consciousness, sees, in the subjective idealism which states
the Sum of Things as tiie aggregate of tiie perceptions of its con-
scious members, the truer fulfilment of the method that presup-
poses the sole and immediate validity of experience. But beyond
even this juster idealistic construction of atheistic pantheism— be-
yond eitlier torm of atheistic ])aQtheism, in fact — the mere method
of natural science would appear to involve consequences which,
even granting tlie legitimacy of belief in the transcendent, would
render tiie transcendent God tlie sole reality — that is, would bring
us to acosmic pantlieism. For the empirical method, so far from
vindicating either the freedom of the personal will or the immor-
tality of the soul, withliolds belief from both, as elements that can
never come witiiin the bounds of possible experience; so tiiat the
habit i)f regarding nothing but the empirically attested as part of
science dismisses tliese two essential conditions of man's reality
beyond tlie pale of true knowledge, and into the discredited limbo
of unsupported assumptions.

It is, however, not until we pass from the bare metliod of natural
science to its two great modern consequences, and take in their revo-
lutionary effect as subsidiaries of method iu every field of natural
inquiry, that we feel the full force of the pantheistic strain which
pulls with such a tension iu many modern scientific minds. It is
in the principle of the conservation of energy, and in that of evo-
lution, particularly as viewed under its aspect of natural selection,
that we encounter the full force of the pantheistic drift. And it
seems, at the first encounter, irresistible. That all the changes in
the universe of objective experience are resolvable into motions,
either molar or molecular ; that, in spite of the incalculable variety
of these changes of motion, the sum-total of movement and the
average direction of the motions is constant and unchangeable ;
that an unvarying correlation of all the various modes of motion
exists, so that each is convertible into its correlate at a constant

h Modem Science Pantheistic? 379

numerical rate, and so that eacli, liavino: passed tlie entire circuit
of correlated forms, returns a<!;ain into its own form undiminir-lied
in amount: ail tiiis seems to point unmistakably to a primal
enersry — a ground-form of moving activity — one and nnciumgeable
in itself, immanent in hut not transcendent of its sum of corre-
lated forms, while each instance of each form is only a transient
and evanescent mode of the single reality. Nor, apparently, is
this inference weakened hy the hiter sciiolium upon the principle
of the conservation of energy, known as the principle of the dis-
sipation of energy. On the contrary, the pantheistic significance
of the former principle seems to be greatly deepened by this. In-
stead of a constant whole of moving activity, exhibited in a sys-
tem of correlated modes of iiiotiDii, we now have a vaster correla-
tion between the sum of actual energies and a vague but prodigi-
ous mass of potential energy — the "waste-heap," as the physicist
Ealfiiur Stewart has jiertinentiy named it, of the power of the
universe. Into this vast "waste-heap" all the active energies in
the world of sense seem to be continually vanishing, and to be
destined at last to vanish utterly : we siiift, under the light of this
principle of dissipation, from a primal energy, immanent, but not
transcendent, to one immanent in the sum of correlated actual
motions, and also transcendent of them. Very impressive is the
view that here arises of a dread Source of Being that engulfs all
beings; it is Hralim again, issuing forth through its triad Brahma,
Vishnu, and Siva — creation, preservation, and annihilation — to
return at last into its own void, gathering with it the sum of all
its transitory modes. And let us not forget that the conceptions
out of which this image of the One and All is spontaneously
formed are the ascertained and settled results of the science of
nature in its exactest empirical form.

When to this powerful impression of the principle of conserva-
tion, as modified by that of dissipation, we now add the ])roper
effect of the principle of evolution, the pantiieistic inference
appears to gather an overpowering weight, in mo way to be
evaded. As registered in the terms of a rigorous cmjiirical
method, evolution presents the picture of a cosmic AVhole, con-
stituted of varying members descended from its own primitive
form by diffeientiations so sligiit and gradual as not to suggest
difference of origin or distinction in kind, but, on the contrary, to

380 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

indicate clearly tlieir kinship and community of origin. Still,
these differentiations among the members, and the consequent dif-
ferences in their adaptation to the Whole, inv^olve a difference in
their power to persit^t amid the mutual competition wiiicli their
common presence in the Whole implies. In this silent and un-
conscious competition of tendencies to persist, which is called, by
a somewhat exaggerated metapiior, the struggle for existence, the
members of the least adaptation to the Whole must perish earliest,
and only those of the iiighest adaptation will finally survive. So,
by an exaggeration akin to that of the former metaphor, we may
name the resulting persistence of the members most suited to the
Whole the survival of tlie fittest ; and as it is the AYliole that de-
termines the standard of adaptation, we may also, by iiguratively
personifying the Whole, call the pi'ocess of antagonistic interac-
tion through which the survivors persist a process of natural selec-
tion. Here, now, the points of determinative import for inference
are these: that the "survival" is only of the fittest to the Whole ;
that it is the Whole alone that "selects" ; that no "survival," as
verified to the strictly emjiirical method, can be taken as perma-
nent, but that even the latest must be reckoned as certified only
to date, with a reservation, at best, of " tentative expectancy" for
hope of continuance ; that " natural selection," as empirically veri-
fied, is a process of cancellation, a selection only to death ; and
that the Whole alone has the possibility of final survival. The
" tentative expectation " founded on the entire sweep of the ob-
served facts, and not extended beyond it, would be that the latest
observed survivor, man, is destined, like his predecessors, to pass
away, supplanted by some new variation of the Whole, of a higher
fitness to it. And so on, endlessly.

This clear pointing, by an empirically established and empiric-
ally construed doctrine of evolution, toward the One-and-AU that
swallows all, seems to gain further clearness still when the prin-
ciples of conservation and of evolution are considered, as they
must be, in their inseparable connection. They work in and
through each other. Conservation and correlation of energy, and
their "rider" of dissipation, are in the secret of the mechanism of
the process of natural selection, with its deaths and its survivals;
evolution is the field, and its resulting forms of existence, more
and more complex, are the outcome of the operations of the cor-

A Jfi>/fern Science Pmitheintic? 38]

related, conserved, and dissipated eiierj^ies; and, in its principle
of strnsrgle and survival, evolution works in its turn in the very
proeess of the correlation, dissipation, and conservation of cneriry.
It therefore seems but natural to identify the ])otential energy —
the " waste-heap " of power — of correlation with the Whole of
natural selection. And thus we appear to reach, by a cumulative
arifument, the One and Only in which all shall he absorbed.

If we now add to these several indications, both of the method
and of the two orsjanic results of modern scieuce, the further
weijrhty discredit that the princijdes of conservation and evolu-
tion ap])ear to cast upon the belief in freedoin and immortality,
the pantheistic tone in modern science will sound out to the full.
This discredit comes, for human free-acency, from the closer nexus
that the correlation of forces seems plainly to establish between
every possible human action and the antecedent or enviroiiin<i;
chain of events in nature out of which tlie web of its motives
must be woven; and from the pitch and proclivity that mu.-t be
transmitted, according to the ])rinciple of evolution, by the hered-
ity inseparable from the process of descent. For immortality, the
discredit comes, by way of the principle of evolution, through its
indication, under the restrictions of the empirical method, of the
transitoriness of all survivals, and through its necessary failure to
supply any evidence whatever of even & possible ?,\ir\\\&\ beyond
the sensible world, with which empirical evolution has alone to
do; while, by way of the ])rinciple of the conservation and dissi-
pation of energy, the discredit comes from the doom that mani-
festly seems to await all forms of actual energy, taken in connec-
tion with the general discredit of everything unattested by the
senses, which the |)ersistent culture of empiricism begets.

In short, while the emj)irical method ignores, and must ignore,
any supersensible principle of existence whatever, thus tending
to the identitication of the Absolute with the Sum of Things, evo-
lution and the jirinciple of conservation have familiarized the
modern mind with the continuity, the unity, and the uniformity
of nature in an (jverwhelming degree. In tiie absence of the con-
viction, upon iiide]ieiident grounds, that the Principle of existence
is pers<jnal and rational, the sciences of nature can hardly fail,
even upon a somewhat considerate and scrutinizing view, to con-
vey the impression that the Source of things is a vast and shadowy

382 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Whole, which sweeps onwaixi to an unknown destination, "re-
gardless," as one of the leaders of modern science has said, " of
consequences," and unconcerned as to the late of man's world of
effort and hope, apparentl}' so circumscribed and insignificant in
comparison.

IX. SIODEEN SCIENCE IS, STRICTLY, NON-P.\NTHEISTIC.

But now that we come to the closer question, whether this im-
pression is really warranted, we stand in need of exact discrimina-
tion. With such discrimination we shall find that, decided as
the inference to pantheism from the methods and principles just
discussed seems to be, it is, after all, illegitimate.

Our first caution here must be to remember that it is not sci-
ence in its entire compass that is concerned in the question we are
discussing. It is only " modern science," popularly so called —
that is, science taken to mean only the science of nature ; and not
only so, but further restricted to signify only what may fitly
enough be described as the natural science of nature; that is, so
much of the possible knowledge of nature as can be reached
through the channels of the senses; so much, in short, as will
yield itself to a method strictly observational and empirical.

Hence, the real qnesticm is, whether empirical science, confined
to nature as its proper object, can legitimately assert the theory
of pantheism. And with regard now, first, to the argument drawn
with such apparent force from the mere method of natural science,
it should be iilain to a more scrutinizing refieetion that shifting-
from the legitimate disregard of a supersensii)le principle, which
is the light of the empirical method, to the deliberate assumption
that there is no such principle, because there is and can be no
sensible evidence of it, is an abuse of the method in question — an
unwarrantable extension of its province to decisions lying by its
own terms beyond its ken. This shifting is made upon the as-
sumption that there can be no science founded on any other than
empirical evidence. That there is, and can be, no science deserv-
ing the name, except that which follows the empirical method of
mere natural science, is a claim which men of science are prone
to make, but which the profouudest thinkers the world has
known^such minds as Plato, or Aristotle, or Hegel — have cer-
tainly pronounced a claim unfounded, and, indeed, a sheer assump-

Is Modern iSa'ence Paiithelftic? 383

tioD, contraclictc'cl I)v ovitlence the clenrest, if oltentimes abstruse.
Wlien, instead i>f blindly followin}:; f.\i)erience, we raise the ques-
tion of the real nature and the 8t)urces of experience itself, and
push it in earnest, it then appears that the verv possibility of the
experience that (;eeins so rigorously to exclude supei-sensible prin-
ciples, and particnlnrly the rational pei-sonality of the First Princi-
]>le, is itself dependent for its existence on such Principle and prin-
ciples; that, in fact, these enter intellectually into its very consti-
tution. But, in any case, this (juestion of the nature of experience,
of the limits of possible knowledge, and whether these last are
identical with the limits of possible experience, is one in tlie
taking up of which we abandon the field of nature and enter the
ver}' dilTerent field of the theory of cognition. In tliis, tlie pur-
suer of natural science, as such, has not a word to say. Here his
method is altogether insutficient and unavailing; if tiie problem
can be solved at all, it can oidy be by methoiU tluit transcen<l the
bounds of merely empirical evidence.

So, again, in the inferences to pantheism from the conservation
of energy and the principle of evolution. Strong as the evidence
seems, it arises in both cases from violating the strict principles of
the riatural scientific method. All inferences to a whole of poten-
tial energy, or to a whole determinant of the survivals in a struggle
for existence, are really inferences — passings beyond the region of
the experimental and sensible/'acAv into the emiiirically unknown,
empirically unattested, empirically unwarranted regi^m of super-
sensible prhuipleH. The exact scientific truth about all such in-
ferences, and the supposed realities which they establish, is, that
they are unwarranted by natural science ; and that this refusal of
warrant is only the expression by luitural science of its incom-
petency to enter upon such questions.

Natural science may therefore be said to bo silent on this ques-
tion of pantheism ; as indeed it is, and from the nature of the case
must be, upon all theories of the supersensible whatever — whether
tlieistie, deistic, or atheistic. Natural science has no proper con-
cern with them. Science may well enough be said to be non-
pantlieistic, but so also is it non-theistic, non-deistic, non-atheistic.
Its i>osition, however, is not for that reason anti-iiantiieistic any
more than it is anti-theistic, or anti-deistic, or anti-afln-istic. It is
rather agnostic, in the sense, that is, of declining to affect knowl-

384 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

edge in the premises, because these are beyond its metliod and
province. In short, its agnosticism is simply its neutrality, and
does not in the least imply that agnosticism is the final view of
things. Tlie investigation of the final view, the search for the
First Principle, science leaves to methods far other than her own
of docile sense-experience — methods that philosophy is now pre-
pared to vindicate as higher and far more trustworthy. Yet,
when once the supersensible Principle is reached in some other
way — the way of philosophy, as distinguished from that of natu-
ral science — science will then furnish the most abundant confirma-
tions, the strongest corroborations ; the more aljundant and the
stronger in proportion as the First Principle presented by jihiloso-
phy ascends, evolution-wise, from materialism, through pantheism,
to rational theism. For science accords most perfectly with the
latter, although she is, in herself, wholly unable to attain the
vision of it. But it must be a theism that subsumes into its con-
ceptions of God and man all the irrefutable insights of material-
ism, of deism, and, eminently, of pantheism ; of which, as I will
hope this paper has shown, there are those of tlie greatest perti-
nence and reality, if also of the most undeniable insufficiency.

THE FACTS ABOUT EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.

BY PAYTON SPENCE.

Everybody admits the existence of the external world ; but phi-
losophers (lifter in opinion as to what that thing is which they, in
common with everybody else, call the external world. People in
general, when they speak of the external world, mean something
outside of and separate and apart from themselves. The Idealist
believes that the external world is simply our sensations, which
someiiow become external perceptions, still remaining sensations,
however; and that, therefore, the outness and otherness of things
is apparent, not real. The Realist believes that our sensations are
one thing, while the external world is quite another thing, having
an existence of its own outside of the mind, separate and apart
from our 'sensations, existing though sensation had never come

The Factti about External Perception. 385

into beinjr, eiuiiiriiii; though sensation shouM eciv^e, and persisting
thoiiirli tlie ]>ossibility of sensation were abolished forever.

If, tlierefore, the existence of sometiiing outside of, and sepa-
rate and apart from, onr sensations is made as certain as tlie exist-
ence of those sensations themselves. Idealism must be abandoned.
In that event, while it might be interesting and highly important,
on other considerations, to know what that something is, yet it is
obvious that, so far as the question of Idealism and Realism is
concerned, such knowledge is unimportant. It would not be ne-
cessary to demonstrate any of its <jualities or properties, or that it
has qualities or properties, altluugli I shall endeavor to do both.
Its simple existence, if made as certain as tlie existence of our
sensations, is a refutation of Idealism.

Furthermore, it is, of course, unimportant wh;it name we give
to that something which is separate and apart from our sensa-
tions. We may call it matter, or force, or spirit, or any other
iniiiginable name ; if its existence is proved. Realism must be ac-
cepted. Hence, Berkeley, and tliose who. witli him, believe that
the Deity is the objectifying, externalizing agency to our sensations,
are, in fact. Realists. On that theory, the Deity is the something
which is separate and apart from our sensations, and which objec-
tifies them, not in any arbitrary, hap-hazard way, but only on
certain conditions, and according to a fixed, ascertainable method;
and hence, when we ascertain those conditions and formulate that
method, we have put the subject into scientific shape ; and then
it is very evident that, as science, it is godless, and, of coui-se,
nothing has been gained by calling the objectifying agent Deity
— matter, force, spirit, or any other name would have answered
as well.

I may here further remark that, of course. Realism is not neces-
sarily Dualism. It does not necessarily follow that the something
which is separate and a])art from our sensations is matter as an
ultimate, distinct fn^m mind as an ultimate, and that, therefore,
there are two ultimates, matter and mind. My own views u])on
this ])oint I have explained in my " New Tlieury of Conscious-
ness" (see "Journal of Speculative Philosophy," July, ISSU), in
which I have endeavored to show that the atom of matter is an
ultimate nf consciousness, an<l that consciousness, therefore, is our
ultimate <-osmical constituent.
XIX— 25

380 The. JmtrniiJ of Speculative Philosophy.

in tliis article I shall use the terms external world, external ob-
ject, and object in the realistic sense ; not, however, to prejudo;e
the case, but simply to ij;ive a nnitorni. definite meanino; to words
which I shall have frequent occasion to use.

In the outset of our discussion of external perception, we find
it necessary to disabuse the mind of the reader of one of the er-
rors which encumber the subject — an error which everybody seems
to regard as a truth established beyond all contradiction. It is
well enough expressed in the following quotation from Lewes, in
which, however, it is mixed up with another error that is almost
as universal, and to which we shall presently call special atten-
tion, namely, the erroneous belief that a single sensation can give
ns a perceiJticjn : '' I burn myself in the fire ; I am conscious of
the sensation ; I have certain and immediate knowledge of that.
But I can only be certain that a change has taken place in my
consciousness; when from that change I infer the existence of an
external object (the tire) my inference may be correct, but I have
obviously shifted my ground. Consciousness — my principle of
certitude — forsakes me. I go out of myself to infer tiie existence
of something which is not self. My knowledge of the sensation
was immediate, indubitable. My knowledge of the object is me-
diate, uncertain. Directly, therefore, we leave the ground of con-
sciousness for inference, avenues of doubt are opened." It will be
seen that the above statement is made in a positive, unquestion-
ing form, as though the truth of it was not for a moment to be
doubted, either by himself or any one else ; and yet the whole
science of demonstrated mathematics protests against it as an un-
truth that will not stand a moment's investigation. A demon-
strated proposition of geometry is just as certain and indubitable
as any one of the simple intuitions of which that demonstration
consists; and yet our knowledge of the proposition is always me-
diate, while our knowledge of the intuition is imm.ediate. The
error amounts to this : that there is no absolute certainty of any-
thing except that which lies directly and immediately upon our
consciousness, as is the case with our sensations and all self-evident
truths ; as, for instance, when I look at a line which is divided
into parts, and see that one of those parts is less than the whole.
Now, a demonstrated truth does not and cannot, in that sense, lie
directly and immediately upon our consciousness. In other words,

The Facts about External Perception. 3S7

it is not a sensiitiun ; \vc c-iuiiiot sue it. feel it, taste it, or appre-
hend it bv anj- of our senses ; nor can we grasp it with our con-
sciousness directly and immediately, even as a perception or as a
conception, as we shall show more fully hereafter. We can only
know it by memory a.s a proposition the truth of which has already
been demo!istrated, or else we must know it by going through the
demonstration. Could we grasp it as a perception or as a concep-
tion, and thus know it of it.seif and by itself, directly and imme-
diately, it would not need a demonstration.

The erroneous belief that we cannot be certain of anvthiiig
except that which we know immedintehj, is the cause, on tiie one
hand, of those immense, desperate, and persistent, but futile eilorts
that have been made in the endeavor to prove tliat we do know
the exterTial world iiiimedhilehj ; and, on the other hand, of tiiat
despondent and hopeless surrendering of the question as one
which is utterly insoluble, eitlier i)ecause our perception of the
external world is a result of tiie ilirect but inscrutable action of
the Deity, or else because it is an ultimate fact, incapable of fur-
ther analysis. Furtliermorc, the erroneous opinion to which we
are calling attention has its etfect upon those who believe that our
knowledge of the external world is mediate ; it destroys the value
of the conclusion wliich they have reached and leaves them bur-
dened with the conviction that the existence of the external world
is still problematic and uncertain.

The sum of the angles made by the crossing of the two straight
lines before me, is equal to four right angles. Of this I am as
certain as I am that the upper part of one of those lines is less
than the whole line. The propositions are botii absolutely true.
One of thorn is self-evidently true ; the other is demonstratively
true. The truth of the one I reach immediately by a single intui-
tion ; the truth of the other I reach mediately by a series of
intuitions. I cannot esca])e from the truth of either. Similarly,
I am as certain that external objects exist, separate and apart from
my sensations, as I am that my sensations themselves exist. The
latter certainty is the certainty of a single intuition ; the former
certainty is the certainty of a series of intuitions. Tiie one is a
self-evident truth, the other is a demonstrated triitli ; therefore I
cannot escape from the truth of either. Being butii truths, they
have not permitted, and will never permit, the human mind to

388 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

rest contented with any theory of external perception which does
not admit them both as unquestionable facts.

The subject of external perception is encumbered by another
fundamental error. It is believed by many tliat every sensation
is spontaneously converted into a perception, or causes a percep-
tion ; that tiiis happens in some mysterious vvay, without the aid
or prompting of any cause otlier tliati the single sensation itself,
operatino; tiirougli an original principle of our constitution — in
other words, that a sensation necessarily and unavoidably becomes
or causes a ])erception as necessarily and unavoidably as an im-
pression upon an organ of sense becomes a sensation. As we have
seen, the erroneous doctrine of immediate perception is an out-
growth of the fundamental error that we cannot be certain of any-
thing except that whicii we know immediately. JSTow, tlie erro-
neous tlieory of immediate perception necessarily gives rise to the
false opinion that a single sensation can, and always does, of itself,
become or cause a perception. We shall tindertake to show here-
after, however, that a single sensation does not and cannot become
a perception or cause a perception, or be itself thrown to the ex-
ternal, either in reality or in appearance, as it is in perception ;
for, without an understanding of this fact, it is not possible to
understand the fundamental difference between a sensation and a
perception, and their true relations to each other; and hence it is
not possible to understand external perception.

The erroneous opinion that has been, and still is, enteiiained
upon this subject, and that must necessarily be entertained by
every one who holds the doctrine of immediate perception, is thus
expressed by Brown : " Certain sensations irresistibly, and by a
law of our nature, suggest, witliout any process of reasoning and
witiiout the intervention of any tertium quid, the notion of some-
thing external and an invincible belief in its real existence." Reid
expresses substantially the same opinion in many places, as in the
following instance : "But every such impression, by the laws of
the drama, is followed by a sensation, which is the tii-st scene ex-
hibited to the mind ; and this scene is cjuickly succeeded by an-
other, which is the perception of the object." It seems to nie
that Spencer also drops into this error when he says: "In sensa-
tion proper, at least if it is a sensation of touch, heat, or pain, I
not only contemplate the affection as an affection of myself — as a

The Facts about External Perception. 3S9

state through which my consciousness is passing or has passed —
bnt I also contemplate it as existing in a certain part of my hody,
as stiinding in certain relations of position. I perceive where it
is. Hilt, thoiigli uniler both these a-«))eets sensation must be re-
garded as a species of perception, it will ivadily be seen to differ
widely fn>ni iicrcciitioii proper."

I shall nut undertake a xjircia/ refutation of the above view of
sensation, but shall proceed at once to the consideration of our
subject, external percei)ti()ii, beginning, however, with an acciniiit
of sensation with wliich it is so intimately connected, and upon
which it is dependent. If my explanation of sensation and of its
relations to perception be correct, it becomes a refutation of the
foregoing erroneous view of the subject just to the extent that it
differs from that view; and it will be found to differ from it
fundamentally.

Every sensation is a state of consciousness; as such it is internal
and must ever remain internal ; by no possibility can it be made
external. Now, aside from our sensations, there are no other
means or instrumentalities by which we can know the external
world ; but, as our sensations are wholly internal and incapable of
being shifted to the external, how is it possible that we can ever
know anything about an external world? And how is it possible
even that the thought or conception of an external world should
ever have entered the Iniinan mind? Yet, while it is a fact that
all our affei-tions througli the senses are wholly internal, and can
never be made other than internal, it is equally a fact that, in
some way, the idea ot an external world has got into our con-
sciousness, and has taken such forcible ]iossession, assuming such
dominion there, that it gives its own character even to our sensa-
tions, making them seem as external as itself. That apple out
there is somehow embrace<l by my consciousness as an external
thing — an object outside of and apart from myself — and that ex-
ternality is so pronounced, so overpowering a reality, that the red
color, which is naught but an internal sensation and must ever
remain internal, is apparently drawn out of its real abiding-place,
and seems painted upon the surface of the apple, as objective as
the ap|>le itself. I low is this i

It is not an easy matter to get a clear conception of what a sen-
sation really is. We seldom, if ever, have a sensation alone as a

390 Thf Journal of Speculative PMlomphy.

conscious experience, standing apart from all other sensations and
perceptions so as to i-eveal its true character. Every single sensa-
tion antomaticallj relates itself to an object and object properties
and to groups of other sensations, actual and reproduced, thus
giving rise to a perception in which the sensation is seemingly
localized as something exterior to the mind — something objective.
This seeming objectivity does not pertain to a sensation proper,
but does pertain necessarily, as we shall show, to any sensation
which forms part of a perception. Therefore, when we localize a
sensation, we give it an element that does not belong to it — an
element which, to tliat extent, converts it intu a perception, or
rather a part of a perception. As the outcome of animal evolu-
tion, our nervous system is so organized that it is ahnost impos-
silile for us to experience a sensation proper; that is, a sensation
which is not automatically localized — objectified. We are com-
pelled, therefore, to resort to a process of mental dissection, as it
were, separating this simple mental state from others with which
it is ordinarily so bound up as to be in a great measure disguised.
To do this, we must defeat, as it were (and reject results where we
cannot defeat processes), those automatic actions of our highly
developed nervous system by which every sensation is at once
related to an object and its properties and to other sensations,
actual or reproduced, and thus becomes localized as a part of a
perception. Many sensations, probably most of our sensations,
cannot be treated experimentally in this way, so irresistibly and
unavoidably does our nervous system work them np into percep-
tions ; nor can we devise any method i)v which we can arrest the
process at that stage where we are conscious of them as sensations
only, and before they have been worked up into perceptions.

I obliterate, in imagination, all the results of my past experi-
ence, together with the experience itself, and the power ot remem-
bering or reproducing it, either voluntarily or spontaneously ;
and, furthermore, I imagine that I am depiived of all my faculties
and capacities except the sense of sight. In this imaginary state
I close my eyelids, and am immersed in light alternating with
darkness. The light that reaches the retina of my eye causes me
to experience what would be called a consciousness of light. But
to call it a consciousness of light would make it more complex
than it really is, by implying that there are two mental states;

The Facte about External Percej)tion. 391

that is, the sensation, liglit, mid :i consciousness of that light. It
is more in keeping with the simplicity of tlie phenomenon to call
it a state of conscious illumination, the illumination and the con-
sciousness being one and the same thing. While that state lasts,
illumination is the plenitude of tlie mind — the sum total of the
giro — so that I am, for the time being, simply a conscious illumi-
nation, not a consciou*ne.-;s of an illumination, but a consciousness
which is illumination, an illumination which is consciousness.
This is a sensation.

You are looking at a red apple, the red of which seems to you
as external as the apple itself. I, in the imaginary state just de-
scribed, open my closed eyelids, and how is my consciousness af-
fected by tlieai)ple^ Only the light from it affects me, and I
have a sensation called red. The sum total of my being is a state
of consciousness called red. I know nothing of the apple ; I only
feel red ; and il is not a red which I refer to something that is
distinct from myself; but I myself am the red, and that is all there
is of me; l)eyond that, I know nothing, feel nothing, infer noth-
ing, am notiiing. To you the red is out there, external, a part of
the apple; to me the red is internal, and is a part of me — is me.
Here, then, there is seemingly a vast ditfereuce between your red
and my red ; between the red which seems outside of you as a
part of an external object, and the red which is inside of me — is
me. Yet these two reds, in their real nature, are precisely alike ;
thev are i^recisely the same subjective states, and can never be
otherwise ; and when we shall have made this plain, and shall
also have shown the genesis of your red from my red, we shall
liave made coiisidcral>le progress in the solution of the difficulties
involved in external j)erception. My red, tiie subjective red, is of
course a sensation, and nothing more. Your red, while remaiu-
injr a subjective sensation, is a part of your perception of the
ajjple, and to that extent may be spoken of, in brief, as a percep-
tion. Ill my case the red is felt; in your case it is felt also, be-
cause its real nature can never be changed ; but, in addition to be-
ing felt, it seemingly loses its internal cliaractcr, and is apjiarently
projected to the external, and, being worked up into a perception,
we may say it is perceived. To this extent, then, we see the dif-
ference between a sensation and what migiit be called a percep-
tion of a sensation, the latter being a sensation j>his an appear-

392 The Journal of Speoulative Philosophy.

ance of externality. Then the ditficulty of this part of the siibiect
is narrowed down to this question : How is this appearance of ex-
ternality added to that which is essentially internal, and which
mnst ever remain internal in reality ? Mere sensations alone,
singly or in combination, cannot make the addition, as is evident
from the followino; considerations :

1st. Every single, unrelated sensation is essentially and un-
changeably internal ; hence, to put it in a negative form, no single,
unrelated sensation can ever become external, either in reality or
in appearance ; and, therefore, it can never become a perception
or a part of a perception. Such a change in its character cannot
take place without a cause, and as, by the supposition, the sensa-
tion is single and unrelated, there is no cause for any change what-
ever ; and hence it must remain internal in appearance as well as
in reality.

2d. All sensations, being internal, no relation of the sensations
of any one or more of the senses, can cause them to be projected
to the external, either in reality or in appearance. All sensations
are subjective; and hence all their relations to each other arc re-
lations in the subject, and, therefore, relations in time only; and,
as there is nothing, and can be nothing, either in their nature or
in the nature of their relations, to suggest the idea of space, they
cannot be projected into space, either in reality or in appearance.
The reader will please observe that I speak of the relations of sen-
satimis only ; and he must therefore be careful not to introduce
any other element into the relation but the bare sensations them-
selves, and whatever results from their relations ; otherwise he
may unconsciously mix up those sensations with the very thing
which, as we shall see, gives them seeming objectivity, and he
may thus delude himself into the belief that related sensations
alone may become perceptions, or parts of perceptions.

Therefore we (Berkeley and Hume included) must look beyond
mere sensation and related sensations for that something — that
additional element in the combination — -by which a sensation be-
comes a part of a perception, that is, a sensation plus seeming
externality. Any analysis of perception into mere sensations or
related sensations is incomplete, for the simple reason that the
very sine qua non of perception is overlooked — that very element
is omitted which, as we shall see, converts sensations into parts of

77i« Facts about External Perception. 31t3

perceptions, and the perceived sensations jp^(/« that elenient into
the perceived object. That omitted plement, as we shall see, is
the object itself, the very apple npon the surface of which the red
seems painted. Therefore, we shall find that instead of mere sen-
sations giving us extenial perception — in other words, instead of
our related sensations becoming to us an object — instead of the
redness, the sweetness, the fragrance, the touch, being combined
into an apple, and constituting all there is of it, it is the object
itself which externalizes the sensations; it is the real apple which
makes yonr sensations, red, sweet, touch, fragrant, seem outside
of you and grouped together into an apple. Well, we sav, there
is a real apj>lc out there, existinir as something separate and apart
from our sensations; and we have shown tiiat mere sensations,
isolated, or simply related to themselves alone, cannot niaki; us
perceive that ai>]>le; then how is the real apple brought to oin-
consciousness and made a thing of knowledge, Eceing that it can
only be done through the instrumentality of our sensations ?

The law of the ohject in external perception is this : In external
perception, the niniultaneous convergence of the sensations of two
or more of the senses upon the source or caitse of those sensations
demonstrates the existence of that source or cause as a somethijig
— an object — which is separate and apart from the sensations
themselves. That such is the method by which we know the ob-
ject I shall now endeavor to show.

Let us suppose that both you and I liave all our senses abol-
ished, aTid also all the knowledge and experience which we have
acquired through them, as well a-s all the organized results of that
experience. Now, I am suddenly endowed with the sense of smell
and the sense of sight ; I mean the faculty of feeling colors, lights,
and shades, and, of course, I do not include the muscular sense
which is ordinarily associated with the sense of sight, in the ad-
justment of the eye to distances, the convergence of the axis of the
eyes, the rolling of the eye in and out. up and down, etc. I see a
red color, and I smell a fra<'rancc. But thev irive me no knowl-
edge of anything but themselves and their relations in time, either
as occurring simultaneously or in succession to each other. They
cause in me no percei)tion of an object — no perception, or even
suspicion of the existence of tiie apple which causes both sensa-
tions ; and, moreover, they give me no idea that the two sensa-

394 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tions are, or can be, combined or related into an object — an apple.
On the other hand, yoii are suddenly endowed with the sense of
sight and the sense of feeling, together with the power of muscu-
lar motion, but not the muscular sense, as it is not necessary to
the illustration. Through the sense of sight you also see the red
color ; at the same time you move your hand forward until you
feel a touch just when your hand seems to reach the color. You
pereei ve an object which, you say, looks red ; and the red is seem-
ingly no longer within yourself, but outside of you, apparently
pertaining to the object itself — you perceive the red apple. Now,
what is the reason of the vast difference between my experience,
tlirough the instrumentality of two sensations, and your experi-
ence, through the instrumentality of tivo sensations also — my ex-
perience in which my sensations remain internal in appearance as
well as in reality, and in which no external object is inferred, sug-
gested, suspected, or thought of, and your experience in which
your sensations make you believe (we will call it helieve for the
present) that you have come upon something which is outside of
yourself — an object, and that that object is red ?

The only difference in the two cases is this : In your experience,
the two sensations converge each upon the source or cause of the
other, and thus demonstrate that source as something separate and
apart from themselves, and thei-efore an external object. In my
experience, the two sensations do not converge each upon the
source or cause of the other ; and hence they do not demonstrate
or suggest anything beyond themselves. To return to your expe-
rience, for mine needs no further explanation. You see the red
color ; at the same time you move your hand forward until you
believe that you feel the red with your lingers — no, you do not
believe that, and could only be made to believe it by finding that
what yoii reach feels red to your fingers as well as looks red to
your eyes; and if you did believe that you touched the red, the
sensation, with your fingers, you would give up your erroneous
belief the moment you closed your eyes and still felt the touch,
although the red, the sensation, then ceased to exist — well, you
move your hautl forward until you believe that you feel the place
where the red is — no, you never can believe that you feel a mere
place, or locality, or the nothingness of mere empty space— you
move your hand forward, then, until you believe that ytui feel

Tlu! Facts ahoiit External Perception. .395

the object which is red, aiul see the object whicli vou tnucli. It
is as though the hand said to the eye, "Follow me, and I will take
YOU to the cause of that red wliich you see" ; while the eye says
to the hand, " I follow you, and show you the cause of that touch
which you feel." The one demonstrates to the other a something
which is foreign to tiieni both, separate and apart from both —
something which neither one alone ciuild ever attain to or suspect
the existence of.

But why call this i)rocess of making us conscious of the exist-
ence of an external ol)ject mhnumxtratum ? Simply because it is
a demonstration. Demonstration is the method of bringing to
our knowledge, by two or more intuitions, that which we cannot
know by a single intuition. For instance; two triangles lie before
me, and I am told that two angles and the included side of the
one are equal to the two angles and the included side of the otlier ;
and I am further told that, such being the case, the two triangles
themselves must be equal. !Now, this latter equality I can never
know by a single intuition — that is, by simply looking at the two
triauiiles — in the same wav that I know that the line iiefore me,
which is divided into parts, is greater than any one of its parts.
Tlierefore I must demonstrate the equality of the triangles by a
series of intuitions, each one of which, being absolutely certain,
brings me to tiie absolute certainty that the triangles are equal.
My tirst intuitive certainty is that the two equal sides, when ap-
plied to eacli other, coincide ; my second and third intuitions are
that the other two sides of each of the triangles must coincide with
each other as far as we choose to produce tliera ; and my fourth in-
tuition is that those two sets of coinciding sides must meet in the
same |>oint ; and now I know that the two triangles, when applied
to each other, must coincide throughout, and are therefore equal.
In no other way can I Tx-now that efpiality. Now, if I am told
that an object is something sejiarate and apart from my sensa-
tions, I cannot know that fact by a single intuition — I cannot
see it, feel it, taste it, or grasp it immediatehi by any one of the
senses. But I do know it by means of two or more intuitions
which are bo related to each other and to it that my knowledge
of it is just as certain as my knowledge of the intuitions them-
selves — and hence it is demonstrateil. But it will be said : " This
object, which is thus brought to my knowledge, is such a shadowy

396 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

nothino;, witliout properties, or with properties (which we shall
presently show that it has) like itself, invisible, intangible, non-
perceivable, and inconceivable ; how can it be a demonstration ? "
We reply that in all these respects it resembles all demonstrated
ti'uths, they beins; just such shadowy nothings — invisible, intangi-
ble, non-perceivable, and inconceivable — as we shall have occasion
to show hereafter.

Then, in external perception, the simultaneous convergence of
two or more of the senses upon tlie common cause of their present
sensations demonstrates the existence of that cause as an object
separate and apart from those sensations. But the demonstrated
object is only one of the elements of that compound phenomenon
called an external perception. Its other elements will now engage
our attention.

The consideration of the primary and secondary rpialities of
objects usually forms a part, and a very large part, of all discus-
sions of the subject of external perception. Of course they are
introduced into such discussions for the purpose of throwing some
light upon a subject whose principles have thus far seemed hidden
in the most impenetrable darkness. I believe, however, that
every one who has studied what has been written about the pri-
mary and secondary qualities, in the hope of getting some light
upon the subject of external perception, has ended his studies in
vexation and disappointment, and has come to the conclusion, if
he had not already reached it, that even the clearest and most
profound thinkers unavoidably drift into disorder and confusion
when they endeavor to explain a subject without the guidance of
the true principle which underlies it.

Locke throws no light upon the subject of external perception
by telling us that the primary qualities " are inseparable from
body," while the secondary qualities are " nothing in the objects
tliemselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us" ; and
" that the ideas of primary qualities are resemblances of them ;
and their patterns really exist in the bodies themselves ; but the
ideas produced in us by the secondary qualities have no resem-
blances to them at all." Eeid throws no light upon external per-
ception with his invalid reason for the baseless distinctiim that
our knowledge of the primary qualities is " clear " and " distinct,"
while our knowledge of the secondary qualities is "obscure,"

The FacU about External Perception. 397

because the iiutiuii we have of the former is " direct," while thiit
of the latter is " rehitive" only. Stewart throws no light upon
external perception by sayinij that " the line which I draw be-
tween the primary and secondary (jualities is this, that the former
necessarily involve the notion of extension or outness, whereas
the latter are only cunceived as the unknown causes of known
sensations." Bain throws no liglit upon external perception, and,
I may say, rather beclouds the subject when he makes uniformity
in experience the characteristic of a primary ciuality, and therefore
makes color barely escaj^e being raised to the dignity of a pri-
mary quality, so that a little more uniformity in the experience
of iill ]iersons with a color, for instance red (wliich, for want of
that unifornuty, is now a sensation, a subject quality), would con-
vert it into an object (primary) quality. In fact. Bain's boundar}--
line between his object (primary) qualities and the subject quali-
ties is so shadowy and indeterminate that he himself at times
ignores it altogether, or else does not see it ; as when he speaks of
resistance as a feeling, and therefore a subject quality, and yet, at
the same time, classes it with the object qualities by saying that
" the fundamental properties of the material or object world are
force, or resistance, and extension." Hamilton throws no light
upon external perception by informing us that " in the primary
qualities perception predominates; in the secondary, sensation " ;
that " where matter is known as principal " (it would have been a
flash of light to have shown us how matter c&\\ hcknoicn?i\ all
•with a certainty) *' in its relation to mind, and mind oidy known
as subordinate in its correlation to matter, we have perception
proper, rising superior to sensation ; this is seen in the primary
qualities " (and yet where matter, or primary qualities, ur both,
predominate so much as to be left alone, they go blink out. and
can neither be seen, nor felt, nor perceived, nor even conceived,
as we shall see hereafter), '' where, on the contrary, mind is prin-
cipal," etc. Nor does Spencer throw any light upon external
perception with his new nomenclature — statical, dynamical, and
statico-dynamical — for substantially the same thingis that others
call primary, secondary, and seciindo-primary.

In discussing the primary and the secondary (jualities, in tlicir
relation to external perception, the important matter to determine
is this: Since we know lioth these sets of qualities through the in-

398 Tlie Joiinud of Speculatvve Philosophy.

stnimentality of our sensations, what are the conditions under
which our sensations give us a knowledge of the primary quali-
ties, and what are the conditions under which our sensations give
us a knowledge (though it cannot be called knowledge) of the
secondary properties, and wliat is the nature of that knowledge
in both cases ?

AV'^ith regard to the secondary qualities, we have but little to
say ; first, because we do not know thetn ; and, secondly, because
they have no direct bearing upon our subject, since they take no
part in external perception. We have already shown how our
sensations are traced to their source in the demonstrated object.
But of those properties in the object that cause the sensations we
knoio nothing, either by intuition as we kiiom the sensations tiiem-
selves, or by demonstration as we know the object. We may
conjecture and speculate about them ; as, for instance, we may
say that, perhaps, a red color and the object quality which causes
it are as much alike as the two voices in the telephone — the one
at the delivering end which is the cause, and the one at the receiv-
ing end which is theeifect ; but such conjectures and speculations
can never amount to a knoioledge of the secondary qualities of ob-
jects.

The primary qualities, of course, are always spoken of as quali-
ties of the object and not of the subject ; but we look in vain for
any reason for such a disposition of them beyond, we may say,
the very obvious fact that they are very different from our sensa-
tions; and, as the latter evidently pertain to the subject, it seems
reasonable to conclude that the primary qualities pertain to the
object. But, not understanding the true reason why the primary
qualities must be qualities of the object and not of the subject,
writers often speak of them as though, while being qualities of the
object, they were still mere affections of our senses (subject quali-
ties), which can be seen, felt, and otherwise known, in the same
way that we see a color, feel a touch, or smell a fragrance. Hence
Berkeley easily broke through their ill-defined distinctions and
loose explanations ; and, to this day, they have found it impossi-
ble to answer him, from their standpoint.

No single sensation or combination of mere sensations can give
us a primary quality ; it can only be demonstrated to us in the
same way in which, as we have shown, the object is demonstrated

The FiicU abmit External Perception. 399

to us — namely, hy tlic simultaneous convergence upon it of the
sensations of two or more senses, thus proving that it really exists
externallv as an attribute of the object, ami not as a sensation or
a group of sensations pertaining to tiie subject. For the purpose
of showing the correctness of our position, and also for the pur-
pose of showing tlie confusion of thought which prevails on this
subject (all for the want of a kiiowleilgc of tiie law of the primary
qualities), I make the following extract from Hamilton, in which
he endeavors to ])rove that the sensations of sight alone can give
us a knowledge of the primary quality called twtension. I shall
criticise it as I go, begging the reader, however, to bear in mind
that I am deprived of all my ]iowers and faculties except the sense
of sight alone, and that, w'hen I say sight, I do not include the
sense of the muscular contraction of the muscles of the eye, which
is so intimately connected with it, and by which, in connection
with the sense of sight, extension may be brought to our knowl-
edge in the manner hereafter ex})lained. The reader is also re-
quested to hold sensations to their tr^le character as mere subjec-
tive affections, and not to allow them to be tinctured with anything
that jiertains to j>errejitions only, as is a))! to be done, in spite of
himself, by that automatic action of his nervous system already
referred to. In this condition Hamilton says to me :

"1. All are agreed that we see extension as colored." We see
extension ! I see (have the sensation called) red, and green, and
blue, and yellow, and all the other c-olors, lights, and shades. I
see nothing else, and can see nothing else. " 2. The power of per-
ceiving colors" — perceiving colors! What is that ? I feel — have
the sensation of — color ; if perceiving means that, then I can un-
derstand you ; but if it means something else, then I can never
understand you. "The power of perceiving colors" (which I
can never do) " involves the power of perceiving differences of
color." Yes, if I could perceive, I could perceive ; but I can
only feel. "3. The colors discriminated in vision are, or may
be, placed side by side." f faced side hi/ side — what is that
again ? Have I got sides and places in me as well as sensa-
tions? When (1 cannot say where yet) do they arise, and how?
and how do they feel alone, or side by side ? If when you say
" placed side by side " you mean coming to my consciousness one
after another in time, or one at the same time with another.

400 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

then I uuderstiiml yuu ; otlierwise I do not, and cannot. " 4. The
contrasted colors, thus bounding each other, will t'orui, by their
meetino:, a visible line." Boundincj each other — yes, I under-
stand — onebeginniiiii; loheri the other ends (Hamilton would laugh,
for he meant where, which word, however, when, applied to one or
more subjective states, would be sheer incom|)atibility). But, ?_'2«i-
hle line, I do not understand that. Only colors, lights, and shades
are felt by me; and I only know that in me (in my consciousness)
they come and go one after another in time, or one at the same
time with another. 1^ visible line is any one of such experiences
of mine, then I can be made to comprehend it ; otherwise never.

The same process of reasoning implied in the foregoing criti-
cism will apply to all sensations (mere sensations and nothing
else), whether isolated or related to each other. Hence, the two
negative propositions which we laid down in reference to the re-
lation of sensations to perceptions will also apply to the relation
of sensations to the primary qualities of objects, namely : 1. No
single sensation can give us a primary quality. 2. No number of
mere related sensations of any one or more senses can give us a
primary quality. Should the reader still harbor any doubts of the
truth of the foregoing propositions, he must surrender them if I
succeed, as I expect to, in showing that tlie primary qualities are
demonstrated qualities of the objet:t, and, as such, are separate
and apart from our sensations, as much so as the object itself, and
therefore can never be seen, felt, tasted, or known immediately by
any of the senses.

Put in the affirmative form, the law of the primary qualities is
this : A primary quality is a quality which is demonstrated to
pertain to the object by the simultaneous convergence iipon it of the
sensations of two or more senses. The sensations of color and of
touch may be simultaneously converged so as to reveal to each
other their common source — an object — and thus prove the object ;
but that does not necessarily imply a convergence upon any quali-
ty of the object ; and hence, in that case, the object only is proved,
not its qualities. But su])pose that I am reduced, as in a former
supposition, to the sense of sight alone, and have everything to
learn. I see a red color. That is all I know about it, or about
anything else. It tells me nothing. Now, I am further endowed
with the sense of touch and the power of muscular motion, but

The Fact« about External Perception. 401

not the muscular sense, simply because the latter is not necessary
to complete the illustration. I nmve my hand till I see that it
touches the source of the red ; and the red and the touch demon-
strate the object, as already explained. Now, while I am looking
at the red, I run my hand along over the surface of the object,
and I see that my hand feeh over that surl'ac-e which is red, and I
feel that the red which I see embraces the whole surface wiiich gives
me the sensation of touch ; and thus extension is made known to
me through the compound relation of the two sensations and the
denumstratcd object. The very first point at which sight and
feeling converge is, by demonstration, a point of the object, not
of the subject ; and, as I move my hand along, each succeeding
point is, by demonstration, a point of the object, not of the sub-
ject; and so the succession of points are, by demonstration, a
succession of points in the object ; and hence the succession of
points — the extension — is a property of the object, not of the sub-
ject.

The same process of reasoning brings us to the conclusion that
the primary quality called solidity is a quality of the object, not
of the subject, and is demonstrated to be such by the convergence
of two sensations, namely — that of touch, an affection of the sense
of feeling, and that of resistance (force), an affection of the mus-
cular sense.

In attempting to make out the genesis of our knowledge of this
primary quality, solidif;/, the difficulties of the subject are very
much increased by the absence of suitable terms that would help
us to isolate, in thought, the two sensations, touch and resistance,
and the primary cpialitv, solidity, which they demonstrate. The
terms touch, resistance, ami soliditij carry meanings which overlap
each other, each one implying more or less of the import of both
the others as well as its own ; so that, in the poi)ular mind, they
are greatly entangled, the word touch implying more or less of
resistance and solidity, resistance more or less of touch and solid-
ity, and solidity more or less of touch and resistance. This tinc-
turing of each with the meaning of the othere follows the most
cautious investigator in spite of himself, and, to a great extent,
y)reveiits him from perceiving the real relation of the phenomena
which the words re])resent.

For the |)urpose of ridding the subject, as far as possible, of
XIX-26

402 The Jonrnal of Speculative Philosophy.

this einharrassmeiit, we would remind tlie reader tliat the mean-
ing of the word toifch must he limited to the simple sensation of
contact, which may he hest realized if the hand is at rest while
the object is caused to come in contact with it; we thus free it of
the muscular feeling of resistance, and also to some extent of the
idea of solidity. The word solulitij so obstinately carries with it
the idea of both the feelings of touch and resistance by which the
quality called solidity is demonstrated, that it is very difficult to
think of it as a primary quality which, like extension, cannot be
felt or seen at all. It does not stand apart in the mind from touch
and resistance as distinctly as extension stands apart from color and
touch. On this account, perhaps the term impenetrability would
answer better than solidity; but impenetrability carries a non-tech-
nical meaning that is always obtruded upon the technical one, and
it is objectionable on that account. The suggestion of the word
will, at any rate, act as a corrective wluch will help us to hold the
word solidity to the restricted meaning to wdiicli we wish to limit
it — that is, to the primary quality, without any admixture either
of the feeling of touch or of resistance. The word force, which is
sometimes used as synonymous with our other term, resistance,
might also act as a corrective to that term, and help us to hold it
to the mere feeling of muscular contraction, isolated from the feel-
ing of touch and from tlie idea of solidity. I deem it best, how-
ever, not to use the term at all, on account of the difficulty of re-
stricting it as it should be. I shall therefore speak of the feeling
of muscular contraction as the feeling of muscular contraction.

Now, my eyes being closed, if I' bring ray hand in contact with
an object, the simple contact (when isolated from the feeling of
muscular contraction by which it is brought about) gives me the
sensation of touch ; at the same time, the feeling of muscular con-
traction is abruptly modiiied the moment the feeling of touch be-
gins ; therefore the modified feeling of muscular contraction
makes known to me the cause, the source of the sensation of
touch, and tlie sensation of touch makes known to me the cause
of the modification of the feeling of muscular contraction, and
thus the object is demonstrated. Now, if, while the contact with
the object cnntitiues, I increase the muscular effort, and thus in-
tensity the feeling of muscular contraction, I at the same time in-
tensity the feeling of touch, and a quality of the object is demon-

7/(1? Facts about External Perception. 403

strated, called solidity, the various degrees and modifications of
wliicli, such as hardness, softness, fluidity, elasticity, etc., are de-
pendent U|)oii the modifications of tiie force of the muscular con-
tractions, and hence the modifications of the feeling of muscular
contraction and the modifications of the feeling of touch caused hy
the modifications of the force of the muscular contractions and by
variations in the object touched. Solidity, then, is not a sensa-
tion, nor a mere combination of sensations, but is a demonstrated
quality of the object.

Thus far, then, our analysis of external perception yields us two
elements of its constitution, namely, a demonstrated object, and
demonstrated object properties. But these two elements, either
alone or in combination with each other, can never make a per-
ception. We cannot perceive a mere object without properties ;
we cannot perceive the primary qualities, extension and solidity,
without an object; nor can we perceive an object which has the
qualities extension and solidity. In this respect they resemble
all other demonstrated trutiis. All demonstrated truths are non-
perceivable, and, because non-perceivable, inconceivable, using
the term conceivable in its sharply defined and restricted accepta-
tion.

Thus, I have I)efore me a rigiit-angled triangle with a square
erected ni)on each of its three sides. I look at it for a long time,
but in vain do I try to perceive or conceive the relative size of