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Andrews, W. S. Magic Squares 429, 555 

Arreat, Lucien. Literary Correspondence, 130; On the Notion of Order 
in the Universe, 262. 

Baker, Arthur Latham. A Circular Polygon 462 

Birney, William. Did the Monks Preserve the Latin Classics ? 87 

Carus, Paul. Chinese Script and Thought (Illustrated), 271; Chinese 
Occultism (Illustrated), 500; The Christian Doctrine of Resurrection, 
115; Conception of the Soul and the Belief in Resurrection Among 
the Egyptians (Illustrated), 409; Difficulties in Philosophical Nomen- 
clature, 633 ; The Place of Mathematics in Education, 295 ; The Sig- 
nificance of Quality, 375. 

Ceptacle Hypothesis, The. By O. B. Taft 182 

Chinese Occultism. By Paul Carus 500 

Chinese Script and Thought. By Paul Carus 271 

Christian Sects in Syria, Moslem Account as to the Origin of. By H. 

Wernekke 466 

Christianity, An Ancient Moslem Account of. By A. J. Edmunds 120 

Circular Polygon. By A. L. Baker 462 

Cockerill, Robert C. Definition of God 637 

Code of Hammurabi, Place of. By A. H. Godbey 199 

Conception of the Soul and the Belief in Resurrection Among the Egyp- 
tians. By Paul Carus 409 

Consciousness, A Scientific View of. By G. Gore 409 

Couturat, Louis. An International Auxiliary Language. (With Editorial 

Reply) ' 143 

Day, Rev. Edward. The Search for the Prophets 386 

Definition of God. By R. C. Cockerill 637 

Did the Monks Preserve the Latin Classics ? By W. Birney 87 

Difficulties in Philosophical Nomenclature. By Paul Carus 633 

Edmunds, Albert J. An Ancient Moslem Account of Christianity 120 

God, Definition of. By R. C. Cockerill 637 

Godbey, A. H. The Place of the Code of Hammurabi, 199; The Semitic 
City of Refuge, 605 ; Shylock in the Old Testament, 353. 

Gore, G. A Scientific View of Consciousness ., 227 

Gros, Johannes. Quality and Quantity 361 



Gunlogsen, A. H. Icelandic Literature 109 

Herrick, Clarence L., Obituary of ' *. 151 

Herrick, Clarence L. The Passing of Scientific Materialism 46 

Hilbert, D. On the Foundations of Logic and Arithmetic 338 

Icelandic Literature. By A. H. Gunlogsen 109 

Infinitude as a Philosophical Problem (With Editorial Comment). By 

C. J. Keyset 124 

International Auxiliary Language (With Editorial Reply). By L. Cou- 

turat 143 

Issues of Pragmaticism. By C. S. Peirce 481 

Keyser, Cassius J. Infinitude as a Philosophical Problem (With Editorial 

Comments) 124 

King, Irving. The Pragmatic Interpretation of the Christian Dogma 248 

Literary Correspondence (France). By Lucien Arreat 130 

Logic and Arithmetic, On the Foundations of. By D. Hilbert 338 

McFarland, R. W. A Mathematical Analogy in Theological Reasoning.. . 626 

Magic Squares. By W. S. Andrews 429, 555 

Mathematical Analogy in Theological Reasoning. By R. W. McFarland.. 626 

Mathematical Physics, Principles of. By H. Poincare i 

Mathematics in Education, The Place of. By Paul Carus 295 

Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. The Problem of Unity and the Noetic Power 

of the Heart 587 

Motora, Yujiro. Conflict of Religion and Science 398 

Nazorean, Meaning of the Epithet.- By W. B. Smith 25 

Noble, Edmund. The Relational Element in Monism 321 

Noetic Power of the Heart. By H. B. Mitchell 587 

Order in the Universe, On the Notion of. By L. Arreat 262 

Pasigraphy, Suggestions Concerning. By W. T. Swingle 148 

Peirce, Charles S. The Issues of Pragmaticism, 481 ; What Pragmatism 
is, 161. 

Peterson, James B. Some Philosophical Terms 629 

Philosophical Nomenclature, Difficulties in. By Paul Carus 633 

Philosophical Terms, Some. By J. B. Peterson 629 

Poincare, Henri. The Principles of Mathematical Physics. . . i 

Political Institutions a Factor in the Determination of the World Lan- 
guage. By C. W. Super 150 

Pragmatic Interpretation of the Christian Dogma. By I. King 248 

Pragmaticism, The Issues of. By C. S. Peirce 481 

Pragmatism, What it is. By C. S. Peirce 161 

Quality and Quantity. By J. Gros 361 

Quality, The Significance of. By Paul Carus 375 

Relational Element in Monism. By E. Noble 321 

Religion and Science, Conflict of. By Y. Motora 398 

Resurrection, The Christian Doctrine of. By Paul Carus 115 

Russell, Francis C. Substitution in Logic : 294 

Scientific Materialism, The Passing of. By C. L. Herrick 46 

Search for the Prophets, The. By Rev. E. Day 386 

Semitic City of Refuge. By A. H. Godbey 605 

Shylock in the Old Testament. By A. H. Godbey 353 


Smith, William Benjamin. Meaning of the Epithet Nazorean (Nazarene) 25 

Some Philosophical Terms. By J. B. Peterson 629 

Substitution in Logic. By F. R. Russell 294 

Super, Charles W. Power of Political Institutions as a Factor in the De- 
termination of the World Language 150 

Swingle, Walter T. Suggestions Concerning Pasigraphy 148 

Taft, Oren B. The Ceptacle Hypothesis. 182 

Theological Reasoning, Mathematical Analogy in. By R. W. McFarland. 626 
Unity, The Problem of, and the Noetic Power of the Heart. By H. B. 

Mitchell. . . 587 

Wernekke, H. Moslem Account as to the Origin of Christian Sects in 
Syria 466 


Annee biologique 479 

Ardigo, Dr. Roberto. La Dottrina della Conoscenza nei Moderni Pre- 

cursori di Kant 480 

Burton, Ernest De Witt. Studies in the Gospel According to Mark 478 

Empirical Essays 314 

Favre, Louis. Notes sur 1'histoire generale des sciences 319 

Franklin, C. K. Socialization of Humanity 307 

Ghent, W. J. Mass and Class 639 

Haeckel, Ernst. Die Lebenswunder ; The Wonders of Life 308 

Hall, G. Stanley. Adolescence 303 

Harper, William Rainey. Religion and the Higher Life, 154; Structure of 

the Text of the Book of Hosea, 318. 

Haupt, Paul. Kohelet oder Weltschmerz in der Bibel 158 

Hensel, P. Hauptprobleme der Ethik 319 

Hill, David Jayne. Contemporary Development of Diplomacy 473 

Hinton, C. H. The Fourth Dimension 310 

Hudson, William Henry. Introduction to the Philosophy of Herbert 

Spencer 640 

Hughes, C. H. Lectures on Neurology and Neuriatry, Psychology and 

Psychiatry 313 

Hyde, Wm. De Witt. From Epicurus to Christ 316 

Leicht, Dr. Alfred. Lazarus, der Begrunder der Volkerpsychologie 159 

Metcalf, Maynard M. Outline of the Theory of Evolution 640 

Molee, Elias. Tutonish 311 

Nichols, Herbert. A Treatise on Cosmology 157 

Ossip-Lourie. La psychologic des romanciers russes du XIXe siecle 475 

Owen, E. T. Interrogative Thought 320 

Picavet, Francois. Histoire generale et comparee des philosophies medie- 

valles 476 

Riehl, Alois. Zur Einfiihrung in die Philosophic der Gegenwart 477 

Salvadori, Dr. Guglielmo. Saggio di uno Studio sui Sentimenti Morali. . 480 
Silberstein, Dr. A. Leibnizens Apriorismus im Verhaltniss zu seiner 

Metaphysik 160 



Smith, William Benjamin. The Color Line 469 

Swarte, Victor de. Descartes, directeur spirituel , 318 

Troilo, Dr. Erminio. La Dottrina della Conoscenza pi Herbert Spencer.. 480 

Warne, Frank Julian. The Slav Invasion 297 

Weismann, August. Vortrage iiber die Deszendenztheorie 301 

Windelband, Wilhelm. Immanuel Kant und seine Weltanschauung 480 

Withers, J. W. Euclid's Parallel Postulate 309 

Woodbridge, F. J. S. The Philosophy of Hobbes 3*5 

Wundt, Wilhelm. Volkerpsychologie 160 

VOL. XV. JANUARY, 1905. No. 1. 



WHAT is the actual state of mathematical physics? What are 
the problems it is led to set itself? What is its future? 
Is its orientation on the point of modifying itself? 

Will the aim and the methods of this science appear in ten 
years to our immediate successors in the same light as to ourselves ; 
or, on the contrary, are we about to witness a profound transforma- 
tion ? Such are the questions we are forced to raise in entering to- 
day upon our investigation. 

If it is easy to propound them, to answer is dfficult. 

If we feel ourselves tempted to risk a prognostication, we have, 
to resist this temptation, only to think of all the stupidities the most 
eminent savants of a hundred years ago would have uttered, if one 
had asked them what the science of the nineteenth century would 
be. They would have believed themselves bold in their predictions, 
and after the event, how very timid we should have found them. 

Do not, therefore, expect of me any prophecy ; if I had known 
what one will discover to-morrow, I would long ago have published 
it to secure me the priority. 

But if, like all prudent physicians, I shun giving a prognosis, 
nevertheless I cannot dispense with a little diagnostic; well, yes, 
there are indications of a serious crisis, as if we should expect an 
approaching transformation. 

*An address delivered before the International Congress or Arts and 
Science, St. Louis, September, 1904. Translated by George Bruce Halsted. 


We are assured that the patient will not die of it, and even we 
can hope that this crisis will be salutary, that it was even necessary 
for his development. This the history of the past seems to guar- 
antee us. 

This crisis in fact is not the first, and for its comprehension it 
is important to recall those which have preceded it. 

Mathematical physics, we know, was born of celestial mechan- 
ics, which engendered it at the end of the eighteenth century, at 
the moment when it itself attained its complete development. Dur- 
ing its first years especially, the infant resembled in a striking way 
its mother. 

The astronomic universe is formed of masses, very great with- 
out doubt, but separated by intervals so immense, that they appear 
to us only as material points. These points attract each other in 
the inverse ratio of the square of the distances, and this attraction 
is the sole force which influences their movements. But if our 
senses were sufficiently subtle to show us all the details of the 
bodies which the physicist studies, the spectacle we should there 
discover would scarcely differ from what the astronomer contem- 
plates. There also we should see material points, separated one 
from another by intervals, enormous in relation to their dimensions, 
and describing orbits following regular laws. 

These infinitesimal stars are the atoms. Like the stars prop- 
erly so called, they attract or repel each other, and this attraction or 
this repulsion directed following the straight line which joins them, 
depends only on the distance. The law according to which this 
force varies as function of the distance is perhaps not the law of 
Newton, but it is an analogous law ; in place of the exponent 2, 
we have probably a different exponent, and it is from this change 
of exponent that springs all the diversity of physical phenomena, the 
variety of qualities and of sensations, all the world colored and 
sonorous which surrounds us, in a word, all nature. 

Such is the primitive conception in all its purity. It only re- 
mains to seek in the different cases what value should be given to 
this exponent in order to explain all the facts. It is on this model 
that Laplace, for example, constructed his beautiful theory of capil- 


larity : he regards it only as a particular case of attraction, or as 
he says of universal gravitation, and no one is astonished to find 
it in the middle of one of the five volumes of the Mecanique celeste. 

More recently Briot believed he had penetrated the final secret 
of optics in demonstrating that the atoms of ether attract each other 
in the inverse ratio of the sixth power of the distance; and Max- 
well, Maxwell himself, does he not say somewhere that the atoms 
of ga'ses repel each other in the inverse ratio of the fifth power of 
the distance ? We have the exponent 6, or 5 in place of the 
exponent 2, but it is always an exponent. 

Among the theories of this epoch, one alone is an exception, 
that of Fourier; in it are indeed atoms, acting at a distance one upon 
the other ; they mutually transmit heat, but they do not attract, they 
never budge. From this point of view, the theory of Fourier must 
have appeared to the eyes of his contemporaries, to those of Fourier 
himself, as imperfect and provisional. 

This conception was not without grandeur ; it was seductive, 
and many among us have not finally renounced it; they know that 
one will attain the ultimate elements of things only by patiently dis- 
entangling the complicated skein that our senses give us ; that it 
is necessary to advance step by step, neglecting no intermediary ; 
that our fathers were wrong in wishing to skip stations; but they 
believe that when one shall have arrived at these ultimate elements, 
there again will be found the majestic simplicity of celestial me- 

Neither has this conception been useless ; it has rendered us 
an inestimable service, since it has contributed to make precise in 
us the fundamental notion of the physical law. 

I will explain myself ; how did the ancients understand law ? It 
was for them an internal harmony, static, so to say, and immutable ; 
or it was like a model that nature constrained herself to imitate. A 
law for us is no more that at all; it is a constant relation between 
the phenomenon of to-day and that of to-morrow ; in a word, it is 
a differential equation. 

Behold the ideal form of physical law; well, it is the law of 
Newton which first covered it; and then how has one acclimated 


this form in physics; precisely in copying as much as possible this 
law of Newton, that is in imitating celestial mechanics. 

Nevertheless, a day arrived when the conception of central 
forces no longer appeared sufficient, and this is the first of those 
crises of which I just now spoke. 

What did one do then? One gave up trying to penetrate into 
the detail of the structure of the universe, to isolate the pieces of 
this vast mechanism, to analyse one by one the forces which put 
them in motion, and was content to take as guides certain general 
principles which have precisely for object to spare us this minute 

How so? Suppose that we have before us any machine; the 
initial wheel work and the final wheel work alone are visible, but 
the transmission, the intermediary wheels by which the movement 
is communicated from one to the other are hidden in the interior 
and escape our view ; we do not know whether the communication 
is made by gearing or by belts, by connecting-rods or by other dis- 

Do we say that it is impossible for us to understand anything 
about this machine so long as we are not permitted to take it to 
pieces? You know well we do not, and that the principle of the 
conservation of energy suffices to determine for us the most inter- 
esting point. We easily ascertain that the final wheel turns ten 
times less quickly than the initial wheel, since these two wheels are 
visible; we are able thence to conclude that a couple applied to the 
one will be balanced by a couple ten times greater applied to the 
other. For that there is no need to penetrate the mechanism of 
this equilibrium and to know how the forces compensate each 
other in the interior of the machine; it suffices to be assured that 
this compensation cannot fail to occur. 

Well, in regard to the universe, the principle of the conserva- 
tion of energy is able to render us the same service. This is also a 
machine, much more complicated than all those of industry, and of 
which almost all the parts are profoundly hidden from us; but in 
observing the movement of those that we can see, we are able, 
aiding ourselves by this principle, to draw conclusions which remain 


true whatever may be the details of the invisible mechanism which 
animates them. 

The principle of the conservation of energy, or the principle 
of Mayer, is certainly the most important, but it is not the only one ; 
there are others from which we are able to draw the same advantage. 
These are : 

The principle of Carnot, or the principle of the degrada- 
tion of energy. 

The principle of Newton, or the principle of the equality 
of action and reaction. 

The principle of relativity, according to which the laws 
of physical phenomena should be the same, whether for an 
observer fixed, or for an observer carried along in a uniform 
movement of translation ; so that we have not and could not 
have any means of discerning whether or not we are carried 
along in such a motion. 

The principle of the conservation of mass, or principle of 

I would add the principle of least action. 

The application of 'these five or six general principles to the 
different physical phenomena is sufficient for our learning of them 
what we could reasonably hope to .know of them. 

The most remarkable example of this new mathematical phys- 
ics is, beyond contradiction. Maxwell's electro-magnetic theory of 

We know nothing as to what is the ether, how its molecules 
are disposed, whether they attract or repel each other ; but we know 
that this medium transmits at the same time the optical perturbations 
and the electrical perturbations; we know that this transmission 
should be made conformably to the general principles of mechanics 
and that suffices us for the establishment of the equations of the 
electro-magnetic field. 

These principles are results of experiments boldly generalised ; 
but they seem to derive from their generality itself an eminent de- 
gree of certitude. 

In fact the more general they are, the more frequently one has 


the occasion to check them, and the verifications, in multiplying 
themselves, in taking forms the most varied and the most unex- 
pected, finish by leaving no longer place for doubt. 

Such is the second phase of the history of mathematical phys- 
ics and we have not yet emerged from it. 

Do we say that the first has been useless? that during fifty 
years science went the wrong way, and that there is nothing left 
but to forget so many accumulated efforts that a vicious conception 
condemned in advance to non-success? 

Not the least in the world. 

Do you believe that the second phase could have come into 
existence without the first? 

The hypothesis of central forces contained all the principles ; 
it involved them as necessary consequences; it involved both the 
conservation of energy and that of masses, and the equality of 
action and reaction ; and the law of least action, which would appear, 
it is true, not as experimental verities, but as theorems and of which 
the enunciation would have at the same time a something more pre- 
cise and less general than ander their actual form. 

It is the mathematical physics of our fathers which has fami- 
liarised us little by little with these divers principles; which has 
habituated us to recognise them under the different vestments in 
which they disguise themselves. One has compared them to the 
data of experience, or has seen how it was necessary to modify 
their enunciation to adapt them to these data; thereby they have 
been enlarged and consolidated. 

So one has been led to regard them as experimental verities; 
the conception of central forces became then a useless support, or 
rather an embarrassment, since it made the principles partake of its 
hypothetical character. 

The frames have not therefore broken, because they were elas- 
tic ; but they have enlarged ; our fathers, who established them, did 
not work in vain, and we recognise in the science of to-day the 
general traits of the sketch which they traced. 

Are we about to enter now upon the eve of a second crisis? 
These principles on which we have built all are they about to 


crumble away in their turn? Since some time, this may well be 

In hearing me speak thus, you think without doubt of radium, 
that grand revolutionist of the present time, and in fact I will come 
back to it presently ; but there is something else. 

It is not alone the conservation of energy which is in question ; 
all the other principles are equally in danger, as we shall see in pass- 
ing them successively in review. 

Let us commence with the principle of Carnot. This is the 
only one which does not present itself as an immediate consequence 
of the hypothesis of central forces ; more than that, it seems if not 
to directly contradict that hypothesis, at least not to be reconciled 
with it without a certain effort. 

If physical phenomena were due exclusively to the movements 
of atoms whose mutual attraction depended only on the distance, 
it seems that all these phenomena should be reversible ; if all the 
initial velocities were reversed, these atoms, always subjected to 
the same forces, ought to go over their trajectories in the contrary 
sense, just as the earth wonld describe in the retrograde sense this 
same elliptic orbit which it describes in the direct sense, if the 
initial conditions of its movement had been reversed. On this ac- 
count, if a physical phenomenon is possible, the inverse phenomenon 
should be equally so, and one should be able to reascend the course 
of time. 

But it is not so in nature, and this is precisely what the prin- 
ciple of Carnot teaches us ; heat can pass from the warm body to the 
cold body; it is impossible afterwards to make it reascend the in- 
verse way and re-establish differences of temperature which have 
been effaced. 

Motion can be wholly dissipated and transformed into heat by 
friction; the contrary transformation can never be made except in 
a partial manner. 

We have striven to reconcile this apparent contradiction. If 
the world tends toward uniformity, this is not because its ultimate 
parts, at first unlike, tend to become less and less different, it is be- 
cause, shifting at hazard, they end by blending. For an eye which 


should distinguish all the elements, the* variety would remain always 
as great, each grain of this dust preserves its originality and does 
not model itself on its neighbors ; but as the blend becomes more and 
more intimate, our gross senses perceive no more than the uniform- 
ity. Behold why, for example, temperatures tend to a level, without 
the possibility of turning backwards. 

A drop of wine falls into a glass of water; whatever may be 
the law of the internal movements of the liquid, we soon see it 
colored of a uniform rosy tint and from this moment, one may well 
shake the vase, the wine and the water do not seem able any more 
to separate. See, thus, what would be the type of the reversible 
physical phenomenon : to hide a grain of barley in a cup of wheat, 
this is easy ; afterwards to find it again and get it out, this is practic- 
ally impossible. 

All this Maxwell and Boltzmann have explained ; the one who 
has seen it most clearly, in a book too little read because it is a little 
difficult to read, is Gibbs, in his Elemetary Principles of Statistical 

For those who take this point of view, the principle of Carnot 
is only an imperfect principle, a sort of concession to the infirmity 
of our senses; it is because our eyes are too gross that we do not 
distinguish the elements of the blend ; it is because our hands are too 
gross that we cannot force them to separate ; the imaginary demon 
of Maxwell, who is able to sort the molecules one by one, could 
well constrain the world to return backward. Can it return of it- 
self ? That is not impossible ; that is only infinitely improbable. 

The chances are that we should long await the concourse of 
circumstances which would permit a retrogradation, but soon or 
late, they would be realised, after years whose number it would 
take millions of figures to write. 

These reservations, however, all remained theoretic and were 
not very disquieting, and the principle of Carnot retained all its 
practical value. 

But here the scene changes. 

The biologist, armed with his microscope, long ago noticed in 
his preparations disorderly movements of little particles in suspen- 


sion: this is the Brownian movement; he first thought this was a 
vital phenomenon, but soon he saw that the inanimate bodies danced 
with no less ardor than the others ; then he turned the matter over 
to the physicists. Unhappily, the physicists remained long un- 
interested in this question ; one .concentrates the light to illuminate 
the microscopic preparation, thought they; with light goes heat; 
thence inequalities of temperature and in the liquid interior currents 
which produce the movements of which we speak. 

M. Gouy had the idea to look more closely, and he saw or 
thought he saw that this explanation is untenable, that the move- 
ments become more brisk as the particles are smaller, but that they 
are not influenced by the mode of illumination. 

If then these movements never cease, or rather are reborn with- 
out cease, without borrowing anything from an external source of 
energy, what ought we to believe? To be sure, we should not re- 
nounce our belief in the conservation of energy, but we see under 
our eyes now motion transformed into heat by friction, now heat 
changed inversely into motion, and that without loss since the move- 
ment lasts forever. This is the contrary of the principle of Carnot. 

If this be so, to see the world return backward, we no longer 
have need of the infinitely subtle eye of Maxwell's demon ; our 
microscope suffices us. Bodies too large, those, for example, which 
are a tenth of a millimeter, are hit from all sides by moving atoms, 
but they do not budge, because these shocks are very numerous and 
the law of chance makes them compensate each other: but the 
smaller particles receive too few shocks for this compensation to 
take place with certainty and are incessantly knocked about. And 
behold already one of our principles in peril. 

We come to the principle of relativity : this not only is confirmed 
by daily experience, not only is it a necessary consequence of the 
hypothesis of central forces, but it is imposed in an irresistible way 
upon our good sense, and yet it also is battered. 

Consider two electrified bodies ; though they seem to us at rest, 
they are both carried along by the motion of the earth; an electric 
charge in motion, Rowland has taught us, is equivalent to a current ; 
these two charged bodies are, therefore, equivalent to two parallel 


currents of the same sense and these two currents should attract 
each other. In measuring this attraction, we measure the velocity 
of the earth ; not its velocity in relation to the sun or the fixed stars, 
but its absolute velocity. 

I well know what one will say, it is not its absolute velocity 
that is measured, it is its velocity in relation to the ether. How un- 
satisfactory that is! Is it not evident that from the principle so 
understood we could no longer get anything? It could no longer 
tell us anything just because it would no longer fear any contra- 

If we succeed in measuring anything, we would always be free 
to say that this is not the absolute velocity in relation to the ether, 
it might always be the velocity in relation to some new unknown 
fluid with which we might fill space. 

Indeed, experience has taken on itself to ruin this interpretation 
of the principle of relativity ; all attempts to measure the velocity 
of the earth in relation to the ether have led to negative results. 
This time experimental physics has been more faithful to the prin- 
ciple than mathematical physics; the theorists, to put in accord 
their other general views, would not have spared it ; but experiment 
has been stubborn in confirming it. 

The means have been varied in a thousand ways and finally 
Michelson has pushed precision to its last limits ; nothing has come 
of it. It is precisely to explain this obstinacy that the mathema- 
ticians are forced to-day to employ all their ingenuity. 

Their task was not easy, and if Lorentz has gotten through it, 
it is only by accumulating hypotheses. The most ingenious idea 
has been that of local time. 

Imagine two observers who wish to adjust their watches by 
optical signals: they exchange signals, but as they know that the 
transmission of light is not instantaneous, they take care to cross 

When the station B perceives the signal from the station A, its 
clock should not mark the same hour as that of the station A at the 
moment of sending the signal, but this hour augmented by a con- 
stant representing the duration of the transmission. Suppose, for 


example, that the station A sends its signal when its clock marks 
the hour o, and that the station B perceives it when its clock marks 
the hour t. The clocks are adjusted if the slowness equal to t repre- 
sents the duration of the transmission, and to verify it, the station B 
sends in its turn a signal when its clock marks o ; then the station A 
should perceive it when its clock marks t. The time-pieces are then 
adjusted. And in fact, they mark the same hour at the same phys- 
ical instant, but on one condition, which is that the two stations are 
fixed. In the contrary case the duration of the transmission will not 
be the same in the two senses, since the station A, for example, 
moves forward to meet the optical perturbation emanating from B, 
while the station B flies away before the perturbation emanating 
from A. The watches adjusted in that manner do not mark, there- 
fore, the true time, they mark what one may call the local time, so 
that one of them goes slow on the other. It matters little since we 
have no means of perceiving it. All the phenomena which happen 
at A, for example, will be late, but all will be equally so, and the 
observer who ascertains them will not perceive it since his watch is 
slow ; so as the principle of relativity would have it, he will have no 
means of knowing whether he is at rest or in absolute motion. 

Unhappily, that does not suffice, and complemetary hypotheses 
are necessary ; it is necessary to admit that bodies in motion undergo 
a uniform contraction in the sense of the motion. One of the diam- 
eters of the earth, for example, is shrunk by 200 * 000 in conse- 
quence of the motion of our planet, while the other diameter retains 
its normal length. Thus, the last little differences find themselves 
compensated. And, then, there still is the hypothesis about forces. 
Forces, whatever be their origin, gravity as well as elasticity, would 
be reduced in a certain proportion in a world animated by a unform 
translation ; or, rather, this would happen for the components per- 
pendicular to the translation ; the components parallel would not 

Resume, then, our example of two electrified bodies; these 
bodies repel each other, but at the same time if all is carried along 
in a uniform translation, they are equivalent to two parallel currents 
of the same sense which attract each other. This electro-dvnamic 


attraction diminishes, therefore, the electro-static repulsion, and the 
total repulsion is more feeble than if the two bodies were at rest. 
But since to measure this repulsion we must balance it by another 
force, and all these other forces are reduced in the same proportion, 
we perceive nothing. 

Thus, all is arranged, but are all the doubts dissipated ? 

What would happen if one could communicate by non-luminous 
signals whose velocity of propagation differed from that of light? 
If, after having adjusted the watches by the optical procedure, one 
wished to verify the adjustment by the aid of these new signals, 
then would appear divergences which would render evident the com- 
mon translation of the two stations. And are such signals incon- 
ceivable, if we admit with Laplace that universal gravitation is 
transmitted a million times more rapidly than light ? 

Thus, the principle of relativity has been valiantly defended 
in these latter times, but the very energy of the defence proves how 
serious was the attack. 

Let us speak now of the principle of Newton, on the equality 
of action and reaction. 

This is intimately bound up with the preceding, and it seems 
indeed that the fall of the one would involve that of the other. 
Thus we should not be astonished to find here the same difficulties. 

Electrical phenomena, we think, are due to the displacements 
of little charged particles, called electrons, immersed in the medium 
that we call ether. The movements of these electrons produce per- 
turbations in the neighboring ether; these perturbations propagate 
themselves in every direction with the velocity of light, and in turn 
other electrons, originally at rest, are made to vibrate when the 
perturbation reaches the parts of the ether which touch them. 

The electrons, therefore, act on one another, but this action is 
not direct, it is accomplished through the ether as intermediary. 

Under these conditions can there be compensation between ac- 
tion and reaction, at least for an observer who should take account 
only of the movements of matter, that is to say, of the electrons, and 
who should be ignorant of those of the ether that he could not see? 
Evidently not. Even if the compensation should be exact, it could 


not be simultaneous. The perturbation is propagated with a finite 
velocity; it, therefore, reaches the second electron only when the 
first has long ago entered upon its rest. 

This second electron, therefore, will undergo, after a delay, 
the action of the first, but certainly it will not react on this, since 
around this first electron nothing any longer budges. 

The analysis of the facts permits us to be still more precise. 
Imagine, for example, a Hertzian generator, like those employed in 
wireless telegraphy ; it sends out energy in every direction ; but we 
can provide it with a parabolic mirror, as Hertz did with his smallest 
generators, so as to send all the energy produced in a single direc- 

What happens then according to the theory? It is that the 
apparatus recoils as if it were a gun and as if the energy it has pro- 
jected were a bullet; and that is contrary to the principle of New- 
ton, since our projectile here has no mass, it is not matter, it is 

It is still the same, moreover, with a beacon light provided with 
a reflector, since light is nothing but a perturbation of the electro- 
magnetic field. This beacon light should recoil as if the light it 
sends out were a projectile. What is the force that this recoil should 
produce ? It is what one has called the Maxwell-Bartholdi pressure. 
It is very minute, and it has been difficult to put it into evidence 
even with the most sensitive radiometers ; but it suffices that it 

If all the energy issuing from our generator falls on a receiver, 
this will act as if it had received a mechanical shock, which will 
represent in a sense the compensation of the recoil of the generator ; 
the reaction will be equal to the action, but it will not be simulta- 
neous; the receiver will move on but not at the moment when the 
generator recoils. If the energy propagates itself indefinitely with- 
out encountering a receiver, the compensation will never be made. 

Does one say that the space which separates the generator from 
the receiver and which the perturbation must pass over in going from 
the one to the other is not void, that it is full not only of ether, but 
of air ; or even in the interplanetary spaces of some fluid subtle but 


still ponderable; that this matter undergoes the shock like the re- 
ceiver at the moment when the energy reaches it, and recoils in its 
turn when the perturbation quits it? That would save the principle 
of Newton, but that is not true. 

If energy in its diffusion remained always attached to some 
material substratum, then matter in motion would carry along light 
with it, and Fizeau has demonstrated that it does nothing of the 
sort, at least for air. This is what Michelson and Morley have 
since confirmed. 

One may suppose also that the movements of matter, properly 
so called, are exactly compensated by those of the ether; but that 
would lead us to the same reflections as just now. The principle so 
extended would explain everything, since whatever might be the 
visible movements, we would always have the power of imagining 
hypothetical movements which compensated them. 

But if it is able to explain everything, this is because it does not 
permit us to foresee anything; it does not enable us to decide be- 
tween different possible hypotheses, since it explains everything 
beforehand. It therefore becomes useless. 

And then the suppositions that it would be necessary to make 
on the movements of the ether are not very satisfactory. 

If the electric charges double, it would be natural to imagine 
that the velocities of the divers atoms of ether double also, and for 
the compensation, it would be necessary that the mean velocity of 
the ether quadruple. 

This is why I have long thought that these consequences of 
theory, contrary to the principle of Newton, would end some day 
by being abandoned, and yet the recent experiments on the move- 
ments of the electrons issuing from radium seem rather to confirm 

I arrive at the principle of Lavoisier on the conservation of 
masses: certes, this is one not to be touched without unsettling all 

And now certain persons think that it seems true to us only be- 
cause one considers in mechanics merely moderate velocities, but 
that it would cease to be true for bodies animated by velocities com- 


parable to that of light. Now these velocities, it is believed at 
present, they have been realised ; the cathode rays or those of radium 
may be formed of very minute particles or of electrons which are 
displaced with velocities smaller no doubt than that of light, but 
which might be its one-tenth or one-third. 

These rays can be deflected, whether by an electric field, or by 
a magnetic field, and we are able by comparing these deflections, to 
measure at the same time the velocity of the electrons and their mass 
(or rather the relation of their mass to their charge). But when 
it was seen that these velocities approached that of light, it was de- 
cided that a correction was necessary. 

These molecules, being electrified, could not be displaced with- 
out agitating the ether; to put them in motion it is necessary to 
overcome a double inertia, that of the molecule itself and that of the 
ether. The total or apparent mass that one measures is composed, 
therefore, of two parts: the real or mechanical mass of the mole- 
cule and the electro-dynamic mass representing the inertia of the 

The calculations of Abraham and the experiments of Kauf- 
mann have then shown that the mechanical mass, properly so called, 
is null, and that the mass of the electrons, or, at least, of the negative 
electrons, is of exclusively electro-dynamic origin. This forces us 
to change the definition of mass ; we cannot any longer distinguish 
mechanical mass and electro-dynamic mass, since then the first would 
vanish ; there is no mass other than electro-dynamic inertia. But, 
in this case the mass can no longer" be constant, it augments with the 
velocity, and it even depends on the direction, and a body animated 
by a notable velocity will not oppose the same inertia to the forces 
which tend to deflect it from its route, as to those which tend to ac- 
celerate or to retard its progress. 

There is still a resource; the ultimate elements of bodies are 
electrons, some charged negatively, the others charged positively. 
The negative electrons have no mass, this is understood; but the 
positive electrons, from the little we know of them, seem much 
greater. Perhaps, they have, besides their electro-dynamic mass, 
a true mechanical mass. The veritable mass of a body would, then, 


be the sum of the mechanical masses of its positive electrons, the 
negative electrons not counting; mass so defined could still be con- 

Alas, this resource also evades us. Recall what we have said 
of the principle of relativity and of the efforts made to save it. And 
it is not merely a principle which it is a question of saving, such are 
the indubitable results of the experiments of Michelson. 

Lorentz has been obliged to suppose that all the forces, what- 
ever be their origin, were affected with a coefficient in a medium 
animated by a uniform translation; this is not sufficient, it is still 
necessary, says he, that the masses of all the particles be influenced 
by a translation to the same degree as the electro-magnetic masses 
of the electrons. 

So the mechanical masses will vary in accordance with the same 
laws as the electro-dynamic masses; they cannot, therefore, be con- 

Need I point out that the fall of the principle of Lavoisier in- 
volves that of the principle of Newton? This latter signifies that 
the center of gravity of an isolated system moves in a straight line ; 
but if there is no longer a constant mass, there is no longer a center 
of gravity, we no longer know even what this is. This is why I 
said above that the experiments on the cathode rays appeared to 
justify the doubts of Lorentz on the subject of the principle of 

From all these results, if they are confirmed, would arise an 
entirely new mechanics, which would be, above all, characterised by 
this fact, that no velocity could surpass that of light, any more than 
any temperature could fall below the zero absolute, because bodies 
would oppose an increasing inertia to the causes, wlueh would tend 
to accelerate their motion; and this inertia would become infinite 
when one approached the velocity of light. 

No more for an observer carried along himself in a translation 
he did not suspect could any apparent velocity surpass that of light ; 
and this would be then a contradiction, if we recall that this observer 
would not use the same clocks as a fixed observer, but, indeed, 
clocks marking "local time." 


Here we are then facing a question I content myself with 
stating. If there is no longer any mass, what becomes of the law 
of Newton? 

Mass has two aspects, it is at the same time a coefficient of iner- 
tia and an attracting mass entering as factor into Newtonian attrac- 
tion. If the coefficient of inertia is not constant, can the attracting 
mass be? That is the question. 

At least, the principle of the conservation of energy yet remains 
to us, and this seems more solid. Shall I recall to you how it was 
in its turn thrown into discredit? This event has made more noise 
than the preceding and it is in all the memoirs. 

From the first works of Becquerel, and, above all, when the 
Curies had discovered radium, one saw that every radio-active body 
was an inexhaustible source of radiations. Its activity would seem 
to subsist without alteration throughout the months and the years. 
This was already a strain on the principles : these radiations were in 
fact energy, and from the same morsel of radium this issued and for- 
ever issued. But these quantities of energy were too slight to be 
measured ; at least one believed so and was not much disquieted. 

The scene changed when Curie bethought himself to put radium 
in a calorimeter ; one saw, then, that the quantity of heat incessantly 
created was very notable. 

The explanations proposed were numerous ; but in such case 
we cannot say, "store is no sore." 

In so far as no one of them has prevailed over the others, we 
cannot be sure there is a good one among them. 

Sir W. Ramsay has striven to show that radium is in process 
of transformation, that it contains a store of energy enormous but 
not inexhaustible. 

The transformation of radium then would produce a million 
times more of heat than all known transformations ; radium would 
wear itself out in 1250 years; you see that we are at least certain 
to be settled on this point some hundreds of years from now. While 
waiting our doubts remain. 

In the midst of so many ruins what remains standing? The 
principle of least action is hitherto intact, and Larmor appears to 


believe that it will long survive the others ; in reality, it is still more 
vague and more general. 

In presence of this general ruin of the principles, what attitude 
will mathematical physics take? 

And first, before too much excitement, it is proper to ask if all 
that is really true. All these derogations to the principles are en- 
countered only among infinitesimals ; the microscope is necessary to 
see the Brownian movement ; electrons are very light ; radium is very 
rare, and one never has more than some milligrams of it at a time. 

And, then, it may be asked if, beside the infinitesimal seen, 
there be not another infinitesimal unseen counterpoise to the first. 

So, there is an interlocutory question, and, as it seems, only 
experiment can solve it. We have, therefore, only to hand over the 
matter to the experimenters, and while waiting for them to finally 
decide the debate, not to preoccupy ourselves with these disquieting 
problems, and to tranquilly continue our work, as if the principles 
were still uncontested. Certes, we have much to do without leaving 
the domain where they may be applied in all security; we have 
enough to employ our activity during this period of doubts. 

And as to these doubts, is it indeed true that we can do nothing 
to disembarrass science of them? It may be said, it is not alone ex- 
perimental physics that has given birth to them ; mathematical phys- 
ics has well contributed. It is the experimenters who have seen 
radium throw out energy, but it is the theorists who have put in 
evidence all the difficulties raised by the propagation of light across 
a medium in motion ; but for these it is probable we should not have 
become conscious of them. Well, then, if they have done their best 
to put us into this embarrassment, it is proper also that they help us 
to get out of it. 

They must subject to critical examination all these new views 
I have just outlined before you, and abandon the principles only 
after having made a loyal effort to save them. 

What can they do in this sense ? That is what I will try to ex- 

Among the most interesting problems of mathematical physics, 
it is proper to give a special place to those relating to the kinetic 


theory of gases. Much has already been done in this direction, but 
much still remains to be done. This theory is an eternal paradox. 
We have reversibility in the premises and irreversibility in the con- 
clusions; and between the two an abyss. Statistic considerations, 
the law of great numbers, do they suffice to fill it? Many points 
still remain obscure to which it is necessary to return, and doubtless 
many times. In clearing them up, we will undersand better the 
sense of the principle of Carnot and its place in the ensemble of 
dynamics, and we will be better armed to properly interpret the 
curious experiment of Gouy, of which I spoke above. 

Should we not also endeavor to obtain a more satisfactory 
theory of the electro-dynamics of bodies in motion? It is there es- 
pecially, as I have sufficiently shown above, that difficulties acumu- 
late. Evidently we must heap up hypotheses, we cannot satisfy all 
the principles at once ; heretofore, one has succeeded in safeguarding 
some only on condition of sacrificing the others; but all hope of 
obtaining better results is not yet lost. Let us take, therefore, the 
theory of Lorentz, turn it in all senses, modify it little by little, and 
perhaps everything will arrange itself. 

Thus in place of supposing that bodies in motion undergo a 
contraction in the sense of the motion, and that this contraction is 
the same whatever be the nature of these bodies and the forces to 
which they are otherwise submitted, could we not make an hypoth- 
esis more simple and more natural? 

We might imagine, for example, that it is the ether which is 
modified when it is in relative motion in reference to the material 
medium which it penetrates, that when it is thus modified, it no 
longer transmits perturbations with the same velocity in every direc- 
tion. It might transmit more rapidly those which are propagated 
parallel to the medium, whether in the same sense or in the opposite 
sense, and less rapidly those which are propagated perpendicularly. 
The wave surfaces would no longer be spheres, but ellipsoids, and we 
could dispense with that extraordinary contraction of all bodies. 

I cite that only as an example, since the modifications, one might 
essay, would be evidently susceptible of infinite variation. 

It is possible also that astronomy may some day furnish us data 


on this point; she it was in the main who raised the question in 
making us acquainted with the phenomenon of the aberration of 
light. If we make crudely the theory of aberration, we reach a very 
curious result. The apparent positions of the stars differ from their 
real positions because of the motion of the earth, and as this motion 
is variable, these apparent positions vary. The real position we can- 
not know, but we can observe the variations of the apparent posi- 
tion. The observations of the aberration show us, therefore, not 
the movement of the earth, but the variations of this movement : 
they cannot, therefore, give us information about the absolute mo- 
tion of the earth. At least this is true in first approximation, but 
it would be no longer the same if we could appreciate the thou- 
sandths of a second. Then it would be seen that the amplitude of 
the oscillation depends not alone on the variation of the motion, 
variation which is well known, since it is the motion of our globe 
on its elliptic orbit, but on the mean value of this motion; so that 
the constant of aberration would not be altogether the same for all 
the stars, and the differences would tell us the absolute motion of 
the earth in space. 

This, then, would be, under another form, the ruin of the prin- 
ciple of relativity. We are far, it is true, from appreciating the 
thousandths of a second, but after all, say some, the total absolute 
velocity of the earth may be much greater than its relative velocity 
with respect to the sun. If, for example, it were 300 kilometers per 
second in place of 30, this would suffice to make the phenomena ob- 

I believe that in reasoning thus one admits a too simple theory 
of aberration. Michelson has shown us, I have told you, that the 
physical procedures are powerless to put in evidence absolute mo- 
tion; I am persuaded that the same will be true of the astronomic 
procedures, however far one pushes precision. 

However that may be, the data astronomy will furnish us in 
this regard will some day be precious to the physicist. While wait- 
ing, I believe, the theorists, recalling the experience of Michelson, 
may anticipate a negative result, and that they would accomplish a 


useful work in constructing a theory of aberration which would ex- 
plain this in advance. 

But let us come back to the earth. There also we may aid the 
experimenters. We can, for example, prepare the ground by study- 
ing profoundly the dynamics of electrons ; not be it understood in 
starting from a single hypothesis, but in multiplying hypotheses as 
much as possible. It will be then for the physicists to utilise our 
work in seeking the crucial experiment to decide between these dif- 
ferent hypotheses. 

This dynamics of electrons can be approached from many sides, 
but among the ways leading thither is one which has been some- 
what neglected, and yet this is one of those which promise us most 
of surprises. It is the movements of the electrons which produce 
the line of the emission spectra ; this is proved by the phenomenon of 
Zeemann ; in an incandescent body, what vibrates is sensitive to the 
magnet, therefore electrified. This is a very important first point, 
but no one has gone farther ; why are the lines of the spectrum dis- 
tributed in accordance with a regular law ? 

These laws have been studied by the experimenters in their least 
details ; they are very precise and relatively simple. The first study 
of these distributions recalled the harmonics encountered in acous- 
tics ; but the difference is great. Not only the numbers of vibrations 
are not the successive multiples of one same number, but even we 
do not find anything analogous to the roots of those transcendental 
equations to which so many problems of mathematical physics con- 
duct us: that of the vibrations of an elastic body of any form, that 
of the Hertzian oscillations in a generator of any form, the problem 
of Fourier for the cooling of a solid body. 

The laws are simpler, but they are of wholly other nature, and 
to cite only one of these differences, for the harmonics of high order 
the number of vibrations tends toward a finite limit, instead of in- 
creasing indefinitely. 

That has not yet been accounted for, and I believe that there we 
have one of the most important secrets of nature. Lindemann has 
made a praiseworthy attempt, but, to my mind, without success ; this 
attempt should be renewed. Thus we will penetrate, so to say, into 


the inmost recess of matter. And from the particular point of view 
which we to-day occupy, when we know why the vibrations of in- 
candescent bodies differ from ordinary elastic vibrations, why the 
electrons do not behave themselves like the matter which is familiar 
to us, we will better comprehend the dynamics of electrons and it 
will be perhaps more easy for us to reconcile it with the principles. 

Suppose, now, that all these efforts fail, and after all I do not 
believe they will, what must be done? Will it be necessary to seek 
to mend the brdken principles in giving what we French call a 
coup de pouce? That is evidently always possible, and I retract 
nothing I have formerly said. 

Have you not written, you might say if you wished to seek a 
quarrel with me, have you not written that the principles, though of 
experimental origin, are now unassailable by experiment because 
they have become conventions ? And now you have just told us the 
most recent conquests of experiment put these principles in danger. 
Well, formerly I was right and to-day I am not wrong. 

Formerly I was right, and what is now happening is a new proof 
of it. Take for example the calorimeter experiment of Curie on 
radium. Is it possible to reconcile that with the principle of the 
conservation of energy ? 

It has been attempted in many ways ; but there is among them 
one I should like you to notice. 

It has been conjectured that radium was only an intermediary, 
that it only stored radiations of unknown nature which flashed 
through space in every direction, traversing all bodies, save radium, 
without being altered by this passage and without exercising any 
action upon them. Radium alone took from them a little of their 
energy and afterward gave it out to us in divers forms. 

What an advantageous explanation, and how convenient ! First, 
it is unverifiable and thus irrefutable. Then again it will serve to 
account for any derogation whatever to the principle of Mayer; it 
responds in advance not only to the objection of Curie, but to all 
the objections that future experimenters might accumulate. This 
energy new and unknown would serve for everything. This is just 


what I have said, and therewith we are shown that our principle 
is unassailable by experiment. 

And after all, what have we gained by this coup de pouce? 

The principle is intact, but thenceforth of what use is it? 

It permitted us to foresee that in such or such circumstance we 
could count on such a total quantity of energy ; it limited us ; but 
now that one puts at our disposition this indefinite provision of new 
energy, we are limited by nothing; and, as I have written also, if a 
principle ceases to be fecund, experiment without contradicting it 
directy, will however have condemned it. 

This, therefore, is not what would have to be done, it would be 
necessary to rebuild anew. 

If we were cornered down to this necessity, we should more- 
over console ourselves. It would not be necessary thence to con- 
clude that science can weave only a Penelope's web, that it can build 
only ephemeral constructions, which it is soon forced to demolish 
from top to bottom with its own hands. 

As I have said, we have already passed through a like crisis. 
I have shown you that in the second mathematical physics, that of 
the principles, we find traces of the first, that of the central forces ; 
it will be just the same if we must learn a third. 

Of such an animal as exuviates, as breaks its too narrow cara- 
pace and makes itself a fresh one, under the new envelop we easily 
recognise the essential traits of the organism which have subsisted. 

We cannot foresee in what way we are about to expand; per- 
haps it is the kinetic theory of gases which is about to undergo 
development and serve as model to the others. Then, the facts 
which first appeared to us as simple, thereafter will be merely re- 
sults of a very great number of elementary facts which only the laws 
of chance make co-operate for a common end. Physical law will then 
take an entirely new aspect ; it will no longer be solely a differential 
equation, it will take the character of a statistical law. 

Perhaps likewise, we should construct a whole new mechanics, 
that we only succeed in catching a glimpse of, where inertia in- 
creasing with the velocity, the velocity of light would become an im- 
passable limit. 


The ordinary mechanics, more simple, would remain a first ap- 
proximation, since it would be true for velocities not too great, so 
that one would still find the old dynamics under the new. 

We should not have to regret having believed in the principles, 
and even, since velocities too great for the old formulas would al- 
ways be only exceptional, the surest way in practice would be still 
to act as if we continued to believe in them. They are so useful, it 
would be necessary to keep a place for them. To determine to ex- 
clude them altogether, would be to deprive oneself of a precious 
weapon. I hasten to say in conclusion we are not yet there, and as 
yet nothing proves that the principles will not come forth from the 
combat victorious and intact. 




(Read before the Section of New Testament, Congress of Arts and 
Science, St. Louis, September 23, 1904.) 

*'T)E1NG warned (of God) in a dream, he withdrew into the 
*~* parts of Galilee, and came and dwelt in a city called Naza- 
reth: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken through the 
prophets, that he should be called Nazorean." (Matt. ii. 22b, 23.) 
The unhistoricity of the Matthean no less than of the Lucan 
prehistory is conceded in critical circles. Thus, even Zahn says: 
(Das Evang. des Matth., p. 109) : "Not the silence of Josephus. . . . 
but the narrative of Luke (ii. 21, 22, 39), which appears to exclude 
the total content of Matt, ii, can arouse serious scruples," and these 
he makes no attempt to lay. All the more firmly is the birth, or at 
least the early residence, in Nazareth everywhere upheld, if not 
assumed, as beyond question. So too the correctness of Matthew's 
etymology, "Nazorean" from Nazareth. But here difficulties begin 
to gather. 

i. The reason assigned seems unreal. Nowhere is it spoken 
through the prophets, "He shall be called Nazorean," nor anything 
nearly equivalent. Zahn exposes the emptiness of all other expla- 
nations but Hofmann's, which he adopts in piety only, though itself 

1 In the transcription of Greek, Hebrew, and other alphabets : 
c h stands for the guttural h, frequently transcribed as an underdotted 

h or kh, to be pronounced like the German ch in acht. 
s h is nearest to the English sound sh. 
g denotes the German s, a sharp sibilant pronounced ts, sometimes 

transcribed by underdotted s. EDITOR. 


the emptiest of all, namely : that it was spoken by the prophets that 
he should be misunderstood and lowly, which Matthew would ex- 
press by the term Nazorean. But the bald fact is that He was called 
(the) Nazorean without any even remote allusion to lowliness or 
misunderstanding, and this single fact it is that Matthew would ex- 
plain by early residence in Nazareth. The inevitable suggestion 
then is this: The Jesus was called (Ho) Nazoraios. Since this fact 
was most important, the Evangelist thought it must be spoken by the 
prophets, who had foretold all things of the Messiah. Moreover, 
it had to be explained some way, and the least objectionable way was 
to derive it from a place of early residence. Accordingly, this datum 
of childhood in Nazareth would take its place side by side with other 
data of the prehistory, as the visit of magi, the massacre of infants, 
the flight into Egypt. All are in fact of a piece ; why should one be 
taken, and the other left? 

2. The "city called Nazareth'' seems to be a geographical ima- 
gination ; it is unmentioned in the Old Testament, in the Talmud, 2 
in Josephus, in Apocrypha. The first notice of it is in Eusebius, 
quoting professedly from Julius Africanus ; the next, in Jerome, 
is worse than none at all ; next Epiphanius speaks of it along with 
several Galilean places as inhabited down to Constantine exclusively 
by Jews (no Pagans, no Samaritans, no Christians). These men- 
tions signify nothing as to the pre-Christian reality of Nazareth. 
For they are all perfunctory. Themselves believing, of course, in 
the actuality of the city, the writers could hardly fail to mention it 
in such connections, whether or not it was bodily there. Again, 
even if there was a so-named village there in the third or fourth 
century, nothing would follow as to it or its name before the first. 
After the notion of the early life of Jesus in "a city called Nazareth" 
had been firmly established, we may be sure that the city itself 
would not long be wanting. Two or three centuries would be quite 
long enough for its genesis or new-naming. The silence of con- 
temporary and earlier history is of course not conclusive, but it is 
the strongest negative evidence possible. We cannot expect the 

2 Which names 63 cities of Galilee. 


unprophetic historian to say : "In this region 'a city called Nazareth' 
does not exist." 

3. Nazareth cuts no figure at all in the tradition concerning 
Jesus. Not Nazareth but Chephar Nachum is called "his city." 
So all the moderns, with Chrysostom and common sense, against 
Jerome. There he was "at home," according to Mark ii. I. There 
was the scene of his first preaching, and triumphs, and friendships. 
This could hardly have been, if Nazareth had been his home. True, 
both Matthew and Mark tell of his going into his patris, but they do 
not (against Graetz, Frankel's Monatsschrift, 29, 482) say what 
was the patris, a strange omission! Why did they not say Nazareth, 
if they meant it? This pericope (Matt, xiii 53-58, Mark vi. 1-6) it 
seems, is meant merely to visualise the proverb, "A prophet is not 
without honor save in his patris" (Judea? Judaism?) : it testifies 
not for, but against, the geographic entity of Nazareth. Luke, in- 
deed, is explicit. He mentions Nazareth and tells how they led him 
to the "brow of the hill," in order to throw him down (iv. 16-30), 
all this at the beginning of his ministry, against the earlier report in 
Matthew and Mark! But this Lucan form is plainly a much later 
elaboration, and testifies to nothing but the hand of the reviser ( See 
Keim, Jesus von Nazara, II, p. 19 f., 425). So, too, the phrase, "he 
from Nazareth," is simply a later variation of "the Nazorean," just 
as our English versions say "this Jesus of Nazareth," where the 
Greek says "this Jesus the Nazorean" (Acts vi. 14). 

Similarly, of Nathanael's question, "Can ought good come out 
of Nazareth?" (J. i. 47). The deep symbolism of this whole section 
we make no attempt here to sound. Enough that it is clearly sym- 
bolism, and not history, and bears no witness worth mention to a 
topographical Nazareth. (Nathanael, otherwise unknown, seems 
to be the notable pre-Christian Gnostic, Dositheus.) 

4. But if the testimony of the New Testament is thus hesitating 
and indecisive concerning "the city," and appears only in the later 
strata of tradition, being entirely absent from the earlier, an ex- 
ceedingly strong negative indication, the same can not be said of the 
epithet (the) Nazorean. This occurs repeatedly in apparently the 
oldest layers of the Gospel story, without any suggestion of tend- 


ency, especially in Acts, and more than all, it is used in the plural 
as the name of the new religionists (xxiv. 5) : Tertullys describes 
Paul as a ringleader of the heresy of "the Nazoreans." It seems 
impossible that this name should have become their vulgar desig- 
nation, unless it had been a very early and important designation. 
Moreover, we know that it was used in the Talmud and Koran, and 
is still used by the Oriental Christians. In Mark the epithet is so 
distinctive that it is put into the mouth of the maid as the name of 
the arrested one: "Thou also wast with the Nazarene (the Jesus)" 
(xiv. 67). All this indicates that this epithet was from the start 
highly distinctive and familiar, a name in itself, which would be 
passing strange, if it was indeed derived from a most obscure vil- 
lage otherwise unknown. This comes out clearly in the Hebrew- 
speaking voice to Paul: "I am Jesus the Nazorean" (A. xxii. 8). 
The epithet is quite unnecessary for identification, in two of the 
three reports it is omitted : its presence in this one shows that it was 
originally an integral part of the whole name, and as such it must 
have had important meaning and have pointed to something else 
than a wholly indifferent early residence in Nazareth. 

5. The name "the Nazoreans" occurs in the Talmud unmistak- 
ably denoting the Christians (b. Taan. 27b). " 'Why did they not 
fast on the day after the Sabbath?' Rabbi Jochanan replied: 'Be- 
cause of the Nazoreans'" (Mipne ha-No^nm). Now this word 
Nojjrim was perfectly familiar to the .Hebrew and had been for 
hundreds of years. It occurs repeatedly in the Old Testament, as 
in 2 K. xvii. 9, xviii. 8, Jer. xxxi. 6, and always in the one sense of 
guards, watchers. The root na%ar is one of the best known in the 
Semitic languages, and its meaning is perfectly definite and well 
ascertained : to watch, observe, keep, guard, defend, preserve. In 
this sense it is constant in the Old Testament, occurring 63 times, 
the desibilated form natar 10 times. But it is much older than the 
Hebrew Scriptures. It is frequent in the Cuneiform inscriptions. 
Thus, V. R., 8: 65-67, "and Abiyati, son of Ti-i-i-ri, not meditated 
good, not kept oath (la na-$ir ma-mit) of gods mighty" ; and V. R. 
i. 115, "Guards (Ma^arati} upon those of days before" ; in the Code 
of CHammurabi (2250 B. C.) it occurs 7 times, as 23, 66 and 24, 6 f 


"in case watchful was she and. ..." (shum-ma na-a^-ra-at-ma . . . . ), 
as in 30, 47, "estate they shall preserve" (bitam i-na-%a-ru). The 
popularity and familiarity of the word are attested by the regular 
use of its imperative (u%ur for nu%ur) in forming proper names, 
as N abu-kudurri-u^ur (Nabu, landmark mine defend), Bel-shar- 
u$ur (God save the King), etc. also in such phrases as bit ni-$ir-ti 
= house of treasure. The use of the segholate ne\er in the sense of 
sprout, shoot, branch, is only occasional, thrice in Isaiah, once in 
Daniel, and may here be left out of account, since it could not yield 
the plural noftrim and has naught to do with the matter in hand. 
Now, since ha-No%rim was thus the perfectly familiar term for the 
Guards, the Preservers, it follows that when the term was used, or 
its Greek equivalent., Hoi Nasoraioi, the suggestion of the well- 
known meaning was inevitable. Even if the name had actually been 
derived from the hamlet of Nazareth, no one would have thought 
so, every one would have turned to the household meaning, instantly 
and irresistibly. If a class of persons were called the Preservers, 
every one would understand it so. as they that preserve ; no one 
would dream of deriving their name from the unknown village of 
Preserveth. We insist upon this, because it seems decisive. 

6. But what of the singular, Ho Nasoraios or Ha-No%ri ? This 
is the single point, not so much of difficulty as of uncertainty, for 
several possibilities lie open. The Old Testament singular of No$- 
rim is Nb^er, the participle of na%ar, frequently occurring. The 
termination " is generally used to designate local derivations, but 
not uniformly ; it is added to other nouns than those of place, to ad- 
jectives also, and even to prepositions, sometimes apparently for 
emphasis, with little change in meaning, as is noted by Green, 
Stade, and other Hebraists ; similarly in Syriac Noldeke speaks of 
its frequent parasitic presence (Kursgefasste Syrische Grammatik). 
Among many examples the nearest parallel seems to be "Di. The 
root combines queerly enough the opposite ideas of knowing and 
not knowing. From the latter comes ij;; = stranger used thirty- 
five times in the Old Testament ; also 153 = strange, used once ; 
also 13;: = stranger, once ; but "n.3^ = stranger, forty-five times. 


There is no reason, then, why notfi may not be formed from no%er 
without real change of meaning. 

Secondly, nogri may very well be a Rabbinic disguise for no$er. 
Possibly the Talmudists wished to deform the name slightly, as 
often the names they disliked. Thus, the appellative of the rational- 
istic Bible critic, CHivi, they changed from al-Balkhi to al-Kalbi 
(JBL XXIII, 6), and Evangelion they turned into Avon- or Aven- 
giljon (b. Shabb. n6a). Possibly they formed Ha-No^rl on the 
basis of a Christian Evangelic tradition that Jesus was of Nagara. 
The form Ndftri cannot indeed come from Nagara, but requires a 
No3era as the town-name, as Herford perceives. He thinks no^era 
may have been the local Galilean pronunciation. More likely that 
the Talmudists slightly bent the name no^er, as if it were no%ri from 
no$era. Possibly the * was added, as in a good many cases, to per- 
sonalise more sharply the participle, somewhat as we say the guard 
and also the guardian. 

Still another possibility, however, and an extremely attractive 
one, is this: the " may be a fragment representing the divine name 
YHVH. 3 If so, then the full primitive appellative was Nasoraios 
for NZRYH, Watch of Jehovah, or Jehovah the Keeper. This sug- 
gestion is strongly recommended by this fact: In the "name of the 
Restitution" of Marcus we find the form 'Ii/o-ov Naapia. Marcus 
is supposed to have been a second-century heretic, but he was cer- 
tainly a most important one, to judge from Irenaeus and Hippolytus, 
and his "name of the Restitution": "Anointed and redeemed am I 
from Soul and from all judgment by Yah (dyh) ; redeem (my) soul, 
O Jesu Nazaria," seems to be extremely old; it is given in Syriac 
but not understood by Irenseus (I. xiv. 2). Such a formula would 
very naturally and probably harken back to the highest antiquity. 
We note, further, that the redemption is in the name of Yah, and 
Jesus is invoked as Nazar-Ya'. This latter is the only Syriac form, 
as appears from the Peshito and from Payne Smith's Thesaurus 
Syriacus. (The latter of course assumes the derivation of Na$ar-ya' 
from Nazareth, but makes no attempt to justify the assumption.) 

3 As in "QHi (Na c hbi~) "Comforter is Yah," Num. xiii. 14. 


All of which points to this latter as the very oldest form of the appel- 
lative and as involving the divine name Yah or Yahveh, precisely 
as Zacharyah and the multitude of names ending in iah. 

It must be remembered that the Syriac termination Ya' is 
exactly the same in Nasar-ya' as, e. g., in Z'char-ya' bar B'rach-ya' 
(Mt. XXIII. 35), and regularly represents the n , (Yah} of the 
Hebrew. It would be very strange if this termination had an alto- 
gether unique gentilicial reference in Nasar-ya'. Moreover, it is 
at once perceived that in the formula of Marcus any local derivative 
is utterly out of place ; the epithet, Nazar-ya', must be charged with 
weighty meaning. Similarly, in the trilingual inscription on the 
Cross (J. xix. 19), it seems impossible that the epithet Nazorean 
(Na^ar-ya') should mean "of Nazareth," a village in Galilee over 
which Pilate had no jurisdiction. 4 It must tell not of the home but 
of the nature, the character, the personality. 

Be this as it may, it seems reasonably certain that Nazoraios 
had originally nothing to do with the imaginary village Nazareth; 
that it was a descriptive appellative, like others so commonly ap- 
pended to divine names, both classic and Semitic (cp. Zeus Xenios, 
Hermes Psychopompos, Dionysos Hypokolpios, Apollo Pythios, and 
the like) ; that it designated some divine power in the aspect, char- 
acter, or person of Guardian, Preserver, being nearly identical in 
meaning with 6 'I^o-ovs, the Saviour, and the pure Greek term pre- 
ferred by the Gnostics but disowned by the Old Catholics, 6 Swri/p. 
It must be remarked that this salvation was especially from demons 
and from sin, the work of demons. Hence the title, 6 'IT/O-OVS, was 
the name that was specially and exclusively invoked in casting out 
demons and in primitive baptism, which was primarily the washing 
away of spiritual uncleanness due to demons. 

It should be added that both Neubauer (La Geographic du Tal- 
mud, 190) and Gratz (/. c.) think to find Nazareth in the Talmud, 
and both with the same unreason. In Josh. xix. 15 are enumerated 
as belonging to Zebulun the cities : "And Kattath, and Nahallal, and 
Shimron, and Idalah, and Beth-lehem: twelve cities and their vil- 

* As Dr. Paul Carus acutely suggests. 


lages." The Talmud (Megilla 7oa) repeats this list in slightly 
varied form, preserving the name Beth-lehem but adding Zerye'h 
(iT"iX crprTD). Now Neubauer and Gratz insert the letter : before 
X and vocalise the result into Nozeryyah, which is not wholly unlike 
Nazareth! Hence Neubauer thinks we should translate the Tal- 
mudic passage thus: Bethlehem near Nazareth, according to which 
the utterly obscure village of Nazareth was so much more important 
than the ancient historic city of Bethlehem that the latter had to be 
defined by reference to the former! Gratz perceives the improb- 
ability and hence translates his conjectural text thus: Bethlehem of 
Nazareth, understanding Nazareth as a post-exilic name for Galilee, 
in direct contradiction of the Evangelic phrase "Nazareth of Gali- 
lee," and this conjecture is adopted by Cheyne, to whom belongs the 
credit of explicitly stamping the "city called Nazareth" as a fiction 
(Enc. Bibl., Art. "Nazareth"). But if Nazareth was such a familiar 
name of Galilee as to make Nazorean preferred to Galilean as a 
gentilicium, assuredly we should have heard of it. The fact is that 
Neubauer and Gratz have found Nazareth in the Talmud only be- 
cause they sought it there. He who seeks shall find. But the word 
is not there, and neither scholar offers any reason for inserting 
the :. Closer inspection shows, first, that the Masoretic text of 
Joshua is maimed, since only five cities are named, not twelve, and 
the Septuagint omits the final clause; secondly, that the Zerye'h is 
most likely derived from the oft-recurring, very similarly written 
liTSVCfl (ychaireken) = " and their villages," only four words below. 
Certainly the nearest-lying supposition is that the Talmudic text 
or its source, like the defective Masoretic text, meant to say some- 
thing about the cities and their villages. Hence the ingenious con- 
jectures of Neubauer, Gratz, and Cheyne, not to mention Halevy 
and Wellhausen, appear both needless and unwarranted. Neither 
do they nearly touch the heart of the matter, which is that by every 
token Na^ar-ya' was primarily like 6 'Iifo-ovs and 6 Sony/a, an appel- 
lative of a god? 

5 That "IJt'i was at some time felt to involve a Messianic reference, seems 
hinted in the large j with which it is written in Ex. xxxiv. 7, as Zuschlag 
has observed. 


The question remains, whence the Marcan form Nazarene 
( Naap7;vos ) ? It is commonly derived from Nazara, as Magdalene 
from Magdala ; but, in spite of Keim and his learned note, this form 
Nazara is too feebly attested. In reality the form Na^ap^vos explains 
itself when we recall that in Aram.Tean, according to Dalman (Ara- 
m'disch-neuhebr'disches Worterbuch, page 257), the word Natrona' 
(KIYTOi) means "defender" (Beschutzer) , which at once yields Nas- 
arene, the Aramaic t (tt) corresponding to the Hebrew ts (s). 
Na$ar-ya' remains in all likelihood the most primitive form, since 
the Marcosian "name of restitution" far antedates any manuscript 
of our second Gospel. 

Since the foregoing was written, we have lit upon a most deci- 
sive confirmation. In the Paris Papyrus, at line 3119-20, we read: 

.... 6p/a'w (re Kara TOV 6f.ov TOJV *EfJpa.i<av 'Irjcrov ta^aiarj .... and Other 

meaningless alphabetic combinations apparently to be sung (these 
latter seem to be documentary specimens of the "speech in tongues" 
of Acts and first Corinthians). "I adjure thee by the God of the 
Hebrews, Jesus." This "Logos" is declared to be "Hebraic," it is 
full of the Old Testament, it is assigned by the Papyrus editor, 
Dieterich, positively to the Essenes or Therapeutae, who were cer- 
tainly pre-Christian, and it itself is surely not post-Christian. There 
is in the whole "Logos" not a trace of Christian influence. That 
"Jesus" is herein called "the God of the Hebrews," of itself implies 
that the document is at least as old as the beginning of our era. 
At this date, therefore, we find that "Jesus" was the name used 
in conjurations for "the God of the Hebrews" a fact whose im- 
portance it seems impossible to overrate. 6 

6 It must not be supposed that the results attained exclude the possibility 
that there arose in some minds at some time a confusion of the terms and the 
notions ^!M and TT^ (nazir, Nazirite), especially as the LXX rendered T by C 
and x generally by a, but not always, sometimes by C, thus yyy oi> (Gen. 
x. 23). It is possible that the writer of Mt ii. 23 remembered Ju. xiii. 5 (he 
shall be a Nazir of God etc.), and so was emboldened to use the phrase, 
"through the prophets." But of these and other minor points lack of time 
forbids discussion. 



It did not fall within the scope of the foregoing investigation 
to discuss the heresiographic testimony, in particular of Epiphanius, 
touching the primitive sect of the "Nazaraioi." That investigation 
was in its conception almost purely philologic, and its design was 
to establish whatever conclusions seemed recommended, as at least 
highly probable, on the sole basis of certain linguistic facts. In ac- 
cordance with the critical method already exemplified by the writer 
in a series of New Testament studies, it was intended to elicit the 
full evidence of these facts uncomplicated with any suggestions or 
modifications that might proceed from the consideration of any other 
foreign body of facts however closely related to the matter in hand. 
But this accomplished, it now becomes our duty to fix our attention 
on this other body of testimony and to interpret it naturally and so 
far as possible in utter forgetfulness of the results already attained. 
If such interpretation confirms these results, well and good, by 
the mouths of two independent witnesses our conclusions have been 
established; but if there be any serious discrepance between the 
two sets of results, then there has been some error in our work, 
which must be detected and corrected. We may state in advance 
that this testimony, found in the Panarion of Epiphanius, 7 proves to 
be very elaborate and explicit, and while not free from obscurity and 
even contradiction ("den confusen Angaben des Epiphanius," Har- 
nack, D 63, I. 288), it is none the less unambiguous and conclusive 
as to the main issue, it is in fact the end of controversy. 

After describing briefly the heresy of the Daily Bathers (Hem- 
erobaptists), Epiphanius sets himself "to expound that of the Naza- 
raioi, who are Jews by race, taking their start from Galaaditis 
and Basinitis and the (regions) beyond the Jordan, as the report 
that has reached us comprehends, which, being of Israel itself, 
Judaises in all things, thinking scarcely aught beyond the afore- 
mentioned (sects). For circumcision exactly so it possessed, Sab- 

'Hseres. XVIII., Kara Nafa/oawv and XXIX., Kaar 


ith the same it kept, feasts the same it persevered in, not however 
(the notion of) destiny it introduced, nor astronomy. And (the) 
Fathers it received, those in the Pentateuch from Adam to Moses, 
those that were conspicuous by virtue of godliness, I mean Adam, 
and Seth, and Enoch, and Methuselah, and Noah, and Abraham, 
and Isaac, and Jacob, Levi too, and Aaron, and Jesus the son of 
Nun. But it did not receive the Pentateuch itself, however it con- 
fesses Moses, and believed what he received (as) legislation; not 
this, it says, but another. Whence all the (customs) of Jews they 
keep, being Jews (themselves), but sacrifice they did not sacrifice, nor 
partake of animates; but it was unlawful with them to partake of 
their flesh or to sacrifice them. For they assert that these books 
were fabricated and that none of them proceeded from the Fathers. 
This was the distinction of the Nazaraioi from the others." 

The remaining (second and third) sections are devoted after 
the manner of Epiphanius to a refutation of these heretics, which 
however does not concern us. 

We observe that these Nazaraioi are Jews, that they are localised 
east of the Jordan, are vegetarians, are heterodox in rejecting the 
inspiration and authority of the Hebrew Scriptures. There is no 
suggestion of Christianity about them. Neither are they Nazirites 
(Naziraioi), whom Epiphanius mentions hereafter; in no particular 
do they resemble these latter, they are rather antipodal, their prac- 
tice being directly counter to that prescribed for the Nazir (Num, 
vi.). Petavius then errs as widely as possible in writing "Nazarsei 
veteres a^VW proprie vocati, quasi sancti, et separati;" but these 
words are extremely interesting as the counsel of desperation. It 
appears then that both the name Nazaraioi and they that bore it 
were before Christianity and independent of Christianity. Hence 
the name can not be derived from any early residence of Jesus in 
Nazareth, nor indeed with the least probability from Nazareth at 
all. It is next to impossible that a sect located beyond the Jordan 
should take its name from an insignificant village on this side of the 

What evasions are possible? It can not be that Epiphanius 
is speaking of a sect that arose after Christ, else he would have 


dropped some hint to that effect ; moreover, and this is decisive, he 
afterwards declares explicitly (XXIX. 6) that the Nasaraioi were 
"before Christ." 

The name here used is Nazaraioi, whereas the form commonly 
used, as in the New Testament and elsewhere by Epiphanius him- 
self, is Nazoraioi. But no one is likely to claim that this is more 
than a difference in spelling of the same word. The irritating con- 
fusion of the vowels a and o is one of the first things to repel the 
student of Syriac. Both forms present themselves in New Testa- 
ment manuscripts, as at Mk. x. 47, L. xviii. 37, xxiv. 19, so that 
no one can say with certainty which of the vowels a, o, w is to be 
preferred. Perhaps all have nearly equal justification. 

Can it be that Epiphanius did not know what he was talking 
about? Impossible. His antiquarian learning and industry are uni- 
versally admitted. Petavius indeed says dubiously, "I do not know 
whether any other besides Epiphanius has mentioned such a heresy 
of Jewish name." To be sure ! There was every reason why Chris- 
tian writers at least should not mention them. The wonder is that 
Epiphanius has constated their existence. But there is no reason 
whatever for doubting his testimony that they were, whether or not 
his account of them be quite accurate. It is only their name and the 
fact of their being that bear on our argument. 

Plowever, this is by no means the full deposition of the Bishop 
of Constantia. Among Christian heresies, having treated of the 
Cerinthians he proceeds (XXIX.) Kara Naa>pauov: 

"Nazoraioi follow these next in order, being along with them, 
whether before them or with them or after them, nevertheless con- 
temporary ; for not more accurately can I declare who succeeded 
whom. For just as I said, they were contemporary with one an- 
other, and similar the opinions they cherished. For these applied 
to themselves the name not indeed of Christ, nor even the name of 
the Jesus, but of Nazoraioi. And all Christians then were likewise 
called Nazoraioi. But it happened for a little time they were called 
Jessaioi, before the disciples began to be called Christians at An- 
tioch. And they were called Jessaioi on account of Jesse, I think." 
There follows a very prolix dissertation on the royalty and the priest- 


hood, in elaboration of this idea, none of which has any bearing on 
our inquiry. Epiphanius concludes it finally and proceeds: 

"And there is much to say about this. But, nevertheless, since 
I have come to that point, to say for what cause they were called 
Jessaioi, before being called Christians, they that had believed on 
Christ, (it was) for this reason, we said, that Jesse was the father 
of David. And either from Jesse or, from the name of Jesus our 
Lord they were called Jessaioi, on account of their starting from 
Jesus, being his disciples, or on account of the etymology of the 
name of the Lord. For Jesus in the Hebrew dialect is called (sig- 
nifies) curator (OepairevTrjs} , that is, Physician and Saviour. Any- 
way, with this name, before their being called Christians, they were 
dubbed as a surname. But from Antioch, as we have noted above, 
as is the basis of the truth, began the disciples and all the Church 
of God to be called Christian." Epiphanius then proceeds to iden- 
tify these extremely interesting Jessaioi with the subjects of the 
well-known writings of Philo, supposed to deal with the Essaioi 
or Essenoi, whether correctly or incorrectly we cannot here discuss. 
He then continues : 

"As accordingly they were then called Jessaioi, for a little time 
after the ascension of the Saviour, and Marcus' having preached in 
the land of the Egyptians, about those times some went out again, 
followers indeed of the apostles, I mean those there appear to me 
evidently Nazoraioi, being Jews by race and adhering to the Law, 
and practicing circumcision; but as persons beholding a fire from 
a lookout, and not thinking for what cause they had kindled this fire, 
or what useful purpose, do it, whether preparing the provisions of 
their life for eating by means of the fire, or for getting rid of some 
inflammable sticks or twigs such as are wont to be consumed by 
fire, so also they themselves, imitating, lighting up a fire, burned 
themselves. For having heard only Jesus' name and having beheld 
the divine signs wrought by the hands of the apostles, they them- 
selves also believe on Jesus. And knowing him as of Nazaret, con- 
ceived in womb, and brought up in Joseph's house, and therefore 
in the Gospel called Jesus the Nazoraios, as also the apostles say, 
"Jesus the Nazoraios, a man approved both by signs and wonders," 


and so forth, this name they impose upon themselves, to be called 
Nazoraioi, but not Naziraioi, which is interpreted "sanctified." For 
this was of old the prerogative (d&'w/Aa) of the first-born, and those 
consecrated to God, one of whom was Sampson, and others after 
him and before him many. Yea, John the Baptist also was himself 
one of these same vanguards of God, and wine and fermented liquor 
he did not drink. For this was the policy appointed for such men 
as befitting their dignity ( di>/*a ) . 

"But others called themselves Nasaraioi. For the heresy of 
the Nasaraioi was before Christ and knew not Christ. But all men 
called the Christians Nazoraioi, as I said before, as say accusers of 
Paul the Apostle : 'This man we found pestilent and perverting the 
people, being ringleader too of the heresy of the Nazoraioi.' And 
the holy Apostle denies not the name, not confessing the heresy of 
these, but gladly accepting the name imposed upon him, by the 
malignity of the gainsayers on account of the Christ. For he says 
on the bema : 'Neither in the temple found they me disputing against 
any one, nor making any riot of the crowd, nor of what things they 
accuse me have I done aught. But I confess thee this, that accord- 
ing to the way which these call heresy, do I worship, believing all 
that is in the Law and the Prophets.' And no wonder that the 
Apostle confesses himself Nazoraios, (as) all (were) then calling 
the Christians by this name, on account of Nazaret the city, there 
being no other use for the name at the time, so as for men to call 
those that had believed in the Christ, about whom it has been writ- 
ten, 'that he shall be called Nazoraios.' For men even now by the 
same name call all the heresies Christian, I mean both Manicheans 
and Marcionists, both Gnostics and others, that are not Christians ; 
and yet each heresy, although called otherwise, receives this (name) 
rejoicing, because by the name it is adorned. For they think to be 
magnified by the name of the Christ, not indeed by the faith and 
the works. So also the holy disciples of the Christ called themselves 
then disciples of Jesus, as indeed they also were ; but hearing them- 
selves (called) of others Nazoraioi, they did not disclaim, seeing the 
aim of those calling them this, because they called them (so) on ac- 
count of Christ ; since also the Lord Jesus himself was called Nazo- 


raios,as the Gospels have it, and the Acts of the Apostles ; on account 
of his having been brought up in the city of Nazaret, which however 
is now a village, in Joseph's house, having been generated according 
to flesh in Bethlehem from Mary the ever-virginal, the betrothed 
to Joseph the immigrant in the same Nazaret, after, having changed 
from Bethlehem, he had settled down in Galilee. 

"But these the afore-mentioned heretics, about whom we are 
here making our narration, passing by the name of the Jesus, neither 
called themselves Jessaioi, nor retained the name of the Jews, nor 
surnamed themselves Christians, but Nazoraioi, plainly from the 
surname of the place, the Nazaret. But in all regards they are Jews, 
and nothing other. And these use not only (the) New Covenant 
but also (the) Old, just as also the Jews. For there have not been 
renounced among them Law, and Prophets, and Scriptures, these 
called Biblia (Hagiographa) among Jews, as among the afore- 
mentioned ; nor aught else do these think but according to the 
preaching of the Law, and as the Jews all things exactly they con- 
fess, except indeed the having believed on Christ. For among 
them also resurrection of (the) dead is confessed, and that the uni- 
verse has been generated from God. And God they proclaim as 
One, and his child Jesus Christ. And in Hebrew dialect accurately 
they are versed. For among them all the Law, and the Prophets, 
and the Hagiographa (so-) called, I mean the Stichere, and the 
Kings and Paralipomena, and Esther, and all the others are read 
in Hebrew, as of course also among Jews. In this alone they differ 
from Jews and Christians, not according with Jews on account of 
(their) believing on Christ, and not agreeing with Christians on 
account of their being still fettered by Law, both circumcision and 
Sabbath and the rest. But concerning Christ I cannot say whether 
they too, weighed down by the wickedness of the aforementioned 
disciples (irepi) of Cerinthus and Merinthus, deem (him) mere 
man; or, as the truth is, firmly hold him to have been generated 
through the Holy Spirit from Mary. And this the heresy of the 
Nazdraioi is in Bercea, about Code-Syria, and in Decapolis, about 
the regions of Pella, and in Basinitis that is called Kokabe but 
in Hebrew Chochabe. For thence the beginning arose, after the 


migration from Jerusalem of all the disciples that settled in Pella, 
Christ having told them to abandon Jerusalem and to depart, since 
it was going to suffer a siege. And on such a basis having settled in 
Peraea, there, as I said, they passed the time. Thence the heresy 
of the Nazoraioi had its origin." 

With the next section, an argument about circumcision, we 
have no concern. Epiphanius then continues: "Altogether hateful 
are these to the Jews. For not only do the children of the Jews 
cherish hatred towards these, but on arising at dawn, 8 and at mid- 
day, and at eventide, thrice a day, when they perform devotions in 
their synagogues, they curse them and anathematise saying that 
'Accurse doth God the Nazoraioi.' For against these they lay it 
up more especially that being themselves of the Jews they preach 
Jesus to be Christ, which is counter to those that are still Jews, that 
have not received Christ. And they have the Gospel according to 
Matthew most complete in Hebrew. For among them undoubtedly 
this, just as from the beginning it was written in Hebrew letters, 
is preserved. But I know not whether the genealogies, those from 
Abraham to Christ, they took away. Well, having detected this 
(heresy) as a dull and, on account of the poison, pain-producing 
cell of wasps, and having crushed it down with the words of truth, 
let us go on to the next, my dearest ones, asking from God His 

Here follows the chapter Kara E/?twvai>v. 

We have reproduced So much of Epiphanius in a translation 
so slavishly literal, because his writings are not very accessible, and 
to show as clearly as possible his style of thought and expression, 
as well as to avoid taking any liberties of interpretation. The whole 
passage is one of exceeding importance. With its glaring contra- 
dictions, due perhaps in large measure to interpolation, we have 
nothing to do, except as noted below. The great central fact is this : 
Epiphanius testifies unequivocally that the ,Nasaraioi were "before 
Christ" and "knew not Christ." On this point it is impossible that 
he should be mistaken. For he was unquestionably learned, and 

8 We read here ea&tv for 


laborious, and inquisitive, however shortsighted, fanatical, and in- 
tolerant. Hilgenfeld bears repeated witness to his "richer knowl- 
edge," "exacter knowledge," independent research, and the like. 
That he should have invented these pre-Christian Nasaraioi is quite 
incredible. For they were evidently a most painful and venomous 
thorn in his flesh. Their existence was a vexatious mystery, which 
he toils desperately and pitiably to explain. How wearisomely he 
reiterates that the name was taken from Nazaret, as if reiteration 
might finally make it so! He mentions these sectarians merely 
because he must, he cudgels his brains cruelly to make out what 
they can mean, he involves himself in hopeless contradictions in 
trying to solve the riddle, and at last he cuts the Gordian knot by 
dating them from the siege of Jerusalem (A. D. 68), though they 
were pre-Christian, and Paul was one of them nearly twenty years 
before! It is clear as noon from the painstaking, the repetitions, 
the discrepancies, and especially from the closing sentence, that the 
task was not a grateful one to Epiphanius, and that he would gladly 
have forgone it if he could. 

The dumbness of other heresiologists (except Philaster, who 
also mentions the Jewish sect of the Nazareans) now becomes more 
expressive than their speech. It was just because they had wit 
enough to perceive the danger of discussing these Nasaraioi, that 
they maintained a prudent but ominous silence, broken only by 
harmless allusions to their heretical doctrines. But the valor of 


Epiphanius got the better of his discretion. In the providence of 
God the foolishness of the Bishop has availed far more for the truth 
than the wisdom of his predecessors and contemporaries, and even 
of his successors in modern times. These latter give this original 
and universal designation of the Christians but the scantiest recog- 
nition. A careful search through all accessible authorities discovers 
hardly anything that is pertinent and worth quoting. Petavius con- 
tents himself with a few notes and skeptical phrases, none of which 
throw light on the subject. Hilgenfeld names the Nasaraer and 
Nasarder repeatedly in his standard Ketsergeschichte, regarding 
them apparently as the "remnant of the primitive Jewish-Christian 
congregation," but the important question he does not mention. In 


his Die Entstehung der altkatholischen Kirche (Dutch translation 
[1868], p. 148 ff.) Ritschl discusses "the Nazaraer and the Phara- 
saic Ebionites," regarding the former as the original apostolic Chris- 
tians, but neither he nor Tubingen, old or new, approaches the heart 
of the matter, the pre-Christian existence of the "heresy." 

We have no space to treat the vexed question of the Ebionites 
and the Essenes, but we must press the query as to the Nasaraioi, 
for there is the pivot of controversy. We note that our author 
cautiously shuts up and locks the natural door of escape, by dis- 
tinguishing his sectaries expressly from the Naziraioi, or sanctified, 
with whom Petavius would identify them. 9 We observe further that 
he says of those who were "before Christ," they "called themselves 
Nasaraioi." This is important. For such is the exact translitera- 
tion of the older form preserved in the Syriac (both Peshito and 
Sinaitic), Najarya. Here then our expectations are met precisely. 
For the natural and almost, though not quite, uniform translitera- 
tion oi % is <r and not . Again, the name of the pure Jewish sect is 
given always as Naapatoi, never as Nao>paioi. Here then is a notable 

gradation: Nao-apeuot, Naa/o<uoi, Na<opaioi, finally Naapi;voi. Only 
the first conforms strictly to the Syriac prototype, Nagarya. We 
venture to suspect that the change was not quite accidental, that 
there was intention to lead away the term from the original tell- 
tale form. Be this as it may, it seems indisputable that the sect of 
the Nasaraioi existed "before Christ." 

Possibly, however, some one may plead that the name Nasa- 
raioi (or at least Nazoraioi) was not assumed till after Christ. Epi- 
phanius seems to hint as much, though not affirming it expressly. 
He says that the Jessaioi, to him evident Nazoraioi, having merely 
heard the name of Jesus and witnessed the apostolic wonders, be- 
lieved on Jesus and applied to themselves the name Nazoraioi, 
knowing him as of Nazaret. Perhaps no one would take this se- 
riously or expect us to waste words in exposing such an absurdity. 

' In Josephus we find two allusions to Nazirites : Ant. IV. 4, 4, and XIX. 
6, I. In the one the form is Na&pa'usv, in the other it is NafapaZot. But this 
latter is found in a parenthesis that needs no critic's eye to detect it as the 
explanatory insertion of a later hand 


That these sectarians, scattered over a wide region, were at once 
converted and changed their name in any such manner is absolutely 
unbelievable and preposterous. Besides, it offers no explanation of 
the fact that the Nazaraioi were a Jewish sect, already treated as 
such by Epiphanius himself (see supra}, and under the name Na- 
saraioi certainly pre-Christian. We do not of course deny that 
Nazoraioi may be a later Christian modification of the earlier name. 
Amid all the nebulosity then of this testimony, one fact shines out 
clear and unmistakable, the pre-Christian name and existence of 
a sect that gave the common designation to the earliest Christians, 
a name that Paul himself did not repudiate, and that still denotes 
them in the land of their origin. 

Surely, no one will contend that these trans- Jordanic sectaries 
derive their name from the unknown "city called Nazareth," in 
Zebulun. They are never in any way associated with Nazareth. It 
is equally clear, as already shown, that they were "not Nazirites," 
the sanctified. Whatever they were, their early existence explodes 
the etymology of Nazarean as inhabitant of Nazareth. 

None the less the question recurs, Whence their name? The 
only answer we can imagine is the one already given, which derives 
the epithet from the Root N-$-R (preserve), but leaves the exact 
force of the termination undetermined. For the Epiphanian deri- 
vation of Jessaioi from Jesse perhaps none will contend ; far more 
likely the Epiphanian alternative, which relates it to Jesus. The 
two Hebrew words T^ and w would yield the Greek Ico-o-atoi with 
almost equal readiness. For the double <r we may remember Meoxrias 
(J. i. 42, iv. 25) for dorPEtt. However, this and kindred topics we 
do not broach at present but hold in reserve. It cannot escape ob- 
servation that the notions of Saviour (Jesus) and Preserver are 
very close kin, so that the antecedent probability seems very high 
that the Jessaioi and the Nasaraioi were nearly identical, the terms 
Jesus and Najaraios seem almost equivalent. 

It must be added that what we know of the Gospel of the Naza- 
reans, from the fragments edited by Hilgenfeld, is consistent with 
the notion that they worshipped originally not a man but an aspect 
or person of the Godhead. The account of the conception and birth 


is wanting, and, what is most important, the Holy Spirit is made 
the mother of Jesus in perfect accordance with Hebre-w modes of 
thought, or at least forms of speech, for on is feminine, only rarely 
masculine: "Just now my mother the Holy Spirit took me by one 
of my hairs 10 and bore me up to the great mountain Tabor," quoted 
twice by Origen (in loan. Tom, II. 6, in Jerem. XV. 4) and twice 
by Jerome (in Mich. VII. 6, in Is. XL. 12). Hereby the human 
birth and nature appear to be positively excluded. Similarly the 
nearly related Ebionaioi, at least some of them, declared "the Christ 
to be Adam, the first fashioned and inspired by the inbreathing of 
God; but others among them declare him sprung from above, a 
spirit created before all, both above angels and lording over all, and 
called Christ, who by lot held the ^Eon yonder. And that he comes 
hither when he will, as also he came in Adam, and appeared to the 
patriarchs, clothed with the body ; and having come to Abraham and 
Isaac and Jacob, the same came in the last days, and put on the same 
body of Adam, and appeared man, and was crucified, and rose up, 
and ascended. And again, when they will, they say, No! but into 
him came the Spirit, which is the Christ, and put on him that is 
called the Jesus." (Ep. XXX. 3.) 

There is much more like the preceding, but so much is enough 
to show that these very earliest and even pre-Christian sectaries 
thought of the Christ and the Jesus as supernal and superhuman 
beings, as deities or phases of deity. These also used apparently 
the same "Gospel according to Hebrews," written in "Hebrew" and 
more or less resembling our Matthew, but without the first chapters. 
Epiphanius has further information that they have also the Johan- 
nine Gospel, and even Acts, "translated into Hebrew" and preserved 
in the treasure-houses at Tiberias more likely that they had parts 
of these scriptures in Aramaean originals. Harnack himself de- 
clares (DG 4 I. 293), "these gnostic Ebionites have preserved very 
archaic matter." 

10 The idea may seem grotesque to us, but not to the Oriental. Compare 
Ez. viii. 3, the fire-form "took me by a lock of mine head; and the spirit lifted 

me up "; Bel and the Dragon, v. 36; other transports by the spirit are 

most probably to be conceived as effected similarly: Ac. viii. 39, Herm. Vis. 
I. i, 3, II. I, 1-4, Asc. Is. vi. 14, I K. xviii. 12, 2 K. ii. 16. 


Look at it then under what angle we will, there is one momen- 
tous fact that confronts us: 

The name Nasarean antedates our era and attaches itself both in 
form and meaning to the Old-Semitic stem Na3aR (preserve). 

TULANE UNIVERSITY, 25th Octobor, 1904. 


Further examination of the great Paris Zauber papyrus, as 
edited by C. Wessely, discovers the epithet in question embedded 
in a mass of glossolalian galimatias, at line 1548: 

"opKi<a <rc Kara TOV 


That vcuraapi is our Na<ra/>ia hardly admits of reasonable doubt 
in the mind of a student of this extraordinary document. 

Wessely dates the manuscript, along with Parthey's first Berlin 
Papyrus, from nearer 300 than 400 A. D. But he recognises, of 
course, that "the text of our papyrus is not original." All the phe- 
nomena, both of matter and of form, point to ein hoheres Alter, 
where the adjective will bear an acute accent. Some of the text 
is avowedly transcribed from "the very old papyrus," the abundant 
scribal errors imply "a rather long written tradition," and the gen- 
eral atmosphere is one of antiquity. 

That the glossolalian passages stand closely related to the 
"Tongue-talking" of New Testament times, is a proposition that 
we hope to establish in another connection. W. B. S. 

TULANE UNIVERSITY, 22d December, 1904. 



T7ROM the earliest historic times, thoughtful minds have ad- 
dressed themselves to the problem of the composition and the 
ultimate nature of the external world. When the phenomena of 
experience have been thought as inhering in substance and the at- 
tributes by which substance is known are projected outward as ob- 
jective, not only to myself, but also to absolute subjectivity, that is, 
when the objective phenomena are regarded as having an inde- 
pendent external existence, the next step is their unification into 
an objective world. This dualism between an absolute subject and 
a universal object is one that pervades all thinking, simply because 
it is the first product of thinking. 

Practically, we know the external world as a succession of 
phenomena appearing as different modes in extension. These three 
categories of our knowledge, time, space, and mode, are necessary 
forms of our thought. The process of cognition is a process of 
integration, the final extreme of which is the production of an ex- 
ternal unity to correspond with the internal unity of self. 

As certain phenomena are affirmed as attributes of a substance, 
all attributes are integrated as a totality of substance in a unity, 
which is our world of experience. This we philosophically construe 
as the universe. Just as the few and disconnected points of irri- 
tation in the retina are blended into a field of view without breaks 
or lacunae, when reflected on the consciousness, so the paltry, scat- 
tered reactions upon the sensorium commune that make up our 
individual experience are reported in our thinking as a continuous 


extended world. There are no breaks in it. Nature, our nature, 
abhors a vacuum. 

This thought of an external continuum may be derived from 
a peculiar and very "fortunate" limitation of our knowledge. There 
is, e. g., no mechanism for perceiving an hiatus in inner experience. 
Temporal relations are all dynamic. Rip Van Winkle might extend 
his sleep twice ten thousand times its reported length, but, on 
awakening, he could know nothing from inner testimony. Inner 
experience is, and must be, a continuum. Outer experience is re- 
ported in the same terms. 

Again, space is constructed out of temporal (successive) ele- 
ments by psychical geometry. The angular deviation of eyes, re- 
corded as muscular sensations of accomodation and similar move- 
ments correlated with successive experiences related to these 
sensations, are connected with the formation of space conceptions, 
whatever the intuitional school may postulate as something prior 
to this creation. Space becomes a continuum ; therefore, it is a 
geometric and not an arithmetical construction. 

In the case of mode, the idea of a continuum is later in arising, 
for black is contrasted to white as distinct from, or even opposite 
to, the latter; and it is only later that we arrive at the apparently 
paradoxical result that all white is more or less black, and black is 
somewhat white, and that intervening colors express in their own 
way a sliding scale of intervening values. 

This last analogy is misleading, for it is in the series of ex- 
citations and not in the sensations that we find a continuum. The 
two fundamental forms of mode are identity and unlikeness or 
dissimilarity. Mode is our reaction to the filling of our forms of 
space and time, the latter directly, the former as reflected in ob- 

In the long run, therefore, all of these necessary categories of 
our thinking help us to form an external unity or world, after which 
metaphysics postulates it as a universe or sets upon it the seal of the 

Science sets forth with the utmost confidence to make conquest 
of this external world, but only, so far, to return to the stronghold 


of individualistic experience, humiliated and baffled. We do not 
know, and can make no adequate expression for, the reality which 
constitutes this world of ours. Three characteristics are, indeed, 
given by the necessities of constructive thinking: the world is uni- 
tary, it is continuous, it is dynamic. 

All attempts to evaluate the world of experience may be said to 
fall in one or other of three classes, as follows : 

1. Atomism. Some minds are arithmetical. All quanitative 
relations are thought as numerical. All wholes are conceived as 
made up of units. A world must for them be the sum of all the 
units of experience, and these must correspond to external units. 
Such units, since we detect in them relations of "more and less," 
must be divisible into smaller units; but there will be no point at 
which they will disappear, but there must be a lower limit of divisi- 
bility. By such reasoning, we arrive at indivisible units or atoms, 
in which inhere all the properties or attributes of the world as a 
whole, or of various things in particular. 

2. Plenism. Other minds are geometric and conceive of quan- 
tity as continuous. Units are artificial measures of quantities, which 
increase or decrease by infinitessimal amounts, that is, by contin- 
uous activity. The qualities or attributes of the world or of things 
in particular are only explicable as inhering in a universal substance, 
co-extensive with the universe and capable of manifold forms of 

This interpretation finds many fatal defects in atomism and 
points out that atoms acting across empty spaces violate the neces- 
sities they were invented to satisfy. If acting requires to inhere in 
a substance, what becomes - of activity when passing through a 
vacuum from one atom to another? In vain, atomism borrows 
ether from the plenists to fill the chinks between the atoms. The 
geometrical school states that a plenum or universal substance fills 
all space and that activity resides in it and is propagated through 
it. It is even possible to invent mathematical expressions for the 
individualised manifestations of the activity in the plenum, such as 
may be studied in the discussion of the vortex atom. 

3. Energism or Spontaneity. The two schools already named 


have shared the honors and divided the field of physics between 
them. No other possibility has been recognised till lately by modern 
physicists. These two schools have in common a philosophical 
postulate, which is not supposed to require proof and this is very 
fortunate indeed, for it could never secure it. This postulate is that 
all activities or attributes must reside in something which is not 
active. This matter is the physical substitute for the philosophical 
or psychological construct, "substance." It is by nature unknow- 
able, for it could only be known by its properties or activities. But 
we do not know them as properties of it, but create it to explain the 
continuance or reappearance or relations of the activities. 1 

Activities are discovered to occur in my mind in certain rela- 
tions, and these relations are the basis for a postulate called "mat- 
ter." So fixed is the idea that attributes inhere in something, of 
which they are attributes that language almost refuses to describe 
any other possibility. But the energist or advocate of spontaneity 
demurs to this conception as irrelevant. Why should we postulate 
the unknown to explain the known? True, "standing in relation" 
is the most important thing about activities. Activities cohere in 
relations of sequence and similarity, but why invent a matter, en- 
tirely unlike the activity and unthinkable apart from the activity, 
as its ground ? 

The efforts of physicists have so far failed to afford a con- 
sistent and rational explanation of, or expression for, either atom 
or plenum. The nearest approach to such expression, mathematic- 
ally, is inconsistent with either and would apply better to activity 
freed from the limitation of plurality and discreetness imposed by 
atomism, on one hand, and the impossible combination of imponder- 
ability and elasticity, on the other. When the plenists ask us to con- 
ceive of gravitation as the effect of an ether itself imponderable, we 
are fain to seek the camp of the atomists, who speak of ponderable 
points acting on ponderable points through imponderable space 
or to abandon both. 

1 Lord Kelvin defines matter as the rotating parts of an inert perfect fluid, 
which fills all space, but which is, when not rotating, absolutely unperceived 
by our senses. 


The energists claim that there is no need for either conception, 
but that substantiality is expressed by relation among activities. 
Activities are positive realities whenever they are shown to belong 
together. The belonging-together is the substantiality sought, and 
to seek further is illogical. A relation is a real thing and expresses 
a law of organisation. The organisation is the organism. We talk 
about cold iron and hot iron, because, of the group of properties we 
connote under the word "iron," certain ones are observed to vary, 
and others are, relative to our means of observation, constant. 
Strictly, however, we should say hot-iron, cold-iron, and cold-hard- 
black-smooth-iron and hot-softer-grey-rough-iron, etc., as our knowl- 
edge of the variables grows. What, after all, makes "iron" a species 
by itself as against other aggregates of properties called copper, etc., 
is an organic coherence or belonging-together. 

To the spontaneity school have usually belonged philosophical 
minds who have refused or been unable to attempt an application 
in detail of their system to the practical needs of human science. 
Even the practical men who recognised the philosophical correctness 
of this standpoint, were constrained in praxis to use the language 
of practical physics and chemistry. Hegel's ideas and Schopen- 
hauer's World as Will and Idea have never found a place among 
the symbols of the chemist or the formulae of the physicist. 

After the few introductory words, we may take up the teach- 
ings of the three schools more in detail. 


The most complete account of the opinions of the ancient 
atomists is to be found in the works of the Roman poet Lucretius. 
Democritus was the founder of the atomic theory as we know it, 
though it is probable that the two ideas of nature as a plenum and 
of an infinity of indivisible parts had existed in the philosophical 
systems of Egypt and India at a much earlier date. Whether we 
regard the atomic theory as a result of an arithmetical way of treat- 
ing quantity, or as a product of experience in which the divisibility 
of units into still smaller units is experimentally realised, it has 
nevertheless appealed to a certain class of minds with irresistible 


power in all ages. The atomists made the distinction between matter 
and space, and regarded the atoms as indivisible particles of matter 
scattered in space. The physical analogy is a mass of sand, in which 
the particles may be all alike, at least in some respects. The neces- 
sity for voids was a supposed result of the necessity for motion. 

"Quapropter locus est intactus, inane, vacansque 
Quod si non esset, nulla ratione moveri 
Res possent; namque, officinum quod corporis extat, 
Officere atque obstare, id in omni tempore adesset 
Omnibus : haud igitur quicquam procedere posset, 
Precipium credendi nulla daret res." 

De Rerutn Natura, 335. 

The atoms of Heraclitus are indivisible units differing in size, 
form, and weight. All changes in nature reduce to changes in 
place or aggregation of atoms. The atoms group themselves in 
various complexes more or less analogous with the modern mole- 
cule, the differences in which result from the diversities in the ar- 
rangement of the inherent atoms. Aside from atoms, there is only 
empty space, but this space has an objective existence, although 
called the non-existent as contrasted to the atoms as the existent. 
Democritus himself says that the existent is no more real than the 
non-existent, a statement which reminds us of the famous Hegelian 
aphorism that being and non-being are the same. Perhaps, it is to 
be explained that the agent and the sphere for the activities of the 
agent are two equal necessities of thought, or that one cannot think 
of phenomena apart from the limitations that define and make pos- 
sible the recognition of these phenomena. 

The atoms were supposed to be in continuous motion among 
themselves and to group themselves temporarily in accordance with 
uniformities or harmonies in such motions. But, as the activities 
of atoms are, after all, unexplained, a principle is postulated which 
has generally been termed necessity, avay^n- This is more like what 
we have called "ground" and may represent an implied organism 
a view that may, perhaps, seem supported by the atheistic tendencies 
of the atomists. 


Anaxagoras supplied the corrective by substituting for necessity 
the voOs or Nous, the conscious activity, a teleological principle. This 
gives to the atom the attribute of spontaneity and forms a link with 
the energic school. For Anaxagoras the atoms were innumerable, 
simple, inert bodies in chaotic distribution, until set in activity by 
the Nous, which, accordingly, arranges them into an orderly uni- 
verse or organism. 

In many respects, the monadology of Leibnitz resembles atom- 
ism. In making the idea of substance the foundation of his philos- 
ophy, Leibnitz resembled Spinoza, but Leibnitz was arithmetical, 
while his predecessor was geometrical. The substance of Leibnitz, 
while a living activity, activity being the very nature of substance, 
finds individual expression in a multiplicity of active monads, each 
different from the other and each an indivisible point. In this re- 
spect they are like Boskovitch's atoms, but, in reply to the objection 
that no number of unexpected points would make an extended uni- 
verse, Leibnitz replies that space has no objective reality, it is only 
a vague subjective concept. 

The monad is not only active, it is also living. Each monad is 
a microcosm and mirrors the universe. It is fundamental to Leib- 
nitz's system that the activities of every monad imply those of all 
others. These activities, as related to individual monads, are re- 
pulsions, but they unitedly form an equilibriated whole. All things 
are compounds if monads. Matter in the usual sense does not exist. 
Each monad has a certain mentality in attribute and a certain vague 
or clear consciousness. The equilibrium of all these conscious activ- 
ities is the perfect divine reason. While monads do not affect each 
other directly, they move in a state of equilibrium in which one is 
reflected in all and all in one, the pre-established harmony. 

Boskovitch, like Leibnitz, regarded atoms as mere centres of 
force, the result of whose coexistence is that no two atomic centres 
can approach each other within a certain distance. This approaches 
to energism, but Boskovitch's atoms have position in space, are 
capable of motion, in a continuous path, and possess a certain mass, 
so that a certain amount of force is required to produce a change of 
motion. The atom is endowed with a potential force, and two atoms 


will repel or attract each other, with a force depending on their dis- 
tance apart, and, for distances greater than about one-thousandth of 
an inch, this attraction varies inversely as the square of the distance, 
while the law of repulsive force is not known. The ultimate force 
is repulsion which increases without limit, as the distance increases 
without limit, so that no two atoms can ever coincide. All action 
between bodies is action at a distance. No such thing as contact 
between bodies occurs in nature. 

Swedenborg seems not only to have adopted an atomic hypoth- 
esis, but to have anticipated modern stereo-chemistry, by suggesting 
various geometrical groupings of atoms as causes of the peculiar- 
ities of the resulting mofecules. 

When Boyle and Lavoisier had developed the idea of elements 
and elementary discreteness, the idea of the atomists, which had 
been revived by Gassendi, was seized upon by Newton to serve in 
his physical speculations. The establishment of the fact that for any 
given portion of matter extension is variable but mass is constant, 
made the adoption of some form of atomism inevitable. 

Bryan and William Higgins developed the atomic hypothesis 
along theoretical lines. The former, in 1775, recognised seven ele- 
ments composed of "atoms homogeneal, impenetrable, immutable, 
in figure inconvertible, and globular." William, a little later, pro- 
mulgated the idea of the union of atoms to form molecules, though 
he was unable to formulate the quantitative law for their union. 

To Dalton, more than to any single writer, perhaps, we owe 
the formulation, in acceptable form and with convincing data, of the 
atomic hypothesis in its modern dress. Dalton was undoubtedly 
greatly influenced by Newton's corpuscular emanation theory, and 
his opportunity was due to the work of many others, through whose 
labors the constancy of matter had been postulated, elements had 
been differentiated, and the beginnings of pneumatic chemistry 
made. When studying the diffusion of gases he was impressed 
with the idea that atoms of different substances must be different 
in size. Upon applying this hypothesis in chemical problems, he 
discovered that for each element there is a definite combining value, 
i. e., that a relative weight of its atom could be assigned. It was 


known prior to this time that substances unite in definite proportions. 
The law of definite proportions found its explanation in the impossi- 
bility of dividing atoms, so that the resulting weights of a compound 
must contain the weights of the uniting atoms as factors. 

The atomic theory, as formulated anew by Dalton, which por- 
trayed chemical union as a juxtaposition of atoms, co-ordinated 
the known relations and gave to chemistry a quantitative basis or 
law. The tables of Richter and Fischer supplied materials, and the 
new formulae of Berzelius assisted to make the new system prac- 
ticable. Dalton's tables of equivalents were rough approximations, 
and his own success as an experimenter was limited, but he opened 
the way and devised the method which, in 1 the hands of Berzelius, 
who supplied what Dalton lacked, became fruitful, and the new no- 
tation grew more complete and was soon generally accepted. 

Physicists were, naturally, quite as much interested in the con- 
structions growing out of the atomic hypothesis as chemists, though 
both were for a while profoundly influenced by the metaphysics of 
their time. When Gay-Lussac, in 1808, the same year as the publi- 
cation of Dalton's System, showed that combination between gases 
always took place in simple relations by volume, and that all gaseous 
densities were proportional either to the combining weights of the 
several substances or to rational multiples of them, the new era, the 
era of gaseous physics, had opened. Avagadro generalised the facts 
and formulated the law that bears his name: "Equal volumes of 
gases, under like conditions of temperature and pressure, contain 
an equal number of molecules." The distinction between atoms and 
molecules (the smallest aggregate of atoms in combination) re- 
quires to be constantly in mind, or the mistakes of the earlier chem- 
ists and some later physicists may be repeated. 

To the above must be added the following: Boyles Law: "In a 
given mass of any gas kept at a constant temperature, the pressure 
per unit of area upon the containing surface increases in the same 
proportion as the volume occupied by the gas is diminished." 
Charles's Law. "If the density be constant, the pressure is directly 
proportional to the temperature measured from the absolute zero. 
273 centigrade." Dalton's Law. "In a mixture of gases, when 


there is an equilibrium, each gas behaves as a vacuum to all the rest." 

It was at one time believed that these phenomena could be ex- 
plained by recourse to mutually repulsive forces acting between the 
parts of which the gas is composed (molecules and the like) ; but 
experimental proof has been offered that not repulsion but attrac- 
tion exists between molecules. Regnault, for example, by observing 
deviations from Boyle's law when the density of gases is greatly in- 
creased, showed that the pressure is less than that law requires, 
indicating that the interfering force is attractive. Joule and 
Thompson conducted experiments on the thermal variations during 
expansion of gases which also showed that the forces between mole- 
cules, though small, were actively attractive. 

Such considerations led to the kinetic theory of gases, which 
explains the intrinsic energy of a gas as not residing in the potential 
energy of intramolecular forces, but mainly in the kinetic energy of 
the molecules themselves, which are assumed to be in a state of 
continual relative velocity. The physical theory of heat compels us 
to regard the intrinsic energy of any gaseous mass as dependent 
largely upon temperature, so that it follows that, if this intrinsic 
energy is found in the form of kinetic energy of the moving mole- 
cules, the average kinetic energy of the molecules throughout the 
mass must be a function of the temperature. When several kinds 
of molecules are in motion and acting on one another, the mean 
kinetic energy of a molecule is the same whatever its mass, the 
molecules of greater mass having smaller mean velocities. 

If equal volumes of two gases are at equal pressure, the kinetic 
energy is the same in each. If they are also at equal temperature 
the mean kinetic energy of each molecule is the same in each. If, 
therefore, equal volumes of two gases are at equal temperature and 
pressures, the number of molecules in each is the same, and, there- 
fore, the masses of the two kinds of molecules are in the same ratio 
as the density of the gases to which they belong. 

It is not necessary to go into the processes by which the size 
and velocity, as well as the mean path, of the molecule have been 
calculated. The mean path of a molecule of hydrogen is given at 
one io,oooth of a millimetre. About two millions of molecules of 


hydrogen would form a row a millimetre long. Since the molecules 
of organised matter are very complex and so much larger than 
molecules of hydrogen, it has been computed that about two million 
molecules of organic matter might constitute a fragment visible 
under a microscope. If these conceptions were true, they would have 
an important bearing on those theories of heredity that require for 
their application the existence of pangens, micellae, ids, or the like. 
The size of the resulting germs would, upon the above calculations, 
soon become quite unmanageable and impossible. Of course, we 
shall see later that, even on the atomic hypothesis, we may be 
dealing with ultimate particles (electrons) a thousandth the size of 
the atom, so that the "ids" et id genus omne again find a realm for 
their imagined operations. 2 

When we assume that atoms of every pure (unmixed) sub- 
stance are all alike among themselves, then Dalton's law of multi- 
ple proportions follows of necessity, and all relations of mass in 
chemical compounds must be regulated by the masses of several 
atoms. There exists, then, for each element a definite number, 
which expresses the quantity of that element that may enter into 
compounds. These numbers for the various elements are relative, 
or are really ratios. These numbers are the combining weights, or 
more properly, the combining masses of the elements, and are 
commonly but incorrectly called the atomic weights. 

While, nominally, these atomic weights express the ratio of the 
combining weight to that of hydrogen, assumed as unity, for prac- 
tical reasons the assumption is made that oxygen has a weight of 
16 as compared to hydrogen, and the comparisons are made direct 
with oxygen and reduced to a theoretical unity on that basis. As a 
matter of fact, if O is 16, H is about 1.003 or T -O5- 

A very important corollary of the atomic hypothesis was that 
suggested by Prout in 1815 and elaborated by Meinecke in 1817. 
Prout believed that there is a fundamental substance or protyle out 
of which the various atoms are formed by union in various propor- 
tions, etc. Hydrogen he at first supposed to be, or to contain, the 

2 An interesting discussion of methods for determining the size of mole- 
cules is given in Risteen's Molecules and Molecular Theories. 


protyle, and, as a consequence, it was assumed that the atomic 
weights of all elements must be multiples of that of hydrogen or 
some aliquot part of it, i. e., of the protyle composing it. Thomas 
Thompson disseminated this idea in England, but, in fact, it is a 
suggestion which will occur of itself to every thoughtful student 
of chemical quantities. 

Dumas and Stas found errors in the work of Berzelius and 
showed that the ratio of carbon and hydrogen is as 12 : I and that 
of nitrogen to hydrogen as 14 : i. This seemed a long step toward 
experimental proof of the protyle theory. The result of the most 
careful quantitative work so far does not support the supposition, 
and Dumas was obliged to divide the weight of hydrogen by 4 in 
order to secure the desired factor, and this is so small a number as 
to be quite within the range of experimental error in determining 
the atomic weights by present methods. It will be seen later that 
recent results seem to indicate that the factor may be hydrogen 
divided by icoo, not by 4, so that this difficulty is not so serious as 
was supposed, provided we accept the electron as the modern repre- 
sentative of the protyle. 

However, there is a real approximation to such a relation as 
Dumas supposed. Out of 67 elements whose atomic weights are 
fairly well known, 38 are whole numbers or different from a whole 
number by no more than one tenth. It will be noticed that quite re- 
cently the doctrine of the protyle is rendered probable in another 
form. The so-called electrons, which are supposed to be vastly 
smaller than atoms, are found, by the best evidence yet available, 
to have the same mass, whether derived from the atom of one 
substance or that of another with a different weight. Moreover, 
there seems to be reason to suppose that atoms or molecules may 
become so complex that the internal strains cause them to be un- 
stable, as in the case of radium, and that these protyles are given off 
incessantly without appreciably reducing the mass. If this spon- 
taneous decomposition be assumed and the materials given off are 
manifoldly smaller than hydrogen atoms, then no experimental 
verification of the proportional relations of the protyle to the atom 


could be expected in the usual channels, and the objections to the 
hypothesis in the new form disappear. 

Another set of corespondences has given rise to what is known 
as the periodic law. J. B. Richter, as early as 1798, made some sug- 
gestions in this line, and soon after the atomic hypothesis was formu- 
lated, Doebereimer called attention to a certain regularity in the 
series of combining weights. Pettenkofer tried to arrange the 
atomic weights of similar elements in arithmetical series, Lenson 
hoped to group all weights in triads, and, later, Newlands announced 
the law of octaves and enjoyed the ridicule that usually attends the 
premature recognition of a new fact. Finally, Lothar Meyer and 
Mendel jeff contemporaneously (1869) announced that properties of 
elements are periodic functions of their atomic weights. In this 
way, curious analogies in mathematical proportions were brought 
into relation with similarities in the properties of elements. A very 
remarkable regularity occurs with respect to the valency of the 
elements. An indication that the discovered correspondencies have 
some counterpart in nature is found in the fact that Mendeljeff was 
able to predict in advance the characters of elements to fill the va- 
cant places in the series; and these predictions were verified to a 
considerable extent on the discovery of the corresponding substances. 

Difficulties in applying the law of Gay-Lussac to compound 
gases like HC1 led eventually to the recognition of the theory that 
atoms in a gas join to form groups called molecules. Gay-Lussac's 
law, therefore, runs: "The specific gravities of gases stand to each 
other in the ratio of their molecular weights." 

The molecules in a gas are supposed to be moving in all direc- 
tions with veiy different velocities and are continually encountering 
each other. The molecules will encounter each other less frequently 
the farther apart they are, and all the more frequently the larger 
their cross-section. The mean free path is directly proportional to 
the space alloted to each molecule. J. R. Mayer, in 1842, deduced 
from apparent loss of heat during expansion of a gas and the fact 
that this expansion in a vacuum does not occasion such loss, the 
idea that the heat is converted into energy. When the gas is com- 


pressed, the work done is transformed into heat. This led to the 
doctrine of the conservation of energy. 

As already briefly alluded to, considerations connected with 
specific heat and the kinetic theory of gases seem to show that there 
is intra-molecular energy, which may be conceived as expended in 
vector, i.e., rotational motions. 

A remarkable character of molecules was laboriously evolved 
from apparent discrepancies in the results of chemical analyses, 
which seemed to point to different properties of bodies with the 
same composition. Franklin, in 1852, discovered that one atom of 
zinc, arsenic, etc., had its combining tendency satisfied by a definite 
number of univalent elements or radicals of whatever kind they 
might be. An atom of carbon, for example, can unite with four 
other univalent atoms or radicals. 

With the law of valence a new vista opened before the molecular 
student. The valences were also found to form a series correspond- 
ing to the periodic law. It will be seen that, putting aside the as- 
sumption of materiality as a mysterious conveyor of properties or 
activities, the atomic hypothesis has been the means of revealing a 
large series of quantitative ratios or correspondences, the value of 
which to science is something wholly apart from the significance of 
the material atoms in which these correspondences are supposed to 
reside. They are all correspondences in force, or, better, in form 
or amount of energy. 

The fact that there were exceptions to the application of the 
general law of valency, led to a search for variations in the form 
of the atom to explain the variation. Van't HofF, in 1878, advanced 
such a theory. He assumed that the chemical attraction between 
molecules is due to gravitation, and that, if the form of the atom 
were other than spherical, the intensity of attraction at the surface 
would have a certain number of maxima dependent on the form. 
If the thermal motion of the atom were rapid, only the strongest 
maxima would be able to retain their atoms, and valency would be 
greater at a low than at a high temperature, and this is the case. 

Van't Hoff extended his theory by formulating a tridimensional 
space relation for atoms. He supposes the valencies of the carbon 


atom, e. g., to act at the four summits of a tetrahedron. Wislecenus 
has shown that this theory gives an intelligible explanation of the 
existence of more isomers among nnsaturated compounds than indi- 
cated by the ordinary structural formulae. 

Although this theory is of the most hypothetical kind, it has 
been extended to form the foundation of a complicated stereo- 
chemistry, the applications of which have also a bearing on crys- 

We know of no matter without energy, or rather, we postulate 
matter only from the energy perceived. Energy is denned as of 
such a nature that it is not possible for any masses affected with 
any kind of energy to exist together. ( It will be noted here that the 
fact that there are "masses" affected by "energy" is assumed with- 
out any shadow of proof.) 

Mass is used as though it somehow represented "amount of 
matter," but, in reality, it is expressed in units of a force, and reasons 
may be given for using energy instead of mass. It is generally 

agreed to represent kinetic energy by the formula vL, when m equals 

m 2 
mass and v equals velocity of the moving body. Potential energy 

will then be represented by fs, where f equals force or measure of 
striving to change place, and s the space passed over by the point 
considered in the change of state. The general law that in energy 
the intensity must have the same value in all parts of the system is 
interpreted to mean that 

For kinetic energy velocity equals intensity, 
" potential energy force equals intensity, 
" heat energy temperature equals intensity, 
" electrical energy electromotive force equals intensity; 

and that, whenever the intensity varies in different parts of the 
system, the latter is in a state of unrest until equilibrium is restored. 
In all these expressions one factor is quantity and the other is in- 
tensity; in electrodynamics, for example, the conception is that the 
quantity of electricity is the real thing at the bottom of electrical 
phenomena, and the second or electromagnetic force or tension is 
an intensity. (Whatever value this analysis may have in providing 


an expressive terminology, it must be remembered that the real thing 
is the electrical energy, and that the separation into two factors is as 
illusory as the dualism between matter and its properties.) 

Clausius was led to conclude that some molecules in electrolytes 
are decomposed in consequence of their collision, and that these 
parts, being separated, are available to effect the transport of elec- 
tricity generated. 3 And it was later decided that solutions of salts 
and strong acids and bases contain these substances largely dis- 
associated as ions. This theory of electrolytic disassociation has 
proven quite fruitful. 

Up to the time of Boyle, the conception of a chemical element 
was not that of a substance, but of a property or a plexus of prop- 
erties, so that the presence of an element in a substance was recog- 
nised through the possession by that substance of a certain property, 
and it may well be that little has been gained philosophically by the 
new idea that elements are undecomposed residues of natural sub- 

From the chemical side, the atomic hypothesis seemed well 
justified. It became a vast and complicated structure, coherent and 
serving to join in an intelligible system the wonderfully varied mass 
of facts accumulated by thousands of workers in this field. The 
brief summary given will serve to indicate the diversity of the 
problems and the methods of solution. Like gravitation the theory 
was "proven" and adopted in all the practical work of chemistry 
and was taught in all schools as an established dogma, and yet, 
like the theory of gravitation, it is undoubtedly false in its present 
form. It is a common charge against science that it is lacking in 
stability and that the accepted theory of yesterday is discredited to- 
day. The criticism indicates an entire misconception of scientific 

* By Clausius's formula, the free path of molecules has been calculated as, 
for example, that of oxygen at .0000038 in., of nitrogen at .0000036 in., of 
hydrogen at .0000067 m - From data so secured, the average number of col- 
lisions per second experienced by molecules of various gases at o deg. C. 
and atmospheric pressure, as follows: 

Oxygen, 4410000000 per second, 

Nitrogen, 5021000000 per second, 

Hydrogen, 10040000000 per second. 


method. Every theory which serves to bring disconnected facts 
into harmonious relation has truth in it, and a rejection of a theory 
in its definite form, after it has served its purpose, is not to discredit 
its utility. The relations exist and each new theory serves to exhibit 
these relations more completely, till the approximation to complete 
harmony, i. e., explanation, is reached. 

It became evident when the attempt was made to apply the 
atomic theory to physical problems that it was insufficient or in- 
correct. The emission theory of light proposed by Newton, on the 
basis of the rectilinear factors in its propagation, proved incapable 
of explaining the transverse vibrations indicated by the phenomena 
of polarisation, etc. This and many other insufficiencies led to the 
necessity of recognising an imponderable ether, which, nevertheless, 
was obliged to possess many of the characteristics of the homo- 
geneous solid ; and thus it came about that two contradictory con- 
cepts contrived to occupy the field together, and matter was sup- 
posed to occupy the same space with continuous ether and to be 
acted upon by it, while having none of its properties. A third entity, 
energy, by which alone ether and matter can be known, was postu- 
lated as acting upon and through both. Curiously enough, the very 
power of acting which is all of energy is impossible without ether 
and matter; and we have the third absurdity of an agent which 
cannot act alone, endowed with the power to act, when it comes in 
contact with matter, in which it immediately develops properties 
which have no active existence, except as acted upon by energy. 

These philosophical absurdities are tolerated by those physicists 
who clearly recognise them, because of the difficulty of providing 
a practicable substitute for the elaborate systems, which have grown 
up in the two allied domains of physics and chemistry within the 
last few years. 

Now, having spent a hundred years in founding and perfecting 
the atomic hypothesis and bolstering it up with etheric creations of 
imagination, nothing is more characteristic of scientific spirit than 
that science should make every effort to destroy or replace it. This 
is the work of the twentieth century. 

Newton was satisfied with the solid singleness of the Lucretian 


indivisibles, though he too found the ether a necessary adjunct. 
The defects in the atomic hypothesis are nowhere more evident than 
in the characters of the so-called ether invented (one can hardly 
say discovered) by Faraday and Clerk Maxwell. But even after 
inventing such a medium, it was not found possible to invent prop- 
erties for it that would satisfy the conditions. A gas will not exe- 
cute luminous vibrations and the anomalous solid it was once sup- 
posed to resemble could have no stable equilibrium. Material status 
is denied it, yet without it we are told, there could not be gravitation, 
and yet weight is fundamental to atoms. Without the ether atoms 
could not communicate. Matter is not conceivable apart from the 
medium which transmits its activities. Observe here that the very 
qualities or attributes, by which alone matter is supposed to be 
known, are "inconceivable apart from this invented ether which has 
none of them." This sounds suspiciously like nonsense. 

This medium is essentially limitless and universal. It is a 
short step to the denial of this matter which thus plays hide-and-seek 
with our reason. This Kelvin did by using Helmholtz's vortex ring 
phenomena to illustrate a kind of atom composed of ether by the 
isolation of portions of the ether affected by vector motions. Such 
vortex atoms were found by mathematical calculation to be capable 
of permanent separate existence, by virtue of the peculiar form of 
their activities. Their indispensable matrix is a perfect fluid. 

By going a little further, Professor Larmor has urged that 
atoms are foci of etherial strain. But, putting aside the seductions 
of this line of thought, whose mathematical abstruseness has hin- 
dered its popular acceptance, let us pursue the downward career of 
the atom. 

Lockyer urged consistently from the results of his spectroscopic 
work, that in the furnaces of the sun, matter exists in a still more 
elementary condition than the atomic. Through what is called the 
"Zeeman" effect, magnetic phenomena are made to give confirmatory 
evidence of this suggestion. But it was a result of the investigations 
of greatly attenuated matter in Crooke's tubes that the evidence be- 
came most convincing. When electrodes are introduced into such 
a glass tube and the air exhausted, till the pressure is, say, one one- 


millionth of an atmosphere, an electric current, in its passage, de- 
velops peculiar phenomena. It is now borne across the partial 
vacuum by a stream of particles from the negative pole, and these 
particles are invisible until they impinge on the glass, when they 
become visibly luminous or phosphorescent. It is found that the 
stream is susceptible to magnetic influence, and, for this reason, it 
is supposed to be molecular. The discharge tends to describe a 
circle about the line of magnetic force as an axis. 

This "matter" was described by Crookes as being in a fourth 
state, as it does not perfectly obey the laws of solids, liquids, or 
gases ; it is, in fact the so-called "radiant matter." These "cathode 
rays" pass freely through thin metallic films and discharge electrified 
bodies by making the surrounding dielectric temporarily conductive. 
These rays also affect photographic plates. 

Oxygen, at one-sixteenth pressure, is exactly as permeable to 
cathode rays as is hydrogen at normal pressure ; and this fact is very 

"Roentgen rays" are also produced by bombardment of walls 
of vacuum tubes by radiant matter, but are enormously penetrative 
of many opaque substances. They cannot, however, be diverted 
from their paths by magnetic influence. For this reason, cathode 
rays are said to be corpuscular, and Roentgen rays are etherial, 
movement alone being supposed to be transmitted. Here, however, 
is a case where the properties of the two things are exceedingly 
similar and the fundamental distinction between the behavior of 
material particles and etherial vibrations breaks down. We may be 
forgiven for doubting the existence of such fundamental distinc- 
tion, at least in this case. 

But, returning to the cathode ray material, it is concluded that 
it is composed of neither molecules nor atoms. Whatever the kind 
of gas in which they are produced, their properties are identical. 
Perhaps we have here the "protyle" or primeval material the Ur- 
stoff of earlier speculative physicists. 

These infra-atomic elements can only be produced by means 
of electricity and are always "charged," and this lends plausibility to 
the description by J. J. Thomson of cathode rays as "convection 


currents" of electricity. He adduces reasons for believing that these 
"corpuscles" are one-thousand times lighter than hydrogen atoms, 
and that they form "invariable constituents of the atoms or mole- 
cules of all gases and presumably of all liquids and solids." If 
these are ultimate electrical units, the name "electrons" is appropriate 
for them. A confusion often arises here by employing "ion" for 
"electron," and physicists speak of "ionising" the air. Gases are 
'ionised," when their molecules are broken up into smaller particles 
or ions, each associated with an electron. The electrons have the 
power of electrical conduction. Ideas here are as yet very hazy, 
and the minute discussion of them here would be unprofitable. Per- 
haps, the tendency represented by Larmor to believe that an atom 
is an aggregate of electrons in vector motion, that its mass is pro- 
portional to the number of these constituents, and that the inter- 
atomic forces are electrical, is now in the ascendent. 

These suggestions might have been relegated to the limbo of 
defunct theories, but for the startling and rather disconcerting dis- 
coveries, in connection with radiant matter, recently made in uranium 
compounds and related substances. Uranium, thorium, and radium 
have the highest of known atomic weights, and this fact suggests 
that if atomic equilibrium really be unstable, the effects of interfer- 
ence or incipient break-down should be observed in the case of these 
elements, if anywhere. In fact, the rarity of these metals may be 
due to the fact that they are unstable and liable to subversion or 
inorganic decomposition. Radiation, like phosphorescence in ani- 
mate matter, may be a species of decay. 

Electrical tests of radio-activity carried on by Rutherford and 
Soddy at Montreal promise a quantitative measure of this activity. 
The ionisation of a given quantity of air was measured by the effect 
on a constant current, as read by an electrometer. Thus, the leak- 
age of electricity under the influence of the radiations can be meas- 
ured very accurately and a standard of comparison secured. 

Thorium and radium give off continuously three kinds of rays 
called alpha (atomic), beta (cathodic), and gamma (etherial). The 
first or alpha rays are believed to be composed of atoms (perhaps of 
helium) and are charged with positive electricity, and they can be 


deflected by a magnet. They move with a velocity of some 16,000 
miles per second and are powerful ionising agents. Beta rays, on 
the other hand, are cathodic, and the particles may be one one- 
thousandth of the weight of hydrogen atoms. They are positively 
electric and highly actinic. They are dispersed unequally, forming 
what has been called a "magnetic spectrum." Gamma rays are 
believed by Madame Curie to be ultra-luminous vibrations. They 
are not deflected by a magnet. 

Besides the above, the substances above named slowly give off 
what appear to be gaseous emanations that can be condensed by 
intense cold. By means of these emanations are explained "induced" 
radio-activities in objects adjacent to radiantly active materials. 
These emanations are self-luminous. From experiments so far 
made, Professor Rutherford inclined to the belief that the alpha rays 
are really helium atoms and the emanations also behave like this 
element. It is possible, then, that radium spontaneously decomposes 
in forming helium at ordinary temperatures. 

The production of heat by radium, independent of other source, 
is a significant fact and has been supposed to show that this element 
is continually liberating atomic energy. 

Hitherto, we have had to do with molecular effects; here it is 
possibly a case where deeper reservoirs of force residing in the atom 
have been tapped. If a radium atom contains 258,000 electrons, 
J. J. Thomson concludes that the diminution of the intrinsic energy 
of radium atoms by one per cent, would keep up the emission phe- 
nomena for a period of 30,000 years. If 3.6 grammes of radium 
existed in each cubic metre of the sun's volume at the surface, it 
would be sufficient, according to Wilson, to supply the totality of 
solar radiation. These guesses serve merely to suggest what a mass 
of energy may lie concealed, entirely inappreciable to scientific instru- 
ments, in the "atomic" structure of the most tenuous gases. A 
gramme of radium, according to one author, has power enough to 
raise 500 tons a mile high. 

But this fatal quality of dissociation appears to be universal, as 
Sir William Crookes says. Bewildering as is the mass of new facts 
and still larger crop of new speculation, it is clear that atoms in the 


old sense can no longer be accepted. With the atom, a whole world 
of varied and enormous activities has been discovered, and the door 
out has been left ajar so that these forces can no longer be kept 
sealed. Pandora's box is open and the plague of new speculation is 

The simplest view that can be taken is that the integrity of 
what we call an atom is in the nature of an equilibrium. Mathe- 
matical and physical experience shows that vector motions (rota- 
tional energy, etc.) are different from energy in rectilinear or radial 
translation, and that there may be a high degree of independence 
between these two sorts of energy, and that two instances of vector 
motions may mutually influence each other in various phases, de- 
pending on their correspondence in time and mode. The solenoid 
illustrates this point roughly. 

Physics is inclined to suggest an electrical force as behind all 
so-called material phenomena, and the recent results of radium in- 
vestigation tend to support the suggestion. 

Meanwhile, one result is plain: cosmological speculation can 
profitably go no further than to take the actual data of experience, 
which gives us only energy in various manifestations, and it is by 
no means clear that anything will ever be gained by seeking an 
explanation of the ultimate fact of experience by invented "carriers," 
"media," postulated to "explain" what is by nature inexplicable. 
Further discussion may, however, be postponed till we have con- 
sidered the other material alternative. 

"We are acquainted with matter only as that which may have 
energy communicated to it from other matter. Energy, on the other 
hand, we know only as that which in all natural phenomena is con- 
tinually passing from one portion of matter to another." Maxwell. 


The defectiveness of any atomic conception of matter appealed 
to a certain class of minds, from the first. As a mere abstraction, it 
seemed unthinkable that the continuous translation of force through 
space could take place if space were but partly filled. Atoms, if 
capable of independent action at all, required to be separated from 


one another by such spaces. Nature, especially as we have said, 
the nature of the human mind, abhors a vacuum, and it was inevi- 
table that the atomic hypothesis should be substituted for or sup- 
plemented by, the concept of a plenum or something filling space 

Even Anaximander seems to have had some such idea in his 
apxri or Urstoff. This unlimited, undefined, but not immaterial, 
ground of energy was in so far dynamic, as it possessed the eternal 
property of motion, but it was not freed from the materialistic tend- 
ency of the Ionic school in which it developed. There was a combi- 
nation of the energic with the plenistic ideas, which were too vaguely 
expressed to have more than an historic interest. 

The plenum of Descartes was something like extension. There 
are two substances, spirit and matter. The attribute and essence of 
matter is extension. This dualism was bridged by Malebranche, 
but there is nothing to explain the nature of the universal plenum. 
Descartes does explain light as generated by a pressure throughout 
an infinitely elastic medium filling space. Newton, though advocat- 
ing a corpuscular theory of light, also taught that heat may be con- 
veyed through a vacuum "by vibrations of a much subtler medium 
than air," and adds, "is not this medium the same with the medium 
by which light is refracted and reflected?" He also employs the 
ether to account for gravitation. Hearing and animal motion he 
also supposed to be brought about by the vibrations of ether. 

The theory of the ether, as now universally taught, results from 
the necessity felt for a medium to transmit energy from point to 
point. Light, for example, moves at a finite rate from the source 
of generation, and, in as much as the phenomena of destructive 
interference seem to forbid the idea that light is a substance emitted 
from the luminous body, as held by Newton, the only recourse 
was to postulate a medium of some kind in which disturbances may 
be propagated in all directions. We have the analogy of sound. 
Sound waves are not propagated in vacua. It requires a medium, 
in this case air or some fluid or solid substance. In like manner, it 
is supposed, there must be a medium for the light, heat, and elec- 
trical vibrations. 


Huygens is credited with being the real inventor of the etherial 
hypothesis in its present form, and it cannot be denied that the 
doctrine has been most fruitful. The present tendency is perhaps 
to consider even the phenomena of matter itself as manifestations 
of energy stored in ether. Potential energy is considered to be 
energy stored in the ether and may be simply motion of the ether, 
so that all energy will be found to be, as it theoretically must be, 

Two properties must be assumed to satisfy the conditions, for 
which ether was invented, viz., elasticity and density. In the case 
of a vibrating elastic solid, the energy is half in the form of kinetic 
energy due to the vibratory motions of the parts of the body, the 
other half being potential or stored up in the distortion of its parts. 
It has been found that the vibrations of light are of such a nature 
as would be impossible to either liquid or gas, so that something 
analogous to the solid state is required. This state is found by 
mathematical research to be unstable. It results that the ether has 
no scientific footing, but has the anomalous status of being some- 
thing of pure invention, failing to satisfy the conditions which alone 
led to its invention. 

As a matter of fact, all the discussions of wave phenomena 
would be just as intelligible as they now are, if the idea of ether 
were eliminated. Or, rather, this would be the case if the mind 
would disabuse itself of the analogy of water and sound vibrations, 
which seem to require a medium. Here the more suitable expres- 
sion is that waves of sound are alternating forms of activity recog- 
nised in conditions satisfied when vested in what we call liquid or 
other matter. It must not be forgotten that the energy involved in 
sound is not lost, when the sound wave is prevented from proceeding 
by an interposed vacuum. Its critical point is reached, and it as- 
sumes another form. These modes are really expressions of inter- 
ference of forces, residing, as we are wont to say, in the forms of 
matter called media for sound waves. 

Optics talks of the kinetic energy of a vibrating particle, dis- 
tribution of energy in the case of a medium disturbed, etc. All of 
these concepts lose nothing if divorced from the idea of a medium. 


A study of electro-magnetic phenomena has been used to 
fortify the ether hypothesis, and, by a curious fatality, it now seems 
that its perfection will but serve to complete the overthrow of that 
theory. The ether about an electrified body is supposed to be affected 
or thrown into activity. When thus active it is polarised. When the 
body is discharged the activity ceases or is dissipated. Alternating 
electrical charges are accompanied by changes of state or vibra- 
tions of the ether, and, if the charge be varied periodically and with 
sufficient frequency, we have a vibration at each point analogous to, 
and perhaps identical with, what occurs in the propagation of light. 
Light and heat waves have been reduced to the same category, both 
being waves of electrical polarisation. Professor Hertz's experi- 
ments related to oscillating discharges having a period of about 
one 3O,ooo,oooth of a second, and reflection and interference of 
electro-magnetic waves are ingeniously brought within the sphere 
of observation. Reflected waves interfere with direct waves as in 
the case of sound. Most of the experiments usually carried out 
with light and heat waves were successfully tried with the electro- 
magnetic vibrations. From the mode of production, it follows that 
these vibrations consist of transverse vibrations, and that they are 
plane-polarised. Without carrying out the comparisons between the 
electro-magnetic and light vibrations further, we may add that, ac- 
cording to the electro-magnetic theory of light, the vibration is a 
transverse periodic disturbance attended by electric force in one 
direction and magnetic force in the perpendicular direction. Com- 
parison of velocities and refractive indices reveal the required har- 
monies. The original conjecture of Faraday (Experimental Re- 
searches, 3075) that the electro-magnetic action may be a function 
of the ether, seems about to be confirmed, except that by the ether 
we are brought no nearer to a solution of the general problem. 

Even if the difficulty involved in the supposition that an elastic 
or compressible medium must be discontinuous be ignored, and we 
assume that a medium may be homogeneous and continuous as re- 
gards density, and yet may be really heterogeneous by virtue of its 
motions, as in the case of the vortex atom, in a perfect liquid-solid, 
still are we no better off with our medium than we would be, if we 


substitute energy, instead of mass, in our equations and do away 
with the material element and medium altogether. 4 

There is an important fact which physical theorists are prone 
to forget, and, by neglecting it, are led to state hypotheses as proven 
facts, viz., we cannot know atoms or molecules individually, but, if 
at all, only in the aggregate, and what we infer of their structure 
must be by observing, experimentally, the gross results of their 
interaction in masses. For example, according to Avogadro's law, 
there are simple volumetric relations among gases when they com- 
bine. The densities of gases are proportional to their molecular 
weights. But the statement of Avogadro's law, in the usual way, 
that "all gases (conditions being the same) contain the same number 
of molecules per unit of volume," is pure hypothesis, yet it passes 
in physical literature as "established fact." The question of the 
nature, nay of the existence of molecules, is begged throughout. 

Any theory, molecular or otherwise, which can acceptably ex- 
plain the constitution of the physical universe, must bring into har- 
mony the different facts which pass under the names inertia, elas- 
ticity, attraction, and stability. But, by explaining, we do not mean 
the clearing up of the ultimate why or the final what, but the arran- 
ging of all the facts in a congruous system which is the ultimate 

*An illustration of the tedency of modern physics in relation to the con- 
cept of materiality, is given by Drude's Lehrbuch der Optik, which is devoted 
largely to the mathematical development of the electro-magnetic theory of 
light. In this work we find such expressions as "The vacuum (the free 
ether)," "the velocity of light in empty space (the free ether)," and the fol- 
lowing more definite statement: "The concept of the absolutely quiescent 
ether is most simply and naturally expressed if we understand by ether, not 
a substance, but simply space provided with certain physical peculiarities." 
The naive innocence of metaphysical taint in this statement, where space is 
supposed to be clothed with certain physical attributes, may seem amusing, but 
we see at least a recognition of the difficulties inherent in the postulate of ma- 
terial media. The magnificent hypothetical structure erected by H. A. Lorenz 
(Versuch einer Theorie der electrischen und optischen Erscheinungen in be- 
wegten Korpern, Leiden, 1895) rests on the assumption that the ether is al- 
ways in complete state of rest. The chief value of the electro-magnetic theory 
is that no special assumptions are necessary for the propagation of light, but 
its laws follow directly from those of electric and magnetic forces as already 
worked out, or, as Drude says, "It does, indeed, represent a remarkable ad- 
vance in natural science when two hitherto unrelated realms, like optics and 
electrical science, are brought into relations by mensurable control." 


how. The dynamic view is that the complete comprehension of the 
how is all that we can ever know of either what or why. It is not 
sought to "unify the conception of chemistry and physics and con- 
solidate these sciences into one grand science of matter," as sug- 
gested by Risteen, but, on the contrary, it finds the essence of things 
in their behavior and is satisfied, if it may continually approximate 
to a knowledge of the forms of these activities, which to know is to 
understand the physical universe. Nor does one doubt that the 
energy which finds expression in material terms is, in last analysis, 
of one kind with that whose complex trajectory is interpreted in 

When the physical demonstrator by means of a box punctured 
on one side and furnished on the other with a taut membrane, by 
tapping on the membrane, projects smoke rings across the room and 
shows us how the smoke curls in vortex-flow along the axis of trans- 
lation and how two such rings may be made to interfere and inter- 
twine in most complicated fashion, he is careful to tell us that the 
smoke which we see performing these amusing antics has nothing 
to do with the phenomena, except to make them visible to us. The 
vortices would be there just the same, if no smoke were in the box. 
So when the vortex atom, which comes the nearest at present to 
affording a scientific concept of the physical unit, is introduced, 
Lord Kelvin is careful to exclude from the ether, in which such 
atoms are supposed to exist, all material postulates. It must have 
the character of a perfect fluid. Thus, we see the postulate of mate- 
riality is but the smoke for making the vortices comprehensible to 
the lay mind. A brief analysis of the vortex-atom, or, better, the 
vortex unit, will make this clear. 

i. Helmholtz, in his definition of vortex units by mathematical 
process, showed that the fluid in which such vortices exist must be 
frictionless, homogeneous, and incompressible. Such a combination 
is incompatible with what we are supposed to know of matter, but 
granting these conditions, a vortex could never be produced or 
destroyed in such a medium, and it follows that it would be con- 
served forever, or that it would exist as long as the medium con- 


2. Such a vortex would always contain the same portion of the 
fluid. It moves as a whole it is not alone the 1 motion that is propa- 
gated, as in wave motion. Thus the energy is doubly identified 
with the fluid (or conversely) both as to permanence and as to 

3. Now, compare these points with the definition of matter by 
Lord Kelvin, the other great student of vortices. "Matter is the 
rotating parts of an inert perfect fluid which fills all space, but 
which, when not rotating, is absolutely unperceived by our senses." 

If the statements under I and 2 are correct, the expression, 
"when not rotating," is inapplicable; for, if not rotating, this fluid 
can never be made to rotate, and, if only part be rotating and the 
rest not, then the part not rotating cannot affect that which is, nor 
can it be affected by it it is "inert." If it existed we could never 
know it, nor could we comprehend in what its existence consists. 
It would be a case of "pure being," equivalent to "non-being" in 
the popular nonsense, improperly attributed to Hegel. 

We see that the only things which could cause the vortices to 
affect one another are their respective activities. If matter is elastic, 
it is because there are such things as repellant phases of activity ; if 
there be attraction, it is because certain phases coincide or have con- 
gruous periodicities; stability and individuality are inherent in the 
nature of vortex or vector activities, corresponding to intrinsic or 
genetic modes; and, finally, inertia is but another name for spon- 
taneity, the last irresolvable, constituent attribute of energy. 

It must be noted, in passing, that vortex units are not neces- 
sarily vortex rings. A better analogy is, perhaps, that of a spheroid 
of "free path" or field of activity in which the spheroid is tending 
constantly and in all parts to be everted. A ball continually turn- 
ing itself wrong side out by a kind of convection motion is a con- 
venient representation. This is a fourth-dimension motion of great 
mathematical complexity. 

Doubtless, every genuine discovery made by the newer molec- 
ular physics, however erroneously applied, will find a place in the 
new dvnamic science. 



What has already been said, while giving but the barest out- 
line of an exceedingly complicated subject, may serve to illustrate 
the difficulties in the way of any materialistic hypothesis as a foun- 
dation of practical science, not to mention the philosophical difficul- 
ties encountered at the outset. 

There remains but one possibility the appeal to energy. This 
method of approach seems very difficult, especially to those who have 
served an apprenticeship to modern physical science, because the 
idea of a medium or vehicle of force has become so strongly in- 
trenched in the didactic literature and in the formulae with which 
much of the practical work is done. It must be remembered, how- 
ever, that the fact that a velocipede is equipped with three wheels 
does not prove that a bicycle may not move faster. If matter is un- 
necessary as a practical utility, the sooner this conception can be 
removed the better for the progress of science. 

Historically, germs of the energic idea have always existed. 
It may seem fanciful to discover the nucleus of the dynamic concept 
in the dawn of philosophy, but in the apxh or Ur staff of Anaximander 
we have a ground of energy, which, while not purely dynamic, and 
developing in dualistic form in antinomies of heat and cold, still indi- 
cated a naive appreciation of energy as real, apart from a material 
substrate. This method of thought was common till Dalton, with 
his atomic hypothesis, gave it a long sleep. Malebranche postu- 
lated an absolute substance which includes all things and also the 
idea of all things, to resolve the dualism of Cartesian substance. 
Spinoza, too, denies the possibility of numerous substances, and 
demands an absolute substance, which is the real ground of all 
existence and the source of all reality. All expression of this reality 
is a limitation or negation (omnis determinatio est negatio). Matter 
and spirit are the two forms of self-limitation in which absolute 
substance appears. These are the attributes in the form of which 
substance reveals itself. There may, indeed, be many attributes in 
the substance, but, by the nature of the human mind, we distinguish 
subjective and objective. 


In Spinoza we find the Cartesian dualism between matter and 
spirit maintained. There is a parallelism, but mind cannot work on 
matter, nor can matter influence spirit. These two are phases of 
one reality, so that there is correspondence but no interaction. (It 
should be observed that this is a much deeper view than that ex- 
pressed in the current psycho-physical parallelism of psychology, 
which, as usually formulated, means nothing but the statement of 
an observed coincidence.) 

The reconciliation of these difficulties is to be found in ener- 
gism, which explains that neither body (matter) nor spirit (soul) 
exist as independent entities, but both are ways of experiencing the 
same energy. As Spinoza admits, the distinction between matter and 
spirit is of our own creation. When I feel a sensation and discrimi- 
nate my feeling of it from some outside activity, this is a valid dis- 
crimination for me. The whole chain of activities between the out- 
side source of light and the accommodation activities in my organ, 
form parts of a segment of activity, which in itself requires no ex- 
planation beyond the fact of spontaneous doing. The things I 
think about this (objective aspect) and the thinking about it (sub- 
jective part) cannot be distinguished as existences (matter and 
spirit) parallel to each other. Whatever truth they have inheres 
in the activity producing both. 

At the present time, science represents the remarkable and 
anomalous spectacle of a vast mass of chemical and physical litera- 
ture permeated and dominated by materialistic-mechanical theories. 
The entire pedagogic machinery, including text-books and teachers, 
is adapted to impart a strict construction of matter and energy as 
the twin realities in the physical universe, while, at the same time, 
the foremost investigators, and the authors of some of the very 
texts referred to, have openly or by implication abandoned these 

The student of Ostwald's General Chemistry, for example, will 
find little to prepare him for such views as those presented in his 
address at Luebeck entitled "The Overcoming of Scientific Mate- 

As this writer observes, there are collected in the idea of matter 


numerous elements of sensuous experience, like weight, extension, 
chemical properties, etc., which are found by experience associated 
with mass and connected proporionally with it, so that "the physical 
law of conservation of mass was transformed into the metaphysical 
axiom of the conservation of matter." "It is important to note that 
in this extension a number of hypothetical elements have been 
wrought into what was originally an entirely non-hypothetical no- 
tion." The necessary results of this hypothetical matter-hypothesis 
lead to absurdities, to which we have become so accustomed as 
hardly to notice them. As Ostwald says, speaking of the assumed 
persistence of the original substances in compounds: "When we 
consider, however, that all that we know of any substance is a 
knowledge of its properties, we see that the assumption that a defi- 
nite substance remains, although it no longer retains any of its prop- 
erties, is little removed from nonsense." 

Nor is this all, for, having adopted the matter postulate, it is 
necessary to supplement it by the doctrine of energy. As matter is 
quiescent and unalterable, it is necessary to connect it with something 
to correspond with the changes known in experience. This constant 
cause of motion is energy, and this, like matter, is supposed to be a 
constant in the sense that its total amount is never increased or 
destroyed. Ostwald, again, says, respecting the mechanical con- 
struction of nature built upon the two above formulae : "One usually 
does not observe to what extraordinarily great extent these gen- 
erally received views are hypothetical not to say metaphysical. On 
the contrary, it is customary to assume that they express the max- 
imum of exact formulation of actual relations. On the other hand, 
it must be emphasised that a proof of the consequences following 
from these theories, that all the non-mechanical processes like heat, 
light, electricity, and magnetism, are actually mechanical, has not 
been afforded in a single case." 

We have traced in outline the transformations of the optical 
theory. The others are in no better case. 

But if we are deprived of the assistance afforded to imagination 
by the concept of moving atoms, how are we to conceive of the world 
of matter and energy at all? Ostwald answers this question very 


uncompromisingly : "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven im- 
age or likeness. It is not our duty to view the world in a more or 
less dull or irregular mirror, but rather, so far as the structure of 
our minds will permit, to view it directly." The function of science 
is to bring into such definite relations realities, i. e., demonstrable 
and mensurable quantities, that when one is given the other may 
inevitably be assumed. 

This is the energic point of view not the substitution of one 
complicated hypothesis for another, but the eliminating of the hypo- 
thetical, so far as possible, and the appeal to facts of experience. 
To the criticism that the concept is empty and lacking in clearness 
as compared to the material view, we must reply that sensuous per- 
ception is a reaction induced by variations in the intensity and form 
of energy and nothing is gained by postulating media or bearers. 
Remember that matter is the abstract and energy is the real. The 
external reality is a reality of relation which the mind makes into 
substance, but substance is not necessarily matter. A classical Eng- 
lish passage speaks of faith as substance. 

When asked what advantages are to be expected from a resort 
to energic methods of notation in dealing with natural phenomena, 
the energist answers: "First of all, the very important one that by 
this means we have a natural science of fact and not of hypothesis. 
We no longer inquire about forces that we cannot demonstrate 
operating between atoms which we cannot observe, but, in forming 
judgment of a process, we examine the kind and amount of energy 
entering and leaving." This method is that proposed by Kirchhoff 
who wished to supplant explanation of nature by description of 

Physics shows that the ratios used in her computations are 
without exception ratios of different kinds of energy. Aside from 
the two forms or categories of perception, space and time, energy 
is the only measure. But space and time are measured by energy 
alone, for energy forms their only content. The predicate of matter 
cannot find a mathematical expression in eqations of energy. Only 
commensurables can be compared. 

When physics repudiated force (in the usual sense) and chem- 


istry reputiated matter and both cry "back to nature back to ex- 
perience," what science is to reap the benefit, or rather is to fill the 
breach? There can be but one answer. Psychological moments 
alone remain reliable and trustworthy measures of quantity. In 
last resort we discover (what has always been known but never 
realised) that the only energy we really know is that which we our- 
selves generate. The axiom at the bottom of all science is that the 
force impinging on my sensorium is commensurate, according to 
some law, known or unknown, with the reaction within my kinesodic 
system. In other words, the only real measure is mental reaction 
thereto sense of effort or strain. Everything quantitative in science 
has to be interpreted in terms of effort before it can be recognised 
in any consciousness. It is customary, e. g., to reduce all measures 
of physical quantities to scales on some dial, let it be of an electro- 
meter, ammeter, barometer, thermometer, photometer, or the like. 
The reading of such scales, is in final analysis, reducible to muscle- 
strain estimates in the eye-muscles, and the graduation of the scales 
may be reduced to a function of muscle-strain estimates in the hand, 
etc. It would seem, then, that we really estimate in homo-ergs or 
man-powers. May it not be possible to reduce all to a standard, 
say of "psychs"? The suggestion is not so far-fetched as it may 
seem, but the objection we at first meet is that there is no assurance 
that a unit of reference that would be true for me would be abso- 
lute for all men. A John Smith-erg might not equal a Joe Brown- 
erg. Expressed scientifically, the neural mechanism of man is so 
complex and the number of variables is so enormous and its pro- 
cesses so varied that it is difficult to discover a constant for a 
standard of reference. The resistance offered by the organism to ex- 
ternal influences varies. Attention is not a constant, and all mental 
phenomena are functions of attention. In this dilemma the mind 
has recourse to an indirection. Being unable to find any single 
constant, it utilises a ratio. Under the assumption that the variables 
in perception affect both terms alike, then the result will be the 
same whenever the ratio affects the mind, no matter what phase 
attention may be in. This is a process of comparison. 

To illustrate crudely, I may not be able to tell how far I travel 


by summing up the total effort expended in walking, but I am able 
to reach an estimate by comparing a constant of effort in walking 
multiplied by the time employed, with a similar effort multiplied by 
twice that time. The mind very accurately detects differences when 
it fails to measure their amount. (D :te ::D' :2te) = (D=2D'), 
where e is a constant of effort put forth at any time, i. e., the habit- 
ual gait in our illustration. Very little experience shows that both 
factors, time and effort, vary below the threshold of consciousness 
and do not vary uniformly. If they varied proportionally and the 
equation could be written D : te/x :: D' : 2te/x, it would still be 
available but it must be written D : te/x ::D' : 2te/y, and cannot 
be solved. It having proven useless to attempt to construct a con- 
stant ratio on the subjective basis only, i. e., entirely on the basis of 
internal experience, values for x and y, i. e., for the variables in 
our equation, must be derived from without. The uniformities in 
experience, such as the succession of day and night and the annual 
astronomical recurrences, are used and continually corrected, till 
they can be represented by a contrivance like a clock or metronome. 
In this way, the internal time estimate becomes definitely linked to 
external changes. In similar ways, the other term, say, the effort 
in walking, is linked to external correspondences so that x and y 
become known in terms of t and e and the ratios t/x and e/y can be 
used in our construction of the world of experience. At the same 
time, it must not be forgotten that the ultimate standard is internal 
unit or constant of effort, without which the entire external mech- 
anism would be valueless. 

We have seen that the three categories of experience are time, 
space, and mode. In these three forms all experience is cast. Time 
is a necessary form of experience because of psychical limitation; 
two events cannot co-exist in consciousness. This is a result of the 
unity or individuality of experience. The psychological equivalent 
is sequence. 

Space is likewise a result of the limitation of experience. Effort 
implies change. The external equivalent is motion. These two, 
sequence and motion, are the generators of the extended continuum 
of experience, which is filled in by the form of experience called 


mode. Two modes may be distinguished, identity and difference, 
or, rather, mode consists in the distinction of difference from 

While the mind is incompetent to make quantitative distinc- 
tions directly, it has the most remarkable clearness and certainty 
in dealing with difference. Psychologists have used all their in- 
genuity to utilise this ability to discriminate differences as a basis 
for a quantitative psychological science. It would appear that a 
series could be made after the analogy of differential calculus, in 
which the several terms should increase by a difference less than 
any assignable quantity (the discrimination quantity), and that 
such a series could be compared with a corresponding series of ex- 
ternal quantities, thus giving rise to a mathematical relation that 
should form a quantitative unit for sense perception. Almost the 
only result, so far, of this effort is expressed in the so-called Weber's 
law that while the series of excitations increases in arithmetical ratio 
the corresponding series of excitations must increase by geometrical 
ratio. And yet even this is found to express only approximately 
and within narrow and arbitrary limits a relation for which no 
adequate or constant explanation can be given. 

A fundamental criticism of attempts to use the sense of effort 
as a unit of measure is that two or more things are frequently con- 
fused under this head. In the first place, the muscle sense or sense 
of muscular effort, if we are justified in speaking of such a sense, 
is a sensation-complex . It is not analoguous with the sense of hav- 
ing originated a voluntary act. Attention, which is involved in all 
receptive mental acts, involves, among other things, accommodative 
effects in organs of sense, it may also involve accomodation phe- 
nomena in the brain itself. 

The inquiry remains : Is there such a thing as effort in conscious- 
ness apart from these accommodations? A prevailing psychological 
interpretation is to the effect that the afferent nerve current passes 
over into the efferent, according to conditions of structural organi- 
sation, and that the issuing into the efferent expression produces, 
or is accompanied by, a sense of action, or impulse, or initiative, or 
effort, out of which the sense of having-done-it arises. It is even 


customary to speak of the will as arising subsequent to the volun- 
tary act as a consequence of the act. However this may be, if 
muscular sense is really a sensation, like other sensations, and not 
a direct feeling of psychical activity or participation, then our sup- 
posed quantitative unit reduces to a series of modes. Instead of a 
simple more or less, we have different impressions which we inter- 
pret as more or less. The sensation produced by a weight of two 
pounds is a different sensation from that produced by one pound, 
not a more of an identical sensation. Evidently, we are on the 
wrong track somewhere. This raises the general question whether 
it is possible to use pure modality as a measure of quantity. A 
light twice as bright as another does not produce a sensation twice 
as intense nor one in logarithmic series as compared to the series 
of stimuli. We do recognise identity and change. 

Theoretically, it is wrong to seek quantitative measures in the 
categories of external apprehension, since we are seeking an internal 
measure. Sensations cannot give this as they are all projected out , 
ward or externalised. Succession is, strictly speaking, all that the 
internal sense or inner experience can contribute. 

Can it be, then, that the formal subjective measure is to be ex- 
pressed in most general terms by at, where a is any attribute and t 
is succession or time? Such would seem to be the necessary a 
priori assumption. A test of such an assumption may be found in 
its applications. 

Space, when filled, consists of one, and another, and another, 
etc. An absolutely uniform field of vision (or of any other expe- 
rience, if possible,) could not be made to seem extended. This 
creeping from particular to particular is essentially, on its inward 
side, temporal, as it becomes on its outward side spatial. All our 
measures are now reduced to serial terms. When we say that one 
light is twice as bright as another, or that one star differs from 
another in glory, we express the results of a complicated system 
of judgments. If it takes me twice as long to traverse the plowed 
ground as the meadow with the same constant of effort, I have a 
measure for effort. Even here the difficulty is at once perceived 


that we have no subjective time measure. We may use heart-beats, 
but even heart-beats are objective to the mind. 

Succession and change, in last analysis, must be our subjective 
contribution to quantitative science, and it is useless to seek more. 
These forms are filled by experience, and we find our periodicity 
in external experience. The curious, if not altogether unexpected, 
result is that the soul itself has neither time nor extension. 

After having appealed in vain to psychology for a complete 
quantitative unit, we are prepared to admit that quantitative esti- 
mation is but one of the ways in which we affirm attribute. Its real- 
ity is neither wholly subjective nor wholly objective, but one of the 
forms of reality resulting from the union of both. 

If we eliminate matter as irrelevant, we have left energy, which 
reveals itself to us in terms of succession and mode. It produces 
varied sensations, and these are arranged in sequence. Our ability 
to recognise identity in mode gives rise to periodicity, and this is 
the measure of time. Some particular period, say a second, is 
chosen as such unit. 

The negation of succession is co-tempo raneity which is possible 
in connection with diversity of mode, and this is only objectively 
possible in terms of space. Two identical points have no spatial 
relations. All space relations are possible only upon the assumption 
or condition of co-temporaneity. The following psychological for- 
mulae may be useful : 

1. Sequence with identity produces periodicity time. 

2. Co-temporaneity (o X sequence) with diversity produces 

3. Sequence with diversity produces change. 

4. Co-temporaneity with identity produces intensity. 
These abstractions require elaboration. 

1. (Seq. X Iden. = T.) I experience a series of sensations, 
tic, tac; tic, tac; tic, tac; etc. One follows another in temporal se- 
quence. But I detect a rhythm or identity. Where it not for the 
rhythm I should get no time measure. Thus I have succession and 
identity as necessary elements of temporal mensuration. 

2. (o X Seq. X Diver. := S). On the other hand, in space re- 


lations as such, sequence is impossible. Even when we conceive of 
a moving point generating a line, etc., it is always implied that at 
the same time the original point and all other points in the line co- 
exist in time and are considered together. The diversity of each 
point in space is represented by the locus formula, but the origin 
represents a constant point of reference, and time is excluded. It 
may be replied that time is simply ignored and diversity is all that 
is needed to produce a spatial measure. This is not true, for co- 
temporaneity is a real concept of form, though impossible in inner 
experience. Co-existence and diversity are possible only under 
space conditions. This distribution of mode and identity of time 
form the psychological data of space. 

3. (Seq. X Diver. = C.) Sequence and diversity are, in like 
manner, the psychological moments of change. If the sensation or 
sense datum be not co-temporaneous, or thought in one time with 
its predecessor, it has taken the place of that predecessor and there 
has been change. 

4. (Cotem. X Iden. = Int.) But, on the other hand, if the 
mode has not changed, but is thought into the same time, we get 
the concept of intensity or more of the same, or quantity. This 
predicate of intensity is not given in experience, but the same may 
be said of the others. Time is not a direct element in experience, 
though sequence is. Space is not a primary idea but is generated 
from co-existing diversities. Change is other than diversity. It 
is only when the temporal element is added to difference that the 
category of change is formed. 

We have given, therefore, these fundamental derived psychic 
data of the second order not as subjective predicates, but as the 
first results of reaction between subjective and objective. If our 
psychological analysis has been correct, by means of these four 
moments it should be possible to construe all phenomena possible to 
experience. It may be left to mathematical physics to make the 
applications of these principles and the necessary substitutions in 
the formulae in general use. 

In conclusion, we may refer to the metaphysical results which 
transform the physical doctrine of energism into the psycho-philo- 


sophical dogma of dynamic monism. In a little book published 
anonymously by Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., London, in 
1898, entitled The Doctrine of Energy, the author offers suggestions 
which deserve a wide reading. "The study of physics can be carried 
on practically as a study of phenomena of heat, colors, sounds, 
forces, etc., all of which are kinds of phenomena without the ex- 
pression of any formulated opinion as to their relation with reality." 
"But science has been reluctant to recognise that it is now entitled 
to dispense with the postulation of matter. The theory, as announced 
by the leading men of science, has, therefore, been to the effect that 
there exist in the physical universe two real things, matter and en- 
ergy, in place of one only, as commonly supposed for so long. We 
have elsewhere attempted to show that such a statement of scien- 
tific theory is erroneous and redundant; that science is not necessi- 
tated to postulate two such entities; but the postulation of energy 
supplies all her requirements." "Our view, therefore, is that the 
conception of materiality and of real matter can, in the way just 
indicated, be in all cases analysed into, and derived from the concep- 
tion of energy ; and that science, if consistent, cannot postulate the 
reality of matter as well. Potential energy adequately supplies the 
conception of a real substratum of which phenomena are the mani- 

To the question: "How do I get beyond my presentiment? 
How pass from ideality to existence ?" the answer is, "I never could 
have got beyond it or got any suggestion of the reality had I been 
related to my presentiment as a passive and percipient subject." 
I am in relation with the energic system not merely or primar- 
ily as an intelligent percipient of the transformations proceeding 
in it at a particular point, but also as a will initiative, to some ex- 
tent, of such transmutations and capable of influencing and direct- 
ing the physical process." "In my activity there is thus suggested 
to me a source of phenomena lying beyond the phenomena them- 
selves." "My most incessant mental act is that by which, on analogy 
of my own active experience, I refer all phenomena to the under- 
lying energic system." 

We cannot go into the author's treatment of causation as a 


derivative from the self-consciousness of initiative, which is then 
objectivised and recognised as one with the source of all action 
energy. Enough has been said to indicate a close connection with 
the position taken by Schopenhauer in the Fourfold Root. "What 
we think under the conception, matter, is the residue which remains 
over after bodies have been divested of their shape and of all their 
specific qualities; a residue which, precisely on that account, must 
be identical in all bodies. Now, these shapes and qualities, which 
have been abstracted by us, are nothing but the peculiar, specially 
defined way in which these bodies act, which constitutes precisely 
their difference. If, therefore, we leave these shapes and qualities 
out of consideration, there remains nothing but mere activity in 
general, pure action as such, causality itself. Matter is throughout 
pure causality, its essence is action in general." 

That these views will be slow in finding acceptance among the 
rank and file of chemists may be gathered from remarks in F. W. 
Clarke's "Wilde Lecture" before the Manchester Philosophical So- 
ciety, May, 1903. 

"When we say that matter, as we know it? behaves as if made 
up of very small discrete particles, we do not lose ourselves in meta- 
physics, and we have a definite conception which can be applied to 
the correlation of evidence and the solution of problems. Objec- 
tions count for nothing against it until something better is offered in 
its stead, a condition which the critics of the atomic theory have so 
far failed to fulfil." 

This illustrates how, for each of us, his own particular brand 
of metaphysics seems harmless or not to be metaphysics at all, for 
this is exactly the contention, that the material hypothesis is meta- 
physical and has added nothing to the definiteness of our concep- 
tions of physical phenomena, neither can it legitimately be utilised 
for the solution of problems. The abacus has long since been abol- 
ished from our schools, is it still necessary to our physicists, must 
our chemists still continue to count on their fingers? 6 


5 Italics mine. 

8 The question might be asked, (in fact, it has been asked) : "How is it 


possible to get the resistance or limitation necessary for the objects of our 
experience out of pure energy?" "Is the element of tension and opposition in 
your very conception of energy?" 

The reply to this should be based upon an examination of the nature of 
the energy concept more detailed than is germain to our present purpose. 
The difficulty is, probably, like nearly all philosophical perplexities, a result 
of our unhappy logical faculty for splitting things that ought not to be di- 
vided. We may undoubtedly think of the word, "doing," apart from the ex- 
pression, "doing of something," but it is to be doubted whether we can think 
of pure energy at all. We think by "affirming attribute." It is still more 
energetically to be insisted that no real severance of the doing from the thing 
done is permissible. It is the old matter fallacy or the cause-effect fallacy 
in a new guise. If energy is to be set up in the place of matter as a power 
behind the throne, let us alone and we will return to our idols. 

Viewed from a physical point of view, given no resistance to action, 
there is no energy. If we mean anything by energy, it must be valid in that 
it is acting. If the sum-total of universal energy were in like phase, it would 
be the same as if there were no energy so far as making a universe is con- 
ecrned. Herbert Spencer has not lived in vain. Pure being is the same as 
non-being. We have had our Hegel. A non-acting deity would not even 
potentially be a God. 

Practically, energy is called into and remains in existence only under 
condition of resistance. Resistance is varied and gives rise to mode in en- 
ergy. In an earlier paper the writer defined creation as the self-limitation 
of creative power. This is not subject to further analysis. Having no ex- 
perience with universal or infinite modes of being, we do not expect to under- 
stand what we must nevertheless postulate. If this view is open to the taunt 
that we take out no more than we put in and so are no better than prestidigi- 
tators, our reply is ready. If other people take out of their logic more than 
they put in, they lay themselves open to the charge of dishonesty. The tak- 
ing out of more than is put in is called in logic "fallacy." 


SINCE the civilized world has held the classics in honor, the 
admirers of the cell and cloister have claimed that, through- 
out the Dark Ages, the monks loved and studied the classics, and, 
by copying, preserved them for posterity. 

This claim has been pertinaciously urged; and as it has been 
admitted by certain writers of good repute and great complaisance, 
there is danger that it will become one of the conventional state- 
ments in history. 

Believing as I do, that the admission has been made without 
due examination and in gross misconception of the spirit and his- 
tory of Mediaeval times, and particularly of the monastic system 
prior to the year 1200, I ask your attention to the opposite view of 
this subject. I shall treat it as one purely historical, keeping in 
view nothing but the Latin classics, and how they were treated by 
the monks of Western Europe up to the end of the twelfth cen- 


While the modern public is familiar with the multiplication 
of books by the printing press, it knows little or nothing of the 
ease and rapidity with which the "tachygraphs," the swift penmen 
of Rome, threw off their manuscripts. It is difficult for us to con- 
ceive that there were in Rome large numbers of professional liter- 
ary men, great libraries, public and private, numerous persons 
engaged in book-selling as a regular business and having a trade 
with all the provinces of the Roman Empire and with booksellers 


in all their cities and towns ; that there were in the Roman Empire 
more copyists probably than there are printers in the United 
States; that the ancients made better ink than we do; and that 
their parchment volumes were more durable than our paper books. 
And we, it may be, admit nothing in favor of the Romans, quite 
so reluctantly as that, in the matter of books and literature, they 
were in some respects, barring the difference between types and 
penmanship, quite equal to the Americans of the twentieth cen- 

The Public Libraries of Rome, about the year 100, were mag- 
nificent. The Octavian was built of marble; its floors were laid 
in mosaic work; its ceilings were frescoed in gold; and the walls 
were decorated with glass and ivory. A hundred statues stood 
there upon pedestals. In it there were more than one hundred 
thousand volumes neatly stored in cases of cedar and ebony. Cata- 
logues, with references to each volume, by case and number, hung 
upon the walls and pillars. There were tables and seats for the 
students ; and assistant librarians were there to find any volume re- 

The Palatine Library rivalled the Octavian ; and the Ulpian, 
newly erected by the Emperor, was the most magnificent of the 
three. In these libraries were collected the literary treasures of the 
Roman Empire, and in them were daily gathered readers, students, 
writers and authors. 

There were also many private libraries: Every lawyer, author, 
rich man and patrician had one. Among the best known collections 
in the literature of the age were those which had been begun by 
Paulus ^milius, Sulla, Lucullus, Varro, and Cicero. Some of 
these were large and were kept in buildings which had been erected 
especially for them. There were many others. This we know from 
numerous indications in the manners and customs of the times, and 
from hints in the books which are still extant. These private 
libraries existed not only in Rome, but in the towns and cities of 
the provinces, and, doubtless, in the villas of rich men. In the 
ruins of Herculaneum one was found. It contained eighteen hun- 
dred volumes, sadly charred by the molten lava of many volcanic 


eruptions ; but the art of the chemist restored them enough to show 
that they were all on the same subject, the Epicurean philosophy. 
If the Roman literature contained eighteen hundred books on that 
one subject, how many must it have contained in all? 

There were schools in all parts of the provinces ; and these 
must have created a demand for books. Some of these were 
famous, we would call them colleges, e. g., those at Carthage, 
Marseilles, Lyons and Narbonne. There were schools of rhetoric 
at Rhodes and Miletus; of philosophy, at Athens; and of law, at 
Beyroot, on the coast of Syria; and there was a renowned Uni- 
versity, at Alexandria, in Egypt. Each of these schools gave em- 
ployment to copyists. 

Some of the swift writers worked alone ; others were employed, 
in large numbers, by capitalists. Atticus, the friend of Cicero, is 
said to have employed two hundred, most of them slaves. A de- 
scription of the Scriptorium or writing room has been handed 
down to us. The room was large and furnished with desks for the 
copyists. The reader sat on a raised platform in the front and 
center; he read slowly, and the copyists wrote. Their work was 
carefully revised. When approved, the long strip, on which the 
writing was done, was rolled upon a stick, tied up with ribbon or 
string, and labeled. It was then ready for sale. 

The Roman booksellers often published what is now called 
an edition de luxe. The finest of these were written in golden let- 
ters on purple vellum and embellished with portraits of emperors, 
authors and other celebrities. The elaborate initial letters of books 
and chapters were the models of the wonderful decorative illumi- 
nation of missals and other precious books of the Middle Ages. 

The Romans knew nothing of movable types and printing 
presses. Their method of producing by single copies was not so 
favorable as ours to the publication of daily newspapers. They 
managed, however, to get out two, at Rome. They were called 
the Ada D'mrna, a name from which our word "Journal" is derived. 
One of them was the official organ of the government; and the 
other was devoted to social, political and military news. The 
number of copies issued is unknown. 


The Roman authors had a custom similar to our reunions to 
hear an essay followed by a discussion of it. When an author fin- 
ished a work, he invited other authors and the booksellers to hear 
and criticize it. 

It is a great pity that there is not extant a contemporary bib- 
liography of Latin literature. The best help in that regard are the 
frequent allusions to books in the works preserved to us. The 
elder Pliny, in his thirty-seven books on Natural History, is said 
to have quoted by name from several hundred authors. The 
younger Pliny claims that, in preparing his history, he consulted 
at least a thousand writers of chronicles, annals, history and biog- 
raphy. The elder Pliny and Cato each published a Cyclopaedia. 
Some authors were prolific; Varro is said to have published more 
books than Alexander Dumas. 

To the student of history, the above facts will suffice to freshen 
his conceptions of the complexity, variety, universality and wealth 
of the expression in literature of the mind of ancient Rome. 


Of the innumerable Latin works of the classic period of Rome, 
there remain, in round numbers, a hundred: I count the survivors, 
mutilated and whole; and of the immense army of more ancient 
times, only a company answers to roll-call 

About the year 740, Pepin the Short, of France, wrote to 
Pope Paul I., asking him as a favor to send to Paris all the books 
he could find at Rome. Paul caused diligent search to be made in 
the papal palace and the city. The result was, he sent to Pepin 
five books: an antiphonal, or elementary book of church music; 
a responsal; and three short treatises: one on grammar, one on 
orthography and one on geometry. 

Between the years 340 and 740, the classics had almost dis- 


In those four centuries, the monks were the most striking 
feature in the Church of Egypt and of Europe. Who were they? 


The answer to this is best gleaned from the lives of the hermit 
fathers and the histories of the monasteries. Rev. Charles Kings- 
ley, in his book on this subject, gives many of the facts. He says : 

"Eight hundred years before St. Anthony fled into the desert, that young 
Hindoo rajah, whom men call Buddha now, had fled into the forest, leav- 
ing wives and kingdom, to find rest for his soul. He denounced caste; he 
preached poverty, asceticism, self-annihilation. He founded a religion * * * 
democratic and ascetic, with its convents, saint-worship, pilgrimages, mirac- 
ulous relics, rosaries and much more which strangely anticipates the monastic 

This asceticism of the Orient began to infect Egyptian Chris- 
tianity, in the second century; and in a few generations the moun- 
tains and deserts of Egypt were full of Christian men who had 
fled out of the sinful, dying world, to attain everlasting life. Celi- 
bacy, poverty, unconditional obedience to superiors, continued medi- 
tation upon the vanity of the world, the sinfulness of the flesh, the 
glories of heaven and the horrors of hell, were their vows. 

Athanasius wrote the life of St. Anthony, the model of the 
hermits. That saint ate nothing but bread and salt and drank 
nothing but water. He lived in the desert and in a tomb, drove 
devils from him in the shape of a black child, was beaten once and 
again by demons, wore a garment of the skin of a wild beast, 
which he never changed, and never used water except for drinking. 
He had been well brought up and educated; but his biographer 
notes that, "for the future, his memory served him instead of 

St. Jerome wrote the life of the hermit saint, Paul, who lived 
in a cavern where "he spent his life in prayer and solitude while 
the palm trees gave him food and clothes." St. Jerome adds: "I 
call Jesus and his holy angels to witness that I have seen monks, 
one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and 
muddy water ; another in an old cistern * * * was kept alive on five 
figs each day." 

A philosopher asked Anthony, "How art thou content, father, 
since thou hast not the comfort of books?" Quoth Anthony, "My 


book is the nature of created things; in it, when I choose, I can 
read the words of God." 

St. Hilarion was the father of monachism in Palestine. His 
life was written by St. Jerome, who died a monk in Bethlehem. 
From his sixteenth to his twentieth year, he lived in a tiny cabin 
woven of rush and sedge; after that in a cell, four feet wide and 
too low for him to stand up straight in. He lay "on the bare ground 
and a layer of rushes, never washing the sack in which he was 
clothed, and saying that it was superfluous to seek for cleanliness 
in hair cloth. Nor did he change his tunic until the first was utterly 
in rags. He knew the scriptures by heart and recited them after 
his prayers and psalms." His only book when eighty years old, 
seems to have been a copy of the gospels, which he had made for 
his own use when young. 

"Serapion, the Sindonite, was so called, because he wore 
nothing but a sindon or linen shirt. Though he could not read, 
he could say all the scriptures by heart." 

Arsenius died, a monk, at ninety-five years of age, having wept 
in his cell for forty-five years. By the standard of his times, he 
had been learned in his youth, but gave up books for the monastery 
and desert. 

Marana and Cyra were two women saints who spent forty-two 
years in a roofless cottage, "shrouded from head to foot in long 
veils," * * * "and underneath their veils, burdened on every limb, 
poor wretches, with such a load of iron chains and rings that a 
strong man," Bishop Theodoret says, "could not have stood under 
the weight." They had fasted at times for many days together. 
The Bishop comments upon their holiness with rapturous admi- 

St. Simeon used to fast for forty days together. He lived 
for many years on the top of a high peak. The account of the 
visit of his mother to him is instructive. She begged and implored 
him to come out of the tower in which he was walled up, or to 
admit her, but he would do neither. He heard her voice and spoke 
to her, refusing to see her. The biographer says: "But she began 
to say: 


"By Christ who formed thee, if there is a probability of seeing thee 
who hast been so long a stranger to me, let me see thee; or if not, let me 
only hear thy voice and die at once, for thy father is dead in sorrow be- 
cause of thee. And now, do not destroy me for very bitterness, my son." 

Saying this, for sorrow and weeping, she fell asleep; for 
during three days and three nights, she had not ceased entreating 
him. Then the blessed Simeon prayed the Lord for her, and she 
forthwith gave up the ghost." 

Of St. Godric we are told, he was no scholar, but had gradually 
learned by heart the Psalter. He was an Englishman, but as 
great an ascetic as his continental brethren. 

It is evident that the monks and hermits were not literary or 
scientific men. They placed the narrowest interpretation on those 
New Testament texts which speak of the "wisdom of this world" 
as "foolishness with God," and which caution believers to "avoid 
profane and vain babblings and oppositions of science falsely so 

When Constantine, about 325, made Christianity the State 
religion, asceticism was the highest ideal of the instituted church. 
Eusebius, one of his bishops, ascribed the neglect of learning among 
Christians "to contempt of such useless labor," saying they pre- 
ferred "turning their souls to the exercise of better things." It 
was held that the Bible contained all it is necessary for man to 
know, and that science is sufficiently revealed therein. 

"Is it possible," says Lactantius, another father of the Church 
of the same period, "that man can be so absurd as to believe that 
the crops and the trees on the other side of the earth hang down- 
wards and that men have their feet higher than their heads?" 

The ink was hardly dry on Constantine's proclamation of 
Christianity as the religion of the Empire, when a bareheaded and 
black gowned priest started on foot from Constantinople for 
Athens, bearing an edict which closed up at once all the government 
schools of science and philosophy and abolished the salaries there- 
tofore paid the professors by the Emperor. 

To be a graduate of one of these schools was enough to ex- 
clude a man from all employment under the Christian government. 


Libanius, a celebrated professor of that day, complains that the 
Imperial Court looked with an evil eye on the schools. "Men of 
education," he said, "were driven away and ignorant upstarts pro- 
moted to places of honor. Graduates in philosophy and rhetoric 
found all the avenues to wealth and honor closed to them and were 
glad to get a place as Emperor's messenger or to wear the livery 
of household servants." 

Under other edicts, the pagan temples in many parts of the 
Empire were seized and turned into churches or levelled with the 
ground. The fine libraries attached to them were destroyed; their 
beautiful statues were overthrown, mutilated and, oftentimes, 
burned for lime. 

About 390, Euriapus, a learned pagan of Lydia, wrote: "Thus, 
these warlike and courageous champions, after causing general ruin, 
and stretching forth their hands, not stained with blood indeed, but 
befouled with avarice, boasted that they had overcome the gods, 
and, taking credit for their impiety and sacrilege, let loose against 
the holy places the so-called monks, who were men indeed in out- 
ward shape, but of swinish life and manners, who openly committed 
abominations without number. * * * For any one who liked to 
put a black coat upon his back, and a sour look upon his face, 
could lord it like a tyrant." 

Libantius, a learned professor of the same century, who had 
retired from Constantinople to Antioch, thus vented his indig- 
nation : 

"This black -coated gentry who are more ravenous than elephants 
* * * in defiance of existing laws, hurry to attack the temples, some with 
staves and stones and steel, others even with fisticuffs and kicks. The 
temples fall an easy prey; the roofs are stripped, the walls hurled down, 
the statues dragged away, the altars overthrown. The priests must hold 
their peace or die. When one is ruined they hurry to a second or a third 
and pile fresh trophies in defiance of the law. Such acts of violence occur 
in the cities, but far more in the country." 

For more than sixty years, after the decree of Constantine, 
the Serapion of Alexandria, in Egypt, had escaped destruction at 
the hands of the monks. This was due to several causes. It was 


an old institution and the pride of the city on account of its mag- 
nificent architecture. It was visible over the Mediterranean as far 
as the eye could reach, being placed on an eminence and towering 
high in the air. Its rows of gigantic columns were of the finest 
marble in the world. Long and broad marble steps led up to its 
front and the equipages of rich citizens could be driven up a beau- 
tiful inclined plane in the rear to the level of the temple. It was 
not only a temple but a university and library. The splendors of the 
religious ceremonies of the Greeks could be seen here. The uni- 
versity, with its numerous professors and students, was the same 
in which Euclid had produced his geometry, and the Egyptians had 
perfected the astronomy of the Ptolemaic system. It was not so 
prosperous as it had been, but young men still came to it from all 
parts of the civilized world. 

The library, too, was one of the finest. Not so large as the 
one collected by the Ptolemies before the Christian era and de- 
stroyed in the Bruchium, by fire, at the time of Caesar's siege ; but 
it contained the collection of the King of Pergamos, which had 
been presented to Cleopatra by Mark Antony, and the additions of 
three centuries. 

It offended the pious Theophilus, the Christian Bishop of Al- 
exandria, that the Serapion, with its philosophy of Aristotle and 
Plato, and its Greek ceremonial of worship should divert the at- 
tention of Alexandria from Christianity. He petitioned the Em- 
peror at Constantinople for leave to destroy it, and his petition was 

On a spring morning in the year 389, of the Christian era, 
the military formed a grand cordon around the Serapion. Then, 
the Bishop and his train in the background, bareheaded and bare- 
footed monks filed slowly within the Military. The population of 
the city, the professors and students looked on ; the edict was read ; 
the Bishop applied the torch; the building was fired in a hundred 
places by the monks; and the black smoke carried to the sky the 
best product of the Greek civilisation of nine centuries. When 
night came, all that remained of the famous libray of Alexandria 


was a mass of cinders; and a band of hooded monks praised God 
over the ruins! 

This signal triumph over paganism greatly strengthened the 
power and increased the number of ascetics. Many persons aban- 
doned the ordinary pursuits of life and fled to the desert monas- 
teries. On those interminable expanses of white sand, where there 
were no trees with waving foliage, no rivulets with crystal waters, 
no birds, no flowers, nothing but sky and desolate wastes, it was 
easier to think of, and hope for, the future life. On the sands of 
Nitria, there arose twenty monasteries ; on their stone floors bare- 
footed monks chanted prayers every hour in the day; in their 
cheerless cells ascetics fasted, watched and scourged themselves 
with bloody thongs. 

In the twenty-six years that followed the burning of the Se- 
rapion, the University of Alexandria began to re-establish itself. 
Some of the professors reopened their courses; students, who had 
been scattered among the schools of Asia Minor and Greece, came 
again in small numbers to Alexandria. The Bruchium and Sera- 
pion had been destroyed ; the Museum was now the nucleus of the 
University. How many books there were, what apparatus there 
was, is not known. Everything that was done for Greek philosophy, 
was done in the presence of a jealous Christian patriarch whose 
authority rivalled that of the Roman Governor. 

In the year 415, of the Christian era, the most distinguished 
professor in Alexandria was a woman. Hypatia was the daughter 
of a learned mathematician and professor. In her youth she had 
been sent away to school at Athens, because of the destruction of 
the University at Alexandria. Her life had been spent in study, in 
the best schools and among learned men. She was a mathematician 
and philosopher. Heaven had endowed her with the gift of touch- 
ing the human soul. Her presence was magnetic and her voice un- 
sealed the founts of human feeling. She had the power which in 
modern times has been wielded by Mrs. Siddons, Rachel, Angelina 
Grimke, and other women. Her renown was coextensive with the 
Roman empire. Her lectures on Neo-Platonism attracted the best 
intellects not only of Egypt but of other countries. 


At the time Cyril, a monk, was Bishop of Alexandria. Full 
of the intolerant bigotry of his order, he determined that Hypatia 
should be silenced and the Museum destroyed. 

At his summons the Nitrian monasteries poured forth their 
hordes. Across the sandy plains of north Egypt, thousands of 
black-gowned and barefooted men with shaved heads, men gaunt 
and pale with fastings, made their way, chanting hymns, to 

On their arrival they were duly organized and instructed by 
the Bishop's agents. Next morning they waylaid Hypatia on the 
street by which she was wont to drive to her lecture room. They 
dragged her from her carriage, smote her to the earth with fists 
and clubs, tore off her garments and hurried her, bleeding and 
naked, through the streets to the cathedral, then up its marble steps 
and through its lofty nave to the altar. 

There she turned and stretched out her hands as if she would 
speak; but in all that monkish crowd she met no glance of human 
pity. Her voice was lost in the cries and shouts of that murderous 
mob. Then her heart failed her, and sinking on her knees before 
the crucifix, she prayed Christ to touch with pity the hearts of 
those fanatics. But, as she prayed, the monk Peter dashed out her 
brains with a club. In a moment she was hacked and torn to 
pieces, and the frenzied monks went in procession through the 
streets, bearing upon a spear a woman's head, whose long, fair 
tresses were flecked with blood! Her death has been dramatically 
described by Charles Kingsley. 

After the murder the Museum was sacked and pillaged, its 
pagan works destroyed and its professors silenced. 

Whether the University of Alexandria recovered from this 
blow, history does not tell. Nor, whether a library was again col- 
lected there. This is not probable, for the patriarch was adverse 
and had great power; the Roman governors took little interest in 
literature or learning; and the public revenues were needed by the 
Emperor. A few books probably were gathered by professors and 
teachers; but when the Persians conquered Egypt in 616, there is 
no sufficient evidence that there was a library at Alexandria ; and it 


is improbable that there was one there in 630, when the Moslems 
became the conquerors of the city. 

What was done in Egypt was done elsewhere in the Eastern 
Empire. Justinian, a Christian Emperor, gave the finishing blow 
to the schools of philosophy and science, at Athens, by confiscating 
their private endowments and private property and abolishing the 
salaries of the teachers. Every school not under influence distinc- 
tively ecclesiastical was ostracised as pagan. 

One of the early popes, Gregory I., is said to have col- 
lected all the ancient classics he could find at Rome and to have 
made a bonfire of them ! This, in the Dark Ages was greatly to his 
credit. In these latter days, however, it has been denied by some 
papistical writers. ?,jir 

It was not long after Gregory, that the fury of the Iconoclasts 
broke out afresh. About the year 726, under the Emperor Leo, the 
Isaurian, it howled like a tempest over the Christian world. The 
pictures of Christ and the saints which had been placed in some of 
the churches were torn down and trampled under foot; the statues 
of Isis and Osiris which had been adopted as those of the Virgin 
Mary and child and left in the churches, and the rude statues of the 
saints, which were found here and there, were thrown from their 
pedestals. A savage war of extermination was waged against the 
statues of pagan gods which had survived the bigotry of several 
centuries. It was "impious" to carve in stone such gods as Apollo, 
Hercules, Mars and Jupiter, and such goddesses as Diana, Minerva 
and Venus. Most of these statues were wholly destroyed; many 
of them burned into lime. The marble statue of Jesus, erected by 
Alexander Severus, in the third century, was demolished. Some 
statues escaped with mutilation. The frightened owners of others, 
wishing to save them for times more appreciative of art, buried them 
deep under the earth or sunk them in streams. It is only a few 
years since a statue of a pagan god was fished up from the bottom 
of the Tiber, where it had probably lain for 1200 years. When the 
mud and shells were scraped off, it was found to be not much the 
worse for its long concealment. 

When the tempest of iconoclasm burst forth, it is probable that 


but few of the classics were in private hands; for, during several 
centuries, it had been a dangerous thing for any one to possess them. 
The Inquisition in matters of faith had a short way with men 
suspected of worshipping Jupiter ; but a number of public libraries 
were destroyed and among them, one at Constantinople, containing 
120,000 volumes. This was the Imperial library, and its destruc- 
tion was, doubtless, owing to the hatred for all learning not purely 
religious. It was a sacrifice made by the Emperor to the bigotry 
of the monks. 

This same spirit of hostility to human learning is shown in 
the acts of the Crusaders. They destroyed the libraries which had 
been again collected at Constantinople; and, in 1109, made a cam- 
paign against Tripoli, chiefly for the purpose of destroying the mag- 
nificent Saracen library at that place. It is said to have been larger 
and finer than the one at Alexandria ever was. 

It is a matter of history that the Saracens had seventy large 
public libraries in Spain, containing altogether more than 400,000 
volumes. Two of them, those at Cordova and Granada, were at- 
tached to the Moorish universities at those places. The catalogue 
of one of them is said to have filled forty volumes. All these libra- 
ries were nevertheless destroyed by the Roman Catholic Spaniards, 
who regarded them as the literature of Satan. 

But why multiply historical instances? It would require a 
volume to mention them all. The "healthy literature" of the monks 
consisted of homilies, lessons, missals, prayers, response books, the 
writings of the fathers and a little grammar, rhetoric and history, 
chiefly ecclesiastical. It was not thought consistent with a pious 
life to study the classics. 

Alcuin, a learned man, became a monk in the middle of the 
eighth century. His monkish biographer says of him: 

"This man of God had, when he was young, read the books of the ancient 
philosophers and the lies of Virgil, which he did not wish now to hear or 
desire that his disciples should read." 

Alcuin rebuked one of his monks for reading Virgil and spoke 
of the danger of being "polluted with Virgil's language." 


Odo, Bishop of Clugni, read one day in Virgil, but dreaming 
of snakes the same night, he accepted the divine warning, renounced 
Virgil and his pomps and ever afterwards sought his spiritual and 
mental nourishment in the Bible. 

Peter Damian (988-1072) speaks of the "vanities of earthly 

Honorius (1120) says: 

"It grieves me when I consider the number of persons who, having lost 
their senses, are not ashamed to give their utmost labor to the investigation 
of the abominable figments of poets," 

He speaks of Hector, Plato, Virgil and Ovid who "are gnash- 
ing their teeth in the prison of the infernal Babylon under the cruel 
tyranny of Pluto." 

Abelard (1142) asks: 

"Why, then, do not the bishops and doctors of the Christian religion 
expel from the City of God those poets whom Plato forbade to enter into 
his kingdom of the world?" 

Peter of Blois, Archbishop of London (1130 1200) up- 
braided a monk for studying "the foolish old fables of Hercules 
and Jove" and the lies and philosophy of the pagan authors. 

In the opinion of Pope Gregory the Great it was "shameful" 
that a priest should study the classics. 

From the year 325 to the year 1000 of our era all aesthetic sense 
seems to have fled from Western Europe. During that long period, 
with the exception of a moderately good book by Boethius, a states- 
man, there was not a single book produced whose literary form 
makes it valuable; not a single painting which any one cared to 
preserve ; not a single statue which the world has not gladly allowed 
to perish. The best books were "The Fathers," those wonders of 
prolixity, the best paintings resembled the figures upon cheap China 
ware; and the best statues caricatured the anatomical proportions 
of the human form. The books prove that their authors had never 
studied the classics; the statues, that the artists had never studied 
ancient sculpture. 

I will now briefly notice a few of the objections to the theory 
of this essay. 


First: That the monks were good classical scholars; hence, they 
were inclined to preserve the classics. 

This is not true of the monks of any age ; it is deplorably false 
of those who lived in mediaeval times. It is believed that between 
the beginning of Christian monasticism and the year 1 100 there was 
not a single scholar of fame who had been a monk from his youth. 
All of the famous writers who were monks were men who had been 
in civil office ; or had been educated in the secular schools ; or had 
practiced law or medicine; or taught rhetoric or oratory. To this 
class belong Augustine, Jerome, Tertullian, Prudentius and Cyp- 
rian. This was the case, too, in later times ; Gilbert A. Becket and 
Richard de Bury had been Chancellors of England ; Peter of Blois 
had studied law at Paris and Bologna ; Thomas, Abbot of Evesham, 
had been a lawyer, then Professor at Oxford and Exeter ; all these 
men were of middle or old age when they went into the church and 
at once took high honors. An abbacy or priory was then the step- 
ping stone to a bishopric. After they became churchmen most of 
them denounced the classics as pagan. Such men as Wycliffe and 
Roger Bacon owed no part of their education to the monasteries. 

Though the churchmen generally knew a little Latin, chiefly 
that of the ceremonial, they certainly knew no Greek before Boc- 
caccio's time. About 1350 that poet could not find a copy of the 
Iliad and Odyssey in Italy and was obliged to send to Athens for it. 
It was in 1453, a little more than a hundred years after that, when 
the capture of Constantinople by the Saracens sent hundreds of 
educated Greeks through western Europe and made the study of 
Greek more common among the learned. But this was after the in- 
vention of printing. 

It is doing no injustice to the monks brought up in the monas- 
teries, to say that of the hundreds of thousands in their orders 
during the Middle Ages there were scarcely half a dozen who 
are reputed now to have been scholars. King Alfred said that, 
during his reign, there was hardly a monk from the Thames to 
the Channel who could go through the church service correctly. 
Robertson, the Scotch historian, gives many illustrations of their 
dense ignorance; and so does Hallam. The few exceptions were 


such men as Theodore of Tarsus and the venerable Bede. Theodore 
had been educated in the schools of Asia Minor and brought with 
him to England a good library of Latin and Greek books, which he 
presented to his monastery. Bede was Theodore's pupil and had 
the advantage of his library. His learning would not pass muster 

We need no clearer proof of the character of the literature 
cultivated by the mediaeval monks than the list of books which each 
priest was then expected to own. These were a psalter, a book of 
epistles, gospels, and hymns, a missal, a manual, a Gerim, a pas- 
sional, a penitential and a lectionary. With these his library was 
complete ; and he was a fortunate man who had them all. 

His light reading consisted of homilies, prayers, the works of 
the fathers and the legends of the saints, many of which, it must 
be admitted, will compare for imagination with the Arabian Nights 

Second: But it is objected that there were schools attached to the 
monasteries, and that the monks must have taught the 

It is true that to many of the monasteries schools were at- 
tached; but these were of the kind now called parochial and were 
used chiefly to train the children in the church creed and services. 
They were far inferior to the secular schools, of which there were 
many. From the biographies of illustrious men we learn that they 
were rarely educated at monasteries. For instance Lanfranc was 
taught at Pavia, Bologna and Avranche and established a famous 
school at Bee. He became a monk late in life and Archbishop, but 
his learning was not due to monkish teachers. 

Third: A third objection is, that, in each monastery, there was a 
scriptorium, or copying room, in which the monks regularly 
copied the classics. 

Neither of these assertions is accurate; and the second is un- 
true in regard to the centuries preceding the twelfth. 

In the last edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, there are 
given, under the title "Abbey," thirteen ground plans of representa- 


live monasteries. These show every part of the building down to 
the smallest offices and out-houses; these are as follows: 

1. Santa Laura, Mount Athos. 

2. Coptic Monastery 

3. St. Mary's Abbey, at York. ) 

(. Benedictine. 

4. Clugny. { 

5. Clairvaux, No. I. 

6. Clairvaux, No. 2. 

7. Citeaux. 


8. Kirkstall Abbey, Yorkshire. 

9. Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire. 

10. St. Augustine's Abbey, Bristol, Benedictine. 

11. Carthusian Monastery, at Clermont. 

12. Carthusian Cell, at Clermont. 

The only one which shows a scriptorium is St. Gall, a Benedic- 
tine monastery, erected about 820. The room devoted to the pur- 
pose of copying adjoins the transept and is no longer than the sac- 
risty and vestry. The St. Gall monks had more than they could do 
to copy the books used by the priests in church service. 

The clear inference from these facts is that, while in one out 
of many monasteries, copying of some kind was systematically 
done, it was not done in most of them, unless by individual monks 
in their private cells. At St. Gall it was probably done under the 
supervision of the Abbot and confined to religious books; in the 
others copying of the same kind was done occasionally, and no 
doubt, by monks, who excelled in penmanship. 

Of the thirteen monasteries named only three are marked as 
having "libraries," a fact extremely significant as to the want of 
appreciation of literature at the time the monasteries were built. 

If the monks had copied the classics, their ardent advocate, 
Mr. Merryweather, would have found the proofs of it and printed 
them in his curious book, Bibliomania, which is devoted chiefly to 
a vindication of their literaiy character. He mentions all the monkish 
copyists known and, whenever he can, every classic copied by any 
of them; but he fails to produce a single instance of such copying 
between the foundation of the first monastery and the year 1178. We 
have to thank him for mentioning numerous donations to monas- 


teries of private libraries containing classics. There is no proof, 
however, that the classics so presented had been copied by monks ; 
and the donations are subsequent to the tenth century. 

The Benedictine order was established about the year 529 ; and 
it is to its practised penmen that the Church of the Middle Ages 
looked for copies of the Latin Fathers, homilies, prayers, missals, 
offices, responsals, antephonals, saints' lives, legends and other 
religious books. But it is not proved that those pious men copied 
the classical works to any great extent, at any time, or at all prior 
to the twelfth century. About the year 1178, one of their monks, 
a famous penman and illuminator, copied the works of Terence, 
Suetonius, Claudian and Bcethius. This is the earliest case I have 
been able to find, and it stands alone in the twelfth century. 

The reputation for learning enjoyed by the Benedictine order 
is due to its early cultivation of religious literature, and to its 
publication, since the year 1600, of histories and works of general 
and scientific information. Their earliest historical work, a chron- 
icle of their own order, was not published until 1609. But this 
was 800 years after the dawn of Latin classical learning, 600 years 
after such learning was common among literary men; and 156 years 
after the capture of Constantinople and the exodus of learned 
Greeks from Eastern to Western Europe. Their earliest work of 
a purely literary character was not published until the eighteenth 

Fourth: A fourth objection is that most of the extant manuscripts 

of Latin classics were found in monasteries. 
Some of them were ; it is not proved that most of them were ; 
and surely the manuscripts of the Greek classics were not. The 
fact that the manuscripts of the Latin classics which were found in 
monasteries were not found in the libraries of those institutions 
shows that they were not held in honor by the monks. They were 
found in cellar pits, vaults, dark holes, dirty passages, dry wells, 
old towers, in many a den and dungeon. All the manuscript hunters, 
from Petrarch and Boccaccio in the fourteenth century to Braccio- 
lini in the fifteenth, give the same account of the places where these 


valuable relics were found. They had been acquired probably for 
the parchment they were written on, not for the works themselves. 
In our century similar facts are reported: 

Lord Prudhoe who visited a Nitrian monastery in 1828 says 
that he found a pile of manuscripts in a vault into which they had 
been tumbled through a trap-door. They were covered deep with 
dust and had been lying there apparently for centuries. 

Robert Curzon, a member of Parliament, visited one of the 
Egyptian monasteries in 1833. Going into the chapel at time of 
service, he saw that each barefooted monk stood upon a folio manu- 
script which kept him from the cold stone floor. On further search 
he found a vault full of old manuscripts in all stages of decay. 

Tischendorff, the German manuscript hunter, gives a still more 
graphic account of the neglect of manuscripts by the monks. 

The question naturally occurs: 

If the monks did not copy the classics, how are we to 
account for the copies found in the libraries of the 
monasteries ? 

In the monastery chronicles we find frequent mention of gifts 
and bequests to them of libraries by civilians. A large number of 
these donations are mentioned by Merryweather in his curious book 
on the subject. He tells also what they were, gives some of the 
catalogues. Generally thc % re were "none but religious books; some- 
times a few classics, especially after the year iioo, when liberal 
studies were in fashion among the rich and great. 

In 1305 there were iioo volumes in the library of the Abbey 
of Ramsey. Of these there were: 
70 Breviaries, 
32 Grails, 
29 Processionals, 
i oo Psalters. 

There were five Greek books and seventeen Latin. But among 
the latter there was no Cicero, or Caesar, or Tacitus, or Quintilian, 
or Pliny. It was clearly a miscellaneous collection, the volumes hav- 
ing been donated by diffeient civilians. 


In 1073 the Lord Chancellor of England presented to the 
Cathedral of Exeter, of which place he was bishop, seventy vol- 
umes, probably all on religious subjects. After uoo the larger gifts 
of books contained one or more of the classics. 

It is by these gifts, made by learned civilians and semi-secular 
dignitaries of the Church, and the fact that, as a general thing, the 
monasteries were respected in time of war, that in my opinion, the 
finding of classics in the monasteries can be accounted for. To in- 
fer that the monks copied them because they had them would be 
as loose as to infer that the Venetian Senate had copied the many 
valuable manuscripts found in their library, all which were either 
presented or bought. 


During the darkest of the Dark Ages, though there were no 
schools for the poor, there were some in many cities and towns for 
the children of the rich. The law school established at Beyroot in 
the fourth century, flourished until the conquest of the place by the 
Saracens. The school established at Bologna in the fifth century 
gradually developed into a university, at which about 1220 there 
were ten thousand students; and in 1300, fourteen thousand. The 
schools at Oxford and Cambridge grew into universities before 
900 ; and in 1320 there were at Oxford 30,000 students. The school 
at Paris became a university soon after the first Crusade and had 
quite as many students as Oxford. Between the years 850 and 
looo there were many learned men and good academies in Germany. 
Before the year 1200 there were twenty-three universities in Europe, 
besides the Moorish universities in Spain, which were reputed the 
best of all. At all these institutions, grammar and rhetoric were 
taught ; and these included a training in the Latin and more or less 
instruction in the Latin classics. Greek was not taught perhaps 
at any of them until after the invention of printing. 

Schools of a lower order existed in all the cities and principal 
towns. Guizot (History of Civilisation} gives a list of many which 
existed before Charlemagne; and that monarch established a great 


many. A little after him and about 823 the King of Lombardy had, 
by edict, opened schools in nine of the cities in his dominions. 

There were famous schools in Padua, Rome, Marseilles and 
Toulouse during the sixth and seventh centuries, and one at Car- 
thage up to the date of the Saracen conquest. 

As these schools were primarily secular, they created, each 
one about itself, a demand for classical works. Around each uni- 
versity there grew up again into prosperity the trades of the book- 
seller and the copyist, which had become insignificant during the 
reign of the monks. But these trades had at no time been extinct. 
Before and after the conquest of Rome by the Goths, there had 
been booksellers, stationers, antiquarians, copyists and illuminators. 
All these are spoken of by Cassiodorus a little after 500 ; by Isidor, 
about 600; and by Benedict, of Wearmouth, about 690; he visited 
the Continent five times to buy books. About 990, Gerbert, who 
afterwards became Pope Sylvester II., and who was a graduate of 
the Moorish university at Cordova, in Spain, and passed for a 
sorcerer because of his learning, wrote to a friend at Rome to pro- 
cure him a copy of a book which, he said, could be had of some of 
the copyists, who, he adds, "may be found in all parts of Italy." 
In 1170, Peter of Blois, who had collected a good library, speaks 
of his buying from "public dealers in books," and gives an amusing 
account of his buying from a bookseller at Paris a book which he 
left at the store and which was taken off by force, by an eminent 
dignitary who was eager to have the volume. 

In 1287 De Bury mentions having bought manuscripts from 
booksellers at Antwerp, Brabant, and Paris, and other cities in 

About the same time, Dante was studying at Padua and Bo- 
logna where the students were supplied with books by dealers who 
employed professional copyists. 

The booksellers were so important a class to the students in 
ic university towns that the universities generally obtained legis- 
itive authority over them and subjected them to many rules. At 
'aris the price of books was fixed by the faculty; and the dealers 
were compelled to let books for hire at fixed rates to the students. 


The prices and rates were quite low, not much higher indeed than 
those of a circulating library of our own days. 

As the academies and universities, manuscript dealers, anti- 
quarians, copyists and illuminators had co-existed for more than 
five centuries before the invention of printing; as the greater num- 
ber of existing ancient manuscripts have been found not in the mon- 
asteries, but in the library of the Venetian Senate, to which Pet- 
rarch bequeathed all his books; in the library of Florence, built up 
principally by Lorenzo and Cosmo de Medici; in the library of 
Oxford, to which Wyclift'e and Roger Bacon, each, left his collec- 
tion ; in that of the Vatican, the books of which were bought after 
the Middle Ages, by Nicholas IV. and Leo X., wherever they could 
find them; in the royal library of Paris, made up by the Govern- 
ment; and in other libraries of secular character; as there is no 
positive proof that, prior to the year 1178, a monk ever copied a 
classical book, and many facts making such copying highly im- 
probable ; as the classical books found, in the monasteries are all 
easily accounted for by known donations by civilians and acquisi- 
tions made since the revival of classical learning; and as it was, in 
the language of one of the popes, Gregory, "a shameful thing that 
it should be said of a priest, that the praises of Jupiter and the 
praises of Christ should issue from the same mouth"; in other 
words, that a priest should study or teach the classics ; is it unjust 
to deny to the monks what is now claimed for them by some Roman 
Catholic writers, the honor of having preserved those masterpieces ? 



TN his condensed compendium of mediaeval and modern Ice- 
*- landic literature, Dr. Finnr Jonsson admits that the Icelandic 
people have at no time displayed any marked tendency toward 
philosophical thought. This is also a widely accepted estimate 
among well-informed circles of the European continent, and it 
cannot be denied that the native historians of our national litera- 
ture still neglect a series of important problems, among them the 
ethnological research of the prehistoric heterogeneous elements that 
have contributed to impart such a quaint and different aspect to 
the- literature of Iceland. It seems sufficient to the native critics 
that Iceland's literary records will forever exert an irresistible fas- 
cination upon the modern nations, and that Icelandic literature in 
our day should have become one of the best exploited literatures of 

As regards the heterogeneous origin of old Icelandic records, 
it is to be regretted that modern ethnologists, and above all the 
Icelanders themselves, should have done so little to have cleared 
up the remote prehistoric contact which must have taken place 
between Teutonic-Scandinavian tribes and the Finns, men be- 
longing to, perhaps, the highest type of the old Finno-Altaic race. 
The "hersirs" and tribal chiefs of Norway until the days of 
Harold Fairhair are admitted by several modern ethnologists to 
have been to a considerable extent "Norwegianised" or "Teuton- 
ised" Finns, who at the time still preserved several traits of their 
Asiatic-Tartar origin; and that these were the foremost emi- 
grants to Iceland at the close of the ninth century of our era. 
The mythological and heroical traditions which these Norwegian- 


ised Finns brought with them to Iceland, point to racial traditions 
which do not exhibit marked Teutonic elements. It is creditable 
to Iceland that many of these weird racial traditions have been 
preserved, but it was to be expected that at a later time they should 
be misunderstood and greatly distorted, particularly by the cler- 
ical Celtic-Icelandic scribes. The best preserved mythical and 
prehistoric sagas were those handed down orally by the popular 
saga-men for the entertainment of young and old, concerning 
old-time battles fought far inland in the East of Europe, weird 
sagas, rude in form and contents, about kings and heroes, very 
unlike the Scandinavian kings and warriors of a later saga-time, 
about mysterious potentates like King "GuSmundr a Glsesis- 
vollum" King Gudmund of Splendid Plains by which may have 
been meant the inland steppes to the southwest of the Ural moun- 
tains. Even the old Eddie lays, for which there is still lacking any 
satisfactory ethnological and critical interpretation, may have 
been evenly divided between Tartar and Teuton. It is certain that 
the contents and purport of the huge collection known under the 
title of "Antiquites russes," edited at Copenhagen by the noted 
Danish antiquarian, Professor Rafn, must read like an unintel- 
ligible riddle to modern Icelanders and Scandinavians; and yet, 
it recalls to mind a recent incident at a session of the Icelandic 
"Althing" or Parliament. A member of the assembly was heard 
to encourage modern Finnish immigration as a desirable offset to 
the injury which American emigration was causing to the Ice- 

This was an admission of a remote racial affinity, and, in fact, 
many Icelanders and Scandinavians may apply to themselves the 
recurring refrain addressed to Ottar in a lay in the afore-men- 
tioned collection "Antiquites russes" : 

"Alt er paS aett pin, 
Ottarr hinn heimski!" 

"It is all your family, 
Oh thou foolish Ottar!" 

In mediaeval Iceland there were no cities or villages proper. 
The leaders of the immigrant families, whether Norwegian Finns, 


pure Teutons, or Norse-Celtic immigrants from the British isles, 
had settled widely apart on the banks of fjords, along inland val- 
leys, in every available locality. Each had imported their own 
peculiar traditions and independent saga circles, and for a time 
led their own lives without very close ties of solidarity between 
the several ethnic groups. But our modern world has not an ade- 
quate idea of the astonishing literary activity, which, during the 
following centuries, must have reigned in the then wealthy homes 
of Iceland, at the respective Episcopal Sees of Holar and Skal- 
holt, in the famous school of Oddi, and in all the convents of the 
Island. The surprising wealth of manuscripts still existing in 
the Island in the centuries following upon the reformation forms 
a rich legacy bequeathed by Iceland to the world at large. The 
"Habent fata sua libelli" applies to the providential preservation of 
all these Icelandic manuscripts. While Icelandic annals relate the 
plundering of the treasures of Icelandic Episcopal Sees by the Teu- 
tonic reformers, it seems that the latter attributed little value to 
any kind of manuscripts. In Iceland, however, these accumulated 
literary treasures would have been lost to the world had not the 
patriotic Icelander Arni Magmisson conceived the idea of export- 
ing the entire collection en bloc to Copenhagen, Denmark. In 
this connection we have to bear in mind the utter oblivion, ne- 
glect, and decay into which Iceland had sunk under the semi-bar- 
baric government during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 
At Copenhagen, however, fortunately there happened at the time 
to be found noble-minded, far-sighted Danes, men like Luxdorph, 
A. Suhm, Schoning, Engelstoft, the native Icelander and Danish 
Premier Jon Eriksson, and others. 

To the intelligent initiative of all these men mediaeval Ice- 
landic literature owes its first introduction to the European world 
in a series of splendid editions of the Eddie lore and of the most 
important saga texts, the expense of which was liberally defrayed 
by the Danish monarchs themselves, and this ought also to be con- 
sidered as the first genuine step taken toward a national Icelandic 
literary revival. The Icelander of the early saga period remained 


still a man of action, who merely had exchanged the sword for the 
pen. Whether "Skald" or "raconteur" saga man, he was prompted 
either by family pride, or inspired by events leading to the triumph 
or defeat of some party, but during the golden period of Icelandic 
literature, from Ari Thorgilson down to the historians of the 
thirteenth century, the literature has been changed essentially both 
in form and in utterance under the Celtic, clerical culture of the 
times. The brilliant historian Snorri Sturluson and his contempo- 
rary historians, several of them the inmates of Icelandic convents, 
belonged to this classical school. It is the only period in which 
Icelandic literature displays something of inward continuity and 
of philosophical thinking. All of the writers of this period, in 
style and utterance, aimed at the "Romanisation" of the old Norse 
language. They even applied it to several older saga texts; but, 
not by any means, so intelligently to the mythical saga lore; yet, 
here I do not expressly allude to either the young or old Eddie 
texts. The Romanisation, however, put its stamp upon some of 
the old family sagas, such as the "Nial's Saga," regarded by 
critics as a prominent type of a racy Icelandic saga. The dialogue, 
for example, between Flosi and his relation Hildigunnr reads like 
any creditable specimen of impassioned Roman rhetoric. This 
classical tendency may be said to have advanced one step further 
in the charming "Biskupa-Sogur" or lives of Icelandic bishops be- 
fore the Reformation. These "Biskupa-Sogur," by their style and 
language, read like highly attractive modern biographies. The 
modern natives shrink from the apparently naive faith which in- 
spired the mediaeval works, like the "Biskupa Sogur," or religious 
poems, as the strenuous poem "Lilja," by the monk Eystein As- 
grimsson; but the Icelanders are apt to forget that, besides naive 
faith, those works are also inspired by the same lofty aspirations 
which prompted the deeper modern thinkers to recognise the in- 
born ethical cravings of mankind as high above any worldly wise 
logical ideas. For the rest, at a later period of uncommon national 
distress the "VoloeSis" period of the seventeenth century the 
broken-hearted, contrite Icelandic people, although nominally 


Lutherans, returned to that early fountain-head of naive Icelandic 
faith; from an analogous source, likewise, was inspired the great 
seventeenth century psalmist, Hallgrim Petursson, and others who 
sought for spiritual strength and faith in the destinies of the Ice- 
landic people. 

As regards the existence and intrinsic value of modern Ice- 
landic literature, foreigners need no longer abide by the efforts of 
native Icelandic writers, but may be referred to men and women 
of different European nationalities who have made the Icelandic 
language and literature a favorite object of study. Of those re- 
siding in Germany I shall here mention only the names of M. Phil. 
Carl Kiichler, Fraulein M. Lehmann Filhes of Berlin, and, above 
all, Poestion, the distinguished Vienna librarian and worthy trans- 
lator, critic, and historian of modern Icelandic literature. Modern 
Icelandic literature in our own day still may produce the impres- 
sion of a series of unequal, incomplete efforts devoid of continuity 
and originality, except, perhaps, in its short story and lyrical 
poetry. But we should remember that there had to be performed 
a long and arduous preliminary work, mainly philological and 
linguistic, before there could be any modern national literature. 

Until nearly the middle of the nineteenth century none but 
Icelandic students at Copenhagen were available for the work of 
reading, correcting, and translating the manuscripts which Arni 
Magnusson had given the Royal Library at Copenhagen. And 
this, at a time when in Iceland the native language had practic- 
ally ceased to exist, or to be the official medium for transacting 
public business. An abominable Danish - Icelandic jargon was 
largely spoken by the upper classes. A practical Icelandic gram- 
mar did not exist in Iceland until the well-known Danish linguist 
Rasmus Rask introduced his own short Icelandic grammar in the 
early decades of the nineteenth century. A few years later the 
Icelanders also formally date their modern literary revival from the 
foundation of the review Fjolnir at Copenhagen, by a group of 
gifted and patriotic natives. The articles of the Fjolnir, in a short 
time, seem to have revolutionised both the spoken and written Ian- 


guage of Iceland. I here refrain from entering into details, but 
again refer the reader to Poestion's work, or to Dr. V. GuSmunds- 
son's Danish treatise, Island's Kultur ved Aarhundredskiftet, 
1900, tranlated into German by R. Pallaske. The old literature of 
Iceland, in a multitude of aspects, and in its highest classical form, 
was mainly the outcome of Celtic-Icelandic genius, and of the 
classical Christian culture of the time. 

In the present literary stagnation and even widespread indiffer- 
ence to past literary traditions which is said to prevail in Iceland, 
it is well to recall to mind that of the 20,000 emigrants, who in 
late years have settled in America, the majority probably has been 
made up of Icelanders of Celtic descent. The American-Icelandic 
Press of Winnipeg, Manitoba, occasionally keeps reminding Ice- 
land of this fact. Some of the quaint poems of the Icelandic- 
American poet Stephan G. Stephansson, in rather drastic language, 
seem to express the genuine sentiments of a self-confessed modern 
Icelandic Celt. The Iceland of to-day, according to this writer, is 
only a sort of "Teutonised" Iceland, dull, realistic, and utilitarian; 
and apparently he is not "in touch" with the time-serving faction 
of Dano-Icelandic chauvinists, who affect to seek an imagined 
center of intellectual, political, and racial solidarity in the medi- 
aeval literature of Iceland. But on the other hand it is only too 
true that modern Iceland is actually confronted by a number of 
perplexing and difficult, political and economical problems; and 
for the satisfactory solution of these we devoutly trust that Jove 
will grant to the long-abiding island all the required life through 
the ages. 



JAMES S. RIGGS, D.D., and Professor at the Auburn Theolog- 
ical Seminary, expresses in a recent number of the Biblical 
World his conviction that the Easter message of the resurrection of 
Christ is an indispensable part of Christianity which should not be 
surrendered to the demands made by the Zeitgeist. A distinction 
has been made between the Easter message (viz., a belief in the 
bodily resurrection of the Christ) and the Easter faith (viz., a belief 
in the immortality of the soul) and the Zeitgeist urges us "to accept 
the latter, but to reject the former as impossible in view of modern 
enlightenment. In other words, an actual resurrection as the church 
has commonly understood it did not take place, and yet Jesus lives." 

It is true, as Professor Riggs states, that "the immortality of the 
soul is not a scriptural expression," it is a modern invention. The 
Gospels believe in "a resurrection of man, body and soul." Re- 
demption includes the whole man. To strike out therefore that side 
of the truth which shows that the body as well as the spirit is to 
enter into the true conception of complete immortality, is to miss the 
real climax of all the teachings of the Scriptures regarding the 
future of man. Jesus "brought to light this wondrous completeness 
by coming himself from the grave the fact of the resur- 
rection, therefore, is of the most importance." * 

It is quite true that according to the early Christians "the 
Easter message belongs with the Easter faith." The question is 
only whether we can still believe it. Professor Riggs sees no diffi- 

* See Acts xvii. 32 ; I Corinthians xv. 3, 14, 20. 


culty; he claims that the "vision theory runs up against stubborn, 
inexplicable obstacles." Considering all the evidence he says "the 
empty grave is most satisfactorily explained by the actual resurrec- 
tion of Jesus," and he argues that it is better to let "the faith of the 
disciples rest upon the fact of the resurrection than upon God-in- 
spired visions given to create belief in a fact which after all was not 
a fact." In the opinion of Professor Riggs, "the surety of the fact" 
is sufficiently vouched for by historical evidence and the value that it 
possesses for us cannot be underrated by any Christian believer. 

No doubt Professor Riggs voices the opinion of the orthodox 
traditional conception of Christianity, which believes not so much in 
the immortality of the soul as in the resurrection of the flesh, but a 
new interpretation of the Christian faith is preparing itself in the 
minds of the people, and we regard it as most significant that a repre- 
sentative of the more liberal view rises in the person of the scholarly 
Canon of Westminster, one of the most distinguished clergymen of 
the Church of England. 

Canon Hensley Henson's article on "The Resurrection of Jesus 
Christ" has created a stir in the religious world because the Canon 
openly expresses his conviction that a belief in the bodily resurrec- 
tion of Christ is not essential to true Christianity. He knows very 
well and grants that in the days of early Christianity the belief in 
bodily resurrection was regarded as the most important part of the 
faith. Further, Paul says: "If Christ has not been raised then is 
our preaching vain, your faith is also vain." But the belief in a 
bodily resurrection is only evidence of the materialism of the early 
Christians who could not conceive the truth of immortality other- 
wise than in the form of a resurrection of the dead body. The 
Canon is fully informed of the arguments which theological scholars 
adduce in favor of the resurrection of the body of Christ, but he has 
also carefully investigated the reports of Biblical criticism, and he 
comes to the conclusion that it cannot be set aside lightly or easily. 
He says:* 

"The candid Christian, we say, when reading these statements 

* The Hibbert Journal for April, 1904, pp. 476-493. 


cannot escape the inference that the evidence for the quasi-historical 
statements of the Creed is of a highly complicated, dubious, and 
even contradictory character." 

He further says of historical criticism, the youngest of the sci- 
ences, that "it cannot claim even such a measure of recognition as 
that which the older sciences have succeeded in wresting from the 
Christian Church ; but the analogy between the course of events by 
which the conclusion of astronomy, geology, and biology have, one 
after the other, been, so to say, domesticated within the theological 
sphere, and the course of events by which the conclusions of his- 
torical criticism must undergo the same process, is, at every point, 

St. Paul himself, though he insists on the fact that Christ has 
been "raised from the dead," repudiates at the same time a material- 
istic conception of the resurrection, and Canon Henson adds : 

"The dissolution of the physical body in the grave will not, we 
are assured, hinder the process of resurrection in the case of Christ's 

Therefore the Canon concludes that a physical resurrection can- 
not be an essential part of the Christian faith. "The emptiness of 
the sepulchre might conceivably be as little worthy of credence as the 
materialistic details in St. Matthew xviii. 9 and St. Luke xxiv, 
36 ff.*" Quoting Bishop Westcott, the Canon proposes to replace the 
words "the Lord was raised" in the apostolic conception of the resur- 
rection by the words "the Lord lives," and the real proof of the 
resurrection should be found in the fact that Christ lives and works 

Canon Henson's article is a remarkable evidence that the world 
moves. If he, the Canon of Westminster, can, without being excom- 
municated, make this statement which we ourselves proposed a few 
years ago as the only possible solution of the essential doctrine of 
Christianity, we see the time near at hand when the philosophy of 
The Open Court will be regarded as good Christian doctrine, ortho- 
dox not from the standpoint of the traditional conception of dogma- 

*Cf. Acts x. 41. 


tism, but in the sense of being a doctrine that is tenable before the tri- 
bunal of science which is true orthodoxy, for it is Tightness of doc- 
trine; it is doctrine that is universally acceptable, and therefore 
genuinely catholic. 

There are heroes in battle and there are also heroes in the 
domain of thought, and we do not underrate the courage of Canon 
Henson to scorn all equivocation and make his statement boldly and 
plainly, risking the enmity of the narrow-minded whose number is 
legion and the alienation of many of his friends and co-religionists. 

The belief in immortality is the crucial point of Christianity. 
Formulated as the doctrine of resurrection it embodies it in a quasi - 
allegorical form, but we ought to bear in mind that the Gospel stories 
of Christ's rising from the dead and his ascent into heaven are later 
additions which were not part of the original Gospel, and we ought 
to understand that they are true in an allegorical sense. They reflect 
the truth of immortality. It may not be out of place to reprint here 
the passage of a former article of ours which was the subject of 
Canon Henson's discussion : 

"Considering the sanctity that was attributed to Sunday among 
the Gentiles, especially the disciples and similar sects, it was nat- 
ural that Easter Day, the festival of Resurrection, should have been 
celebrated on the first Sunday after the Passover. 

"The burden of the Christian Gospel as preached by St. Paul 
is the message of the resurrection of Christ, in which the apostles 
implicitly believed. Whatever we may think of the accounts of it 
in the New Testament we must grant that the doctrine of immor- 
tality is the quintessence of the Christian religion, which was the 
cause of its final triumph. The oldest account in the Gospel ac- 
cording to Mark makes the simple statement that the grave was 
found empty, and this suggested at once to his followers the idea 
tliat Jesus must have risen from the dead. The immediate result 
was visions of the departed master. He was seen by Mary Mag- 
dalene, by St. Peter, by the eleven apostles, then by more than three 
hundred brethren, and finally by St. Paul. 

"One of these visions (that of St. Paul) lies within the pale of 
historical investigation, and, in spite of the contradictions discov- 


ered in the several versions of the event, offers nothing that seems 
improbable or inexplicable. 

"The history of the Gospel stories of the resurrection has been 
traced by the higher critics, and we may briefly state that later re- 
ports, superadded to the original account in Mark of the empty 
grave, show the spirit in which the early Christians regarded the 
idea of Christ's resurrection. Paul's Christ is a spiritual presence, 
while the Christ of a later writer, hankering after a corporeal im- 
mortality, is a bodily presence who makes doubters touch him and 
parades his corporeality by eating in the presence of witnesses. 
Finally he is reported to have departed from the earth by ascending 
to heaven. 

"Perhaps the most beautiful conception of the risen Christ (in- 
comparably nobler than the crude materialistic notion of a corporeal 
resurrection) is reflected in the tale of the disciples of Emmaus, 
where Christ, the departed master, speaks out of the mouth of a 
stranger whom they meet on the way and with whom they break 
bread together. They knew him not until he was gone. And how 
did they know him? His words were the words of Jesus, and the 
way in which he. broke bread and spoke the blessing reminded them 
of their beloved master. Who will deny that in this sense Christ 
has proved a living presence ever since and is still so even unto the 
generations of these latter days ?" 



ABU-'L-FATH' MUH'AMMAD, a Persian author of the twelfth 
century, in a book on religious sects and philosophers, de- 
scribes the Nazarenes, or, as we would say, the Christians, in the 
following terms :* 

"They are the Church of the Messiah, Jesus, the son of Mary. 
He is the true messenger after Moses, who is promised in the law, 
and he accomplished manifest signs and splendid miracles, such as 
raising the dead, healing the blind and the leprous ; and his existence 
and very nature were a perfect wonder to [attest] his genuineness : 
viz., his origin without initial drops of seed, and his wise discourses 
without any previous instruction. Whereas, with all the prophets 
inspiration reached its completion in the fortieth year, he was already 
inspired to speak in the cradle, and the completion of inspiration 
took place in his thirtieth year; and the time of his calling lasted 
three years, three months and three days. 

"Then, after he was taken up into heaven, the apostles and others 
were of different opinion concerning him. But the opinion differed 
upon two points only : Firstly, how he had come down and united 
himself with his mother, and how the Word became flesh ; secondly, 
how he had ascended up and united himself with the angels, and 
how the divided Word existed. As to the first point, they held that 
the Word became flesh, and they had a [manifold] view upon the 

* Translated from the German of Abul-'l-Fath' Muh'ammad asch-Schah- 
rastani's Religionspartheien und Philosophen-Schulen. Zum ersten Male voll- 
standig aus dem Arabischen iibersetzt. Von Theodor Haarbruecker. Halle: 
1850-1851, 2 vols. 


manner of the union and the incarnation, brought into a system. 
Some said that he enlightened his body, as light enlightens trans- 
parent bodies; others, that he was imprinted into it, as the impress 
of the seal into wax; others, that he appeared in it, as the spiritual 
appears in the corporeal; others, that he clothed the Godhead with 
the manhood as with a coat of mail. 

"Lastly, others believe that the Word was mingled with the body 
of the Messiah, as milk is mingled with water. They hold that there 
are three persons in God. They say the Creator is one substance, 
whereby they understand his existence by himself alone, not the 
inclusion of space and comprehensibility (Greifbarkeit) . And it is 
one in substantiality, but three in personality; and by three persons 
they understand the attributes, such as existence, life and knowledge, 
the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost; and only the knowledge 
has put on the body as a coat of mail, not the three remaining per- 

"As regards his Ascension, they maintain that he died and was 
crucified; the Jews put him to death out of envy and malice and 
knowledge of his prophetic calling and dignity. Death, however, 
extended not to the divine part, but only to the human. 

"They say that the perfection of the human personality consists 
in three things : the prophetic office, the imamhood, and the Lord- 
ship. The other prophets had these three distinctions or one of 
them as attributes, but the rank of the Messiah is a higher one, in 
that he is the only Son, and no one is like him, and between him 
and the other prophets no analogy is possible; and he is the one 
through whom the sin of Adam is atoned for, and who will judge 
the creation.* 

"As to his second coming, however, they are likewise of different 
views. Some say that he will come down before the Resurrection 
day, as the disciples of Islam maintain ; others think that he will only 
come down at the day of judgment. However, he came down after 
he was dead and crucified, and Simon Peter saw him, and he [Jesus] 
spake with him and transmitted to him the power. Then he left the 

* Die Schopfung richten werde. 


world and ascended into heaven, and Simon Peter was his vicar, and 
was the foremost of the Apostles in whatever related to knowledge, 
piety and culture ; only that Paul disturbed his work and made him- 
self his colleague, and confused the foundations of his knowledge 
and mixed it with the Kalam (i. e. view) of the philosophers and 
the insinuations of his thought. 

"I have seen an epistle from Paul, which he wrote to the Greeks, 
wherein it is stated : 

" 'Ye believe that the position (Stellung) of Jesus is like that 
of the other prophets, but it is not so, but he is only to be likened 
unto Melchisedek, king of Salem, to whom Abraham gave tithes, so 
that he blessed him and laid his hand upon his head.* Wonderful is 
it, to wit, what is delivered in the Gospels, that God said: Thou 
art mine only son as if he who is the only one could be likened 
unto other human beings !' 

"But there are four of the Apostles who agree together, and 
one of them made a compilation (Zusammensttelhmg) of the Gospel. 
They are Matthew, Luke, Mark and John. The close of the Gospel 
of Matthew reads that he said: T send you to the nations, as my 
Father sent me unto you. Go and call the nations in the name oi 
the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. 'f 

"The beginning of the Gospel of John is : 'In the beginningless 
eternity was the Word, and this Word was with God, and God was 
the Word, and all is made by his hand.' 

"Later the Christians divided themselves into seventy-two sects, 
and the chief sects are three : the Melchians, the Nestorians and the 
Jacobites. From them went forth the Julianists, the [Basilians?] 
the Macedonians, disciples of Macedonius ; the disciples of Sabellius, 

of Photinus, of Paul of Samosata, and several more." 

* * * 

The statement that Jesus appeared especially to Peter after the 

*The words in italics are in Hebrews vii. 1-3, but the whole text is 
either quoted loosely from memory, or else from some lost epistle of Paul to 
the Greeks. The former is more likely, for what follows is probably a 
reminiscence of Heb. i. 5. 

t A confused quotation from John xx. 21 and Matthew xxviii. 19. 


resurrection and transmitted to him the power has been supposed 
by Rohrbach, in his monograph on the lost Mark-ending, to be based 
upon that lost ending or upon some document derived from it. Mark 
is Peter's Gospel, and often contains details omitted by Luke and 
Matthew; and yet the apparition to Peter mentioned by Luke and 
Paul (Luke xxiv. 34; I Cor. xv. 5) and intimated by the extant 
Mark (xvi. 7) does not appear in the present ending of that Gospel. 
A tenth-century Armenian MS. found by Conybeare ascribes the 
present ending to Aristion, a second-century writer; and this, 
coupled with its absence in the oldest extant Greek manuscripts and 
in ancient ones known to Eusebius and Jerome in the fourth cen- 
tury, have forced upon us the conviction that it has been added to 
supplant the genuine ending. Mary had evidently written some- 
thing which was disapproved of by the Church, and Rohrbach's 
monograph exhaustively discusses this question. There is one point, 
however, which the German scholar overlooks. We know from 
Irenseus that Mark, in the second century, was alleged by the Docet- 
ists in favor of their doctrine that Jesus the man suffered, while 
Christ, the divine principle, remained impassive (Iren. Haer. iii. 
8:7). One is strongly tempted to conjecture that Peter's original 
account of the resurrection was simply that of a vision or apparition, 
such as the one that appeared to Saul on the Damascus road, and 
which Saul himself, in the text from Corinthians quoted, collocated 
with the undetailed appearance to Peter. When I mentioned this con- 
jecture to Rendel Harris in 1900, he seemed to approve of it, and 
said : "Yes ! His body was phantasmal." To have allowed such an 
account to stand in the New Testament, when the Docetists were 
becoming a dangerous party in the Church, would have given them 
too much hold. Peter's narrative of his experience was therefore 
suppressed, and only lingered in apocryphal tradition. As the 
Mohammedans always quoted certain apocryphal Gospel stories on 
a footing with the Canonical ones, our Persian author may have 
gotten his statement from such a source. He can hardly have taken 
it from Clement of Alexandria's lost Institutions (ap. Eusebius H. 
E. ii., i), for that work put Peter on the same footing with James 
and John, and taught that all three of them received the gnosis from 
the risen Lord. It is strongly probable, therefore, that there was 
once a Gospel narrative telling about a special appearance to Peter, 
and the celebrated charge to Peter, now misplaced in the Gospel of 
Matthew, was a likely portion thereof. 




PROF. CASSIUS JACKSON KEYSER, a mathematician of 
Columbia University, well versed in the philosophy of mathe- 
matics, especially in its more recent development since the appear- 
ance of Riemann's famous Habilitationsschrift, has published in The 
Hibbert Journal an article on "The Axiom of Infinity," which he 
criticises in its role of "a new presupposition of thought." He says : 

"For thousands of years philosophy has recognised the pres- 
ence of a certain definite problem, namely, that of extending the 
dominion of logic, the reign of exact thought, out beyond the utmost 
reach of finite things into and over the realm of infinite being, and 
this problem, by far the greatest and most impressive of her strictly 
intellectual concernments, philosophy has, for thousands of years, 
arduously striven to solve. And now I ask not, has it been worth 
while? for that is conceded, but has she advanced the solution in 
any measure, and, if so, in what respect, and to what extent?" 

Professor Keyser, continuing, says that "thanks to the subtle 
genius of the modern Teutonic mind, this ancient problem, having 
baffled the thought of all the centuries, has at last been completely 
solved." He then refers to Riemann, Bolzano, Dedekind and Cantor. 
The first mentioned mathematician distinguishes clearly between 
boundlessness and infinitude, and Professor Keyser selects for the 
purpose of his discussion the following definition of "that august 
term" : 

"An assemblage (ensemble, collection, group, manifold) of ele- 
ments (things, no matter what} is infinite or finite according as it 


has or has not a PART to which the whole is just EQUIVALENT in the 
sense that between the elements composing that part and those com- 
posing the whole there subsists a unique and reciprocal (one-to-one} 

For a distinction of the notions of finite and infinite he quotes 
the mathematical theologian Bolzano, saying : 

"Bolzano's procedure is virtually as follows: Suppose given 
a class C of elements, or things, of any kind whatsoever, as the sands 
of the seashore, or the stars of the firmament, or the points of space, 
or the instants in a stretch of time, or the numbers with which we 
count, or the total manifold of truths known to an omniscient God. 
Out of any such class C, suppose a series formed by taking for first 
term one of the elements of C, for second term two of them, and so 
on. Any term so obtainable is itself obviously a class or group of 
things, and is defined to be finite. The indicated process of series 
formation, if sufficiently prolonged, will either exhaust C or it will 
not. If it will, C is itself demonstrably finite; if it will not, C is, on 
that account, defined to be infinite. Now, say Professor Royce and 
others, a definition like the latter, being dependent on such a notion 
as that of inexhaustibility or endlessness or boundlessness, is nega- 
tive ; a certain innate craving of the understanding remains unsatis- 
fied, we are told, because the definition presents the notion, not in 
a positive way by telling us what the infinite actually is, but merely 
in a negative fashion by telling us what it is not. 

"Undoubtedly the claim is plausible, but is it more? Bolzano 
affirmed and exemplified a certain proposition, in itself of the utmost 
importance, and throwing half the needed light upon the question in 
hand. That proposition is: Any class or assemblage (of elements), 
if infinite according to his own definition of the term, enjoys the 
property of being equivalent, in the sense above explained, to some 
proper part of itself. Though he did not himself demonstrate the 
proposition, it readily admits of demonstration, and, since his time, 
has in fact been repeatedly and rigorously proved. Not only that, 
but the converse proposition, giving the other half of the needed 
light, has been established too: Every assemblage that HAS a part 
'equivalent' to the whole, is infinite in the Bolzano sense of the term. 


"I turn now to the current assertion by Professor Royce and 
Mr. Russell, that the modern concept of the infinite, of which I have 
given above in italics an exact statement, to which the reader is re- 
ferred, in fact denies a certain ancient axiom of common sense, 
namely, the axiom of whole and part. 

"The question is whether it is possible, by means of the new 
concept, to demonstrate the existence of the infinite; whether, in 
other words, it can be proved that there are infinite systems. That 
such demonstration is possible is affirmed by Bolanzo, by Dedekind, 
by Professor Royce, by Mr. Russell, and in fact by a large and swell- 
ing chorus of authoritative utterance, scarcely relieved by a dissent- 
ing voice. After no little pondering of the matter, I have been 
forced, and that, too, I must own, against my hope and will, to the 
opposite conviction. Candor, then, compels me to assert, as I have 
elsewhere briefly done, not only that the arguments which have been 
actually adduced are all of them vitiated by circularity, but that, in 
the very nature of conception and inference, by virtue of the most 
certain standards of logic itself, every potential argument, every 
possible attempt to prove the proposition, is foredoomed to failure, 
destined before its birth to take the fatal figure of the wheel. 

"The upshot, then, is this : that conception and logical inference 
alike presuppose absolute certainty that an act which the mind finds 
itself capable of performing is intrinsically performable endlessly, or, 
what is the same thing, that the assemblage of possible repetitions 
of a once mentally performable act is equivalent to some proper part 
of the assemblage. This certainty I name the Axiom of Infinity, and 
this axiom being, as seen, a necessary presupposition of both concep- 
tion and deductive inference, every attempt to 'demonstrate' the ex- 
istence of the infinite is a predestined begging of the issue. 

"What follows? Do we, then, know by axiom that the infinite 
is? That depends upon your metaphysic. If you are a radical 
o-priorist, yes; if not, no. If the latter, and I am now speaking as 
an a-priorist, then you are agnostic in the deepest sense, being capa- 
ble, in utmost rigor of the terms, of neither conceiving nor infer- 
ring. But if we do not know the axiom to be true, and so cannot 
deductively prove the existence of the infinite, what, then, is the 


probability of such existence? The highest yet attained. Why? 
Because the inductive test of the axiom, regarded now as a hypoth- 
esis, is trying to conceive and trying to infer, and this experiment, 
which has been world-wide for aeons, has seemed to succeed in count- 
less cases, and to fail in none not explainable on grounds consistent 
with the retention of the hypothesis. 

"Finally, to make briefest application to a single concrete case. 
Do the stars constitute an infinite multitude ? No one knows. If the 
number be finite, that fact may some time be ascertained by actual 
enumeration, and, if and only if there be infinite ensembles of pos- 
sible repetitions of mental processes, it may also be known by proof. 
But if the multitude of stars be infinite, that can never be known 
except by proof ; this last is possible only if the axiom of infinity be 
true, and even if this be true, the actual proof may never be 

We agree with Professor Keyser when he expresses his convic- 
tion that the existence of the infinite cannot be proved, but we ven- 
ture to supplement this brief statement of his views by the following 
suggestions: By infinite we understand a process which is to be 
carried on incessantly. If we think of a mathematical straight line 
as being produced without limits, we call it infinite. Should we ever 
try to draw on, even if it were done only in thought, we should soon 
find out that our line is always of a definite length and never truly 
infinite, for we would need an infinite time to complete the task. 
The rigor of logic forces us to admit that infinitude is a process in 
action, but not a concrete and ready thing. Whether the number of 
stars or the grains of sand on the seashore are infinite or not is a 
question which can never be decided by experiment, but if our logical 
laws hold good, and if they possess any value at all, we must admit 
that (if our existence were widened into a divine omniscience and 
omnipotence) we could most easily count the grains of sand on our 
planet (assuming that there is no quibbling about their size as to 
which ones are mere dust, being too small to be counted) and we 
could with no less facility determine the number of stars that 
course within the range of our milky system (provided again that 
no doubt exists as to which celestial bodies should be regarded as 


stars and which as mere meteorites or stellar dust) ; for anything 
that is concrete must be definite and anything that is infinite can 
never be a concrete thing, but must be a process in progress. 

This appears to amount to a negation of the existence of infinity ; 
and perhaps it does, at least in the opinion of those metaphysical 
philosophers who identify the term reality with substantiality, or 
even with materiality; but the infinite is after all actual, for it in- 
heres in activity which wherever we take it is always an infinite 
series. Moreover, every particular part of the universe may be 
considered in its relation to the whole; yet the present moment in 
its relation to other moments in both the past and the future is but 
a fleeting point in infinite time, and every spot that determines a 
definite locality may in all directions and at any imaginal distance 
be placed in relation to the surrounding world, which renders the 
proposition obvious that the infinite is the potentiality of actual ex- 
istence, and is as such not less real than the finite. The present 
moment alone is truly existent, and the "here" is to us the centre 
of the universe. It is the place in which our activity is real, but the 
directions which it can pursue as well as the distance to which, at 
least in thought, it may venture, are alike infiinite. 

Infinitude is an evanescent quality; it comes or goes according 
to the viewpoint we take, according to the task we set ourselves. 
Take, for instance, the line AB, which may be one mile, or one foot, 
or one inch long, just as small as you see fit. It is finite ; yet you can 
divide it and there is no limit to your division. It is infinitely 
divisible. Thus you create infinitude by a conceptual viewpoint. Or 
take a definite number, e. g. the fraction 1-3; it is a definite quan- 
tity, but if we change it into a decimal fraction, the result is an 
infinite decimal fraction, viz., 0.3333 .... to be continued without 
end. If we ever stop the fraction is no longer equal to 1-3. Yet 
this infinite decimal exactly equals the unequivocally finite and 
definite faction 1-3. The infinite fraction 0.3333 .... can never be 
completed, the definite fraction 1-3 is complete. The infinite and the 
finite are not two different things, but they are two aspects of the 
same reality. The finite hangs in the infinite as a temporary and 
concrete actualisation, and the infinite is inherent in the finite as the 


inexhaustible potentiality of its activity. The finite is the change- 
able, the non-permanent, the transient. The infinite is the resource 
of all possible existence illimitable in its possibilities. 

This conception of infinity seems to be a negation of its exist- 
ence; and assuredly it is a negation of the notion that infinitude 
can ever be a concrete thing, realised in any place or at any one 
time, or in any material body or collection of bodies. But while 
it denies the materiality, the concreteness, the definiteness (or let us 
directly add, the finiteness) of infinity, it yet implies its actuality as 
a most prominent feature of the world-process. Infinity is an in- 
trinsic quality of all activity, and as such it is the most essential 
part of reality constituting its profundity and the mysterious charm 
of its eternal youthfulness and freshness ; for if it were not, reality 
would be monotonous, and if not meaningless, certainly both shallow 
and trite because exhaustible in meaning. 



TF we accept the theory of evolution limiting it to the psycho- 
-* logical structure of the human individual we are led to ac- 
cept also the priority of the emotional life to the intellectual life. 
And from this follows as immediate consequence that the emotions 
must have their own logic, anterior to rational logic and different 
from it in its forms and means, but having the same object, filling 
the same function in the life of the species. 

This further consequence is derived from our premise, that, 
despite the usual complexity of the phenomena of personality, there 
can and must be cases of purely emotional memory, that is to say, 
cases in which the emotional states are recalled by memory and rec- 
ognised as such independently of the sensorial or intellectual phe- 
nomena that accompany them. And, as a necessary accompaniment 
to this, there must finally exist forms of the creative imagination 
which are also emotional, affecting only the emotions, "having for 
their material emotional states and. nothing else." Thus the higher 
mental life would find itself closely united to the physiological trunk 
by intermediate stages without any break whatever. This is, in 
brief, the succession of dominant ideas which are developed with 
remarkable precision and clearness in the most recent works of 
M. Th. Ribot. To his Psychologic des sentiments, and his Essai 
sur I' imagination creatrice, has just been added La logique des sen- 
timents, which completes this phase of his work: and this work is 
nothing less than a total reconstruction of the science of psychology. 

1 Translated from the original manuscript by W. H. Carruth, University 
of Kansas. 



M. Ribot (I may limit myself here to a brief analysis of the 
work) considers in logic not simply the ensemble of rules, which 
determine the conditions of a proof, but also the natural facts, in- 
dividual or collective, the emotions, beliefs, opinions, etc., which 
furnish a part of the materials for the reasoning process. "This 
man's judgment is influenced by his feelings," "passion has its 
logic," are expressions familiar to each one of us : they have a greater 
import than one thinks before reflecting. M. Ribot faces the subject 
in its true aspect and in its general features: he assumes the judg- 
ment itself to be a primitive element ; he does not separate reason- 
ing from the other operations that accompany it in the work of the 
mind; in a word, he treats the operations called logical as simple 
facts, without concern for their form or their validity. From his 
point of view it appears directly that the logic of feeling is very 
much the most vivid and widespread, and, to use his own words, 
that "primitive reasoning is to the reasoning of the logicians as 
the implements of the stone age are to the perfected tools of our 
own time." 

In a preliminary discussion he establishes the fact that we must 
not expect to find the conditions of structure and connection of 
emotional reasoning in association: association reveals only the 
terms of the judgment and the reasoning; we must see also the 
relations. Emotional reasoning takes association for granted, but 
goes beyond it: the emotional temperament makes a choice among 
the states of consciousness, it has an end in view, consciously or un- 
consciously, neglecting or suppressing whatever tends to turn it 
aside from this goal. 

Contrasted as they are, emotional logic and rational logic have 
a common foundation in reasoning. Even though the mechanism 
of the reasoning differs, it retains in both cases its characteristic 
mark, it is "a mediate operation the end of which is a conclusion." 
It might be said in objection to this that the logic of the feelings 
would then be confused with sophistry. But M. Ribot shows that 
they are not in all points coincident. There is a difference between 
them in both point of view and procedure. Sophisms may be wholly 
lacking in emotional quality, and emotional reasonings may be 


entirely free from sophistry. Rational logic cannot cover the entire 
domain of knowledge and action; the logic of the feelings serves 
man in all the cases where he has an immediate interest in assuming 
or justifying a conclusion. 

Emotional logic has, then, its own field ; there follows naturally 
the study of its constituent elements. Its terms are judgments with 
an emotional coefficient, "judgments of values," variable, subjective, 
not always consistent, which reasoning will transform on occasion 
into objective and general judgments. As for the relations which 
connect these terms, it will be sufficient to note that emotional rea- 
soning sets out from a wish or a belief ; that it accordingly proceeds 
toward a desired goal, toward an end which has been accepted in 
advance; that the conclusion therefore conditions the sequence of 
the arguments from which it is predestined to issue, which argu- 
ments are in this case not merely words, but in addition gestures, 
acts, intonations, etc. ; and, finally, that the logic of the feelings 
differs from the other kind by being exempt from the principle of 
contradiction, since the values of sentiment may be contradictions 
to the reason and yet reconcilable in practice. 

How diverse are the forms assumed by the logic of the feelings 
may be imagined from the preceding analysis. M. Ribot designates 
them provisionally by the following epithets: passional (or emo- 
tional), unconscious, imaginative, justificatory, mixed or composite; 
he describes their several manifestations. But yet, whatever be 
these forms, if we ignore their substance, their content, the logical 
agency peculiar to each one, their individual ends, and consider only 
the part that contributes to the general aim of the individual, we 
find that they may be reduced to two types, according as they con- 
tribute to the conservation or to the expansion of the individual 
these two fundamental tendencies of emotional life which are so 
intimately connected in the higher animals. 

M. Ribot, I may say in passing, pays some attention, and with 
good reason, to the subject of religious conversions. It would 
seem to me to be very interesting to study the reverse situation. I 
do not doubt that the analysis of certain cases would prove very 


instructive. But I can not tarry over this point at present, and I 
now come to the last portion of M. Ribot's work. 

The logic of the feelings has a character fundamentally prac- 
tical. However, one case constitutes an exception: this is when it 
is employed in the service of creative esthetics. Even here, it is 
never reduced to pure association; it is probable that some sort of 
reasoning is involved in the genesis of every esthetic creation. For 
my own part I am inclined to affirm this. Does there exist by any 
possibility a form of emotional creative imagination dealing ex- 
clusively with emotions? This is the new question that awaits so- 

M. Ribot has undertaken to prove that musical creation alone 
of all presents this character. He does indeed show how poetry, 
as soon as it tries to be purely emotional, tends to approach the 
type of music, neglecting the sense of the words and listening only 
to their sound. Similarly with painting when it sacrifices technique 
to visions seen in dreams. 

However, I would make one reservation, or rather a suggestion, 
on the subject of the division of musicians into two groups, accord- 
ing as they see in their art only an architecture of sounds, a form, 
an arabesque, or on the other hand as they value in it only the ex- 
pression of passion. The extreme positions would be those of the 
composer who would think out his music as one figures out a game 
of checkers, and again of the musician who would reduce it to some 
sort of -soul without body. But, in fact, it seems to me that all the 
masters keep between these two practically unattainable extremes; 
the two methods are really inseparable, at least in practice. The 
constructors of arabesques cannot wholly escape some sense of 
grace, of voluptuousness, cannot repress all tendency to expression, 
nor, on the other hand, can the musicians of passion altogether resist 
the charm of combinations. There are not wanting in the works of 
the most passionate masters pages which bear witness to a regard 
for ingenuity or even have their origin in the fondness for some 
concourse of sweet sounds. 

The exceptions which may be pointed out will not break down 
the thesis, that the fundamental condition of the emotional creative 


imagination is "the disposition to be moved not simply by actual 
events, but by memories of feelings, that is to say, by the emotional 
memory, and to build with these materials just as the imagination 
with a sensational basis builds with forms and colors." However, 
we must not demand of the musician that he necessarily and ab- 
solutely realise the type. After all is said, the musician works in 
sounds as the painter works in colors. The language of each of the 
arts is the peculiar discovery of that art, and music itself, be it ever 
so mystic, appeals to a sensory pleasure which at least serves as 
support or as vehicle for a feeling. 

If we consider, on the other hand, that many poets and painters 
also represent the emotional type, we shall be led to the conclusion 
that this disposition to build with materials of an emotional character 
is independent of the special psychological endowment which 
makes this artist a poet or a painter and that one a musician. But 
this gift afterwards reacts upon his character because of the media 
peculiar to the language which his endowment indicates and im- 
poses upon him. It is the very quality of sound that makes it to 
an artist of an emotional temperament a more adequate and more 
immediate instrument than color. The language of sounds is a 
creation of man, even more so than the language of colors. In fine, 
it would seem that hearing is, if I may venture to say it, a more in- 
timate and interior phenomenon than sight. We are obliged in 
some sort to go outside of ourselves in order to see something out- 
side, and this is one of the reasons for the opposition of these arts, 
an opposition, which, while common, is not constant, not always so 
pronounced in many individuals. 

In short, there remain for me certain difficulties inherent in the 
thesis, and I publish them now as they occur to me, expecting to 
get more light by so doing. M. Ribot has such clearness and force 
that I am not quite sure but the mistake is mine. However, it is 
time to leave his fascinating volume, over which I linger in spite 
of myself. It will stand among the most original works that have 
thus far been written by this unchallenged master of French psy- 


The work of M. Th. Ruyssen, Essai sur devolution psycho- 
logique du jugement, touches in some points that of M. Ribot, and 
follows the same method. The main thesis of M. Ruyssen involves, 
in fact, the following procedures, which are, moreover, intimately 
connected the application of the genetic method to the study of 
the judgment, and the extension of physiology into psychology. 

Philosophers hitherto have studied the judgment as exempli- 
fied in judgments, the completed judgment of the adult or even 
of the child. According to the particular doctrine of each philos- 
opher the judgment has been regarded as an operation of the in- 
telligence, an act of the will, etc. And the intervention of the will, 
of desire, has led to the paying greater attention to the part of the 
physiological concommitants, sensations, movements, etc. When 
once the method of the natural sciences was introduced, the in- 
vestigators became more bold ; they have attempted, and not with- 
out success, to apply the genetic method to the operations of the 
mind: for example, they have undertaken to determine the manner 
in which judgments are formed, of what elements they are com- 
posed, and what paths are travelled by the mind in forming judg- 

M. Ruyssen intends to push this investigation still further. He 
takes note not only of the composition and evolution of our judg- 
ments ; he would attempt to go to the heart of the matter and report 
the formation of credulity, that is to say, of the habit developed 
within us of judging and believing. Accordingly, judgment will 
not be considered henceforth in its isolated exterior products; it 
will be traced back to the fundamental acts of life, studied as a 
function in the process of evolution of the individual himself just 
as deeply as it may be possible to follow it. Physiology must illu- 
mine, if not explain, the psychological process. 

But how shall the transition be accomplished ? What principles 
may be followed in connecting the evolution of the judgment with 
that of life? M. Ruyssen hopes to find them in these two great 
facts: habit and adaptation, which are met under different aspects 
at every step of the ladder of life: the tendency to perpetuate the 


vital stimuli, and to respond (with an excess of energy, he adds in 
italics, following Spencer) to the stimuli most favorable to living. 
It is evident that spontaneity is a prime fact involved and 
recognised, without which we could not conceive either habits or 
adaptations. It is no less clear that we can scarcely refuse to rec- 
ognise something like a rudiment of consciousness in the elementary 
manifestations of life. M. Rtiyssen does not flatter himself that he 
will find the first states of consciousness of the child emerging from 
"a sort of psychic vacuum or non-existence," but rather, as he puts 
it, "from a background at once extraordinarily complex and solid 
of psychological states obscurely perceived and of habits uncon- 
sciously acquired." The repetition of acts beneficial to the organ- 
ism will be, in brief, the initial point. It takes a liberal step to get 
from this to the clear consciousness of these relations and the con- 
struction of the edifice of logic. On the genesis itself of our faculty 
of judgment we have no direct light; we have been able only to 
try to untangle the vital reasons of our tendency to affirm, to judge, 
and to believe. M. Rtiyssen has announced no pretention of teach- 
ing us more than this. In the very interesting pages in which he 
studies the attention, doubt, belief, etc., and which constitute the 
subject of another part of his book, he follows, indeed, the ordinary 
processes of psychology. I have not the time to pursue this further ; 
it will suffice to have characterised his meritorious attempt. His 
work marks one of the most pronounced steps that have been taken 

toward the solution of a problem of first importance. 

* * * 

To what class of feelings the esthetic feeling belongs ; to what 
other feelings it is related; what place these feelings occupy in the 
life of the individual and the species; to what characteristics in 
things the sense of beauty in us corresponds; by what signs the 
peculiar sense of beauty is recognised ; under what forms and in 
what circumstances it is manifested; from what capital the various 
arts are enriched; in what proportion the passions of the soul and 
rational motives unite to form them: these are some of the prob- 
lems that present themselves to us as soon as we begin to discuss the 
origin of art, its expression, its nature. The very title of the im- 


portant work of M. Paul Souriau, La beaute rationnelle, shows us 
that he does not propose to attack them all, and that he has devoted 
himself especially to establishing, in accordance with his conception 
of the term, the plan of a system of esthetics calculated to bring to- 
gether divers theories and to formulate general principles which 
would assure a practice at once rational and more conscious of its 
object and its means. 

Perhaps this title will rouse the apprehensions of some readers. 
Let them be reassured, M. Souriau does not approach his subject 
in an autocratic spirit; he begins his study where we might all be- 
gin it, excepting that we would not carry the theory of subjectivity 
in art to the extreme point of denying all relation of appropriateness 
between the qualities of things and the impressions that we receive 
from them. He concedes that esthetic judgments "are perhaps the 
most subjective, those into which we put the most of ourselves and 
involve our personality most profoundly." 

But for all that, not everything here is personal; objective 
judgments are "implied in all our judgments of taste." These are 
the elements which it is necessary to eliminate. It is necessary 
to subject our esthetic judgments to rational supervision, taking 
them just as facts, experience and acquired notions have made them 
to-day, instead of going back to the Deluge. And if, on the other 
hand, this work of supervision leads back constantly to reasons de- 
rived from self-interest, from our knowledge, from our dignity, 
M. Souriau accepts the reproach which may be brought against him 
of confounding esthetics with logic, with science, with morals, for 
it is precisely toward such a fusion that it is tending with all its 

Determination of the idea of the beautiful, sensual beauty, in- 
tellectual beauty, moral beauty, these are some of the divisions 
under which the author's arguments are arranged. Starting, in 
accordance with his programme, not from experience nor from 
evolution, but from reason, he posits to begin with these two prin- 
ciples : beauty is evident perfection, and perfection is the conformity 
of a thing to its purpose, so that the domination of purposes will 
give us that of perfections, the most elevated purpose that we can 


possibly conceive being the full flower of conscious life. Accord- 
ingly the beautiful and the useful, while remaining distinct ideas, 
are no longer antagonistic; 2 intelligence will contribute, further- 
more, to beauty, since its ultimate function is neither to know nor 
to comprehend, but to arrange actions with a view to an end ; moral- 
ity and beauty consist alike in the perfection of the being, or at least 
tend toward it. 

I am giving only the skeleton of the theory, which is richly and 
very clearly developed. One cannot but approve of M. Souriau's 
designs. It has always seemed to me, as it does to him, that every 
work of art is subject to one essential condition, that it shall not 
contradict either our scientific logic or our moral logic. It is a 
hackneyed truth, that the perfection of man is the ultimate object 
of our sciences, of our rules of life and of our arts, over and above 
the pleasure which they yield us. It would even be legitimate to 
conceive of esthetics as "the complete science of sensation and feel- 
ing," (as did only recently the much to be regretted Durand de 
Gros), ethics being regarded as a branch of it: in fine, the science 
of application or of adaptation, under the general principles of 
which would be grouped morality and artistic creation, each having 
its own theory, its own methods of instruction, and its own tech- 

Some time since (in Dix annees de philosophic, p. 141) I wrote 
that art is more or less directly useful in so far as it favors the exer- 
cise of natural faculties (this being the biological point of view), 
in so far as it ennobles the individual and strengthens social bonds 
(this being the ethical point of view), and also in so far as it is a 
variety of knowledge and reveals to us something of man and of 
exterior nature (this being the scientific point of view) ; neverthe- 
less it remains distinct both by virtue of its means of expression, its 
language, and by virtue of its immediate end, which is a specific 

2 On this point I have always thought that the utility of an object does 
not detract from its beauty, but nevertheless it will not suffice to create it: 
the beauty lies in the manner of expressing the useful. This consideration 
should never be neglected in the judgments which we form on architecture 
especially; economic utility produces many ugly results here, which are still 
further aggravated by a false art. 


pleasure, or an emotional state and at the same time an intellectual 
pleasure. Some further explanations would be necessary here, but 
a more thorough discussion of the subject would exceed the limits 
of this correspondence. I must take leave of M. Souriau, thanking 
him for his work and his criticisms. His book is important and 
timely in the midst of the confusion of our schools. Yet I will not 

offer to guarantee its efficiency. 

* * * 

M. Marcel Mauxion, in an Essai sur les elements et I' evolution 
de la moralite, makes a careful analysis of the idea of the good. He 
reduces the elements of morality to the following three : the esthetic 
element, to which individual perfection corresponds ; the logical ele- 
ment, to which correspond justice and law; and the sympathetic 
element, pity and love. The view which is particularly his own 
is the genetic exposition of these elements. The development of the 
esthetic element has, in his opinion, always prepared the way and 
fixed the conditions for the rational element, which in its turn has 
preceded that of the sympathetic element. Whence is derived this 
practical conclusion, that it will be impossible to base morality upon 
either one of these elements to the exclusion of the others, or to in- 
vert their natural and rigorous order. 

Incidently I would note an excellent criticism of the theories 
of what is called solidarity, one of those words on which it is 
fashionable to build to-day without considering exactly what they 
signify. The little volume of M. Mauxion deserves to be read and 

* * * 

The Monist has already published an account of the volume of 
M. Fr. Paulhan, entitled La fonction de la memoire et le souvenir 
affectif. Therefore I may be excused if I do not devote so much 
attention to it to-day as the value of the work would demand. M. 
Paulhan maintains the reality of emotional recollections (this ques- 
tion of emotional memory seems to be the order of the day), but 
not without letting it be seen that he mingles with them constantly 
intellectual recollections: moreover they both present the charac- 
teristic of being constantly modified, separated, or transformed ac- 


cording to new circumstances. They tend to organise themselves 
into systems which will become the foundation of the individual 
and will be useful to him. In fine, and without entering into the 
analysis of the facts, which are so numerous and so complex, we 
have here a painstaking study of the mental mechanism looked at 
in an especial light and connecting with the general theory of "sys- 
tematic finality," which has been presented by M. Paulhan with 

sufficient detail in his previous works. 

* * * 

M. Malapert's Le caractere 3 is a very complete and interesting 
work. The reader will find in it a history and a profound criticism 
of the attempts at classification proposed in recent years, the economy 
of which I have previously pointed out in the present journal. I 
think it best to reproduce here the remark made concerning M. 
Malapert's work by M. Alfred Binet in the last volume ( loth year) 
of the Annee psychologique. It is impossible, M. Binet thinks, to 
study characters in the lump and at one sitting; but one can study 
and observe particular traits of character very well by putting 
oneself in favorable conditions called forth if need be by the ob- 
server himself. The wise method to follow, would be to obtain from 
nature, series of reactions which one would then group and classify 
in order to select typical reactions. Attempts at classification based 
upon theoretical views seem to me, as they do to M. Binet, to have 
yielded all that they are capable of yielding, and I think with him 
that investigators would make a mistake to linger in the path that 
has been followed until now. It is better to use a longer but doubt- 
less a more fruitful method. 

* * * 

Here we have a volume of particular interest for American 
readers, that of M. Emile Lauvriere, Edgar Poe, sa vie et son ceuvre. 
The mere name of Poe gives sufficient ground for conjecturing that 
it is a study of pathological psychology; such it is, and the most 
complete that has ever been written, if I am not mistaken. Poe's 
clinical table is startling. The relations of the work to the tempera- 

8 Paris, Doin, pub. Works without any publisher's name are from the 
house of F. Alcan, 


ment of the poet seem to be apparent. It is no exaggeration to say, 
in accordance with the documents here collected, that "the poetic 
originality of Poe was his affliction" ; his imagination was "the pro- 
jection of his defects into literature." And yet, M. Lauvriere re- 
marks, the critical sense of the man, his studied taste, his conscious 
logic succeeded in organising into a harmonious work discordant 
elements which seemed incapable of yielding anything but the in- 
coherence of delirium. "Poe's lucid reason triumphs over his irri- 
tated sensibility ; his art subdues his madness." 

In another place (Memoire et imagination) I have undertaken 
to show that the attention persists in the improvisations of the poet 
and the dramatist, that the judgment continues to play its part 
even in the midst of rapid and inspired performance. I have pointed 
out, besides, in connection with the declarations of certain writers, 
the watch kept by the poet over the automatic march of the images 
of his fancy, the constant and efficient presence of the reason, despite 
a seeming subdivision and distraction of the ego and of the uncon- 
scious operation of a stranger who might have entered upon the 
scene. The example of Poe, in my opinion, supports the truth of 
this observation and supports the assumption of the constant pres- 
ence of the critical sense. It also permits us to demonstrate that 
the effect of troubles combined with a tendency to degeneracy is 
not to prevent this activity of the reason or the critical faculty, but 
rather, at first and in the majority of cases, to supply the imagination 
with imperfect materials. It would be a really instructive study to 
disentagle, in certain chosen and particular cases, the precise in- 
fluence of the various pathological states upon the production of 
the artist and the poet; only in this way would the much debated 
question of the relation of genius to madness find any proper answer. 
And it is in fine a chapter of such a study, a very important chapter, 
which M. Lauvriere has presented to us. 

* * * 

M. Guy de Charnace has published under the title Hommes 
et chases du temps present* independent articles in criticism on 
works of philosophy, esthetics ,and science. Himself an eminent 

*2 vols., Paris, Emile Paul, pub. 


zootechnician, the Marquis de Charnace is particularly instructive 
in the pages where he treats of Groos, Metchnikoff, Lebon, etc. 
Evolution finds in him a persistent adversary. He is further inter- 
esting in the pages devoted to volumes on psychology, sociology, 
or metaphysics, for here he takes up the questions as a man of the 
world who has lived his life, and he finds in his "common sense" of 
an enlightened and inquisitive reader objections which too fre- 
quently escape the specialist shut up in his study. His attitude is 
clear and frank : he takes the position of a Catholic and a Christian, 
yet without narrowness. 

There remain for me to name, without at present being able to 
say anything about them, the following works: M. Queyrat, Les 
jeux chez les enfants; MM. Toulouse, Vaschide, and Pieron, Tech- 
nique de psychologie experimentale* ; M. A. Levy, La philosophie 
de Feuerbach; M. Remy de Gourmont, Physique de Vamour, essai 
sur I' instinct sexuel* ; L'abbe Laberthonniere, Le realisme chretien 
et I'idealisme grec 7 ; M. Le Dantec, Les influences ancestrales 8 ; M. 
Brunetiere, Sur les chemins de la croyance 6 , a work which will de- 
mand a thorough discussion. Etc. 


PARIS, FRANCE, December, 1904. 

POSTSCRIPT. I have just received a copy of the Revue de philo- 
sophie, managed by M. Peilloube (4th year, No. n). 10 This ex- 
cellent review is not unknown to the readers of The Monist. It is 
well arranged, liberal, and offers to its readers the means to follow 
the philosophic movement. I will mention in this number a very 
complete report of the International Congress of Philosophy, held 
at Geneva, of the Congress of History and Sciences, also held at 
Geneva, and of the Congress of the British Association for the Ad- 
vancement of Science at Cambridge. 

5 Doin, pub. 8 Mercure de France, pub. T Lethielleux, pub. 

8 Flammarion, pub. * Perrin, pub. 10 Chevalier et Riviere, pub. 


To the Editor of The Monist. 

I am late in thanking you for your kind gift of the July Monist con- 
taining so many interesting articles on the international language. The cause 
of my delay is found in the many claims upon my time and particularly in 
the Second International Congress of Philosophy, which met at Geneva from 
the fourth to the eighth of September. I take pleasure in informing you 
that the Congress, after having heard my report on the progress of the no- 
tion of an international language, took the following action: 

1. It endorsed the platform of the Commision on the adoption of an 
international auxiliary language. 

2. It renewed my appointment as member of the Commission, which I 
had received from the first session of the Congress at Paris in 1900. 

3. It appointed as a new member of the Commission Prof. Ludwig Stein, 
of Berne, who has long been in sympathy with our undertaking and who 
spoke in its behalf at the Congress. 

It seems to me that these results are of sufficient importance to deserve 
communication to your readers and that they cannot fail to be interested in 

If I did not fear to trespass on your indulgence I should add a brief 
reply to the objections raised by yourself and M. Arreat, polite and appre- 
ciative though they be. Permit me to say that they are all due to an in- 
correct or too narrow conception of the problem, or even to a simple lack of 
information. I will begin by taking up those which are based upon simple 
errors of fact. 

You say, for example (p. 565), that the devotees of Volapuk in different 
countries have had much difficulty in understanding one another. On the con- 
trary, at the International Congress of Volapuk, held in 1889, people of all 
countries conversed and held discourse in Volapuk with great ease and under- 
stood one another perfectly. Volapuk has even made marriages (I could 
cite the names) of persons of different nationalities who had no other com- 


mon language. To-day Esperanto has accomplished still more completely 
what you regard as a miracle: this summer there have been several meetings 
of French and English Esperantists at Havre, Rouen, and Dover, and they 
all conversed continually in Esperanto with the greatest ease and familiarity. 
You may confirm this by inquiry of the British Consul at Havre, or of the 
Mayor of Dover. 

Moreover, the unheard of and almost incredible fact was observed, that 
the English who spoke Esperanto had none of that characteristic accent 
which marks them forthwith when they undertake to speak French ! This 
in response to M. Arreat who still doubts whether an artificial language can 
actually be spoken (p. 563) ! If my personal testimony has any value I will 
record the following fact : I have never learned to speak Esperanto ; I only 
read it. Now a Russian Esperantist came to my house one day unexpectedly 
and addressed me in Esperanto. I understood him perfectly without losing 
a single word of his conversation (which never happens to me with either 
a German or an Englishman), and without any preparation I was able to 
reply to him in Esperanto and make myself perfectly intelligible to him 
(which I should not be able to do in English, and only with difficulty in 
German). Draw your own conclusions! You (and M. Arreat) say that 
an artificial language would not be easier to learn than a living language 
(pp. 563 and 596). This is an entire mistake! It is a hundred times easier 
to learn, because it is regular. Just think of what a marvel of simplicity you 
have in a language without exceptions ! You speak of English as an easy 
language, because its grammar is a bit simpler than that of other languages. 
But you forget that it is quite as irregular as others, quite as full of anomalies 
and want of logic, that the English syntax frequently gives rise to equivo- 
cations (for example, in the deplorable habit of omitting the relative pro- 
noun), and that English style swarms with idioms that are unintelligible to 
an uninitiated foreigner. Reforming English orthography and making it 
phonetic will not render English easier for foreigners to pronounce; this 
will simply make it more difficult to read. 

M. Arreat says : "Is it not better to learn English, which puts me into 
touch with 150 millions of men?" Without discussing this number, which 
seems to me to be exaggerated (the number of those whose mother tongue 
is English is usually reckoned at 125 millions, and it is evidently unfair to 
add to this the number of foreigners who may know English, for in this case 
we must also add to the number of Frenchmen the number of those who can 
speak French, etc.), I will simply reply to this: I have not and shall never 
have anything to do with these 125 millions of people; but as trader and 
scholar I shall have to do with a thousand persons who speak English; but 
I shall also have to do with a thousand who speak German, with 500 speak- 
ing Italian, with 500 speaking Spanish, with 500 speaking Russian, with 200 


speaking Dutch, with 100 speaking some Skandinavian language, and so on. 
What good will English do me with all these other people? Why should a 
Frenchman and a German, an Italian and a Russian use English in talking 
with one another rather than the national language of some one of them ? Will 
my knowledge of English enable me to read the literary works and scien- 
tific publications of Hungary and Poland? This shows how absurd it is to 
propose any given living language whatever as an international language. 
You propose English because it is spoken by 125 millions of people. Why 
not propose Chinese, which is spoken by 400 millions? If it is a matter of 
numbers the Chinese ought to carry the day. Is it not better to be in touch 
with 400 million men than with 125 million? You see, your arguments are 
refuted by the reductio ad abs-urdum. 

You allege that English language and literature are international (p. 595), 
and I may reply: Neither more nor less than the French literature, the 
German literature, the Russian literature (Tolstoy), and even the Skandi- 
navian literature (Ibsen). This then is not a peculiar claim of the English, 
nor an argument in its favor. You think that it is spoken and understood 
"everywhere" ; but go to Italy, for instance : French is the language spoken 
by all who have business with foreigners, and I have seen Englishmen very 
much embarrassed where a Frenchman could get along perfectly well. You 
accuse Mr. Ostwald of having a "national prejudice" against English, and 
you attempt to find political reasons for this (592). I am not prepared to re- 
ply to this in the name of the Germans, but I can affirm as a Frenchman 
that the animosities which you recall no longer linger among us, and that 
public opinion is favorable to "a cordial mutual understanding." 

Permit me to say to you, that if any one is the victim of national prejudice 
it is he who proposes his own language as the international medium, and not 
the one who discards every national tongue, including his own, in favor of 
the international language. The exclusion of national languages, recorded in 
our programme, is a clause expressing mutual disinterestedness; it is the 
indispensable condition for any international agreement, and it may boldly 
be asserted that if an international language is ever adopted it will of neces- 
sity be a neutral one. 

I know very well that you think very little of a formal and, as it were, 
diplomatic agreement, and that you expect the solution of the problem not 
from an agreement and a vote, but from the natural concurrence of languages. 
I have no objection; but you forget that the same national prejudices which 
were opposed to the official adoption of a living language are also invincibly 
opposed to its natural propagation. You invoke "the struggle for existence," 
"natural selection," and "the survival of the fittest." But precisely because 
they do struggle for existence national languages will not abdicate in fa- 
vor of one from among their own ranks. As for natural selection, it may 


just as well occasion the triumph of two or three languages or even of six, 
as of a single one; the problem will not be solved in this way. 

But even this is a chimera: the Germans and Russians have not suc- 
ceeded after a century in suppressing the Polish tongue, even when it would 
be to the interest of the Poles to use the language of their conquerors. And 
yet you expect that the English can ever suppress German, French, or 
Russian? English will be the universal language only when the whole world 
is English ! and even then it is not sure of dominion. Greek survived along- 
side of Latin in the heart of the Roman Empire and was the international 
language of the entire Orient; Roman emperors, such as Marcus Aurelius 
and Julian, wrote in Greek. And let me add, that you are dreaming of a 
universal language, that is, one common to all nations, while we are asking 
only for an auxiliary language, which will be learned in any case only by 
a minority in each country and which will leave the national languages as 
they are, with their natural territory and their peaceable rivalry. 

But it is unworthy of philosophers to expect from constraint and vio- 
lence the solution of a problem in civilisation. It is not by exciting national 
self-love and interest and by favoring dreams of universal conquest and 
megalomania that we shall succeed in making humanity better and happier: 
every appeal to violence is a relapse of civilisation, a return to barbarism. 
This is particularly true of the problem of an international language. This 
problem can be solved only by an agreement among civilised nations (whether 
this understanding be spontaneously developed, or under the official form 
which we are proposing in order to speed its realisation) and by the adop- 
tion of a neutral idiom, which shall be equally intelligible for all the peoples 
of European civilisation, and whereby all may communicate together on a 
perfectly equal footing. Every time that a national language is made use 
of between two people of different race one of the speakers or writers is 
more or less sarcrificed or subordinated to the other; he feels himself to be 
in a position of inferiority, and this produces a sentiment of embarrasment 
and resentment. On the other hand, an auxiliary language is neutral ground, 
equally unfamiliar, or rather equally familiar to both parties, and one on 
which they feel themselves equally at ease. Here as everywhere else equality 
is the condition of fraternity. 


Postscript: I am glad to be able to announce that the "French Philo- 
sophical Society" determined on October 27 to support the Commission and 
appointed as its representative on the same M. Bergson, member of the Acad- 
emy of Moral Sciences and Professor in the College de France, the well 
known and respected philosopher, who has long approved our undertaking. 



It is not our intention to enter into a controversy with M. Couturat, 
especially as we cherish toward his endeavor the most kindly sentiments and 
(in spite of our doubts) wish that his hope of an auxiliary international 
language might be fulfilled. Accordingly we shall here limit ourselves to a 
tew statements in which M. Couturat has mistaken our attitude. 

If an auxiliary international language will prove to be what M. Couturat 
expects of it we shall be most glad to use it and spread it all over the world. 
So far we have not yet been convinced of the usefulness of any of the auxil- 
iary international languages, among which Esperanto seems to be the most 
promising one. Our doubts as to the success of Esperanto do not prevent 
us, however, from serving the good cause and making the ideal, as well as 
all the propositions to actualise it, known to our readers. That is all we can 
do under the present circumstances, and therefore our attitude is one of de- 
cided friendliness, not of hostility. 

M. Couturat seems to be under the impression that I have proposed Eng- 
lish as the international language. That is not the case. I have only used 
the spread of the English language as an instance how an international 
language will gradually establish itself and how it will conquer the world. 
I have not as yet declared myself an adherent to making English the inter- 
national language. While English is at present the simplest language, I am 
perfectly aware of its many shortcomings among which I enumerated only 
a few. 

When I said that English is no longer the language of the English but 
international I did not mean to declare that English is as yet the inter- 
national language. I simply meant that English is spoken by other nations 
than the English. English is the national language of the United States as 
well as all the English colonies, which are so many budding nations, and prac- 
tically also of South Africa. It is a fact that the bitterest enemies of Eng- 
land speak the English tongue. No more vigorous invectives against the 
English nation and the English government have been published in other 
languages than in English. English is spoken by the Irish and also by al- 
most half of the anti-English Africanders. 

My policy with regard to the adoption of an international language is 
simply the principle of laissez faire. I believe that the best adapted language 
will naturally conquer in the long run. Should English prove to be the 
simplest and best medium for an international exchange of thought, let 
English by its own intrinsic merit become the international language. If 
there be any other language, artificial or natural, that is superior, let it prove 
its superiority by being acceptable to the majority of mankind, and I believe 
that in a free competition in which we give fair chances to every one the 
fittest will survive. 


Most assuredly I believe in the ideal that at last mankind will speak one 
language, and I trust that the time will come when mankind will have one 
civilisation, whose forms may differ but which is one in possessing the same 
moral ideals. Whether or not the different national languages will be pre- 
served is a matter of secondary importance. 

So long as the different nationalities still have a hold on the several 
races of mankind it seems to me that a pasigraphy would be the best and 
easiest medium of communication, and with this idea in mind, I have proposed 
my scheme as published in The Monist, Vol. XIV, No. 4, which is so far a 
mere general scheme but could, if completed by competent hands, be con- 
densed into a grammar of a few pages, the principles of which could be 
learned within an hour by the mere perusal of a leaflet, and thus it would 
enable any traveller to make his wishes known to strangers while travelling 
among people with whose language he is absolutely unacquainted, if only he 
carries a grammar of pasigraphy along in the shape of a small pamphlet, 
written in the language of the country. PAUL CARUS. 


I have been much interested in your suggestion of a new universal lan- 
guage, Pasigraphy, in the July number of The Monist. A few suggestions 
have come to my mind that I send you, thinking perhaps you might consider 
them while the language is still in an experimental stage. 

To begin with, I am heartily in favor of your suggestion and think it 
altogether the most promising one that I have ever seen for a universal lan- 
guage. I do not think there is any hope of securing the universal adoption 
of any one language, on account of national jealousies, and I am not even 
sure that it would be advantageous, since many of the race differences which 
have been so effective in the building up of our complex civilisation in all 
its different phases would be wiped out if race and national differences were 
eliminated. It seems to me, however, that pasigraphy might well be tied 
up to English pronunciation in case it were to be widely used, English being 
so direct a language that few modifications would be required to make its 
grammar scientific. Still, I suppose a German could read pasigraphy if he 
wanted to, though it would never seem like German. 

This brings up the matter of a phonetic system to accompany pasigraphy. 
For proper names some phonetic system must be used, and if the English 
pronunciation be given to pasigraphy the pronunciation could be figured in 
this phonetic alphabet for the use of beginners. I have not looked up 
Alexander Graham Bell's Scientific Alphabet, but it might perhaps be useful 
for this purpose. 

The matter of fundamental importance, however, which occurs to me 


is that in pasigraphy you will in the long run sacrifice legibility to conve- 
nience in writing. I believe Chinese will be easier to read than pasigraphy 
when you get a large vocabulary. Why not make your characters more com- 
plicated and then have a simplified form, as the Chinese do, for quick writ- 
ing. The great advantage of Chinese characters that has been pointed out 
to me by an educated Japanese who knew English perfectly and which is, 
I believe also noticed by Williams, is the startling definiteness with which 
the idea stands forth when once the character has been mastered. We read 
words by their shape, and certainly the Chinese have more distinctive shapes 
than our own printed words where often some small mark, for instance, 
like the straight line of an e distinguishing it from a c, is all that separates 
widely different words. 

However, the most important matter of all to my mind is the construc- 
tion of a dictionary. I do not see that you have made any provision for this, 
which, however, must be made early in the development of pasigraphy. 

As soon as you have a thousand characters it will be a hopeless task 
to hunt through them to find one that is forgotten or as yet unlearned. The 
Chinese system of a certain number of root characters out of which other 
words are formed by compounding might be used, or perhaps some system 
based on the geometrical form of the character. At any rate, some sort of 
a dictionary must be gotten up, and I believe you will be forced to compound 
characters in order to avoid having too many primary roots which would be 
difficult to find. 

The awakening of China is at hand, and I believe a rational system of 
pasigraphy based on a world language could perhaps be adopted early in the 
development of that great country. 

I hope you will devote a page in each number of The Monist to pasig- 
raphy and ultimately give exercises, perhaps with keys, written in the new 

All these are mere suggestions which grew out of my interest in your 
suggestion. I think it would be well for a commission to get together as 
soon as possible a grammar, elementary reader, and a dictionary, since I do 
not think it best to leave to the spontaneous efforts of experts the perfection 
of the symbols. The co-operation you speak of on page 582 would be essen- 
tial to the proper development of the new language. 

A last suggestion is that a society could perhaps be formed for the per- 
fection of pasigraphy and that for the present it could be kept in an embyronic 
condition; that each member of the society be called upon to suggest symbols 
for new words, to be submitted to the council of the society; and that after 
a few months or years of such experimenting the language be put out in 
final form in such shape that it could be taught in the public schools and 
struggle for existence against Esperanto and other artificial languages. The 


minute one tries to write a sentence one strikes the need for new characters, 
as you will see from the slip I enclose. From the results that I have seen 
in many lines of work I am much inclined to think that Mr. Cook's symbasis 
is as important in intellectual advancement as in organic evolution, and I 
believe its application to pasigraphy would be advantageous whereby the co- 
operating intelligences of many would be blended together to form as per- 
fect a language as possible. 



In the discussion of the theme dealt with in Dr. Ostwald's Weltsprache 
there is one phase of the problem that is usually left out of account, namely, 
the political force behind a language. 

As long as Greece sent forth colonies the Greek tongue continued to 
spread. It is true, the rich and varied intellectual treasures of which it was 
the bearer counted for something, but they were not the most important fac- 
tor in its expansion: this was the governments that were able to hold their 
own against the tribes by which those colonies were surrounded. As soon 
as Rome came into conflict with Greek peoples they had to give way to 
better organised political institutions. At first Italy and its islands ceased 
to be Greek; next the more specifically Greek lands followed and became to 
a greater or less extent Romanised. But in the East neither Greece nor 
Rome could long hold its ground in the face of the foes that appeared on 
every side. 

On the basis of these facts and of others of a similar nature, what 
is the legitimate inference to be drawn? Every one who knows anything 
about the development of political institutions is aware that those worked 
out in England have more powerfully influenced modern thought than any 
other. More than two centuries ago continental writers began to point to 
the English representative system as the ideal government, while the English 
themselves have evinced very little inclination to change it. They go no 
farther than to admit the necessity of some modifications. 

We are compelled by the events themselves to say that the English, 
using the term in its widest sense, expand because the government supports 
but does not lead those who go forth to make homes for themselves in new 
countries. The spirit of personal initiative and individual independence is 
carried abroad by the emigrants. Both the French and the Spaniards had 
the start of the English in getting a foot-hold on this continent, the Spaniards 
especially preempting the fairest portions of it ; but neither held its possessions 
long or made much of its opportunities. 


Professor Fouillee says in his Psychologic du peuple franfais: "At the 
end of the seventeenth century France had twenty million inhabitants, Great 
Britain and Ireland eight or ten millions, the present German empire twenty- 
one millions, Austria twelve to thirteen millions." He cites the authority of 
Leroy-Beaulieu to the effect that if a statistician had made a prophecy of 
the population of England at that time for about the year 1900 he would not 
have put down to the credit of the country more than eight or ten millions. 
Fouillee continues: "In 1789 France had twenty-six millions, Great Britain 
and Ireland twelve millions, the German empire thirty-three millions, Aus- 
tria eighteen millions." It will thus be seen that one hundred years ago sev- 
eral European languages were more numerously represented than the Eng- 
lish ; for to the above we may add the Spanish and the Italian, to say nothing 
of the Russian. 

How does the case stand now? 

There are in North America not less than eighty millions who speak 
English. In the rest of the world, outside of Great Britain and Ireland, there 
are probably eight millions more. We thus get a total of English-speaking 
people greater than the whole population of the Russian empire, in which, 
however, a large portion of the population does not speak Russian. Toward 
the end of the sixteenth century England had only five millions of a popula- 
tion, and a hundred years later it had gained only a million. From that time 
on the increase has been almost marvellous. At the present rate, which there 
is no reason to believe will be materially checked within the next century, 
it is not hard to see that by the year two thousand English will be the Welt- 
sprache. CHARLES W. SUPER. 


We publish in this issue a posthumous article of Dr. Clarence L. Herrick, 
well known in the scientific world for the services he rendered to the Uni- 
versity of New Mexico in his capacity as President, and among neurologists 
as the Editor of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, the standard period- 
ical of its kind in this country. The Editor of The Monist has been in 
correspondence with Dr. Herrick for a long time and during past years car- 
ried on a friendly controversy in the neurological journal concerning the 
seat of consciousness. Of late Dr. Herrick had sent a manuscript for pub- 
lication in The Monist, "On the Passing Away of Materialism," and the 
date of its appearance had been fixed for the present number, but unfortu- 
nately Dr. Herrick, who had suffered for a long time from ill health, passed 
away on Thursday morning, the I5th of September. The following con- 
densed statement of his career is extracted from the U. N. M. Weekly of 


Albuquerque and advance sheets of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, 
kindly forwarded by his brother, Prof. C. Judson Herrick: 

"Prof. Clarence L. Herrick, M. S., Ph. D., was born in Minneapolis, 
Minn., in 1858. He graduated with high honors from the University of 
Minnesota in 1880. A year was next devoted to hard study and careful re- 
search in the University of Leipsic. In 1885 he accepted the professorship 
of geology and biology in Denison University, Granville, Ohio. Much suc- 
cess crowned his efforts there, but in 1889 he accepted the chair of biology 
in the University of Cincinnati. It was here that he founded the Journal 
of Comparative Neurology, of which he remained editor-in-chief up to the 
time of his decease. 

"After another season of study in Germany and return to Denison, Pro- 
fessor Herrick became distinguished in the scientific world. In America there 
was not his superior as a neurologist. The University of Chicago elected 
him to a chair of biology. A naturally vigorous constitution, however, now 
gave way, even under forty years of age, owing to his unremitting zeal and 
toil, and lie sought the almost hopeless expedient of the climate of New 

"Here out-of-door life and his intense interest in nature so far restored 
him to health that he successfully held the presidency of the University of 
New Mexico for some time, but ill-health again obliged him to resign that 
important post. 

"During his last year there was an obvious failing of physical strength, 
so that long field trips had to be abandoned. But the more quiet life gave 
opportunity for a thorough recasting of many questions and formulation of 
matters which had been in his mind all his life. So that before his death 
much of the philosophical correlation, of which mention has been made, was 
effected. A number of articles have already been published in the philosoph- 
ical serial bearing on these matters, and there is a considerable collection of 
manuscripts remaining, much of which can doubtless be edited for publica- 
tion. It is gratifying to know that he had the satisfaction of seeing this 
work so well rounded out before his death, and that the later months of his 
life were much more restful than those preceding, some of which were marked 
by extreme suffering. He continued in about the usual health until Sep- 
tember 8, when he again had a series of uncontrollable hemorrhages, daily 
becoming weaker until on the morning of the I5th he peacefully passed away. 

"The end came in accordance with his own most earnest wish he fell 
fighting for the truth. As one of those who were near him when he passed 
away has said: 'He was taken literally "in the harness." His laboratory and 
study tables showed the unfinished tasks. His morning mail brought its 
usual load of duties. He had contributed an article to the September number 
of the American Geologist, and his mail on the morning of his death brought 


a request from Dr. N. H. Winchell for some further contributions to the 
October number. Thus in the midst of his labors he passed into the larger 

"In estimating the character of his work it is difficult to say whether he 
was primarily an investigator or a philosopher. And this is to his great 
credit, for he combined in a remarkable degiee the qualifications of an ex- 
pert in both of these lines. He had at once acute perceptions and keen in- 
sight for scientific details, and a broad philosophic horizon and perspective, 
which peculiarly fitted him for the work he undertook of throwing light 
upon the nature of consciousness from the neurological side." 

"The aim of his life was to throw light upon just such so-called insoluble 
problems as the relation of consciousness to the brain. 'Ignorabimus' is a 
word which never fell from his lips. The unity of the material and the 
mental is a truth upon which he came to lay increasing stress in his later 
years. Starting from a Lotzean spiritualistic idealism he never lost hold of 
the monism which characterises this philosophic world-view, though in many 
respects he worked beyond it, his scientific studies serving to correct any 
tendency to an exclusive emphasis upon the mental. 

"In the memory of his pupils Professor Herrick was greatest as a 
teacher. This statement can only be appreciated by those who knew him 
personally and were in his classes. There was no display of oratory. He 
was not what would be called a gifted public speaker, though he was often 
called upon for such services. It was in the class-room or about the seminar 
table or in general conversation that the inexhaustible fertility of his thought 
and fine suggestiveness of his language appeared. In his lectures one always 
knew that he was getting the best, the latest, the deepest results of his scien- 
tific research and philosophic reflection. Never was any work slighted in 
which his students were involved. Other things might be sacrificed time, 
money, convenience, even health itself, but never the student." 


RELIGION AND THE HIGHER LIFE. Talks to Students. By William Rainey 
Harper, President of the University of Chicago. Chicago: The Uni- 
versity Press. 1904. Pp. Ix, 184. Price, $1.00. 

Dr. William Rainey Harper, President of the University of Chicago, is 
one of the strenuous men of the present generation. He is not only an ex- 
ceedingly active administrator of the Chicago University but also a good 
teacher. In fact, in his specialty as Professor of Hebrew he has no superior 
and scarcely an equal among his colleagues. And here we have before us 
a book of his in which he shows the methods and tendencies of his influence 
upon the students entrusted to his care. It allows an insight into Harper 
the educator. Its sub-title "Talks to Students" indicates the spirit that 
characterises him as college president in his pastoral work. 

Religion in President Harper's opinion is indispensable for obtaining 
the higher life. He says: 

"Religion is not the mother of art, science, philosophy, and ethics. Re- 
ligion is not to be identified with one or all of these. Religion is not the 
enemy of art, science, philosophy, or ethics. Religion is independent of these 
phases of the higher life, but closely akin in fact, the oldest sister of the 
family. Religion is essential for the fullest development of these phases of 
the higher life. Religion must have certain characteristics to work in har- 
mony with them." 

President Harper speaks of religion in general, meaning those essential 
features which all religions have, or ought to have, in common, but the re- 
ligion which he has first of all in mind is Christianity. He sees not the 
Christianity of any special church or sect, but Christianity in the broadest 
sense, which he calls "the religion of Jesus Christ" : 

"The religion of Jesus Christ is a religion capable of adjustment to any 
and every individual, however peculiar his temperament, however exacting 
his demands. Its simpliciity, as the Master himself presented it, is mar- 
vellous. In its proper form it has always stood the most rigid tests; and it 
appeals as strongly to the reason as to the heart. It will permit you to re- 
spect your friend's religion; if he is a Jew, because it came out of Judaism; 


if a sincere follower of Islam, because much of Islam came from it; if a 
disciple of some Eastern faith, because its founder, Jesus, was broad-minded 
and tender, and saw the truth wherever it existed, without reference to the 
name it bore. It is a religion of ideals, not weird and fanciful ; but chastened, 
strong, and inspiring to true service. It is ethical in a sense peculiar to it- 
self, for it is the religion of the Beatitudes and the Golden Rule. It is a 
religion that says : "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and 
I will give you rest.' 

"The greatest minds of nineteen centuries have found this religion 
helpful. I do not urge upon you any special form of this religion, for I 
have in mind its very essence, that which is common to all forms, that which 
makes it the power history shows it to have been through all these centuries. 
This, as found in the teaching of Jesus, is, in the words of old Hebrew phi- 
losophy, the fear of the Lord i. e., belief in and acceptance of One who has 
power to help, even to the uttermost. This step, this position, this opening 
of the mind and heart to an influence of the highest spiritual character, will 
prove to be the beginning, and indeed, the chief part, of that higher life 
which lies before you, that higher life upon which you have already entered, 
and in which, we trust, your walk will continue, until there comes the next 
step forward the step that will usher you into the life still higher, the 
highest life the life beyond." 

It will be of special interest to notice the position of President Harper 
with regard to the significance of the Bible and Biblical criticism in his 
pastoral work, for President Harper belongs to the higher critics, and we 
may even say that he is one of the boldest among them. It is a matter of 
course that he finds the Bible still indispensable, and he mentions the prob- 
lems connected with Bible study among the difficulties that beset our path 
in trying to realise the higher life in religion. These difficulties to the 
scholar are mainly of a purely intellectual, not a moral or typically religious, 
nature and do not hinder the honest Christian from realising his ideals. 
President Harper says: 

"These intellectual difficulties may continue to exist without being 
settled in any way, and still one's faith may remain unaffected. Faith in 
Jesus Christ and in the living principles of Christianity is not bound up 
or in any vital way connected with the outside intellectual difficulties which 
are all the while presenting themselves to us. You have your difficulties; 
some one else has other difficulties. The result should not and need not 
affect one's active Christian life." 

Whichever way the intellectual difficulties may be settled, the great fun- 
damental principles of the truth will remain standing as on a rock, and a 
good Christian will not have his confidence in them shaken. The Bible has 


been and will forever remain a book that should be used for instruction and 
education, a book that will teach us the truth. 

As to Biblical criticism, President Harper says: 

"To be sure, I reserve the right for myself to decide that one book of the 
collection has more of religious truth in it than another. Who, for example, 
would deny that the nineteenth psalm was not more helpful than the first 
chapter of Chronicles? I reserve the right also whether this or that book 
is really to be taken as one of the collection. Luther exercised this privi- 
lege. Why should I not enjoy it also? I reserve the right, still further, to 
decide for myself in what way I shall interpret this passage or that. When 
I read: 

'The mountains skipped like rams, 
The little hills like lambs,' 

I am at liberty to believe that it is poetry and not to be taken literally. So 
likewise when I read, 

'Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon, 

And thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon ! 

And the sun stood still and the moon stayed, 

Until the nation had avenged themselves of their enemies,' 

and see that it is poetry, as it is shown to be in the Revised Version, and 
that it is obviously quoted from that ancient collection of poetical pieces, the 
book of Jasher, I understand that I may believe the Bible, without believing 
at the same time that the sun and moon stood still." 

"For relief from difficulties of every kind, whether of life or thought; 
for a help which may always be obtained ; for a rock on which firm standing- 
ground may be gained go to the Bible; not as to some talisman possessed 
of magic power, but as to a book containing story after story which tells of 
God's dealings with man; to a book containing precept upon precept, richer 
in truth than any other of the world's possessions a book which will guide 
your thought unfailingly to the only source of wisdom, to the source of all 
wisdom to God." 

"Every Christian man should face this question: 'Is the Bible what I 
have supposed it to be? If so, it is for me to treat it differently, to make it 
the subject of systematic study, and, through acquaintance with it, to come 
closer to God; to know him better, and, having this knowledge, to realise, 
as I have not hitherto realised, my responsibility to my fellow-men.' No man 
need ever fear that he will attain too large a knowledge of these sacred 

President Harper is a Christian but he believes in an American Chris- 
tianity, the Christianity as it is developing in the United States. He con- 
cludes his book with this remark : 

"Centuries will pass; and gradually humanity will come to recognise the 


significance of love; gradually Jesus the Christ will come to reign in the 
hearts of men. In this work of educating humanity to understand God and 
itself, America is the training school for teachers." 

A TREATISE. ON COSMOLOGY. By Herbert Nichols. Vol. I. Introduction. 
Cambridge, Mass., 1904. 8vo. Pp. 455. [Copies can be purchased 
from the author, 219 Commonwealth Ave., Newton Centre, Mass. 

The first paragraph of Helmholtz's immortal memoir Ueber die Erhal- 
tung der Kraft, declares that the proposition that perpetual motion is im- 
possible and the proposition that all the phenomena of physics can be ex- 
plained by (indeed he says "are due to") attractions and repulsions between 
pairs of particles, are "identical," meaning, of course, experimentally iden- 
tical. But before many years had flown, it began to be clear to the minds 
of most of those who had examined the question that they were so far from 
being identical in the phenomena to which they would give rise, that the 
proposition about work was true, while the proposition about pairs of par- 
ticles was false. It was certain phenomena of the elasticity of crystals which 
first brought this conviction to the few who were masters of that difficult 
subject. Next, those most significant of all chemical phenomena which are 
called the phenomena of the unsymmetrical carbon atom spread the wave of 
doubt to a wider circle. But what awakened physicists in general to the 
doubt was the difficulty of forming any adequate and purely mechanical or 
even hydrodynamical theory of electricity. The problem with which physical 
theorists were thus confronted goes by the name of the question of the con- 
stitution of matter, though the laws of motion are as much thrown into 
question as is the nature of ordinary matter. This question has been the chief 
subject of discussion in theoretical physics for many years. Some of the chief 
hypotheses which have been propounded for its solution have been the vor- 
tex theory, the electron theory, and Hertz's theory of concealed constraints. 
In the introductory volume of his Treatise on Cosmology, Dr. Herbert Nichols, 
who is already well known as a psychologist of high attainments in physics, 
and who here shows himself to be remarkably well-read in German philos- 
ophy, produces a new theory in competition with the three we have mentioned. 
The exposition of it occupies about a quarter of the volume. This theory, 
however, is not confined to matter, but is at once a theory of the constitution 
of matter and of the constitution of mind, having a thoroughly monistic 
character. It is based upon a philosophy which may fairly be described as 
a modification of Wundt's system, and thus gives a pretty fair idea of what 
that system would amount to when worked out into physical science. It is 
probably from that point of view that it will excite such interest as it may 
come to excite. This, however, is not the most interesting part of the volume. 


Considerably more than another quarter of it is occupied with describing in 
detail what one may call a list of sensualistic categories. These are Quality, 
Quantity, Changeableness, Lawfulness, Presentativeness, and Personality. 
This is the part of the work which has most interested the reviewer (who 
is decidedly opposed to the author's nominalistic sensationalism, and less 
decidedly to parallelism,) and which seems to him to show very considerable 
power, although little of an analytic kind. But for the consideration that 
the kind of power shown is not that which is most needed, it might be rated 
much higher. But even from the author's point of view the reviewer would 
expunge Quantity and add a category in order to have some place in the 
system for false notions, which are certainly a part of the phenomena of 
mind. But it is truly astonishing that a man should be so blinded by his 
theory as to declare that "by no power of imagination can we conceive of 
any similarity whatever" between any two of his six categories. (This seems 
to be the meaning, although the precise words quoted are only applied to 
one pair.) 

A little less than a quarter of the volume is occupied with a "Historical 
Review of Cosmology within Philosophy," meaning, mainly, German philos- 
ophy. This shows thorough learning, is agreeably written, and will prove 
instructive to physicists as well as to others who are not well read in phi- 

As the doctrine is a modification of Wundt's system, so the method may 
be said to apply a modification of Wundt's logic. But it is to be feared that 
it will afford more comfort to Wundt's logical opponents than to his friends, 
if any application is acknowledged. If we might indulge in a little parody, 
we should say the form of syllogism seemed to be as follows : 
Anaxagoras said A, 
Wundt says B; 
Ergo, I will risk saying C. 

However, this introductory volume only sets forth a hypothesis; and it 
is to be hoped that the main body of the work will subject this to the se- 
verest experimental tests. It is, at any rate, certain that such sincere and 
single-hearted work must do much to bring the day when philosophy shall 
have entered upon the course of a true and progressive science; and from 
that point of view we must acknowledge that, be its errors what they may, 
it is certain to be a source of benefits to mankind. CUSP. 

KOHELET ODER WELTSCHMERZ IN DER BiBEL. Ein Lieblingsbuch Friedrichs 
des Grossen. Verdeutscht und erklart von Paul Haupt. Leipsic: J. 
C. Hinrichs'sche Buchhandlung. 1905. Pp. vii, 36. 
Prof. Paul Haupt, the editor of the Polychrome Bible, of which so far all 

of the Hebrew texts but six volumes only of the English translation have 


appeared, here offers a German translation of Koheleth or Ecclesiastes, being 
a new translation, quite literal and yet imitating the poetical original even 
in details. 

Our readers, even those who are not Hebrew scholars, may know that 
Koheleth is one of the latest productions of the Biblical canon, written by 
some Hebrew thinker deeply imbued with Greek thought, and through his 
knowledge of Greek philosophy the author must have imbibed also much of 
Eastern philosophy, be it Buddhist or Brahmanic. The book became very 
popular among the Jews, so much so that the orthodox priests to whose 
views it was diametrically opposed were compelled to incorporate it into the 
canon. The pessimism was so natural, and the sentiments of the Koheleth 
appealed so strongly to the Jews of that age that the book could not be sup- 
pressed, but in order to conciliate the broad spirit of the Koheleth with the 
narrowness of Jewish orthodoxy, some orthodox redactor added to the 
author's philosophy some comments of his own which should give to these 
radical thoughts a gentler turn that would show them in the light of an 
orthodox interpretation. 

Profesor Haupt has published those passages of Koheleth which form 
the original text in a connected order and relegates the priestly addition to 
footnotes. In this way we are enabled to grasp at once the original sense, 
and a little reflection teaches us why the domatic counter-statements cannot 
be ascribed to the same pen as the main body of the text. 

The critical and historical notes are very terse but quite sufficient, and 
so the little book will not only be welcome to the specialist, but also to that 
large class of readers who take an interest in a rational study of the Bible. 

p. c. 

Leipsic: Diirr'sche Buchhandlung. 1904. Pp. in. Price, Mark 1.20. 
Professor Lazarus, the founder of Volkerpsychologie, i. e., folk psychol- 
ogy or psychology of nations, was born September 15, 1824, and, had he not 
died a short time ago, would this year have celebrated his eightieth birth- 
day. In his honor the present booklet has been written by Dr. Alfred Leicht, 
who sets forth his merits as the founder of an important branch of science, 
the psychology of nations, and substantiates the claim by rehearsing the 
story of his life as well as his labors. The principles which Professor Laza- 
rus has established are now generally acknowledged, but in his days he had 
to fight for their recognition. Even such a liberal and broad man as Eduard 
von Hartmann claims that the existence of a national psychology depended 
upon the existence of a national soul, and that the national soul was im- 
possible except on the assumption of a metaphysical unity and substantiality 
of the collective spirit of a nation. Without such a substratum Hartmann 


deemed the existence of a national soul impossible, but Lazarus insists that 
the assumption of a metaphysical soul unit is redundant and even inadmis- 
sible, and that the psychology of a nation exists by the very truth of a com- 
munal will. If the nations existed in metaphysical entities, humanity would 
throughout be cut up into several antagonistic beings, but, as a matter of fact, 
the only reason for antagonism among the nations originates by a contrast 
of their wills, not by a difference of soul substrata. The quality of things 
consists in their activity not in any metaphysical essence. What a thing in 
itself may be (except what it is in its activity) is an illegitimate question. 
In order to characterise the significance of Lazarus's work we ought to 
consider the influence which he exercised upon the different domains of 
science. The recognition he found in theology possesses a greater signifi- 
cance in consideration of the fact that he was a Jew. His philosophical com- 
prehension is sufficiently indicated by the honor which the University of 
Halle conferred upon him by renewing his Doctor's diploma. He stimulated 
historical research and his labors were especially suggestive to jurisprudence. 
A great honor was bestowed upon him by his co-religionists when the Hebrew 
Union College of Cincinnati introduced his ethical lectures for official reading 
and the faculty of this institution conferred upon him the honorary degree 
of Doctor of Divinity. 

VOLKERPSYCHOLOCIE. Eine Untcrsuchung der Entwicklungsgesetze von 
Sprache, Mythus und Sitte. By Wilhelm Wundt. Leipsic: Wilhelm 
Engelmann. 1904. Pp. xv, 667. 

Professor Wundt, who has been so indefatigable in working out a phil- 
osophical system for all the several fields connected with psychology, and 
method, brings out a second edition of his Volkerpsychologie, which has 
been revised and enriched by several additions.. The first folio only lies 
before us containing Wundt's speculations on language in all its phases and 
formations, gesture, speech, and word formation. When the whole work 
lies before us we intend to give a more complete review of Wundt's views. 

(The second volume just reached us when we were preparing the pres- 
ent number for publication.) 


A. Silberstein. Beilin: Mayer & Muller. 1904. 

The author lias taken a Doctor's degree on this study of Leibnitz's 
apriorism, and he here republishes his dissertation, adding thereto his criti- 
cism of Dr. Ernst Cassirer with whose views concerning Leibnitz's system 
he does not agree. The main result of the pamphlet seems to be that Leib- 
nitz has anticipated Kant more than is generally believed, and his standpoint 
may be characterised as "critical apriorism." 

VOL. XV. APRIL, 1905. No. 2. 



THE writer of this article has been led by much experience to 
believe that every physicist, and every chemist, and, in short, 
every master in any department of experimental science, has had 
his mind moulded by his life in the laboratory to a degree that is 
little suspected. The experimentalist himself can hardly be fully 
aware of it, for the reason that the men whose intellects he really 
knows about are much like himself in this respect. With intellects 
of widely different training from his own, whose education has 
largely been a thing learned out of books, he will never become in- 
wardly intimate, be he on ever so familiar terms with them; for 
he and they are as oil and water, and though they be shaken up 
together, it is remarkable how quickly they will go their several 
mental ways, without having gained more than a faint flavor from 
the association. Were those other men only to take skilful sound- 
ings of the experimentalist's mind, which is just what they are un- 
qualified to do, for the most part, they would soon discover that, 
excepting perhaps upon topics where his mind is trammelled by 
personal feeling or by his bringing up, his disposition is to think 
of everything just as everything is thought of in the laboratory, 
that is, as a question of experimentation. Of course, no living 
man possesses in their fullness all the attributes characteristic of 
his type: it is not the typical doctor whom you will see every day 
driven in buggy or coupe, nor is it the typical pedagogue that will 
be met with in the first school-room you enter. But when you have 
found, or ideally constructed upon a basis of observation, the typ- 


ical experimentalist, you will find that whatever assertion you may 
make to him, he will either understand as meaning that if a given 
prescription for an experiment ever can be and ever is carried out 
in act, an experience of a given description will result, or else he 
will see no sense at all in what you say. If you talk to him as 
Mr. Balfour talked not long ago to the British Association, saying 
that "the physicist seeks for something deeper than the laws con- 
necting possible objects of experience," that "his object is a phys- 
ical reality" unrevealed in experiments, and that the existence of 
such non-experiential reality "is the unalterable faith of science," 
to all such ontological meaning you will find the experimentalist 
mind to be color-blind. What adds to that confidence in this which 
the writer owes to his conversations with experimentalists is that 
he himself may almost be said to have inhabited a laboratory from 
the age of six until long past maturity; and having all his life as- 
sociated mostly with experimentalists, it has always been with a 
confident sense of understanding them and of being understood by 

That laboratory life did not prevent the writer (who here and 
in what follows simply exemplifies the experimentalist type) from 
becoming interested in methods of thinking; and when he came to 
read metaphysics, although much of it seemed to him loosely rea- 
soned and determined by accidental prepossessions, yet in the writ- 
ings of some philosophers, especially Kant, Berkeley, and Spinoza, 
he sometimes came upon strains of thought that recalled the ways 
of thinking of the laboratory, so that he felt he might trust to 
them: all of which has been true of other laboratory-men. 

Endeavoring, as a man of that type naturally would, to formu- 
late what he so approved, he framed the theory that a conception, 
that is, the rational purport of a word or other expression, lies ex- 
clusively in its conceivable bearing upon the conduct of life ; so 
that, since obviously nothing that might not result from experiment 
can have any direct bearing upon conduct, if one can define accu- 
rately all the conceivable experimental phenomena which the affir- 
mation or denial of a concept could imply, one will have therein a 
complete definition of the concept, and there is absolutely nothing 


more in it. For this doctrine he invented the name pragmatism. 
Some of his friends wished him to call it practicism or practicalism 
(perhaps on the ground that irpaxTtKos is better Greek than Trpay/iart- 
K09). But for one who had learned philosophy out of Kant, as 
the writer, along with nineteen out of every twenty experimentalists 
who have turned to philosophy, had done, and who still thought in 
Kantian terms most readily, praktisch and pragmatisch were as far 
apart as the two poles, the former belonging in a region of thought 
where no mind of the experimentalist type can ever make sure of 
solid ground under his feet, the latter expressing relation to some 
definite human purpose. Now quite the most striking feature of 
the new theory was its recognition of an inseparable connection be- 
tween rational cognition and rational purpose; and that considera- 
tion it was which determined the preference for the name prag- 

Concernihg the matter of philosophical nomenclature, there 
are a few plain considerations, which the writer has for many years 
longed to submit to the deliberate judgment of those few fellow- 
students of philosophy, who deplore the present state of that study, 
and who are intent upon rescuing it therefrom and bringing it to 
a condition like that of the natural sciences, where investigators, 
instead of contemning each the work of most of the others as mis- 
directed from beginning to end, co-operate, stand upon one an- 
other's shoulders, and multiply incontestible results; where every 
observation is repeated, and isolated observations go for little ; 
where every hypothesis that merits attention is subjected to severe 
but fair examination, and only after the predictions to which it 
leads have been remarkably borne out by experience is trusted at 
all, and even then only provisionally; where a radically false step 
is rarely taken, even the most faulty of those theories which gain 
wide credence being true in their main experiential predictions. To 
those students, it is submitted that no study can become scientific 
in the sense described, until it provides itself with a suitable tech- 
nical nomenclature, whose every term has a single definite mean- 


ing universally accepted among students of the subject, and whose 
vocables have no such sweetness or charms as might tempt loose 
writers to abuse them, which is a virtue of scientific nomenclature 
too little appreciated. It is submitted that the experience of those 
sciences which have conquered the greatest difficulties of terminol- 
ogy, which are unquestionably the taxonomic sciences, chemistry, 
mineralogy, botany, zoology, has conclusively shown that the one 
only way in which the requisite unanimity and requisite rup- 
tures with individual habits and preferences can be brought about 
is so to shape the canons of terminology that they shall gain the 
support of moral principle and of every man's sense of decency ; 
and that, in particular, (under defined restrictions,) the general 
feeling shall be that he who introduces a new conception into 
philosophy is under an obligation to invent acceptable terms to 
express it, and that when he has done so, the duty of his fellow- 
students is to accept those terms, and to resent any wresting of 
them from their original meanings, as not only a gross discourtesy 
to him to whom philosophy was indebted for each conception, but 
also as an injury to philosophy itself; and furthermore, that once 
a conception has been supplied with suitable and sufficient words 
for its expression, no other technical terms denoting the same things, 
considered in the same relations, should be countenanced. Should 
this suggestion find favor, it might be deemed needful that the 
philosophians in congress assembled should adopt, after due delib- 
eration, convenient canons to limit the application of the principle. 
Thus, just as is done in chemistry, it might be wise to assign fixed 
meanings to certain prefixes and suffixes. For example, it might 
be agreed, perhaps, that the prefix prope- should mark a broad and 
rather indefinite extension of the meaning of the term to which it 
was prefixed ; the name of a doctrine would naturally end in -ism, 
while -icism might mark a more strictly defined acception of that 
doctrine, etc. Then again, just as in biology no account is taken 
of terms antedating Linnaeus, so in philosophy it might be found 
best not to go back of the scholastic terminology. To illustrate 
another sort of limitation, it has probably never happened that any 
philosopher has attempted to give a general name to his own doc- 


trine without that name's soon acquiring in common philosophical 
usage, a signification much broader than was originally intended. 
Thus, special systems go by the names Kantianism, Benthamism, 
Comtianism, Spencerianism, etc., while transcendentalism, utili- 
tarianism, positivism, evolutionism, synthetic philosophy, etc. have 
irrevocably and very conveniently been elevated to broader govern- 

After awaiting in vain, for a good many years, some particu- 
larly opportune conjuncture of circumstances that might serve to 
recommend his notions of the ethics of terminology, the writer has 
now, at last, dragged them in over head and shoulders, on an oc- 
casion when he has no specific proposal to offer nor any feeling but 
satisfaction at the course usage has run without any canons or 
resolutions of a congress. His word "pragmatism" has gained 
general recognition in a generalised sense that seems to argue 
power of growth and vitality. The famed psychologist, James, 
first took it up, seeing that his "radical empiricism" substantially 
answered to the writer's definition of pragmatism, albeit with a cer- 
tain difference in the point of view. Next, the admirably clear 
and brilliant thinker, Mr. Ferdinand C. S. Schiller, casting about 
for a more attractive name for the "anthropomorphism" of his 
Riddle of the Sphinx, lit, in that most remarkable paper of his on 
Axioms as Postulates, upon the same designation "pragmatism," 
which in its original sense was in generic agreement with his own 
doctrine, for which he has since found the more appropriate speci- 
fication "humanism," while he still retains "pragmatism" in a some- 
what wider sense. So far all went happily. But at present, the 
word begins to be met with occasionally in the literary journals, 
where it gets abused in the merciless way that words have to ex- 
pect when they fall into literary clutches. Sometimes the manners 
of the British have effloresced in scolding at the word as ill-chosen, 
ill-chosen, that is, to express some meaning that it was rather 
designed to exclude. So then, the writer, finding his bantling 
"pragmatism" so promoted, feels that it is time to kiss his child 


good-by and relinquish it to its higher destiny ; while to serve the 
precise purpose of expressing the original definition, he begs to an- 
nounce the birth of the word "pragmaticism," which is ugly enough 
to be safe from kidnappers. 2 

Much as the writer has gained from the perusal of what other 
pragmatists have written, he still thinks there is a decisive advan 
tage in his original conception of the doctrine. From this origina 
form every truth that follows from any of the other forms can be 
deduced, while some errors can be avoided into which other prag 
matists have fallen. The original view appears, too, to be a more 
compact and unitary conception than the others. But its capita 
merit, in the writer's eyes, is that it more readily connects itsel 
with a critical proof of its truth. Quite in accord with the logica 
order of investigation, it usually happens that one first forms an 
hypothesis that seems more and more reasonable the further one 
examines into it, but that only a good deal later gets crowned witl 
an adequate proof. The present writer having had the pragmatis 
theory under consideration for many years longer than most of it 
adherents, would naturally have given more attention to the proo 
of it. At any rate, in endeavoring to explain pragmatism, he may 
be excused for confining himself to that form of it that he know 
best. In the present article there will be space only to explain jus 
what this doctrine, (which, in such hands as it has now fallen into 
may probably play a pretty prominent part in the philosophical dis 
cussions of the next coming years,) really consists in. Should the 
exposition be found to interest readers of The Monist, they wouk 
certainly be much more interested in a second article which wouk 
give some samples of the manifold applications of pragmaticism (as 
suming it to be true) to the solution of problems of different kinds 
After that, readers might be prepared to take an interest in a proo 

*To show how recent the general use of the word "pragmatism" is, th 
writer may mention that, to the best of his belief, he never used it in copj 
for the press before to-day, except by particular request, in Baldwin's Die 
tionary. Toward the end of 1890, when this part of the Century Dictionary 
appeared, he did not deem that the word had sufficient status to appear it 
that work. But he has used it continually in philosophical conversation since, 
perhaps, the mid-seventies. 


that the doctrine is true, a proof which seems to the writer to 
leave no reasonable doubt on the subject, and to be the one contri- 
bution of value that he has to make to philosophy. For it would 
essentially involve the establishment of the truth of synechism. 

The bare definition of pragmaticism could convey no satisfactory 
comprehension of it to the most apprehensive of minds, but re- 
quires the commentary to be given below. Moreover, this defini- 
tion takes no notice of one or two other doctrines without the pre- 
vious acceptance (or virtual acceptance) of which pragmaticism itself 
would be a nullity. They are included as a part of the pragmatism 
of Schiller, but the present writer prefers not to mingle different 
propositions. The preliminary propositions had better be stated 

The difficulty in doing this is that no formal list of them has 
ever been made. They might all be included under the vague 
maxim, "Dismiss make-believes." Philosophers, of very diverse 
stripes propose that philosophy shall take its start from one or another 
state of mind in which no man, least of all a beginner in philosophy, 
actually is. One proposes that you shall begin by doubting every- 
thing, and says that there is only one thing that you cannot doubt, 
as if doubting were "as easy as lying." Another proposes that we 
should begin by observing "the first impressions of sense," for- 
getting that our very percepts are the results of cognitive elabo- 
ration. But in truth, there is but one state of mind from which 
you can "set out," namely, the very state of mind in which you 
actually find yourself at the time you do "set out," a state in which 
you are laden with an immense mass of cognition already formed, 
of which you cannot divest yourself if you would ; and who knows 
whether, if you could, you would not have made all knowledge 
impossible to yourself? Do you call it doubting to write down on 
a piece of paper that you doubt? If so, doubt has nothing to do with 
any serious business. But do not make believe ; if pedantry has not 
eaten all the reality out of you, recognise, as you must, that there 
is much that you do not doubt, in the least. Now that which you 
do not at all doubt, you must and do regard as infallible, absolute 
truth. Here breaks in Mr. Make Believe: "What! Do you mean 


to say that one is to believe what is not true, or that what a man 
does not doubt is ipso facto true?" No, but unless he can make a 
thing white and black at once, he has to regard what he does not 
doubt as absolutely true. Now you, per hypothesiu, are that man. 
"But you tell me there are scores of things I do not doubt. I really 
cannot persuade myself that there is not some one of them about 
which I am mistaken." You are adducing one of your make-believe 
facts, which, even if it were established, would only go to show 
that doubt has a limen, that is, is only called into being by a certain 
finite stimulus. You only puzzle yourself by talking of this meta- 
physical "truth" and metaphysical "falsity," that you know nothing 
about. All you have any dealings with are your doubts and beliefs, 3 
with the course of life that forces new beliefs upon you and gives 
you power to doubt old beliefs. If your terms " truth" and "fal- 
sity" are taken in such senses as to be definable in terms of doubt 
and belief and the course of experience, (as for example they would 
be, if you were to define the "truth" as that to a belief in which 
belief would tend if it were to tend indefinitely toward absolute 
fixity,) well and good: in that case, you are only talking about 
doubt and belief. But if by truth and falsity you mean something 
not definable in terms of doubt and belief in any way, then you are 
talking of entities of whose existence you can know nothing, and 
which Ockham's razor would clean shave off. Your problems 
would be greatly simplified, if, instead of saying that you want to 
know the "Truth," you were simply to say that you want to attain 
a state of belief unassailable by doubt. 

Belief is not a momentary mode of consciousness ; it is a habit 
of mind essentially enduring for some time, and mostly (at least) 
unconscious; and like other habits, it is, (until it meets with some 
surprise that begins its dissolution,) perfectly self-satisfied. Doubt 
is of an altogether contrary genus. It is not a habit, but the priva- 
tion of a habit. Now a privation of a habit, in order to be anything 

* It is necessary to say that "belief" is throughout used merely as the 
name of the contrary to doubt, without regard to grades of certainty nor to 
the nature of the proposition held for true, i. e. "believed." 


at all, must be a condition of erratic activity that in some way must 
get superseded by a habit. 

Among the things which the reader, as a rational person, does 
not doubt, is that he not merely has habits, but also can exert a 
measure of self-control over his future actions ; which means, how- 
ever, not that he can impart to them any arbitrarily assignable 
character, but, on the contrary, that a process of self-preparation 
will tend to impart to action, (when the occasion for it shall arise,) 
one fixed character, which is indicated and perhaps roughly mea- 
sured by the absence (or slightness) of the feeling of self-reproach, 
which subsequent reflection will induce. Now, this subsequent re^ 
flection is part of the self -preparation .for artirm nn thp np-xt occa- 
sion. Consequently, there is a tendency, as action is repeated again 
and again, for the action to approximate indefinitely toward the 
perfection of that fixed character, which would be marked by entire 
absence of self-reproach. The more closely this is approached, the 
less room for self-control there will be; and where no self-control 
is possible there will be no self-reproach. 

These phenomena seem to be the fundamental characteristics 
which distinguish a rational being. Blame, in every case, appears 
to be a modification, often accomplished by a transference, or "pro- 
jection," of the primary feeling of self-reproach. Accordingly, we 
never blame anybody for what had been beyond his power of pre- 
vious self-control. Now, thinking is a species of conduct which is 
largely subject to self-control. In all their features, (which there 
is no room to describe here,) logical self-control is a perfect mirror 
of ethical self-control, unless it be rather a species under that 
genus. In accordance with this, what you cannot in the least help 
believing is not, justly speaking, wrong belief. In other words, 
for you it is the absolute truth. True, it is conceivable that what 
you cannot help believing to-day, you might find you thoroughly 
disbelieve to-morrow. But then there is a certain distinction be- 
tween things you "cannot" do, merely in the sense that nothing 
stimulates you to the great effort and endeavors that would be re- 
quired, and things you cannot do because in their own nature they 
are insusceptible of being put into practice. In every stage of your 


excogitations, there is something of which you can only say, "I 
cannot think otherwise," and your experientially based hypothesis 
is that the impossibility is of the second kind. 

There is no reason why "thought," in what has just been said, 
should be taken in that narrow sense in which silence and darkness 
are favorable to thought. It should rather be understood as covering 
all rational life, so that an experiment shall be an operation of 
thought. Of course, that ultimate state of habit to which the action 
of self-control ultimately tends, where no room is left for further 
self-control, is, in the case of thought, the state of fixed belief, or 
perfect knowledge. 

Two things here are all-important to assure oneself of and to 
remember. The first is that ajerson is not Absolutely an individual 
His thoughts are what he is "saying to himself," that is, is saying 
to that other self that is just coming into life in the flow of time. 
When one reasons, it is that critical self that one is trying to per- 
suade; and all thought whatsoever is a sign, and is mostly of the 
nature of language. The second thing to remember is that the man's 
circle of society, (however widely or narrowly this phrase may be 
understood,) is a sort of loosely compacted person^ in some respects 
of_higher rank than the person of an Individual ^rgan'sm It is 
these two things alone that render it possible for you, but only in 
the abstract, and in a Pickwickian sense, to distinguish between 
absolute truth and what you do not doubt. 

Let us now hasten to the exposition of pragmaticism itself. Here 
it will be convenient to imagine that somebody to whom the doctrine 
is new, but of rather preternatural perspicacity, asks questions of 
a pragmaticist. Everything that might give a dramatic illusion must 
be stripped off, so that the result will be a sort of cross between a 
dialogue and a catechism, but a good deal liker the latter, some- 
thing rather painfully reminiscent of Mangnall's Historical Ques- 

Questioner: I am astounded at your definition of your prag- 
matism, because only last year I was assured by a person above all 
suspicion of warping the truth, himself a pragmatist, that your 
doctrine precisely was "that a conception is to be tested by its prac- 


tical effects." You must surely, then, have entirely changed your 
definition very recently. 

Pragmatist : If you will turn to Vols. VI and VII of the Revue 
Philosophique, or to the Popular Science Monthly for November 
1877 and January 1878, you will be able to judge for yourself 
whether the interpretation you mention was not then clearly ex- 
cluded. The exact wording of the English enunciation, (changing 
only the first person into the second,) was: "Consider what effects 
that might conceivably have practical bearings you conceive the 
object of your conception to have. Then your conception of those 
effects is the WHOLE of your conception of the object." 

Questioner: Well, what reason have you for asserting that this 
is so? 

Pragmatist: That is what I specially desire to tell you. But 
the question had better be postponed until you clearly understand 
what those reasons profess to prove. 

Questioner: What, then, is the raison d'etre of the doctrine? 
What advantage is expected from it? 

Pragmatist: It will serve to show that almost every proposition 
of ontological metaphysics is either meaningless gibberish, one 
word being defined by other words, and they by still others, without 
any real conception ever being reached, or else is downright ab- 
surd ; so that all such rubbish being swept away, what will remain 
of philosophy will be a series of problems capable of investigation 
by the observational methods of the true sciences, the truth about 
which can be reached without those interminable misunderstandings 
and disputes which have made the highest of the positive sciences 
a mere amusement for idle intellects, a sort of chess, idle pleas- 
ure its purpose, and reading out of a book its method. In this 
regard, pragmaticism is a species of prope-positivism. But what dis- 
tinguishes it from other species is, first, its retention of a purified 
philosophy; secondly, its full acceptance of the main body of our 
instinctive beliefs ; and thirdly, its strenuous insistence upon the 
truth of scholastic realism, (or a close approximation to that, well- 
stated by the late Dr. Francis Ellingwood Abbot in the Introduction 
to his Scientific Theism). So, instead of merely jeering at meta- 


physics, like other prope-positivists, whether by long drawn-out paro- 
dies or otherwise, the pragmaticist extracts from it a precious es- 
sence, which will serve to give life and light to cosmology and 
physics. At the same time, the moral applications of the doctrine 
are positive and potent; and there are many other uses of it not 
easily classed. On another occasion, instances may be given to 
show that it really has these effects. 

Questioner: I hardly need to be convinced that your doctrine 
would wipe out metaphysics. Is it not as obvious that it must wipe 
out every proposition of science and everything that bears on the 
conduct of life? For you say that the only meaning that, for you, 
any assertion bears is that a certain experiment has resulted in a 
certain way: Nothing else but an experiment enters into the 
meaning. Tell me, then, how can an experiment, in itself, reveal 
anything more than that something once happened to an individual 
object and that subsequently some other individual event occurred? 

Pragmatist: That question is, indeed, to the purpose, the pur- 
pose being to correct any misapprehensions of pragmaticism. You 
speak of an experiment in itself, emphasising "in itself." You 
evidently think of each experiment as isolated from every other. 
It has not, for example, occurred to you, one might venture to sur- 
mise, that every connected series of experiments constitutes a single 
collective experiment. What are the essential ingredients of an 
experiment? First, of course, an experimenter of flesh and blood. 
Secondly, a verifiable hypothesis. This is a proposition* relating 
to the universe environing the experimenter, or to some well-known 
part of it and affirming or denying of this only some experimental 
possibility or impossibility. The third indispensable ingredient is 
a sincere doubt in the experimenter's mind as to the truth of that 

4 The writer, like most English logicians, invariably uses the word prop- 
osition, not as the Germans define their equivalent, Satz, as the language- 
expression of a judgment (Urtheil), but as that which is related to any 
assertion, whether mental and self-addressed or outwardly expressed, just 
as any possibility is related to its actualisation. The difficulty of the, at best, 
difficult problem of the essential nature of a Proposition has been increased, 
for the Germans, by their Urtheil, confounding, under one designation, the 
mental assertion with the assertible. 


hypothesis. Passing over several ingredients on which we need not 
dwell, the purpose, the plan, and the resolve, we come to the act of 
choice by which the experimenter singles out certain identifiable 
objcts to be operated upon. The next is the external (or quasi- 
external) ACT by which he modifies those objects. Next, comes the 
subsequent reaction of the world upon the experimenter in a per- 
ception; and finally, his recognition of the teaching of the experi- 
ment. While the two chief parts of the event itself are the action 
and the reaction, yet the unity of essence of the experiment lies in its 
purpose and plan, the ingredients passed over in the enumeration. 

Another thing: in representing the pragmaticist as making ra- 
tional meaning to consist in an experiment, (which you speak of 
as an event in the past,) you strikingly fail to catch his attitude of 
mind. Indeed, it is not in an experiment, but in experimental phe- 
nomena, that rational meaning is said to consist. When an experi- 
mentalist speaks of a phenomenon, such as "Hall's phenomenon," 
"Zeemann's phenomenon" and its modification, "Michelson's phenom- 
enon," or "the chess-board phenomenon," he does not mean any 
particular event that did happen to somebody in the dead past, but 
what surely will happen to everybody in the living future who shall 
fulfil certain conditions. The phenomenon consists in the fact that 
when an experimentalist shall come to act according to a certain 
scheme that he has in mind, then will something else happen, and 
shatter the doubts of sceptics, like the celestial fire upon the altar 
of Elijah. 

And do not overlook the fact that the pragmaticist maxim says 
nothing of single experiments or of single experimental phenomena, 
(for what is conditionally true in futuro can hardly be singular,) 
but only speaks of general kinds of experimental phenomena. Its 
adherent does not shrink from speaking of general objects as real, 
since whatever is true represents a real. Now the laws of nature 
are true. 

The rational meaning of every proposition lies in the future. 
How so ? The meaning of a proposition is itself a proposition. In- 
deed, it is no other than the very proposition of which it is the mean- 
ing : it is a translation of it. But of the myriads of forms into which 


a proposition may be translated, what is that one which is to be 
called its very meaning? It is, according to the pragmaticist, that 
form in which the proposition becomes applicable to human con- 
duct, not in these or those special circumstances, nor when one enter- 
tains this or that special design, but that form which is most directly 
applicable to self-control under every situation, and to every pur- 
pose. This is why he locates the meaning in future time ; for future 
conduct is the only conduct that is subject to self-control. But in 
order that that form of the proposition which is to be taken as its 
meaning should be applicable to every situation and to every pur- 
pose upon which the proposition has any bearing, it must be simply 
the general description of all the experimental phenomena which 
the assertion of the proposition virtually predicts. For an experi- 
mental phenomenon is the fact asserted by the proposition that ac- 
tion of a certain description will have a certain kind of experimental 
result ; and experimental results are the only results that can affect 
human conduct. No doubt, some unchanging idea may come to in- 
fluence a man more than it had done ; but only because some experi- 
ence equivalent to an experiment has brought its truth home to him 
more intimately than before. Whenever a man acts purposively, he 
acts under a belief in some experimental phenomenon. Consequently, 
the sum of the experimental phenomena that a proposition implies 
makes up its entire bearing upon human conduct. Your question, 
then, of how a pragmaticist can attribute any meaning to any asser- 
tion other than that of a single occurrence is substantially answered. 
Questioner: I see that pragmaticism is a thorough-going phe- 
nomenalism. Only why should you limit yourself to the phenomena 
of experimental science rather than embrace all observational sci- 
ence? Experiment, after all, is an uncommunicative informant. It 
never expiates : it only answers "yes" or "no" ; or rather it usually 
snaps out "No!" or, at best, only utters an inarticulate grunt for 
the negation of its "no." The typical experimentalist is not much 
of an observer. It is the student of natural history to whom nature 
opens the treasury of her confidence, while she treats the cross- 
examining experimentalist with the reserve he merits. Why should 


your phenomenalism sound the meagre jews-harp of experiment 
rather than the glorious organ of observation ? 

Pragmaticist : Because pragmaticism is not definable as "thor- 
ough-going phenomenalism," although the latter doctrine may be 
a kind of pragmatism. The richness of phenomena lies in their 
sensuous quality. Pragmaticism does not intend to define the phe- 
nomenal equivalents of words and general ideas, but, on the con- 
trary, eliminates their sential element, and endeavors to define the 
rational purport, and this it finds in the purposive bearing of the 
word or proposition in question. 

Questioner: Well, if you choose so to make Doing the Be-all 
and the End-all of human life, why do you not make meaning to 
consist simply in doing? Doing has to be done at a certain time 
upon a certain object. Individual objects and single events cover 
all reality, as everybody knows, and as a practicalist ought to be 
the first to insist. Yet, your meaning, as you have described it, is 
general. Thus, it is of the nature of a mere word and not a reality. 
You say yourself that your meaning of a proposition is only the 
same proposition in another dress. But a practical man's meaning 
is the very thing he means. What do you make to be the meaning 
of "George Washington"? 

Pragmaticist : Forcibly put ! A good half dozen of your points 
must certainly be admitted. It must be admitted, in the first place, 
that if pragmaticism really made Doing to be the Be-all and the 
End-all of life, that would be its death. For to say that we live 
for the mere sake of action, as action, regardless of the thought it 
carries out, would be to say that there is no such thing as rational 
purport. Secondly, it must be admitted that every proposition pro- 
fesses to be true of a certain real individual object, often the en- 
vironing universe. Thirdly, it must be admitted that pragmaticism 
fails to furnish any translation or meaning of a proper name, or 
other designation of an individual object. Fourthly, the pragmati- 
cistic meaning is undoubtedly general ; and it is equally indisputable 
that the general is of the nature of a word or sign. Fifthly, it must 
be admitted that individuals alone exist; and sixthly, it may be 
admitted that the very meaning of a word or significant object 


ought to be the very essence of reality of what it signifies. But 
when, those admissions having been unreservedly made, you find 
the pragmaticist still constrained most earnestly to deny the force of 
your objection, you ought to infer that there is some consideration 
that has escaped you. Putting the admissions together, you will 
perceive that the pragmaticist grants that a proper name, (although 
it is not customary to say that it has a meaning,) has a certain deno- 
tative function peculiar, in each case, to that name and its equiva- 
lents ; and that he grants that every assertion contains such a deno- 
tative or pointing-out function. In its peculiar individuality, the 
pragmaticist excludes this from the rational purport of the asser- 
tion, although the like of it, being common to all assertions, and so, 
being general and not individual, may enter into the pragmaticistic 
purport. Whatever exists, ex-sists, that is, really acts upon other ex- 
istents, so obtains a self-identity, and is definitely individual. As to 
the general, it will be a help to thought to notice that there are two 
ways of being general. A statue of a soldier on some village monu- 
ment, in his overcoat and with his musket, is for each of a hundred 
families the image of its uncle, its sacrifice to the union. That 
statue, then, though it is itself single, represents any one man of 
whom a certain predicate may be true. It is objectively general. 
The word "soldier," whether spoken or written, is general in the 
same way; while the name, "George Washington," is not so. But 
each of these two terms remains one and the same noun, whether it 
be spoken or written, and whenever and wherever it be spoken or 
written. This noun is not an existent thing: it is a type, or form, 
to which objects, both those that are externally existent and those 
which are imagined, may conform, but which none of them can 
exactly be. This is subjective generality. The pragmaticistic purport 
is general in both ways. 

As to reality, one finds it defined in various ways; but if 
that principle of terminological ethics that was proposed be accepted, 
the equivocal language will soon disappear. For realis and realitas 
are not ancient words. They were invented to be terms of philos- 
ophy in the thirteenth century, and the meaning they were intended 
to express is perfectly clear. That is real which has such and such 


characters, whether anybody thinks it to have those characters or 
not. At any rate, that is the sense in which the pragmaticist uses 
the word. Now, just as conduct controlled by ethical reason tends 
toward fixing certain habits of conduct, the nature of which, (as 
to illustrate the meaning, peaceable habits and not quarrelsome 
habits,) does not depend upon any accidental circumstances, and 
in that sense, may be said to be destined; so, thought, controlled 
by a rational experimental logic, tends to the fixation of certain 
opinions, equally destined, the nature of which will be the same in 
the end, however the perversity of thought of whole generations 
may cause the postponement of the ultimate fixation. If this be 
so, as every man of us virtually assumes that it is, in regard to 
each matter the truth of which he seriously discusses, then, according 
to the adopted definition of "real," the state of things which will 
be believed in that ultimate opinion is real. But, for the most part, 
such opinions will be general. Consequently, some general objects 
are real. (Of course, nobody ever thought that all generals were 
real ; but the scholastics used to assume that generals were real 
when they had hardly any, or quite no, experiential evidence to 
support their assumption; and their fault lay just there, and not 
in holding that generals could be real.) One is struck with the 
inexactitude of thought even of analysts of power, when they touch 
upon modes of being. One will meet, for example, the virtual as- 
sumption that what is relative to thought cannot be real. But why 
not, exactly? Red is relative to sight, but the fact that this or that 
is in that relation to vision that we call being red is not itself rela- 
tive to sight ; it is a real fact. 

Not only may generals be real, but they may also be physically 
efficient, not in every metaphysical sense, but in the common-sense 
acception in which human purposes are physically efficient. Aside 
from metaphysical nonsense, no sane man doubts that if I feel the 
air in my study to be stuffy, that thought may cause the window to 
be opened. My thought, be it granted, was an individual event. 
But what determined it to take the particular determination it did, 
was in part the general fact that stuffy air is unwholesome, and in 
part other Forms, concerning which Dr. Carus has caused so many 


men to reflect to advantage, or rather, by which, and the general 
truth concerning which Dr. Carus's mind was determined to the 
forcible enunciation of so much truth. For truths, on the average, 
have a greater tendency to get believed than falsities have. Were 
it otherwise, considering that there are myriads of false hypotheses 
to account for any given phenomenon, against one sole true one 
(or if you will have it so, against every true one,) the first step 
toward genuine knowledge must have been next door to a miracle. 
So, then, when my window was opened, because of the truth that 
stuffy air is malsain, a physical effort was brought into existence 
by the efficiency of a general and non-existent truth. This has a 
droll sound because it is unfamiliar; but exact analysis is with it 
and not against it ; and it has besides, the immense advantage of not 
blinding us to great facts, such as that the ideas "justice" and 
"truth" are, notwithstanding the iniquity of the world, the mightiest 
of the forces that move it. Generality is, indeed, an indispensable 
ingredient of reality ; for mere individual existence or actuality with- 
out any regularity whatever is a nullity. Chaos is pure nothing 

That which any true proposition asserts is real, in the sense 
of being as it is regardless of what you or I may think about it 
Let this proposition be a general conditional proposition as to the 
future, and it is a real general such as is calculated really to in- 
fluence human conduct; and such the pragmaticist holds to be the 
rational purport of every concept. 

Accordingly, the pragmaticist does not make the summum 
bonum to consist in action, but makes it to consist in that process 
of evolution whereby the existent comes more and more to embody 
those generals which were just now said to be destined, which is 
what we strive to express in calling them reasonable. In its higher 
stages, evolution takes place more and more largely through self- 
control, and this gives the pragmaticist a sort of justification for 
making the rational purport to be general. 

There is much more in elucidation of pragmaticism that might 
be said to advantage, were it not for the dread of fatiguing the 
reader. It might, for example, have been well to show clearly that 
the pragmaticist does not attribute any different essential mode o: 


being to an event in the future from that which he would attribute 
to a similar event in the past, but only that the practical attitude 
of the thinker toward the two is different. It would also have 
been well to show that the pragmaticist does not make Forms to 
be the only realities in the world, any more than he makes the rea- 
sonable purport of a word to be the only kind of meaning there is. 
These things are, however, implicitly involved in what has been 
said. There is only one remark concerning the pragmaticist's con- 
ception of the relation of his formula to the first principles of logic 
which need detain the reader. 

Aristotle's definition of universal predication, which is usually 
designated, (like a papal bull or writ of court, from its opening 
words,) as the Dictum de omni, may be translated as follows : "We 
call a predication, (be it affirmative or negative,) universal, when, 
and only when, there is nothing among the existent individuals to 
which the subject affirmatively belongs, but to which the predicate 
will not likewise be referred (affirmatively or negatively, according 
as the universal predication is affirmative or negative)." The Greek 
is : Xeyo/iev TO KO.TO. iravros KaTT/yopeur&K oVav /ni/Sev rj XaySciv TWV TOU 
VTTOKeifievov Kaff ov Oa.rf.pov ov \^6^<rerai' /ecu TO Kara. (j.r)8tvo<i io-avTtos- 
The important words "existent individuals" have been introduced 
into the translation (which English idiom would not here permit 
to be literal) ; but it is plain that existent individuals were what 
Aristotle meant. The other departures from literalness only serve 
to give modern English forms of expression. Now, it is well known 
that propositions in formal logic go in pairs, the two of one pair 
being convertible into another by the interchange of the ideas of 
antecedent and consequent, subject and predicate, etc. The paral- 
lelism extends so far that it is often assumed to be perfect; but it 
is not quite so. The proper mate of this sort to the Dictum de omni 
is the following definition of affirmative predication: We call a 
predication affirmative, (be it universal or particular,) when, and 
only when, there is nothing among the sensational effects that be- 
long universally to the predicate which will not be, (universally or 
particularly, according as the affirmative predication is universal 
or particular.) said to belong to the subject. Now, this is sub- 


stantially the essential proposition of pragmaticism. Of course, 
its parallelism to the dictum de omni will only be admitted by a per- 
son who admits the truth of pragmaticism. 

* * * 

Suffer me to add one word more on this point. For if one 
cares at all to know what the pragmaticist theory consists in, one 
must understand that there is no other part of it to which the prag- 
maticist attaches quite as much importance as he does to the re- 
cognition in his doctrine of the utter inadequacy of action or voli- 
tion or even of resolve or actual purpose, as materials out of which 
to construct a conditional purpose or the concept of conditional 
purpose. Had a purposed article concerning the principle of con- 
tinuity and synthetising the ideas of the other articles of a series in 
the early volumes of The Monist ever been written, it would have 
appeared how, with thorough consistency, that theory involved the 
recognition that continuity is an indispensable element of reality, 
and that continuity is simply what generality becomes in the logic 
of relatives, and thus, like generality, and more than generality, 
is an affair of thought, and is the essence of thought. Yet even 
in its truncated condition, an extra-intelligent reader might dis- 
cern that the theory of those cosmological articles made reality 
to consist in something more than feeling and action could sup- 
ply, inasmuch as the primeval chaos, where those two elements 
were present, was explicitly shown to be pure nothing. Now, the 
motive for alluding to that theory just here is, that in this way 
one can put in a strong light a position which the pragmaticist 
holds and must hold, whether that cosmological theory be ultimately 
sustained or exploded, namely, that the third category, the cate- 
gory of thought, representation, triadic relation, mediation, genuine 
thirdness, thirdness as such, is an essential ingredient of reality, 
yet does not by itself constitute reality, since this category, (which 
in that cosmology appears as the element of habit,) can have no 
concrete being without action, as a separate object on which to work 
its government, just as action cannot exist without the immediate 
being of feeling on which to act. The truth is that pragmaticism 
is closely allied to the Hegelian absolute idealism, from which, 


however, it is sundered by its vigorous denial that the third category, 
(which Hegel degrades to a mere stage of thinking,) suffices to 
make the world, or is even so much as self-sufficient. Had Hegel, 
instead of regarding the first two stages with his smile of contempt, 
held on to them as independent or distinct elements of the triune 
Reality, pragmaticists might have looked up to him as the great 
vindicator of their truth. (Of course, the external trappings of his 
doctrine are only here and there of much significance.) For prag- 
maticism belongs essentially to the triadic class of philosophical 
doctrines, and is much more essentially so than Hegelianism is. 
(Indeed, in one passage, at least, Hegel alludes to the triadic form 
of his exposition as to a mere fashion of dress.) 

MILFORD, PA., September, 1904. 

POSTSCRIPT. During the last five months, I have met with ref- 
erences to several objections to the above opinions, but not having 
been able to obtain the text of these objections, I do not think I 
ought to attempt to answer them. If gentlemen who attack either 
pragmatism in general or the variety of it which I entertain would 
only send me copies of what they write, more important readers 
they could easily find, but they could find none who would examine 
their arguments with a more grateful avidity for truth not yet ap- 
prehended, nor any who would be more sensible of their courtesy. 

C. S. P. 
Feb. 9, 1905. 


The Law of Ceptade. 
Any thing is everything in an inverse 
ratio of the power of consciousness to 
separate or distinguish itself from the 
inseparable or indistinguishable. 

r | A HE word "Ceptacle," which is here applied to the hypothesis 
-*- proposed, has been coined, out of necessity, in order to ex- 
press a new idea or thought. We already have in use the word 
"thing," so broad and comprehensive that up to the present time 
it has been sufficient, with it, to refer to any existing entity as 
"thing." All philosophy and all science has found this word equal 
to its needs. Or, to speak more properly, consciousness has had 
no thought broad enough to require a more all inclusive symbol 
for any entity. The necessity which calls for the word "Ceptacle" 
comes out of the fact that the books at least disclose no law or 
principle that will give it vitality. Whoever will give this subject 
their thought must have the patience needed to grope for a while 
in a dark land until he sees the light which the Ceptacle conception 
affords. For nearly twenty years has the writer been trying to 
open the way, some few years ago saying the same thing in print, 
in a very unsatisfactory way, even as he is now saying it. The 
effort must be to comprehend, if it be possible, this truth, that: 
there is a principle in nature out of which human consciousness 
can develop or evolve that which the word "thing" in its broadest, 
most comprehensive and largest possible sense cannot and does 
not contain. It is as if we had reached the ultimate limit in any 
direction of any "thing," as that word expresses it, and that at 


this limitation of entity this principle accounting for "Ceptacle" 
unfolds a beyond. 

This Ceptacle principle is to be found in the peculiar nature of 
a ratio existing throughout nature, where all is in a state of flux, 
or elasticity, and not an equilibrium, as it were, wherein nature is 
a relationing or proportioning of relatives which we now know as 
"things." The nature of this ratio between relatives is sufficient 
to account for any entity as a unit and yet for every entity as 
the many; sufficient to establish any difference between any en- 
tities and equally sufficient to hold in one unyielding grasp the 
whole as an inseparable unity. Whoever follows this "Ceptacle" 
thought is expected to go one step beyond any "thing" as now 
known, and by an unfolding consciousness of the ratio which any 
such "thing" has in its broadest relation, there to find a Ceptacle. 

In this particular example given below in an endeavor to 
acquaint the reader with the hypothesis, its application is made to 
the "thing" called Matter, and the ratio of the relation existing 
between Matter and Mind, whereby Matter or Mind while being 
"things" in their common acceptance are much more where as 
"'Ceptacles" they are being inseparably the same. 

If mental or natural philosophy and this Ceptacle Hypothesis 
be each true, they must be found consistent at all points where 
their application to each other is made ; but, if at any point in the 
application they seem not to agree, it must remain to be proven in 
which the error exists. 

In testing the truth of this Hypothesis, the Ceptacle Principle 
involved should be applied to well-settled and accepted facts and 
not theories or speculations. Therefore the text-books on the sci- 
ence of natural and mental philosophy should be used, and not 
books arguing in support of assumed facts not yet scientifically 
accepted. It is not even to be assumed that all that has been ac- 
cepted by science and incorporated into its text-books is unques- 
tionably true, but that these books contain such facts as have been 
accepted as representing the consensus of opinion of what is true. 

Our question is not what either matter or mind is or how 
either material or mental facts are possible; or, being possible, how 


they coincide with this or that theory; but, instead, recognising 
that there are material things and mental things which are accepted 
as the foundation facts upon which natural and mental science 
build themselves and without which there could be no human ex- 
perience, our purpose is to learn whether this Hypothesis will make 
such accepted facts more reasonable, and make more clear that 
problem of "the one and the many" which confronts philosophy. 

This Hypothesis does not assert as new the principle that 
"things" are related to one another, or are inseparably related, 
but that they have that relation in inverse ratio of sameness and 
difference; it does make the claim that a thing itself consists of 
relatives and is itself a relative, and adds that the nature of the 
ratio between these relatives will explain both their Separability 
and Inseparability. 

Science and philosophy have thus far exhaustively defined a 
"thing" as "any separable or distinguishable object of thought, 
whatever exists or is conceived to exist as a separate entity whether 
actual, possible or imaginary, animate or inanimate, concrete or 
abstract, any existence or event." The deduction assumed in this 
Hypothesis is that this definition only partially describes any 
"thing." To this accepted definition should be added this funda- 
mental Ceptacle Principle; that a "thing" consists of relatives and 
is itself a relative, where in each relation there is a ratio of differ- 
ence between the relatives greater than any given sameness, and 
a ratio of sameness greater than any given difference. So that, 
completing the definition according to this Hypothesis : 

A Ceptacle is any separable or distinguishable object of thought ; 
whatever exists or is conceived to exist as a separable entity, whether 
actual, possible or imaginary, animate or inanimate, concrete or 
abstract, any existence or event; having the further principle de- 
termining its nature, that it consists of relatives and is itself a 
relative where the ratio between the relatives is from a sameness 
greater than any given difference to a ratio where the difference is 
greater than any given sameness. 

All matter is defined in its broadest sense as occupying space ; 
while an idea or thought can not in any sense be defined as occu- 


pying space. Science and philosophy both accept the position that 
matter and mind, as two separate entities, differ in this fundamental 
fact. Now, these definitions may be accepted as true as far as they 
go, and will answer for a partial and superficial purpose in identi- 
fying them; but according to our Hypothesis, they can not be so 
defined in a scientific and philosophic sense if they are to be tested 
in their ultimate truth. It is only a half-truth to say that matter 
does, and mind does not occupy space, for while this is true where 
the ratio of their difference is a definable or determinable one, 
there is a ratio concomitant with this (the other half of the truth) 
where they occupy the same space and where the ratio of their 
sameness is greater than any given difference. This seems para- 
doxical, but it can be explained to reason and will disclose a prin- 
ciple of existence applicable to all things. 

What can be set up in its own identity as a thing can also be 
made to disclose an inhering concomitant which can also set up an 
identity of its own which proves to be its antithesis. The principle 
in the Hypothesis must be adequate to the unity of difference with- 
out its insistence upon an infinity belonging to it too great to 
destroy its sameness in any finite expression as any "thing." 

Let us illustrate with an orange: 

Thus, when we observe a particular round body, of two or 
three inches in diameter, of a reddish yellow color, and with a 
peculiar unevenness of surface, and awakening certain associations 
of taste and smell, instead of being merely conscious of certain im- 
pressions, we perceive an orange ; and in doing so we become aware 
of an external object, and at the same time we combine into one 
idea of that object the shape, and size, and color, and roughness, 
and taste, and smell, thinking these not as elements of thought in 
our mind, but as belonging to the orange. 

Now this orange, as matter, occupies space and has the different 
elements of shape, size, roughness, color, acidity, pungency, etc.: 
Within the necessary distance is a human being who experiences the 


sensations of seeing, feeling, smelling, and tasting in relation to 
the orange. 

In the language of science, what can now occur is explained 
as follows: 

We are not only capable of experiencing these sensations 
awakened within us by impressions from without, but we can also, 
through such impressions, perceive external objects. 

-'fSi '.:; 

That is, science would say that the "we" or "ego," which is 
mind and does not occupy space, perceives the orange, which is 
matter and does occupy space, and that this ego and this orange 
are entirely separate and different, the ego, mind, having no part 
in the orange matter space, and the orange matter having no pos- 
sible part in the conscious "we" or "ego" that is perceiving it. That 
each in its last analysis, and in the principle which will account for 
its nature as a thing, is definable and determinable as separate from 
the other. 

To which this Hypothesis dissents and replies: Granting, as 
true, for this case, and as is perfectly permissible, that the orange 
was, before any human being saw it or knew it to be, that it was 
possessed of all of its elements of shape, size, color, roughness, 
acidity, and odor, that these were "being," related to each other 
in a given order in space, occupying the whole of that orange space, 
in that particular manner which gave it that particular shape, size, 
roughness, etc., or in other words, this space held a particular de- 
gree of color, acidity, odor, etc., which made this particular orange ; 
that it was also being in its relation to other things surrounding 
it ; that it was having its duration in time as related to past, present, 
and possible future ; that all this was true of this orange up to the 
instant that the human ego enters upon our problem ; now, with the 
coming of this ego, what occurs? First another form of matter, 
consisting of the human body, enters as a factor it is itself matter, 
occupying space, and in that respect only differs from the orange 
in the kind of matter. It possesses the added phenomenon of be- 
ing in a peculiar way impressionable, of being acted upon from with- 
out. This body, "as matter," is not the "ego," which thinks and 


has ideas, although it seems to be an unquestioned fact that the 
body is a necessity to the ideas, and thoughts, and perceptions, and 
that whatever the ego is, it is through and with the body that it 
is capable of experiencing sensation, which is awakened within the 
body by impressions from without the body, and that it can also, 
through such impressions, perceive that external object (the or- 
ange), and perceive it, not as within but as external to the body. 

In the perceiving of this external object, the orange, what oc- 
curs, as nearly as science enables us to answer, is this: The body 
is capable of being impressed by contact with the elements of the 
orange through the intervening material mediums accounting for 
feeling, which feeling is diversified into touch, taste, sight, and 
smell, but so far as this contact in itself is concerned, it is but a 
contact of one form of matter with another. It is only as it re- 
sults in experience, sensation and perception that becomes ideas and 
thoughts. It is true that it does result in these, but when it does 
so result, what does this experience, these sensations, and this per- 
ceived orange prove to be as these ideas and thoughts ? The orange 
in its own identity, as a material thing, as it was having its being, 
before it was related in any way to this thinking phenomenon, was 
in no wise dependent upon it for its own entity. It was being its 
several elements of form, size, unevenness of surface, and those 
accounting for its color, taste, pungency in their relation to each 
other in the space they occupied independent of any ego. It was 
being an entity of single separate elements in space in the form or 
fact of an occupancy of that orange space. It was being this par- 
ticular orange thing also as a spatial fact related to its environment. 
It was so existing without a human being in any relation to it at 
all. Upon the coming into this relation, however, of a human 
body and with it the phenomena, sensation, impression, perception, 
expression, consciousness, as ideas and thought, what has actually 
occurred? What has been added to creative expression? For our 
reply we again accept the best scientific statements upon the struc- 
ture of the mind. 

The human faculties are capable of experiencing sensations 
awakened by impressions resulting from the contact or merger of 


exterior matter with that of the human body. This exterior mat- 
ter, in this case the orange, being a unity of elements in the sense 
that they occupy a given space, but incapable in this condition as 
that orange apart from that human relation of being more than its 
separate elements in a material unity in that particular space, the 
phenomenon which develops with this human is the capability, 
the possibility of that unity consciously knowing its unity by con- 
sciously being the process or activity of unifying itself. Here the 
unrealised capability has actually become, is being by being a knowl- 
edge of the process of unity unifying its elements. Ideas which 
are thoughts in this process think this orange as the orange itself, 
external to that human body, thinking them as in the source that 
awakened the impressions. This process is itself now as real as 
that material was before this evolution. The activity which ex- 
presses itself now as the unifying consciousness of that material 
unity is enabled to become such by an enlarged relation of the 
orange, reaching out to where it includes the human phenomenon. 
Consciousness thereby becomes. What already has been as possi- 
bility before this consciousness is now become itself as this new 
phenomenon, which proves to be the orange itself in a larger rela- 
tion which has unfolded the real existence of these orange elements 
and their unity. This real existence was a necessity to the orange 
before the human relation entered. Its conscious realisation is es- 
sential only to the human phenomenon. The consciousness of real 
existence is what has evolved. It is these experienced sensations 
of which the orange is an example which constitute human being. 
and this orange experienced in this particular instance is the spatial 
dimension and phase of that being. 

The different element attributes of the orange, its color, rough- 
ness, form, size, and whatever else is needed of material elements 
to make it what it is, make it an orange without human conscious- 
ness being a necessity to it. It can be and is unified by the principle 
of being its own relatives, but when human consciousness does 
become a relative, it evolves one of these heretofore unevolved 
relatives into its difference through a new phenomenon. The in- 
telligence that is attributed ordinarily to consciousness only is not 


in consciousness only ; it is and was in the orange before it was 
human intelligence, but then it was having both its relatives only 
within the orange; the ratio of difference within itself as phenom- 
enon was not sufficient to evolve the variations. It was a unity, 
but without consciousness of itself within that limitation ; it had 
no perspective, as it were, it could not within its limitations get a 
measure of itself or reflect upon itself. What then occurs according 
to science is, that every element in that orange is in an unbroken 
material contact through the other elements up to and including 
the brain. Sensation results, but sensation is only the unbroken 
contact of the elements in the orange which nature has found a 
way for projecting into their wider relation, where their succession 
or order in space and duration in time as they are in the orange, is 
having this wider relationing. This new relation evolves the in- 
hering difference ; because the new phenomenon of sensation, 
thought, mind, whichever it may be called, does not act in the 
same ratio in this evolved phase that is the ratio between the rela- 
tives when limited to the orange only. With the human brain in 
the limitation the ratio between these elements can be separated as 
a succession through these succeeding impressions of which the 
brain is capable. The succession through these new phenomena 
proves to be a process, for it is the difference of that inert or 
sameness in the orange, but it is the process of the orange, and be- 
cause it is occurring where the orange is now being also its ex- 
terior relative, it is therefore where the ratio is a given difference, 
and in which this other relative, as that difference, can also set up 
an identity. In this particular relation we call that identity con- 
sciousness. If we call one matter, the other in this particular differ- 
ence can not be matter, and we call it mind; or, in language, we 
classify one as noun, really because it evolved only substance in its 
limited ratio of sameness ; the other as verb, because we can predi- 
cate process or change out of the ratio from one to the other. A 
wheel at its center is apparently at rest, at another part is an appa- 
rent solid. It is the same wheel in the same motion, where within 
a given range and where the spokes and space are seen, it is neither 
at rest nor a solid. The explanation, as we know, is a matter of 

190 THE MON1ST. 

ratio accounting for a sameness and difference in one fact, and yet 
science can truthfully rest itself upon the principle that a solid must 
be to science what the wheel is in its apparent solidity, and that 
rest is what rest is at its center when in either the ratio is beyond 
its given. Nevertheless, any such solid has space and any such rest 
has motion. 

What we are endeavoring to demonstrate in this application 
of the Hypothesis is, that the most common material thing cannot 
be limited and described as its own entity only, notwithstanding 
such a description has been satisfactory to science and philosophy. 
Knowledge has already progressed sufficiently to add to such ma- 
terial description elements inseparable to it while being its difference. 
This Hypothesis recognises the apparent paradox. It makes no 
attempt, either in this induction or others to follow, to eliminate 
the paradox; on the other hand, it is because it is seen to exist in 
all things that the purpose is to find the principle, if there be one, 
underlying all things which will explain this paradox and make it 
consistent in human reason, and to do this the line which it is 
following is this: The present universally accepted method of de- 
termining or defining any "thing" in its own identity or integrity 
is to confine such thing to quality or qualities, quantity or quantities, 
relation or relations, mode or modes which are in time and space 
identical or measurably so: That the elements which make up the 
thing are virtually alike to the extent at least that a different ele- 
ment does not enter into that identity or the integrity of such thing. 
Now to this universal method this Hypothesis takes no exception 
save that while these elements of sameness thus used to define such 
things are there, it is equally true, whether paradoxical or inconsist- 
ent with accepted methods, that already conscious knowledge has 
advanced in its development to where no exhaustive definition or 
determination of a "thing" can be given without the recognised 
presence of a quality, or quantity, or relation, or modality which 
can not be likened to these other elements and can neither be elimi- 
nated from nor confined to that same space and time, yet are an 
inseparable part of the identity and integrity of such "thing," and 
without which it cannot exist. The paradoxical, the apparently in- 


consistent conditions which nature has always thrust upon reason, 
the antithesis of things, has been a problem from the beginning to 
both science and philosophy. The method of meeting the difficulty 
has not been to accept what has been so evident as a part of nature 
and readjust our reasoning, but instead to retain our system of 
logic, to insist, for instance, upon no new adjustment of the point 
of view of ego as to itself, and attempt either to eliminate the 
paradox or ignore the antithesis or to call the unexplainable a 
negligible quantity. This Hypothesis seeks to find a place for the 
so-called paradox, for this antithesis, this negligible, although to 
do so it assumes that reason must readjust itself and logic find 
new rules by which to assert itself. Because matter and mind as 
related to each other have been at the very foundation of the diffi- 
culties, the battle-ground of controversy, our demonstration of the 
Hypothesis begins with the application of material things where they 
have appeared fundamentally inconsistent in their relations to mind. 
We began with matter occupying space this as related to the 
orange elements of shape, size, roughness, etc., environed by other 
matter. Through the medium of this other matter, now usually 
considered to be the atmosphere, its radiation and vibrations, or 
else by direct contact, impression was made upon, through or in 
another form of matter called the human body, whereby was evolved 
or developed an entirely new phenomenon conscious self the 
power of combining as that self all of those separate elements in 
space into a unified entity. Not as something new in themselves, 
but a larger relation of something already existing, evolving the 
power of .^//-realisation. This is ego, but here it only adds knowl- 
edge to existence. In this particular relation it is mind, and while 
this mind is not matter in any of the forms given to matter and 
will not permit of a scientific classification as matter, yet when it 
appears it is as an inseparable relative; where in their sameness is 
needed the very same space for an exhaustive analysis of either. 
For the same identical space by which the orange is determined and 
defined is necessary to what proves to be mind, and in this relation 
in their sameness the ratio between them in that sameness of space 
greater than any given difference. The Hypothesis being tested 


does not take the position that the statement is erroneous which de- 
fines matter as occupying space, that is, as those elements that co- 
exist in space, but that this is but the definition of the unity of this 
matter as one of its relatives and that no exhaustive definition can 
be given, after the human enters, which does not include the uni- 
fying as the other relative. That when this relative is included it 
will prove to be a sameness wherein the ratio is greater than any 
given difference, which sameness we are endeavoring to demon- 
strate where mind is the relative of the orange. This demonstration 
is, however, but a part of the principle disclosed in the Hypothesis 
where it further asserts that in this same relation of matter and 
mind in this same space these relatives, matter and mind, are in 
a ratio of difference which is greater than any given sameness. 
This orange, called matter, consists of elements occupying space 
in measurable quantity, but it is the unifying of these elements and 
not the elements in their unity which is the orange, and this uni- 
fying element is not the matter accounting for the orange. This 
unifying element will unify any other thing, as well, of entirely 
different elements, and yet this unity consists of these two differing 
relations, while in this relation their ratio of sameness is greater 
than any given difference for the reason that neither one in this 
relation can be eliminated in their occupancy of the same space, 
nor can either be described in this orange without the other in any 
exhaustive description. That the unifying element in the course of 
evolution becomes mind is only a step forward in creative expres- 
sion ; the principle is the same as a basic fact related to the orange 
thing itself, without the mental evolution. 

We began the application of the Hypothesis in this particular 
instance to this statement, "All matter is defined in its broadest 
sense as occupying space, while an idea or thought cannot in any 
sense be defined as occupying space." What has been shown by 
the Hypothesis is that the "thinking principle," contrary to accepted 
belief, may be extended and in its true state as a related instead of 
an unrelated principle can be and is known where it is being its 
form and location. It has space relations, contrary to prevalent as- 


This orange, consisting of matter, occupies space. 

These ideas and thoughts prove to be a unifying of this same 
matter in this same space. 

In this spatial relation, matter and thought are inseparable 
relatives, having a ratio of sameness between them greater than any 
given difference. 

A definition or description of either matter or thought confined 
to one of these relatives is not a complete definition and is not in 
accord with the scientific or philosophical knowledge of the day ; 
and to so confine it is inconsistent with such knowledge. 

PROP. I. Matter and mind in an inseparable sameness occupy 
the same space. 


Matter and mind, which in an inseparable sameness occupy the 
same space (PROP. I), as related to that space have a ratio of dif- 
ference between them greater than any given sameness. 

Matter and mind are both extended and may be so related 
(PROP. I) that either is determinable by the same space, and while 
in that relation neither can be defined or determined except by that 
particular spatial fact. Yet the paradox must be true, according 
to the Hypothesis here set up, that related to this same space and 
sameness, there is a difference between this same matter and thought 
where the ratio of that difference is greater than any given same- 

Now, any given matter elements in a given space, being uni- 
fied by or through related thought (PROP. I), must have that par- 
ticular relation as one existing fact in a given present time as re- 
lated to any past or any possible future. That "given present" is 
the duration of that particular relation in that given space, yet 
within this "given," change is taking place according to scientific 
assumption, for science is agreed that there is no such thing as 
the absolutely constant in matter. "All things are growing or de- 
caying, accumulating matter or wearing away, integrating or dis- 
integrating." The Hypothesis asserts that there must be a paradox- 
ical or apparently inconsistent principle involved in what will account 


for the existence of the orange; where two relatives, which can 
be identified separately as matter and thought, nevertheless merge 
the elements of one with the unifying process of the other so that 
their merging is to a sameness where the ratio of that sameness is 
greater than any given difference. Nevertheless the principle in 
the Hypothesis requires that the same two relatives in that same 
space shall have a ratio of difference greater than any given same- 
ness. Through PROP. I, the condition is shown to prevail asserted 
in the first phase of the principle ; it is the unity of variety in the 
unifying of a variety of elements, but it is existing in a given space 
(as the orange). It is that orange, it is the one dimension, as it 
were, in time, a present orange, which is the unified of those particu- 
lar matter elements, but as we have learned from science there is no 
such thing as the constant in matter, then that matter relative can- 
not exist longer than it is being that "given" present in that partic- 
ular specific relation, while the other or thought relative in this 
same particular relation is constant in that it unifies the succession 
of this being with what becomes as a result of change. It is the 
other phase of the principle. It becomes, as it were, a second di- 
mension, in time. To this thought relative, but not to the matter 
relative, it is the orange, as well as it was the orange. Therein 
lies the fact that between inconstant matter and related enduring 
thought there is the ratio of difference greater than any given same- 
ness, and yet the same unifying thought can no more be separated 
from either the past or the present relations than can the same 
matter be present in the change. If what are treated as facts in 
this application are true as set out in PROP. I, as well as in PROP. II, 
the Hypothesis undertakes to account for those facts upon the 
principle that the material fact can only exist as matter when merged 
with that which can nevertheless be defined or determined as an- 
other entity, and where that merger is in a degree of ratio between 
these two greater than any difference, and further that, once this 
merger is established, there will be found in one of those relatives 
a difference where the ratio of that difference between them is 
greater than any given sameness. That is, there appears to be a 
reasonable explanation for the paradox of a sameness which will 


produce variety, which in this second application gives us the 
variety or difference existing in the first application and enables 
us to state: 

PROP. II. Matter and mind have a ratio of difference between 
them, as related to the same space, greater than any given sameness. 

We find such statements constantly confronting us as the fol- 
lowing (James's Psychology) : 

"According to the assumptions of this book, thoughts accom- 
pany the brain's workings, and thoughts are cognitive of realities. 
The whole relation is one which we can only write down empiric- 
ally, confessing that no glimmer of explanation of it is yet in sight. 
That brains should give rise to a knowing consciousness at all, 
this is the one mystery which returns, no matter of what sort the 
consciousness and of what sort the knowledge may be." 

As heretofore stated, in developing this Hypothesis, both ma- 
terial and mental "things'" will be assumed as existing facts, as 
science and philosophy have found and classified them for their 
purposes ; as, for instance, it accepts : 

"Matter as that which occupies space or is extended, and with 
which we become acquainted by means of our bodily senses or or- 
gans," and that "mind is self-conscious intelligence, possessing ra- 
tional power of self-determination ; or more widely specially from 
a physiological point of view to include such recognition of ex- 
ternal objects as is provided for through the special senses as re- 
lated to the cerebrum." 

If, therefore, the mystery to be explained, as pointed out by 
Professor James, is how brains as matter are possible, or how a 
knowing consciousness as mind can be an actuality at all, then so 
far as this hypothesis goes it must remain a mystery, but if these 
actualities are accepted as unquestioned existing phenomena, de- 
finable as indicated, then the hypothesis is intended and expected 
to point out a law of cause and effect which will explain how 
"brains should give rise to a knowing consciousness." 

In Proposition I there were certain several matter elements 
such as color, form, etc., which, as matter either separately or to- 
gether, can best be defined or determined when they are simply 


asserted to be extended or occupying space. In the further de- 
velopment of Proposition I it was stated that these several matter 
elements were unified. 

We have here two distinctly differing things, the one definable 
as material substance, that is extended and occupying space, the 
other an activity, a process, the existing or being of the first as a 
unifying, being, or process of that extension. The Hypothesis 
holds that it is because it is a difference between these two, that 
because there is an opportunity or stress present in any "thing," 
that such thing, in its own identity, with such inhering stress be- 
tween sameness and difference, constitutes a cause which must of 
necessity produce as effect that which is an identifiable difference. 
Therefore, in this instance or relation matter gives rise to con- 
sciousness. What accounts for this is a never-ceasing relationing 
of relatives in a ratio which discloses a concomitant integration and 
disintegration of identity, a never-ceasing interchange of what in 
the Hypothesis is called sameness and difference. It must not be 
assumed that in any given induction possible to be made these 
changing identities can all be followed any more than it is possible 
for all nature to be known. But it should be assumed according to 
the Hypothesis that every identity will have an inhering difference 
beyond any possible given ratio of sameness sufficient to be cause 
for the effect indicated. 

In the Hypothesis what is called a sameness between the rela- 
tives does not mean that a difference does not exist in that relation, 
but no given difference exists, none can be determined or defined. 
It is where in nature the ratio between the relatives has not yet 
been pushed back upon itself, from out of which any difference must 
come. An analogous case in principle where consciousness is a 
factor is where a base can not be had large enough in a triangle 
by which, with the present mechanism for measurement of the 
angles, there can be found but parallel lines on the two sides point- 
ing to some fixed star. The principle of sameness and difference, 
it must be understood, is within any thing; as, for instance, an 
assumed indivisible atom. This atom must by this very principle 
itself consist of relatives, though, as in the case of any such ulti- 


mate in consciousness, it only appears to that consciousness in its 
aspect of sameness and not that of its difference, because, again, 
as the Hypothesis would hold, the ratio in such "thing" between 
the relatives is yet where the sameness is greater than any given 
difference, and not yet where any nature phenomenon has evolved 
a vantage by which to disclose the ratio of difference which never- 
theless does exist. For here we should again note, which we can 
not too often repeat, that the principle upon which this Hypothesis 
proceeds is that every thing consists of relatives and is itself a 
relative, and that the ratio in any relation is from sameness to a 
difference with a concomitant relationing of difference to sameness, 
where the given is the definable or determinable limitation at either 
extreme, and that this "given" is itself a thing like the rest, subject 
to the same principle. If within one relative that principle will per- 
mit its being a thing which can set up its own identity and prove 
itself to consist of relatives, then it would seem as if the principle 
would be sufficient to establish a method whereby with that other 
identified relative the unity of difference and the difference in 
unity throughout nature would become reasonable. It will be seen, 
however, that to do this requires, what this Hypothesis assumes 
must follow, that human understanding should no longer define 
any "thing" in its last analysis except as a relative where its known 
or unknown difference is a part of any complete definition or de- 

In the illustration cited, the wheel taken as its whole might be 
said to be involved in a movement upon its own sameness and 
difference where this fact discloses a principle in such movement 
which becomes a cause accounting for two apparently opposite or 
contradictor}' effects, for in one relation the effect is what science 
classifies as a solid occupying all the space at a given center, while 
in the other relation it is motion; that is, it is in fact the same 
principle as duration or succession in time. Now, the application 
of the Hypothesis to Professor James's difficulty of "knowing con- 
sciousness," as, for instance, a knowing consciousness of the orange, 
would be in some such manner as this : The elements in the orange 
as related to themselves when the orange is being its own relatives, 


are to each other being in one and the same instant, with no given 
difference in a related duration in time, but when this sameness be- 
comes a relative in its evolved and larger phenomena, then in their 
impress upon the brain the succession of that impression becomes 
a given difference and no longer a given sameness. 



'T N O the present day, the studies of the famous code of Hammu- 
rabi have been made solely from the Semitic standpoint. 
One group of scholars has sought to find support for the conten- 
tion that Hebrew civilisation was dependent upon the Babylonian 
from the very beginning; that it is in fact, but a certain logical 
development therefrom. The effort is conspicuous for its failure. 
An opposing school, influenced by traditional views of Hebrew 
history, strongly resents the suggestion that the Hebrew code should 
be for one moment considered or spoken of as upon so low a moral 
plane as the Babylonian. But such protest is even more futile than 
the above theory. No worthy end is attained, no useful purpose 
subserved, by insisting upon the unapproached superiority of the 
Hebrew and his code in their earlier years. The Hebrew records 
themselves do not make the claim, nor afford material for its sup- 
port. The great Hebrew teachers assert that their people had re- 
ceived a peculiar training, which began when they were intellectu- 
ally, morally, and socially in a very primitive condition. The final 
products of this historic training remain just what they ever have 
been, no matter what view be taken as to the origin of the people 
and the methods used in their instruction. The evidence is becom- 
ing preponderant, moreover, to indicate that the Hebrew organi- 
sation in its final shape owed much to Babylonia, if indeed it did 
not closely copy the ritual and religious organisation of the great 
Eastern center of law and religion. The value of Biblical teaching 
is in no wise assailed or impaired, even if such a possibility resolve 
itself into a fact. 

We have a third theory, of which D. H. Miiller, of Vienna, 


may be considered the spokesman. It is frankly recognised that 
the differences between the codes of Palestine and Babylonia are 
more prominent than the resemblances: and it is suggested that we 
have before us sister-codes, so to speak: each being a regular de- 
velopment of certain principles of primitive Semitic social life. It 
is then maintained that we are in a position to determine what were 
the few elementary principles of primitive Semitic social and re- 
ligious law. 

But this view has the objection that the very elements that we 
might expect to be common to both codes, in case of such descent, 
are those which are notably missing from the Hebrew law, and con- 
stitute its supreme defects. We might expect minute and carefully 
detailed regulations concerning commerce and trade, rental, agri- 
culture, etc., to be lost during any relapse to nomadic life, such as 
we find recorded in the case of the Hebrew. But why should the 
highly developed code of individual rights, of feminine independ- 
ence, of equitable inheritance, of judicial organisation and procedure, 
be utterly lost by a people who had once been in southern Baby- 
lonia? May it not be that the Hebrew civil and secular code is 
simply Palestinian? that it is in its main features as Canaanitish 
as their language? The principles which the theory of common 
descent from an earlier code would give us reason to expect in the 
Hebrew code we do not find expressed in it. They had to be 
learned later, in some measure, from Babylonia. We must account 
these facts fatal to the theory. 

It has long been suspected by students of anthropology that 
Semitic scholarship has allowed itself to be too much affected by the 
conception of the peculiar separateness of the Semitic race. The 
acknowledged presence and influence of animistic and totemistic 
elements in its religious development have served in some measure 
to obliterate the distinction, and to link the Semite religiously to the 
rest of mankind. Can any other position be safely assumed in 
the study of Semitic law? It is time to take another leaf out of 
Bastian. Does what is known as Semiticism represent an independent 
type of human development, something pre-eminently sui generis? 
Or is it only one of the necessary stages in human evolution, affected 


by the peculiar local conditions in Arabia? Are we to find in the 
Semitic codes compared Ur-Semitic ideas, with Miiller, or pre- 
Semitic ideas principles latent in humanity and common to the 
race? Does the final highly developed code of Babylonia represent 
anything else than a certain stage of human progress? 

There are those who are peculiarly restive under the suggestion 
that the evolution of man is so largely controlled by material factors 
as Buckle's view indicates. Ingersoll's dashing statement that "man 
is a machine into which we put what we call food, and get therefrom 
what we call thought" is sometimes selected as an expression of 
the principle, and assailed as hopelessly atheistic or materialistic. 
But is it? Without discussing the soundness of the statement, are 
we not still compelled to ask who made the machine, its food, and 
the environment and laws of its operation ? 

We may inquire then if the evidence of so-called Semitic law 
does not compel us to a monistic view of mankind, as the necessary 
correlate to a monistic conception of God. The influence of local 
environment does not conflict with the view, but supports it. And 
such monistic view of mankind the Hebrew literature asks us to 
accept. We may then compare the principles of the Hammurabi 
code with those of other bodies of legislation, to determine whether 
we should not explain it simply as a high development of man, 
embodying elements common to the race, and attaining a point pos- 
sible only after long ages of social evolution. 

One fundamental principle of all primitive law is retaliation. 
We cannot perceive any essential difference in this respect between 
the laws of the Semite and those of the Aryan, the central African, 
or the North American Indian. There is a mere impulse of the 
human animal to strike back when struck ; the disposition to cherish 
the memory of an injury, and to avenge it at the first opportunity. 
There are no necessarily moral ideas in such behavior, nor can we 
fairly say there is a law in it, in the sense which we are considering. 

The idea of law seems to begin in the establishment of a rude 
notion of proportion between an injury and the vengeance repaid. 
What we know of humanity does not suggest that this results from 
any reflection upon the abstract idea of justice. Primitive ven- 


geance is noted for being entirely disproportionate to the original 
offense: and it remains so till a tolerably definite social order has 
become established. When necessity has extended the crude family 
idea to a body of men forming a clan, the impulse of the avenger 
is seriously hampered. He is compelled to consider what may be 
the result if he takes the whole matter into his own hands. Thus 
a rigidly applied lex talionis develops as a pure compromise between 
two opposing factions. The savage man would fain torture his 
enemy to death for a comparatively trivial injury. But the friends 
of this aggressor would have him go scot-free, if possible. The 
result of the contention is eventually to establish the law that the 
aggressor shall be treated just as his victim was. The one faction 
will allow no more, the opposing clan will accept no less. Thus a 
consuetudinary law becomes established with no necessary moral 
associations or impulses, with no other notion of justice than a rude 
sense of proportion between the two injuries inflicted. The abstract 
conception of justice, the purpose to work to some high end, must 
be regarded as a far off consequent, rather than as a cause, of the 
lex talionis. 

How difficult it is to get beyond this stage and to reach abstract 
treatment, how very lame all effort to administer such a codal prin- 
ciple necessarily must be, is well illustrated by the story of the man 
who was haled into a Turkish court upon a charge of murder. He 
had fallen from an upper window upon a passer-by; thereby the 
latter was killed, though the former escaped unharmed. The dead 
man's son, as next of kin, took up the case : the court gave verdict 
in his favor. The son was to go to the same upper window: the 
accused was to stand beneath, and the son was to fall upon him 
and kill him. An American court might render such verdict as a 
bit of sarcasm upon a senseless suit. But there is no grim humor 
intended in the Oriental verdict. 

The tale illustrates one point in the arrest of development of 
Oriental law, as contrasted with the more modern Aryan laws. A 
second difficulty in the application of such principle appears when 
the literal application of the lex talionis directly involves other par- 
ties in addition to the original plaintiff and defendant. In the code 


of Hammurabi some trace of this difficulty remains, as in the case 
of the builder who erects a flimsy structure. Should its collapse 
occasion the death of son or daughter of the householder, the son 
or daughter of the builder must be put to death. But this stage is 
much beyond that of the early Hebrew, or of modern China, where 
the man is not viewed as an unrelated individual, but merely as the 
representative of a clan or family: and any grave misdeed of one 
may involve the destruction of the whole, as in the case of Achan. 
Or, the sons may be slain long after the father's death, to avenge 
an old grudge against the father, as in the case of Saul's sons. So 
in China to-day supposed treason involves the destruction of all 
male kin within the first degree : and in West Africa a man having 
a grudge against some member of a neighboring tribe kills the first 
member of that tribe whom he may meet: thus satisfying the 
grudge. It is the tribe, not the individual, that has wronged him. 
The correlate of this view is that the clan acknowledges the deed 
of a member as its own, and the effort to protect the wrongdoer 
may involve the destruction of the clan, as in the case of Gibeah 
of Benjamin, and of Jabesh-Gilead. But this stage is wholly past 
in the code of Hammurabi : clans have given way to the individuals, 
and the single law referred to is the only apparent trace remaining 
of overstepping the conception of purely individual responsibility 
for any given act. It is worth remembering, in this connection, that 
Ezekiel, the exile in Babylon, preaches to Israel the recent Deutero- 
nomic law that no son should be punished for his father's misdeeds : 
"Ye shall no more use this proverb in Israel." "The soul that 
sinneth, it shall die," was the law of Babylon. 

It may be recognised that the abandonment of such primitive 
principle was essential to the empire-building of the ancient Baby- 
lonians. We know that in the lower Euphrates valley cities sprang 
up ages before the ascendency of Babylon: their relations to each 
other being much like those of the free cities of mediaeval Germany, 
or the city-republics of Italy. Only a common body of law, some- 
thing of a compromise, embodying some principles acceptable to 
each clan city, could fuse the group of individual competitors for 
the hegemony into a harmonious whole. The compilation of such 


was the achievement of Hammurabi: and it is very clear that such 
consolidation was hardly possible till the idea of clan responsibility 
was practically abandoned for that of personal responsibility. 

The code of Hammurabi has again passed beyond the Hebrew 
law, or indeed any other Semitic law, in modifying the lex talionis 
by recognition of the right of self-defense. The Hebrew code, 
even its latest form, recognises only accidental killing as consti- 
tuting a ground for modification of the law ; and the method is 
not one that would commend itself to Christian courts. It is to 
be noted, also, that murder is not dealt with by state courts: there 
is no state concerned in the matter. The whole thing is left really 
to private vengeance: and the man who in an altercation kills an- 
other in self-defense has no protection. The story of Abner, Joab, 
and Asahel serves to illustrate the matter. David has been criti- 
cised as weak in his dealing with Joab. This is beside the mark. 
David had no jurisdiction in the matter. A further step in the 
modification of the rigid law of retaliation may result from large 
commercial development, and the necessity of regarding a slave 
as a piece of property, upon which a pecuniary value is placed. 
Late Babylonian decisions may show the influence of this, and sug- 
gest a new meaning for "a life for a life." We have a case in 
which a man had been killed: whether accidentally or no, we can- 
not say, as the tablet is damaged. But the judges decide that he 
must make over to the family of his victim a certain valuable slave : 
otherwise he must be put; to death on the grave of the slain. The 
great prominence given to the commercial value of a man in Baby- 
lon, with the everywhere apparent effort to make amends to ail 
injured parties, suggest that we have not here a mere case of com- 
pounding a felony, but the effort to make amends to a family for 
the loss of a breadwinner by giving it another. In this point the 
Babylonian practice may have somewhat the advantage of modern 
codes, in that it endeavored to make amends at the only point where 
such was possible. 

Yet this may have been the survival of a very ancient, and 
slightly different practice. Among the wild Arab tribes of the 
lower Euphrates protracted inter-clan feuds are to-day finally ad- 


justed, after counting up the losses, by the payment, to the worsted 
clan, of two women for each man that it has lost above the number 
killed in the rival clan. A man is accounted more valuable than a 
woman, for the warlike purposes of peoples: further, the defeated 
clan needs more child-bearers, to repair its numerical losses. Very 
similar methods of settling clan feuds are reported from West 
Africa. The view taken of woman in tribal wars may recall to the 
reader the savage destruction of women in the earlier narratives of 
the Old Testament. And it is interesting to recall that Bellamy, 
in his Looking Back^vard, advocated the adjustment of all fluctua- 
tions in the working-strength of a nation, if produced by emigra- 
tion, by reimbursing such nation for the loss of each efficient la- 
borer. He may have been looking backward more really than he 
knew. Such early practice is one important root of slavery. The 
persons thus paid over generally become servants of the clan. But 
it is, on the other hand, proper to inquire if modern law, dealing 
only with moral and retributive aspects of murder cases, has not 
wholly omitted to consider the inevitable economic or commercial 
interests involved. The earlier law, whether Semitic or Aryan, 
seems to have tried to grapple with both. 

The very large development of commercial law in Babylonia, 
and its influence in humanising the lex talionis, are indirectly sup- 
ported by the prominence given to adoption. It became much more 
than a means of securing an heir for a childless family. It was an 
effective method of recruiting the powerful labor guilds that were 
so prominent a feature of the Babylonian social structure. Adop- 
tion was void if the child were not taught his adoptive father's 
trade. A commercial estimate of a man's value does not appear as 
modifying the lex talionis in murder cases, where men of different 
ranks were concerned ; at least it does not appear in the code. 

Now this question of rank is one of the largest factors in de- 
troying the rude equity of the law of retaliation. The noble cannot 
meet the serf upon equal terms. An injury to one cannot be con- 
sidered the equivalent of an injury to the other. Yet it need not 
always displace the method of compounding petty injuries, that has 
developed among men of equal rank. We observe this, in the case 


of such, in the code of Hammurabi. The basis of estimation seems 
to be the cash value of the services of a first-class slave. From this 
standpoint the relative values of hand, foot, or eye, approximate 
those adopted by modern accident insurance companies. But in 
the case of slaves, only those salable or transferable are viewed 
as chattels. The man whose service is merely temporary, in order 
to cancel a debt, is legally a free man, and an injury to him must be 
treated from that standpoint. 

The two principles of recognition of rank and of commercial 
compounding are naturally susceptible of great abuse. The former 
has produced the larger injustice in Aryan law and practice, owing 
to the more minute social subdivision. The commoner or burgher 
is above the serf or bondman ; neither is held of any value in com- 
parison with the knight or nobleman. In India the Brahmin even- 
tually assumes the same unapproachable pre-eminence. The fearful 
oppression of the lower ranks, under such conditions, is a familiar 
tale. But Semitic society has not attained these sharply defined de- 
limitations. Even the slave of to-day may be the prince of to- 
morrow. The one is not so inferior socially, the other not so pre- 
eminent, as in Aryan society. So in Babylonia industrial and intel- 
lectual efficiency seem to be recognised, whether in freeman or slave. 
We do not find the minutely graded officialdom so prominent in 
military Assyria. The institutions seem to be moulded in no small 
degree by the earlier Sumerian precedents. The judicial organi- 
sation rather suggests the Chinese civil service than the methods 
of other Semitic peoples. The powerful guilds, their apparent im- 
portance in the social structure, remind us of the guilds that arose 
similarly among the free Teutonic burghers of mediaeval Europe, 
or the guilds and societies so important among modern Mongolian 
peoples. But legally there seem to be but two great classes in 
Babylonia, as in Central Africa: the chiefs or officials, and the 
freemen. A law is promulgated for the punishment of the man 
who injures one of higher rank than himself: the penalty is a 
public whipping. There is but one law, one penalty, one compari- 
son of rank involved. While this elementary difference in rank 
works abuses in Semitic lands, it does not seem to have been re- 


duced to a regular "Wehrgeld" scale, as among ancient Teutons 
and Hindus, according to which "every man has his price," at 
which he may be injured. On the other hand, the compounding idea 
has been the more abused among Semites and Africans: greed for 
petty gain overruling other considerations. A woman appealed to 
King Theodore of Abyssinia ; her husband had been murdered ; the 
offending soldier had escaped with a small fine. King Theodore 
summoned the judge and the soldier, heard the evidence, then asked 
the judge what penalty had been imposed. "Ten dollars fine," re- 
plied the judge. "Very cheap !" said Theodore: "I can afford that!" 
and drawing a pistol he shot the soldier dead, then laid down the 
ten dollars before the astonished judge, whose subsequent judicial 
conduct was more circumspect. 

We have also applications of the talio to property questions. 
Two children are playing on the floor. One breaks the toy of the 
other and is promptly struck ; or his toy may be broken ; or if the 
injured child have a little more foresight, he will appropriate his 
playmate's toy to make good his loss. Practically the world has no 
other principles in all its laws, for the protection of property. Among 
children the compensation idea is usually the last to manifest itself, 
while the mere angry destruction of the other party's property is 
generally recognised as peculiarly childish ; or, among men, as pecu- 
liarly savage. In law this method has never become recognised as 
a wise principle ; and there is no legislation that punishes a man by 
burning his crops or maiming his beasts. Only where the property 
itself is a nuisance or source of peril does law generally demand 
its destruction, as in the case of a savage dog or unruly ox. The 
two largely used principles then are punishment inflicted upon the 
person of the offender, and the exaction of damages from him. In 
Aryan law the former principle is the more largely applied, though 
the very modern Aryan peoples do not now kill, burn, maim, or 
mutilate petty offenders against property rights so generally as 
they once did. In the Hammurabi code, on the other hand, resti- 
tution is the great principle almost everywhere applied. All sorts 
of failures to fulfill contracts, all sorts of petty thefts or attempts 
at fraud, seem regarded as creating petty debts, which stand against 


the offender. The primal purpose seems always to restore to the 
injured property-owner all that he had been deprived of, with some 
compensation for his annoyance. Beyond this the code does not 
seem to go. There is no conception of a wrong to the dignity and 
peace of the state, of which we hear in our own formal indictments, 
In a single case we find maiming that of the penniless fellow who 
is dependent upon the kepu for the opportunity to raise a crop. If 
he steal any of the equipment entrusted him, he has no means of 
repayment, and personal injury is resorted to: he has his fingers 
cut off. The death penalty that appears in the early sections of the 
code in a case of disputed property, we must consider as really aimed 
at the perjury, not at the theft. The offense has been greatly ag- 
gravated : the false claim persisted in, and sworn to. The offender 
has violated the sanctity of the temple as much as he who has 
broken into it and robbed the gods. Each offender meets the same 

As in the case of the earlier lex talio for personal injuries, we 
cannot affirm that there are any necessary moral ideas in the con- 
duct or impulses of the children used above for purposes of illustra- 
tion. And the idea of restitution must be reached only after much 
discussion of the problem in clan life. It is not everywhere domi- 
nant in savage law : rather does it seem exceptional. In African 
law it is notably rare: mutilation, slavery, or death are the usual 
penalties. In the Hammurabi code, however, the religious feeling 
in regard to restitution is very strong. All losses or injuries must 
be attested by oath ; and the gods are in this way given great prom- 
inence as the protectors of property. 

The moral ideas of the people are much more definitely dis- 
cernible in another direction. It is apparent to every one that a 
people who begin to regulate society by the application of a rigid 
lex talionis or restitution-principle will in time discover that the 
method has most pronounced limitations: that there are many of 
the most serious offenses to which the principle is totally inappli- 
cable. That so many of these remain outside the provisions of all 
early codes may be taken as evidence that the lex talionis is, as we 
have suggested, the primal impulse of law: the offenses beyond its 


powers are most probably recognised later, and in consequence of 
a considerable religious development. How far taboos are respon- 
sible for them we cannot discuss at this place. Suffice it to say 
that the cuneiform literature reveals to us a large number of offenses 
which immediately entail a species of taboo upon the offender. None 
may eat of his table, drink of his cup, or associate with him in any 
way, without being tainted thereby and subjected to similar ex- 
communication. The banned person is shunned as if infected by the 
plague. We have the theory of the temporal rewards of evil-doing 
reduced to a minute and logical series of details. The person is 
solemnly declared accursed ; or the curse is formally invoked upon 
him. Such a person, among primitive races, is "cut off from among 
his people." In the code we find this excommunication in the case 
of the person guilty of incest with his son's wife ; and the same 
idea is really involved in the disinheritance of a son who has lain 
with his stepmother. The curse of Jacob upon Reuben is a direct 
application of the law of Hammurabi. Beyond these principles the 
code does not go : leaving to the domain of religion or to social dis- 
cipline some offenses that are within the provisions of more modern 
secular codes. In^this respect the Babylonian law. is paralleled by 
the Hebrew, with its large list of accursed offenses. The Aryan 
law is in the same condition. The main difference is that the list 
of curses in the Hebrew code apparently antedates the largest cere- 
monial development, while in the Babylonian banning texts the list 
of ceremonial infractions involving excommunication for a longer 
or shorter period, is larger ; and in Menu it is simply prodigious. 
We have relative stages of development thereby suggested. 

But this method of punishing one's enemy, when the courts 
could not deal with the case, by pronouncing an excommunicative 
curse upon him, was capable of large abuse : and all early codes show 
the effort to limit it. In the code of Hammurabi, the imprecator 
must show that the case is one recognised as deserving a curse. In 
the early Aryan code, certain devices must not be used: apparently 
the effort is to stop the practice altogether. In the Hebrew code, 
curses may be invoked in the name of Yahveh ; but there must not be 
invocation of the spirits of the dead, or strange divinities, or the 


supposed spirits of evil. Such cursing is not in the name of Yahveh, 
and witchcraft is accordingly viewed as idolatry. A childlike con- 
fidence in the potency of such imprecations or incantations belongs 
to all branches of the human family : the practice is not, in any of its 
phases, purely Semitic. The witch is believed to have real power, 
and using it to slay or maim, is to all intents and purposes a mur- 

It is a fundamental principle of the code of Hammurabi that 
the presumption is always in favor of the innocence of the accused : 
the burden of proof is thrown upon the accuser. This but parallels 
the moderately developed judicial procedure of all peoples. But 
the fact that the laws are not yet conceived as expressing the will 
of a corporate body known as the state results in there being no 
such personage as a state's attorney to conduct the prosecution. 
Nor is there a royal prosecuting attorney: while Hammurabi is the 
actual compiler, he conceives the laws to be really from Shamash. 
There is no grand jury to find a true bill: no penitentiary represent- 
ing outraged society ; for while primitive society has really made the 
laws, it is not yet fully conscious of the fact and in consequence at- 
tributes to them a different origin. Not merely is the burden of 
proof upon the accuser, but in all primitive society the entire burden 
of accusation or indictment falls upon him. In this respect the legal 
procedure of Babylonia seems to have been that of all early nations. 
Even Aryan peoples have known no other till a relatively recent 

It is very early apparent that under such a system the more 
plausible speaker may have too distinct an advantage in his presen- 
tation of his own case; and there is too much advantage with the 
popular favorite, in case the matter is argued before the popular 
assembly, as in ancient Greece or modern Africa. The balance oi 
personal factors that was partially established in primitive society 
by control of the lex talionis, is seriously disturbed. Hence a dele- 
gated judicial body of some sort may appear very early; usually 
in the form of a council of the chiefs or elders, as among the Nortf 
American Indians. It remains the essential feature of early Semitic 


courts; it remains in Babylonia in a highly developed form, and is 
but slightly modified in the more advanced Aryan procedure. 

But we find other things are needed to meet the difficulty and 
the idea of so framing the judicial administration that it may pre- 
vent crime rather than punish, seems to be attained very early. We 
may feel sure that this is one reason of the early development of 
the law in Babylonia, that every sort of transaction concerning which 
dispute might arise should be committed to writing. The court's 
task is largely reduced to the examination of documents: there is 
an insuperable barrier to forensic eloquence, and the plaintiff with- 
out documents, when they were possible, is nonsuited. Possibly no 
other judicial system so thoroughly eliminated prejudice and passion. 
But we have no Babylonian oratory. 

The conducting one's own case does not appear to have been 
superseded among the early Hebrews. We have not, however, the 
insistence upon carefully prepared and attested documents, which 
we find in Babylonia; but in the Babylonian Talmud they become 
prominent. In Greece, on the other hand, we find the paid attorney 
developing: but he is a product of the rights of the popular as- 
sembly ; there is no delegation of popular authority to a senate, and 
any one may speak upon any case. This is also the practice of the 
African popular assembly. The sheer love of speechmaking, of 
intellectual combat, soon produced men whom litigants endeavored 
to retain, as champions of their interests. The Greek advocate was 
a great orator, rather than a technical, methodical lawyer. And 
there is no provision for the prevention of a wrong. 

But in Rome the early inhabitants show the powerful clans or 
gentes collecting in a single city, with the same complaint of the 
plebs against the clan-lords that we find so frequently voiced in 
Israel. The assembly of clan-chiefs is soon modified by an elec- 
tive system, and early experiences convince the Roman state that 
it would be better to thwart the oppressors of the plebs, than to 
punish them after the wrong was done. The situations in Rome, 
Babylon, and Palestine are closely parallel. Rome meets the situa- 
tion by creating the great tribune of the people. His prohibitive 
authority is all but unlimited. His person is sacred, and made 


so by the law. The great principle here established remains in 
our vetos and restraining injunctions. The Hebrew also had his 
great tribune of the people. But he had no legal standing. The 
elders, the primitive courts, had not recognised the necessity of his 
existence: the Babylonian document was unknown in this legal 
procedure: the only legislation upon his position eventually put him 
under the control of the formalists he had ever opposed, and placed 
no power whatever in his own hands. He was compelled, by the 
very nature of the case, to adopt the Greek method, to betake himself 
to public oratory : but to direct it to the Roman ideal : to the preven- 
tion of wrong. Hence his repeated protests in behalf of the plebei- 
ans are based upon purely moral and religious grounds. He must 
find, if possible, the conscience of the people ; there was neither 
secular organisation, nor constitution, nor publicly posted code, to 
which he could appeal : he could quote no codal law for many of the 
evils he assailed, for legislation upon the subject did not exist, nor 
was there a legislative assembly through which he could secure such 
law. This "speaker" of the Hebrews is the nab'i. He is parallel 
to the Roman tribune in his battle against oppression. Each was 
a social necessity, as was the dispassionate appeal to records in 
Babylonia. As an immediately effective agency the Hebrew prophet 
was the least valuable, and his unorganised state went down soonest. 
As the creator of a public conscience essential to the perpetuity o 
the effectiveness of the systems of Rome and of Babylon, he is in 
dispensable. Greece, with neither of the methods, soonest lost hei 
political pre-eminence. 

But the Roman lawyer really antedates the tribune of the peopl 
though the latter is an expression of the principle from which th 
Roman lawyer grew. Caesar, describing certain powerful Galli 
clans, tells us that the clan chief held himself responsible for t 
protection of each member of the clan, which he thinks peculiar 
yet it was the earlier Roman practice and survives to-day in th 
Italian padrone. But the worldwide custom of assembling th 
heads of gentes or clans to adjust differences quickly developed 
after the founding of the Roman state, the principle of delegat 
authority ; and this soon carried with it the growth of a body of 


skilled in the law, to whom the adjustment of all difficulties is 
delegated by the plaintiff and defendant. 

Now at this point the Babylonian law shows some tendency to 
the delegate-principle. In later contracts we deal repeatedly with 
cases that but suggest the agent or client of a large firm, handling 
business by power of attorney. In reference to the method used 
to prevent fraud and diminish litigation, we should observe that the 
Babylonian law appeals at every stage to the religious impulses. 
A solemn oath binds all contracts. Parties to a suit in like manner 
bind themselves to accept the decision of the court: apparently a 
reminiscence of the purely advisory powers of the early melek, or 
sheik. In Aryan development we have the same thing, in the 
derivation of the "king" : like the Semitic 'melek, he was "the wise 
one," or "adviser." But while the religious obligation seems to have 
been powerful in Babylonia to the end, in Assyria there certainly 
was degeneracy. We have judicial decisions from the Sargonid 
period, which indicate that penalties solemnly invoked in an earlier 
age were actually undergone in the later age to induce a god or a 
court to release a man from his oath. The gross obscenity of cer- 
tain late Assyrian oath formulae points in the same direction: to a 
"bloody city, full of lies and robbery." 

That the owner of any piece of property shall be held respon- 
sible for any mischief done by it is a generally recognised principle 
of law in all lands. The degree of such responsibility is much larger 
in the primitive stages of law than in the later era. Public senti- 
ment in civilised lands would not sustain a verdict of murder in the 
first degree against the man whose vicious ox had gored some one 
to death, though it would demand heavy punishment. Measured 
by modern ideas, and the tendencies in such laws, we should decide 
that the Babylonian law was in this respect a stage in advance of 
the Hebrew. 

This principle again is involved in the responsibility for trust 
funds and safe deposits. Here, however, limitations occur. The 
Babylonian trustee is held responsible for the keeping of his own 
house : and if the property of another man be stolen from his house, 
the loss falls upon the trustee. But on the other hand, if the 


robbery take place upon the highway, the carrier, or agent, or 
peddler is blameless, and nothing can be collected from him. But 
in such case the loser may be indemnified by the city or magistrate 
within whose jurisdiction the robbery took place. Early Hebrew 
practice reversed this latter procedure. The elders of a settlement 
by a ceremonial observance repudiated all responsibility for a secret 
murder in their district: but the repudiation was, in reality, a spe- 
cies of admission, and merely illustrates the very primitive state 
of the administrative or police organisation. But the Babylonian 
official was required to keep the highways clear of robbers. The 
intra-mural requirements were perhaps not different. The robbed 
trustee was expected to pursue the thief and recover; however, it 
is hardly warrantable to assert that the burden of detection and 
arrest lay solely upon him. We may rather suppose that his method 
of recovery lay in reporting the loss to the city authorities. That 
the general public interested itself to a certain extent in such mat- 
ters is illustrated in a letter in which two men report that a golden 
tablet which was stolen from a temple they have observed in the 
possession of a certain stone-cutter. 

Now, this principle of clan-responsibility for deaths or injuries 
is familiar among all primitive peoples, and as an inter-clan prin- 
ciple has never ceased to be active: giving us to-day the principle 
of indemnities known to international law from time immemorial. 

But as intra-national law, it has been a strong factor in empire- 
building, as in ancient Babylonia; clan cities being made to realise 
the necessity of a common code to eliminate constant internal fric- 
tion. In the extent to which the responsibility is attached to the 
chief officer of the district, we have a suggestion of Sumerian or 
Mongolian origin: akin to the large application of the principle 
still known in China. The individual responsibility for dykes and 
levees is unique: in other ancient peoples the levee system seems 
public, or communal ; and the principle of individual responsibility 
is not emphasised as in the Hammurabi code. But the laws concern- 
ing trust funds and deposits are not essentially different from those 
of other ancient codes. 

Marriage seems viewed by the code purely as a civil institution. 


Priests may have been prominent in the ceremony, but we do not 
know of them. The essential legal features are the carefully drawn 
documents, and the attestation of consent by representatives of 
both families. We have in the code and decisions a survival of the 
time when all marriages were arranged by the parents of the bride 
and groom. Their consent is still technically essential to marriage, 
though they cannot separate a young couple who unite in spite of 
them. We have decisions concerning cases where the parents of 
one or the other of the contracting parties complained that the mar- 
riage had been without their consent. The judges decide that the 
young woman must then wear the badge of a concubine, instead of 
that of a matron. But parental displeasure can go no further: and 
this state of affairs is terminated by the death of the objecting 
parent. The brothers of the stigmatised woman must formally 
recognise and endow their sister's marriage. 

At this point then we may recognise a marked diminution of 
the ancient patria potestas: a compromise between the authority of 
the parents and the inclinations of the young people. After the 
first marriage there is no restraint upon the woman's freedom of 
action, save such as may be necessary to guard the property-rights 
of her children. She may marry where she will, none of the family 
having any legal right of protest; and the widow's authority in 
her own house certainly is above that of the widow in the Arab 
tribe in Mohammed's day, or in the days of Hebrew corruption 
when the prophets urged justice to the fatherless and widow ; when 
all Hebrew codes put together had but four enactments concerning 
the rights of married women. 

We may not be sure of the source or cause of this modification 
of parental powers. It cannot be due to primitive Semitic influences, 
for the early Hebrew recognises the right of life and death as vested 
in the parent. The father could sacrifice his son or daughter; he 
could offer the lives of his sons, as Judah did, as security for faith- 
ful fulfilment of a bargain. He could marry his daughter to whom 
he would; he could take his daughter, as Saul did, from her hus- 
band, and give her to another; he could sell his daughter, (Exodus 
xxi. 7,) as Rachel complained she was sold: both of which we have 


seen that the angry Babylonian parent could not do. Even in Deu- 
teronomy the power of life and death is reaffirmed, in the case of a 
troublesome son : the offended parent in Babylon could go no further 
than disinheritance: and even that step could not be taken without 
the consent of the court. The Talmud also recognises that a parent 
can legally take away his daughter, though it insists it should not 
be done: adopting practically the Babylonian law, while admitting 
Hebrew theory. So in ancient Roman law, the patria potestas was 
absolute. Virginius was perfectly within the law in slaying Vir- 
ginia. So was the King of Moab in sacrificing his son : though like 
sentiments seem to have been aroused against Appius Claudius and 
Jehoshaphat. The Roman father also could take his daughter from 
her husband, as Saul did Michal ; and this forced separation could 
be construed as legal divorce. So in the fragments of old Sumerian 
legislation we find this same paternal power: the father could sell 
his son as a slave, and seems to have had the right to put him to 
death as well. The same law remains in China still, cases being 
common enough. The prevalence of infanticide among the heathen 
Arabians cannot be certainly construed as mere patria potestas, for 
it was offset by the practice of killing the aged and feeble. On the 
other hand, the Greek parent does not appear to have had such ab- 
solute powers; nor do we certainly recognise it in primitive Aryan 
laws. This rigid principle may then have been Mongolian in origin. 
The Etruscans and Sumerians are alike suspected to be Mongols; 
and Etruscan domination certainly affected early Roman institutions. 
We might thus explain the sterner laws of both regions, in their 
earlier years ; but the humanisation of the code of Hammurabi we 
must evidently consider to be a result of the general development 
of civilisation and public sentiment, rather than of peculiarly Se- 
mitic ideas. 

Neither the code nor any other Babylonian remains at present 
show us any trace of the levirate marriage. This was well known 
to the early Romans, and to the early laws of the Aryans; it re- 
mains even in Menu. It is familiar in the Hebrew records, even 
in the time of Tobit ; it is provided for in Deuteronomy. If we re- 
gard it as a relic of polyandry, we shall be compelled to admit the 


Sumerian had developed very highly, to eliminate an institution so 
familiar to the primitive Mongol, and so prominent in Thibet to 
this day. If the idea is merely that of abandoning one clan for 
another, we may understand its loss is due to the displacement of 
blood-clans by labor-clans. The great guilds of Babylonia have dis- 
placed the old social divisions based upon kinship. Such industrial 
development would logically eliminate the levirate ; a widow would 
marry then within her guild. 

Divorce is far less easy in the code than in the Koran, or in 
the Hebrew codes. There is no opportunity for divorce at the 
mere whim of the man, by a mere verbal dismissal. Courts are in 
charge, and charges must be investigated. But among the heathen 
Arabians, the utmost laxity prevailed. Mohammed's law to con- 
trol the abuses is rather ludicrous. As the same woman was often 
divorced and remarried by her whimsical husband, the curious meas- 
ure was adopted that such husband could not reclaim his wife till 
she had first been married to another man : precisely the reverse of 
the Deuteronomic law (xxiv. 1-4). The Deuteronomic law pro- 
vides for a written certificate ; the patriarchal law, like the Roman, 
did not require such. But the Chinese law has from extremely an- 
cient times demanded that a husband give the parents of his divorced 
wife a written statement of the reasons for the divorce : which docu- 
ment may become the basis of legal procedures. And such legal 
procedures, with forfeits of property, were inevitable in Babylonia. 

The Babylonian Talmud considers that a marriage is legal and 
binding when the contracts are drawn up. In the earlier times of 
the Hebrew people we do not find this; and the rabbins who have 
held this up as an evidence of the superior character of the Hebrew 
law have simply been innocent of any remembrance of the land 
whence they derived it. 

Though the formal bonds and contracts were essential to the 
full title of wife or matron in Babylonia, children were regarded 
as an end of marriage ; and the fruitless marriage might be amended 
in various ways. But barrenness constituted no ground for divorce. 
Penalty for unreasonable divorce, seven years' earnings for a skilled 
laborer, was so heavy as to render divorce impossible to the masses. 


There was far more latitude in ancient Rome and Greece as among 
ancient Semites; though as a practice the earlier Romans had a 
horror of divorce. Spurius Cavilius Ruga, A. U. C. 523, has been 
asserted to be the first Roman who formally divorced his wife ; but 
the practice was disgracefully common in the days of Rome's luxury. 
Nor was there in the Babylonian husband's hands the supreme power 
that was granted to the Roman husband. The tradition has been 
left that Roman wives were accustomed to absent themselves from 
home three days in the year, as a precaution ; one year's continuous 
residence under the husband's roof transferring to him the power 
of life and death formerly held by the father. In primitive Aryan 
law we seem to miss this masculine domination : it develops later 
under Brahminism. Woman's position was apparently higher with 
the early Aryas than at many later periods. We may consider that 
there was degeneracy even in Europe, till the rise of feudalism and 
the development of the standards of chivalry. In the Homeric songs 
woman is the prize of war as completely as among the later nomad 
Semites. In widowhood especially woman's position through all 
the East became one of peculiar hardships. But in all these less 
advanced social systems, as with the higher Babylonian, there is 
one common feature: the man marries the woman, divorces the 
woman. She does not take a husband, nor divorce one. She merely 
compels the man to grant her a divorce. The sadiqa marriage lies 
far back of the era of Hammurabi. 

Very striking is the high rank accorded to the agriculturist, in 
the Babylonian social system. This is certainly non-Semitic: the 
high place of the farmer dates from old Sumerian days. Literati 
develop their standing later. Mechanics rank after the farmer; 
merchants lower still. In the Hammurabi code, we may observe 
in the wage scale that the highest wages are those of the first-class 
farm laborer, though the code dates from the days of the pastoral 
Semites. In the list of officials, K.4395, the merchant still ranks 
below the gardener. This is the more striking in that it comes from 
the Sargonid age, when the Babylonian merchant had made the 
city famed for centuries throughout the world. Even the kings of 
the pre-Semitic age seemed to rejoice in the title "servant of Adar," 


(the god of agriculture,) or "farmer." In far later times the 
"Farmer Prince" or "Great Farmer" is the title of a great official; 
and it seems to have been borne occasionally by the king himself. 
Semitic kings, however, preferred the title of "Faithful Shepherd": 
thus perpetuating the tradition of their pastoral origin. In this 
actual collision of two modes of life we may perceive an historic 
basis for the tradition of Cain and Abel. We may compare with 
these facts the title of the Hindu Prince, the Gai-kwar or "Cowherd" 
of Baroda. But we are most forcibly reminded of the high rank 
theoretically accorded to the farmer in China, and of the fact that 
the "Son of Heaven" must there guide a plough around a field with 
his own hands, to emphasise the high place of agriculture. The 
secondary position of the Chinese merchant, with his painstaking, 
methodical honesty, also forcibly remind us of the great city of the 
ancient East, with its great early development of commercial su- 
premacy. All this commercial law, like the position of the agricul- 
turist, seems to have been fully developed ere the political dominion 
of the Semite. Such is the legitimate inference from the habitual 
use of the Sumerian in the critical phrases of early Semitic contracts. 
Edwin Markham has drawn us the picture of the "Man with 
the Hoe" in all the ancient world. We may observe its marked con- 
trast with the social position of the Babylonian farmer. We cannot 
then find any trace of Ur-Semitic affinities in this ancient land. 
The law is not only unlike the Hebrew, and his gradual pauperisa- 
tion of the wretched Canaanite tiller of the soil; it is still more un- 
like the system of the nomadic Arab shepherd patriarchs. Not only 
is the farmer awarded the highest place in the industrial world, but 
the debtor-laws give him the largest possible protection. We may 
contrast Egypt, where the wretched fellah has ever been what he 
still is. Amenemun writes to Pentaour, court poet of Rameses II: 
"Have you ever represented to yourself the state of the rustic who 
tills the ground? Before he has put sickle to the crop, the locusts 
have blasted part of it ; then come the rats and the birds. . If he is 
slack in housing his grain, the thieves are upon him. His horse 
dies of weariness as it drags the wain. Anon the tax-gatherer ar- 
il rives; his agents are armed with clubs; he has negroes with him 


who carry whips of palm branches. They all cry, 'Give us your grain,' 
and he has no easy way of avoiding their extortionate demands. 
Next the wretch is caught, bound, and sent off to work without 
wage at the canals; his wife is taken and chained, his children are 
stripped and plundered." In the Praise of Learning we read, "The 
little laborer having a field, passes his life among rustics ; he is worn 
down for vines and pigs, to make his kitchen of what his fields have ; 
his clothes are heavy with their weight; he is bound as a forced 
laborer; if he goes forth into the open air he suffers, having to 
quit his warm fireplace; he is bastmadoed with a stick upon the 
legs, and seeks to save himself: but shut against him is the hall of 
every house ; locked are all the chambers." Such was Egyptian 

We need not detail the situation of the wretched field laborer, 
or serf, during the Middle Ages. The parallel is plain to all. It 
is clear that we cannot find the Babylonian system paralleled among 
the highly developed Aryans, even though their name signify 
"ploughmen," till we reach the most democratic of modern nations. 
From the agriculturist's view-point, America might most nearly 
stand for the modern equivalent of Babylon. 

As has been previously remarked, a chief excellence of the 
law of Babylon was its thorough protection of the debtor. We have 
as yet nothing to equal Hammurabi's safeguarding of his rights 
in any other ancient code. His situation was decidedly better than 
under many modern systems. As compared with the Hebrew, the 
Babylonian code is immeasurably superior. No claim could be 
pressed against the debtor without documentary proof. The right 
of levying upon him or of attaching his property without his con- 
sent was not granted. Risks on crops were divided. The failure 
of a crop or its destruction by floods when the rental contract gave 
the landlord a share in the crop, or when a loan in cash was made to 
a struggling farmer, did not mean that the loss would fall solely 
upon the debtor. In the case of renting on shares, the landlord 
was held to the letter of the contract: he got nothing. In the case 
of the loan, interest due for that year was cancelled, and the time 
extended a year. If a loan had been made secured by a lien on the 


crop, the handling of the harvested grain was not permitted the 
creditor. Nor could he take advantage of the debtor's straits and 
secure bargains by forcing a sale of the debtor's property for a 
fraction of its value and buying it in. The crop conditions were 
carefully noted each year, and the standard price for the season, 
"the king's price," was publicly posted everywhere. Any creditor 
taking a part of the crop for his debt took it at "king's price." Nor 
could the creditor help himself from corn in field or in store. The 
principle of exemption was known. The work-ox of a peasant could 
not be levied upon : he must not be rendered unable to till his land. 

Every reader of the Old Testament recognises how all this 
contrasts with the Hebrew law, and with Hebrew practice as criti- 
cised by the prophets. The Hebrew creditor could take everything 
from the struggling peasant, save his coat. No laws existed, re- 
stricting the powers of the creditor, or thwarting his rapacity. In 
an instant the wretched debtor could be seized for the pettiest claim ; 
the price of a pair of flimsy sandals, and sold into life-long servi- 
tude. Worse still, he might raise a family while in such servitude: 
the children, because of their father's need of a pair of sandals in 
the remote past, are perpetual slaves. Not even in the grave could 
the debtor rest. He might have been the greatest prophet of his 
time, yet if he died owing a petty debt, he might be sure his relent- 
less creditor could seize his children and sell them as slaves. We 
have the record of a prophet's distressed widow appealing to Elisha 
under just such circumstances. Even as late as Nehemiah's time, 
poor Jews who wished to help in the rebuilding of the city were 
compelled eventually to sell themselves, their families, and all their 
belongings, for a bare sustenance. An old claim could be revived, 
and a freed bondsman re-enslaved : no law forbade. This infuriated 

All this was impossible in Babylonia. From her Israel could 
have learned all that she most needed to learn. The Babylonian 
debtor, as already stated, had the line of exemption clearly drawn; 
and the claim of the creditor was confined to the estate and person 
of the debtor. The latter might hire out a member of his family 
to work on account of some debt, but this could not be for longer 


than three years. Even if he were himself reduced to servitude, it 
did not enslave his children, nor make a slave of his wife, nor pre- 
vent his marriage with a free woman. If he were capable he might 
enter business upon his own account, merely handing over to his 
master annual interest on the amount invested in him. His wife 
retains her freedom, and takes one-half of their jointly acquired 
property for herself and the children. No claim can be made upon 
the latter by the creditor-master. An account once closed could not 
be reopened ; the fine for such attempt was from three to sixfold the 
amount claimed. 

We may add also the condition of the Aryan peasant: the law 
holds him for the debts of his ancestors, as the Hebrew law did ; 
and the Hindu to-day may be born hopelessly in debt for the ex- 
penses of his grarfdfather's wedding; and the enormous rates of 
interest will result in his paying upon the claim all his life, only to 
bequeath a still heavier debt to his children. We must grasp all 
this in order to appreciate the full import of the previously mentioned 
new law of Deuteronomy and Ezekiel, the close student of Babylon : 
the son should no longer be punished for the father. "Ye shall no 
more use this proverb in Israel !" 

We do not at present know of any effort to regulate rates of 
interest in the code: though such sections may have existed in the 
portion now defaced. The same is true with regard to rental rates. 
These are referred to in the code as familiar, in the case of agri- 
culture and horticulture ; but we cannot say whether they were con- 
trolled by law or not. In the code the crop-rent percentage is iden- 
tical with that customary in America to-day. But as to interest, 
the large number of contracts showing considerable loans for a short 
period, with the stipulation that there should be no interest unless 
the sum was not repaid by a certain date: the sum to draw interest 
thereafter these suggest that interest was originally regarded in 
the nature of a penalty for tardiness. Especially does this seem 
to be the case where the contracts so often say, "if he does not pay 
by a certain time he shall add one-fourth to it," without reference to 
the amount of time that elapses after the money is due. As the 
contracts between merchant and peddler merely indicate a division 


of profits as the final basis of settlement, it is possible that a cer- 
tain sentiment may have existed against interest or usury. Certainly 
the rates remained high twenty to twenty-five per cent, usually, 
for 2000 years. We do find efforts to regulate the labor and trans- 
portation problems, by a fixed scale of prices: and we know in later 
times of royal efforts to regulate the prices of necessities by the 
"king's price," that there might be no extortion, or "cornering" the 
market. The effort most nearly resembling this in other lands we 
should find in the Roman fixing of a commutation price upon cer- 
tain staples, in case a tributary wished to pay taxes in produce in- 
stead of cash. But the transportation tariff is fixed in Babylonia 
on a chartering basis ; supposing a man to hire a vessel by the day. 
The intricacies of the per-ton per-mile schedule had not found place 
at the earlier period, though the general question of such expense 
must have been carefully estimated: for we find in later contracts 
choice allowed a debtor. He may pay a certain quantity of ripe 
dates in his orchard at one time, or, F. O. B. at Nippur or Babylon, 
during the next month, a much smaller quantity ; or a still smaller 
quantity if delivered later at Susa. The details of commercial fluc- 
tuation, transportation, and local valuation seem then perfectly 
understood, and contracts embodying such calculations are made 
months ahead. We know of no necessity for an inter-state commerce 
law, though the length of the life and the ramifications of great 
business houses give reason to suspect that the later Babylonians 
eventually had the trust problem before them. But it certainly did 
not exist in the times of Hammurabi: the loans of that period are 
notably minute, as compared with those in Persian times; and the 
trust problem must have grown from the powerful guilds or wealthy 
clans. In all this field we are practically without Hebrew legislation, 
but with much prophetic preaching. 

We can not observe in the code, in the disposition of property, 
anything that answers precisely to a will, in our sense. The appa- 
rent suggestion is that if there are any special dispositions of prop- 
erty, the recipient must be put in possession by the donor in his 
lifetime. This would preclude the possibility of forgery, imposture, 
or pleas of mental incapacity in regard to wills. But where special 


gifts are not made, by either parent as they may be , there seems 
no right of primogeniture recognised. In this we have a fundamental 
difference from Hebrew law, and from pure Semitic law in general, 
so far as we know it. But from the various banning texts we learn 
that an elder brother or elder sister ranked next to the parents in 
the matter of reverence and respect required; and a deficiency in 
such respect entails a heavy kispu or ban upon the delinquent. This 
feature again reminds us strongly of Mongolian of Chinese stan- 
dards. In early Aryan law we find a degree of uncertainty con- 
cerning the proper apportionment of property, though the elder 
brother seems to be regarded as the head of the undivided family ; 
but this very uncertainty is so inherent from the beginning that 
all Aryan systems of a later time, varied as they are, can claim to 
have something in common with the primitive stage. And in such 
division of goods in Babylonia the daughters must share : their por- 
tion taking the form of dowry at marriage ; if not married, a daugh- 
ter obtains a son's share. This again does not seem to be the early 
state of Semitic law, and certainly is not the law of the Koran. 
In that age, in any circumstances, whether as witnesses or as sharers 
of an estate, two women were assumed to be the equivalent of one 
man. A woman's property in Babylonia could not be claimed by 
her husband at her death, in which respect the code is decidedly 
in advance of the Koran legislation; we are not so clear as to the 
early Hebrew practice at this point. In case of death without chil- 
dren, whatever property was held reverted to the respective fami- 
lies that had endowed the marriage in the beginning; but property 
independently acquired was bestowed at the woman's pleasure. In 
this detail again we find the Sumero-Semitic practice superior to 
any other ancient code, and to most modern codes. We can hardly 
esteem this to be Semitic law. 

This comparative sketch of legal principles is hardly complete 
without a statement of one fundamental difference between all 
Semitic law and all modern Aryan law, of which the Romans are 
recognised as the founders. We can then understand the more 
clearly the real failure of the Semite to influence Western law in 


any essential: a failure the more marked when we reflect upon his 
dominance in religion. 

Already has been mentioned the fact that the Semite does not 
possess the abstract conception of the state, or of society, in the 
sense in which we use the words in connection with law. He has 
not formed the habit of thinking in abstract terms. Law is to him, 
as to all Oriental peoples, the expression of a personal will, a per- 
sonal authority. We cannot conceive a Semite setting up abstract 
principles of justice and proceeding to assail the very gods with 
them, as yEschylus or Euripides could do. If the god or king de- 
creed a thing, that was law and right, for the ordinary Semite, 
though it might be really distasteful to him. The king of the 
land, the gods of the land, these were also the law of the land. 
What was right in Moab might be wrong for the same case in 
Aram. Decisions might be diametrically opposed in the two lands, 
and pronounced just in each, as expressing in each the personal 
will from which all local law came. 

The Roman mind could shake off such limitations, and gene- 
ralise, and think more abstractly. It could readily recognise some 
general principles or sentiments operant in each province or people, 
irrespective of race, or creed, or social organisation. Its lawyers 
soon grasped the idea of a jus gentium, contained in the summary 
Quod semper, quod ab omnibus, quod ubique. The Greek dared 
to storm heaven itself with such a weapon. But where he would 
have advanced upon the past by openly assailing Zeus, the Hebrew 
prophet would have said that the masses did not really know Zeus. 
The Roman reached a system of universal law by eliminating per- 
sonality, creeds, and local interests and prejudices ; producing an 
abstract, unyielding, inerrant justice. This the Semite could not 
do: unable to separate law from personal will, he could create a 
world-system of law only by the extension of one personal will to 
all the world, to all the universe. And relation to this becomes not 
law, in the jurist's sense, but religion. We may understand then 
why the laws of Hammurabi are given by Shamash, the Sun God, 
the All-seeing Eye, God of Justice, as those of Moses are given by 
Yahveh. The codes have developed alike, the same explanation is 


offered by the lawyers and codifiers for each. They know no other 
explanation for law. This is to be remembered in discussing the 
problems of inspiration. 

We must take one step further : the peculiarity mentioned is not 
a trait found in the Semite alone, though he has given it the highest 
development. This conception of law as the expression of some 
personal will is just as much a peculiarity of the Filipino or the 
Polynesian. It is seemingly common to mankind in earlier stages: 
it but marks the period when impersonal abstract thought is not 
yet possible. There is at last a parting of the ways, and necessarily 
so. No satisfactory secular law and judicial system can be estab- 
lished so long as every perplexity means that men must consult the 
oracle of The Personal Will, instead of thinking: just as no satis- 
factory religion can be established by banishing a personality and 
dealing in intellectual abstractions. Law and religion but represent 
two stages, two branches, two modes of thinking upon the same 
problems. And thus we may conclude that the code of Hammurabi 
belongs not peculiarly to the history of the Semite, but to the his- 
tory of man ; and that it represents the highest secular law attained 
by way of the earlier method of defining and expanding law. 



OO many attempts have been made to give a clear explanation 
VsJ of consciousness that it may appear superfluous to make an- 
other; there is, however, a constant human desire to know every- 
thing new and reliable on the subject, and this desire seeks to be 
gratified. Consciousness is one of a great number of "mysteries" 
by which we are surrounded, it is like a "certain something in the 
air, that all men feel, but no man can describe," its mystery arises 
largely from its complexity and the smallness of our comprehension, 
and as long as we act upon the unscientific idea that belief is not 
to be controlled by facts or that we can safely believe without evi- 
dence, we shall be confused by such mysteries. The mode of 
action of any one of the senses, especially that of vision, is nearly 
as great a mystery as that of consciousness. The chief explanation 
of the large failure of attempts to explain consciousness is, that 
they have usually been made without the aid of sufficient familiar- 
ity with the fundamental principles or methods of science: the 
entire history of mankind proves that without extensive and varied 
knowledge of science it is hardly possible to obtain truthful ideas 
of the mysteries of nature. Consciousness is a wider subject than 
that of the ordinary senses because it includes all kinds of feelings 
from all parts of the body. As the subject is large, only an outline 
of it is attempted in this article, and as it is complex, the article 
requires attentive reading. 


We cannot clearly understand a subject unless we define its 
chief terms ; undefined terms are used as means of evasion in dis- 


cussion : a true definition of it must be one which agrees with all 
facts relating to the subject, and may be conveniently stated as a 
clear perception of existences within and around us. According to 
to a large amount and variety of scientific evidence, ordinary con- 
sciousness is essentially a high degree of activity of the cerebellum 
or "litttle brain," and this organ is generally recognised by phys- 
iologists as being the "sensorium" or seat of feeling. We have no 
proof that consciousness can exist without nervous substance. 

Consciousness and unconsciousness differ only in degree, and 
merge into each other by imperceptible differences. Consciousness 
is a part of mental action, and the terms "consciousness" and 
"perception" are nearly synonymous: it is a complex nervous ac- 
tion superadded to vitality, thus trees live but do not feel; it is a 
part of life in all animals, and rudiments of it exist in certain plants. 
It is essentially the same in all nations and all ages; all human 
beings experience substantially the same joys, griefs, pains, and 
pleasures in consequence of possessing the same cerebral structures 
and being acted upon by the same general powers and circum- 
stances ; at the same time the varieties of consciousness are as 
numerous as those of human beings. 


The subject of consciousness has been greatly mystified by 
an undue desire to know "the inmost nature of things," but this is 
beyond our powers; we cannot "realise" the "inmost nature" of 
any thing, simply because it is so extremely profound, and our 
consciousness and intellect are so very finite; however much we 
discover, there always remains a vast amount more to be found; 
our nearest approach to that of consciousness is, that it is a special 
kind of motion which only occurs in living nervous substance. To 
ask what it is "in itself" is an irrational desire; in such profound 
subjects we must be content to learn all we can, and wait for 
further discoveries. Its "first cause" is equally inscrutable, for 
the simple reason that in all cases there must be an earlier cause, 
and so on without end. When we know more deeply the nature 


of the senses we shall more nearly know that of consciousness, 
because the senses and their organs are the immediate basis of it. 
It has also been mystified by an assumption of the existence 
of a ''second self" within us, distinct from our ordinary "self," but 
the probably true explanation of this "second self" is the occa- 
sional separate excitement of one only of our two cerebral hemi- 
spheres. We know that memory, perception, observation, attention, 
comparison, inference, and imagination, are all more or less acts 
of consciousness: we also know that by means of dreams, illu- 
sions, etc., and inferences from them, that similar phenomena fre- 
quently occur but are barely observed within us, and that these 
slightly noticed cerebral actions tend to influence our conduct in 
a similar manner to the fully noticed ones : we have often a faint 
degree of consciousness of our dreams on waking, but such faintly 
conscious dreamy phenomena are far more consistently explained 
by unequal cerebral action than by the hypothesis of a "second 
self." Such sensorial actions are often unnoticed, either because 
they too feebly excite the cerebellum, or the latter is either too 
obtuse or too preoccupied to perceive them: but they are occasion- 
ally so strong and persistent in some persons as to haunt them 
after waking. Dreams are often fortuitous medleys of ideas un- 
controlled by comparison and inference, and are probably produced 
by the cerebral circulation exciting latent imprints of the sensorium 
in an irregular manner : they are not, however, always medleys, but 
are in rare cases consistent series of thoughts and tendencies to 
action automatically produced under undisturbed conditions. We 
have in a slender degree occasionally the power of observing and 
criticising our dreams during their occurrence, but only at great 
risk of the dreams themselves being interrupted and of this power 
being disconcerted by the dreams, and this indicates that the dream- 
ing and observing organs are in some degree separate but very 
nearly related, similarly to the sensorial and cerebral hemispheres 
by means of their "commisures." Through deficiency of suitable 
knowledge the ordinary waking thoughts of some persons are much 
like those of dreamers. The idea of consciousness has been still 
further mystified by the assertion that it still exists in some occult 


form eternally after death : but if the existence of myriads of 
"souls" in space is a reality, the omnipresent radiations in space 
should be affected, and we are far more likely to detect their exist- 
ence by means of scientific appliances than by our unaided con- 
sciousness, because the former are very much more sensitive than 
the latter. 



Consciousness depends upon a number of conditions and cir- 
cumstances, the chief of which is the presence of nervous living 
matter in a state of motion. The fundamental cause of it is the 
natural energy of our environments acting through the senses, but 
the immediate cause is the action of the senses themselves. Nearly 
all parts of our body, and especially its outer surfaces, are supplied 
with sensory nerves, and the sensorium is automatically excited 
through these nerves by numberless external and internal in- 
fluences ; and as these influences are of various degrees of strength, 
and the sensorium varies greatly in sensitiveness, consciousness is 
of all degrees of intensity, varying from the faintest perception to 
the greatest pain or pleasure, from peaceful sleep to raving mad- 
ness. Its degree depends upon the physical state of the brain, the 
extent of its excited surface, and the intensity and suddenness of 
the excitation : it is the loudest sounds, the strongest lights, the 
greatest pains and pleasures, and the most sudden of all these, 
which most excite it ; in inflammation of the brain or of its mem- 
branes the least sound or light excites it greatly. It is often in- 
creased when several senses are simultaneously excited, thus light- 
ning accompanied by thunder is very impressive. The perception 
of optic images by the eye may be regarded as a part of conscious- 

Consciousness is aroused by a great variety of influences, usu- 
ally by all those which excite the brain or senses, its most common 
cases being hunger, thirst, and desire. In consequence of the 
multitude of causes which affect it, it varies from minute to minute, 
and each man's brain is in a number of different conscious states in 


succession, thus the man asleep and awake, drunk and sober, are 
very different persons. In ordinary cases the actions of the two 
halves of the brain blend together similarly to those of the two 
eyes, but in some cases the same individual appears in inconsistent 
characters at different times in consequence of inharmonious cereb- 
ral action. The degrees of this variation of consciousness in the 
same human body has in some cases been so great that the "original 
self" and the "second self" have entirely forgotten each other, and 
the changes from one state of the sensorium to the other have hap- 
pened suddenly: such great changes as these nearly always occur 
in emotional persons, and are regarded as signs of insanity. As 
consciousness is not an independent entity, but an active sate of 
nervous substance, its changes in such extreme cases cannot be 
reliably ascribed to the existence of two different persons in the 
same body, but to inharmonious action of the two cerebral hemi- 
spheres. Great bodily changes cause great alterations of con- 
sciousness: the change from grub to butterfly must be an extreme 


Further, the rise and fall of consciousness entails other changes, 
thus the series of cerebral alterations attending an act of perception 
does not end with it, but leads to other occurrences: it gives rise 
to trains of thought, reflex muscular actions, changes in the viscera, 
etc., or its energy is stored up like the heat of the sun in coal, and 
accumulates in the system, ready to be expended in action when 
liberated. In such a very complex subject the human brain is 
too small to grasp all the phenomena, their causes, relations, and 
effects, and the best way to arrive at truth in it is not to accumulate 
a large number of complex personal narratives, but to examine it 
by the aid of such a theory as agrees with all known facts and all 
their logical consequences. A suitable theory is supplied by the 
great principles of universal causation, evolution, motion, radiation, 
automatism, action and reaction, etc. It has been proved, largely 
by means of the spectra of substances and by astronomy, that all 
bodies, human beings included, are in a state of incessant motion, 


both internally and in their masses, that they are in a state of con- 
tinual change of motion, of increase and decrease, growth and de- 
cay ; that these movements and variations of movement are the 
essential causes of other changes in all living and dead substances : 
that all bodies more or less automatically act and react upon each 
other; that even the different invisible movements in bodies in- 
fluence each other, thus every substance, whether living or dead, 
is always sending rays of heat and of other forms of motion to, 
and receiving such rays from, all other substances, and is thus con- 
tinually influencing, and being influenced by them ; the sun, radium, 
and magnets are familiar examples: we know that rays of light 
exert pressure on solid bodies ; and it has been shown by experiments 
with a cube of lead weighing seventy-four hundredweight that a 
variety of substances emit rays which affect a voltic cell (see Phil- 
osophical Magazine, 1897). In these and many other ways every 
different substance and creature behaves as a different aggregate of 
movements and as a different machine. 



We may conclude from these facts and a multitude of others 
that nervous matter is always moving: that cerebral motion is 
essential to consciousness, that automatic action and reaction are 
universal, that the human machine is largely automatic, and that 
automatic action in the human body is essentially the same as that 
in inanimate substances. There is continued action and re-action 
between man and all things around and within him ; all his organs 
act and re-act upon each other; we are all of us influenced by 
food, weather, our servants, neighbors, creditors, the tax-collector, 
by all who know us, and by all kinds of circumstances within and 
without, and we re-act upon them from birth until death. Our 
feelings influence our intellect and our intellect re-acts and restrains 
our feelings : we feel, and by reasoning we know ; we know and con- 
sequently we feel. 

Some of these powers act upon us without our directly per- 
ceiving it, thus by influence of food and air we grow, but we do 


not feel the act of growth ; by that of gravity we are carried through 
space at the rate of more than eighty thousand miles an hour, with- 
out feeling it. Even our volition is no exception to automatic 
action and re-action, thus we cannot by an effort of will alone 
prevent feeling cramp, colic, or toothache. The chief natural en- 
ergies are vastly stronger than man : under their dominion he is 
like "clay in the hands of the potter," they move him before he 
knows why, even when he commands he must first obey, and al- 
though action and re-action are equivalent in every case, stronger 
power universally overcomes weaker: in this way man submits to 
all sorts of pains and calamities, and individual consciousness is 
governed by national. We fancy that we are governed by a "spirit- 
ual ego" within us, because the effects we wish follow so certainly 
our volitional desires and we cannot detect their origin, but as we 
cannot create energy we only act when we are acted upon, as when 
our stored-up energy is transferred or set free by some unnoticed 
natural change. In nearly every act of volition there is some in- 
fluence so feeble, or our attention is so preoccupied, that our con- 
sciousness does not perceive it, but that does not prove that it is 
a spirit producing energy out of nothing. The error of believing 
that "mind" is a spiritual entity is so extremely insidious and 
tenacious that it deceives millions, including many of the most 
learned persons. Natural energy acts throngh us as it does through 
all animate and inanimate bodies, and it is only when our volitions 
happen to agree with its operations that they succeed ; usually we 
only try to carry them out when the natural conditions are favorable 
because we know that it is useless to try when they are not. But 
although we cannot directly overcome natural powers greater than 
our own, we are stimulated by our failure to indirectly render them 
subservient to our desires by the aid of suitable knowledge, and 
this is strikingly shown by the numerous triumphs of science and 


Various parts of our nervous system may be automatically 
active without exciting the sensorium, thus the nerves which regu- 


late our internal organs are always active, our lungs breathe auto 
matically, the heart beats unceasingly, the stomach digests during 
day and night, each without exciting consciousness except when 
diseased, and we even walk to a large extent automatically. Each 
sense acts automatically when acted upon by its own special causes, 
and appears to have a locality of its own in the sensorium. Spon- 
taneity and persistency of consciousness, so necessary to profes- 
sional eminence, depend largely upon training, education, and state 
of bodily health. The great perfection of expression, direction, 
and sense-action, which occasionally occurs in our dreams shows 
how perfect even mere automatic brain-action may be when un- 

Inanimate natural energy is the most fundamental prime- 
mover in human conduct; it acts whether we feel it or not: con- 
sciousness comes next, and intellect the last. We are usually im- 
pelled more powerfully by our environments, poverty, lack of food, 
etc., than by feeling, and more often by feeling and sentiment 
than by intellect; life is too short to allow us to reason out every 
action before performing it. Why is intellect so generally weaker 
than feeling? Simply because it is evolved out of it, and that 
during this transformation some energy is converted into heat and 
and lost by diffusion: we know that thinking makes the head hot, 
and that nearly all transformations of energy are attended by loss. 
That the origin of consciousness is automatic is proved by the fact 
that when all its causes and conditions are present and its prevent- 
ives absent, we cannot by our strongest desire prevent its occur- 
rence ; thus we must feel the cold of winter and the heat of sum- 
mer whether we are willing or not. Consciousness, similar to all 
other forms of motion, is subject to neutralisation and inhibition 
by opposing influences ; one of the conditions of our being con- 
scious of any particular feeling or idea is that the brain be not 
preoccupied by a contradictory or a stronger one; thus we cannot 
attend to a trifling matter whilst fully occupied by an opposite or 
a serious one; similarly a substance cannot be in two contradictory 
states, such as hot and cold, at the same instant. This inhibition 
of feelings and ideas by each other explains the seeming fortitude 


of warlike Indians, sectarian martyrs, and others, whilst being tor- 
tured ; their brains being filled with stronger and opposite feelings 
and ideas. 

Automatic physical action underlies prospective as well as im- 
mediate consciousness, "we live, and move, and have our being" 
in the ever-moving ether ; probably everything within and around us, 
by its motion and properties, produces more or less permanent im- 
pressions upon our nervous ganglia ; these impressions remain latent, 
and the strongly fixed ones are always ready to be excited by various 
causes. The number of such latent imprints must be enormous: 
it has been estimated that the total number of nerve-cells in the 
grey surface-matter of the human brain capable of receiving such 
imprints is about 2000 millions, but only a small proportion of these 
are considered to be used in dreams and conscious thoughts, the 
others being idle. Memory is aroused by the action of various 
external and internal influences upon these impressions : and during 
association of ideas, different parts of the cerebrum and sensorium 
act upon each other through an endless number of microscopically 
fine connecting nerve fibres which compose the white portions of 
the two organs. As nervous matter is a very soft solid substance 
it is specially fitted for receiving impressions, and as it is very 
mobile and the white nervous masses are full of nerve-fibres, it is 
highly capable of transmitting them. Of the multitudes of our 
bodily actions and surroundings continually existing and changing, 
only a very small proportion distinctly excite our consciousness, 
and the great bulk of them pass by without notice, though probably 
not without producing some latent impressions upon our sensorium ; 
these impressions constitute the initiating material of our dreams 
and of many of our waking ideas. 


That consciousness is really a nervous action is shown by the 
circumstance that where nervous matter first appears in the long 
series of living plants and animals there also consciousness com- 
mences : it is further proved by the fact that the greater the degree 


of excitability of the sensory nerves and ganglia the greater is 
that of consciousness. As it only occurs when the excitement of 
of the sensory-nerves and centres is sufficiently strong, it is essen- 
tially a certain degree of sensorial activity. It varies greatly in 
different individuals; the nerves of some persons are so sensitive 
that their consciousness, hopes, and fears, vary with each passing 
cloud. General consciousness is greater and more varied in man 
than in any other animal, and is more reliable in trained than in 
untrained persons. 


Man is a very minute part of the universe (all mankind are 
only about a 100 million millionth part of the earth) nearly all his 
powers are extremely small in comparison with those of inanimate 
nature ; his nervous system is only a part of his body, his conscious- 
ness only occurs in his brain, and fully only during his waking- 
state. Under the most favorable conditions his perception of sound 
only extends through a few octaves, and of light not beyond the 
mere red and violet rays of the solar spectrum. His power of scent 
is much less than that of the dog, of vision not equal to that of a 
hawk, and of rays of magnetism, wireless telegraphy, or gravita- 
tion, he has no direct perception. The smallness of his conscious- 
ness is chiefly due to that of his organism, and that of his intellect is 
partly occasioned by losses of energy during its transformations from 
that of his food to that of his judgments. During sound sleep none 
of his actions or surroundings excite his sensorium, and during his 
waking-state the greater portion of them are not perceived. He 
requires time to perceive things, because inertia of the organs has 
to be overcome, or their excitement to subside ; certain periods of 
time are required to transmit nervous influence to the cerebellum, 
to feel a sensation, to think an idea, to compare ideas, to form a 
conclusion, or decide upon an action. It has been found by means 
of experiments that the period of time required to perform a single 
act of thought is about a twenty-fifth part of a second. We neither 
lose consciousness nor regain it all at once, we gradually fall asleep 


and we wake gradually from it, and consciousness increases by 
degrees as our various organs enter into action, similar to motion 
spreading through a large mass of machinery. We cannot instantly 
realise all the details of a landscape. 

We cannot have all we want, nor simultaneously possess con- 
tradictory attributes: in consequence of the smallness of his cere- 
bellum, even the the most learned man is unable to fully imagine 
the infinite, the absolute, or the perfect : he fails to perceive the vast- 
ness of the universe, or his own immeasurable littleness or feeble- 
ness in it : of the immensity of time, space, or energy, he has barely 
a perception, he cannot even realise the idea of a million years, a 
million miles, or the millionth of an inch. This extreme narrowness 
of consciousness entails an immensity of ignorance which affects 
all our thoughts and actions and is a source of innumerable "evils" : 
In consequence of ignorance we overvalue trifles which stimulate 
our feelings, and underestimate great things which do not excite 
us: a great majority of mankind knows very little about their 
own bodies, and this ignorance largely results in producing disease, 
shortening human life, and limiting human progress and popula- 

In addition to the influence of size of the sensorium upon the 
extent and variety of consciousness, that of its quality must be im- 
portant, because we know that favorable heredity, training, and 
education tend to produce intellectual ability, refined sentiment, 
and perception of truth ; it is well known that a healthy state of the 
brain and well-balanced consciousness are necessary to proper con- 
duct. Better quality may more than compensate for smaller quan- 
tity and surface of the brain, and a smaller brain may do more good 
work than a larger one. Great size and surface of brain promote 
ability by affording a larger receptacle for knowledge, whilst supe- 
rior quality accompanies better selection and use of it; wisdom is 
a nobler possession than knowledge. Some persons of very great 
ability have had very large brains, and some who have possessed 
large brains have had very erroneous ideas through deficiency of 
truthful principles. 

r.>i> ;; ' ' 



Consciousness, when imperfectly corrected by training and 
knowledge, is essentially crude and unreliable, and often a danger- 
ous faculty; it is subject to a great variety of illusions, delusions, 
and hallucinations: thus a stick seems bent when thrust obliquely 
into water, and the sun appears to revolve around the earth. The 
human sensorium occasionally sees, hears, and feels, things which 
do not exist, and which are merely illusions excited in it by natural 
causes, such as habit, expectancy, desire, nervous excitement, etc., 
thus we occasionally hear our alarm clock ring or a knock at our 
bedroom door, when they do not really occur; or a man whose leg 
has been cut off, still feels sensations of his toes. We all of us 
suffer more or less from uncorrected feeling, and the number of 
human errors, delusions, illusions, failures of memory, accidents 
and crimes, due to untrained consciousness, is immense. The fre- 
quency of disordered consciousness is shown by the great number 
of lunatics. The only fundamental remedy for these "evils" is 
discovery and diffusion of new knowledge. 

Consciousness is largely modified by our dual anatomical struc- 
ture, especially by that of our chief nervous ganglia. The human 
organism is largely double : its limbs and most of its internal organs 
are in pairs; the sense organs, brain, cerebellum, and spinal cord 
are each divided vertically into two similar organs or halves, and in 
each case the single organ or the half one usually acts in place of, 
supplements, or corrects, the actions of the other: thus a man hav- 
ing only one lung, kidney, or leg, may live: we can hear better 
with two ears and see better with two eyes than with one. Simi- 
larly we feel and think more fully and correctly with the two halves 
of the sensorium and cerebellum than with one, provided they are 
alike and healthy ; and it has been observed that "persons suffering 
from disease of one-half of the brain only, often lose the power of 
comparing and reasoning correctly." In consequence of the duality 
of its nervous system, "the chameleon is able to allow one side of its 
body to lie torpid in deep sleep, while the other side is perfectly 


awake," and as its two eyes and optic lobes can act independently 
it is able to look in opposite directions at the same instant. 

Discordant action of the two halves of the human brain largely 
affords an explanation of the peculiar phenomena of the "second 
self," double consciousness, and somnambulism. The cerebral hemi- 
spheres are not always alike in size or condition, in some cases one 
is diseased, or is at intervals stronger or more excited than the 
other. In consequence of this occasional unbalanced power of the 
brain, the individual is at one period governed more in his thoughts 
and actions by one hemisphere than by the other, and at other 
periods the reverse, and his conduct is inconsistent. 

The consciousness produced by comprehensive ideas is often 
less exciting than that due to small personal matters, because the 
feelings are not involved, and because the greatest truths are fre- 
quently inconspicuous: whilst it is the noisy, violent, and sudden 
phenomenon which most excites, it is the long-continued, incessant, 
and feeble ones, which ultimately produce the greatest effect; and 
small habits, by long continuance form human character. It is 
similar throughout inanimate nature ; given unlimited time, the 
smallest cause produces infinite effect: thus mountains are washed 
away by mere drops of rain. 

Our unnoticed bodily changes bring us gradually to death ; 
multitudes of persons die prematurely, or become insane by the slow 
progress of insidious disease, and this is one of the ways by which 
the powerful influences of nature limit the world's population. We 
exaggerate the effects of alcoholic over-drinking because they are 
so palpable to our consciousness, whilst we minimise the more se- 
rious ones of over-eating because it requires more intellect to per- 
ceive them. In various ways we live in a state of false security 
through the narrow limits of our sensorium and consciousness; 
thus national decay is so slow that many persons doubt its existence, 
or only perceive it after it has largely advanced. As we are largely 
compelled to be ignorant by circumstances and by our limited con- 
sciousness we cannot be fully expected to believe or understand the 
greatest conclusions of science, and hence we find many persons 
quite impervious to clear scientific truths. In the midst of all this 


the painful effects of ignorance compel us to seek knowledge, but 
even in producing new impressions on our sensorium by means of 
scientific research we do not actually create new knowledge but 
only evolve it out of the evidence existing within and around us, 
and had we sufficiently extensive and comprehensive faculties we 
might reliably predict all that will be from all that is: we already 
do so in the subject of eclipses and others. Successful prediction 
is the most certain test of truth. 


Consciousness is manifestly based upon the actions of the 
senses: the senses are founded upon the mechanical, physical, 
chemical, and vital properties of their organs, and are intimately 
related to the great scientific principle of universal natural causa- 
tion, the ever-present conditions of time, space, and motion, and 
to all the modes of motion, known as heat, light, electricity, radia- 
tion, etc. We are conscious because our sensorium and our organs 
of sense move, and they move because their excitants move, and 
the stronger the movements of the excitants and of our senses, the 
greater, usually is the degree of consciousness. We perceive things 
because they act upon and move us, and we move because we per- 
ceive ; we are painfully moved by witnessing distress. Throughout 
nature motion is not created, but only transferred, transformed, 
diffused, or stored-up; the only cause of motion is some previous 
motion, and so on without end so far as we know; that which has 
no motion cannot move our senses nor our muscles. Human con- 
sciousness is excited by the same universal motion which incessantly 
moves all inanimate bodies. All life is motion, and the only way 
to keep alive is to keep in motion : when we fall asleep we lose 
movement and are less alive. Heat is a species of internal motion, 
and the human body produces about three times as much heat 
during the day as during the night when we are not conscious. 
All light, heat, and sound are vibrations, they affect our conscious- 
ness even when they appear to be uniform. 




The relation of consciousness to motion and to change of mo- 
tion is very profound: the fact that exclusion of light and sound 
quiets the brain, proves that cerebral movement is intimately re- 
lated to them. Similar to every other action of material substances, 
consciousness is inseparable from universal natural causation ; i. e., 
it always happens a minute period after its immediate cause, and 
this is owing to inertia of the sensorium, etc., having to be over- 
come: to arouse it, a movement must be sufficiently fast, but not 
too rapid, thus the movement of the hour-hand of a watch is not 
immediately perceptible, and that of a very rapidly revolving axle 
is also not perceived. Simple unvarying motion has but little 
effect upon our sensorium; it is only when some sudden change of 
motion (which is itself a movement) occurs within or around us, 
and produces an alteration in that organ, that consciousness hap- 
pens. A mother wakes when her infant cries, but a miller wakes 
when his mill stops ; we only know two new shillings from each 
other when we can detect some slight difference between them. 
Very uniform influences make but little impression upon our con- 
sciousness ; thus we cannot directly perceive the existence of time 
or space, the great velocity of the earth in its orbit, nor even the 
influence of atmospheric pressure or of gravitation upon us, and we 
only know with certainty of their existence by comparing impres- 
sions and drawing inferences from their differences. A perfectly 
uniform electric current is but little perceived, whilst even a feeble 
one, if slowly intermittent, produces a strong sensation ; suddenly 
varying strong light also strains the sensorium. An electric cur- 
rent varying with immense frequency in opposite directions, as in 
Tesla's experiments, but little excites the sensorium, because each 
successive opposite wave neutralises the effect of the immediately 
previous one before the inertia of the nervous matter has been over- 
come. The inhibitory effect of opposite phenomena upon each 
other is universal, and indicates the essential mechanical nature of 
all action, whether conscious or unconscious. 


The very foundation of consciousness, and of all human con- 
duct, whether conscious or unconscious, moral or immoral, lies 
deep in the movements, properties, and capacities of bodies. All 
our actions, whether bodily or cerebral, appear to be capable of 
being represented as in harmony with a perfect mechanical sys- 
tem: and parallels of all of them may be found in mechanics, but 
the labor of showing this clearly would be great. The neutralising 
and conflicting effects of opposite movements of masses or mole- 
cules upon each other, are essentially similar to the inhibition of 
feelings and ideas by contradictory ones. If all material bodies were 
perfectly alike in properties, they would have very little effect upon 
each other, but as they are all different, and as no two men are 
entirely alike there is continual conflict. It is differences of conscious 
impressions and ideas that largely keep mankind in motion, and which 
cause collision between the advancing and retarding sections, the 
intelligent and the ignorant, the scientific and sectarian: and we 
know that bodies moving at different rates or in different direc- 
tions, cannot remain united. 


That consciousness is within the domain of scientific experi- 
ment is proved by the fact that it can be increased, decreased, or 
destroyed, by various natural agents ; thus alcohol, strong tea, 
quinine, strychnine, or rise of bodily temperature, increase it: 
chloroform, morphia, chloral, trional, etc., decrease it; whilst a 
small quantity of prussic acid, or a concussion of the brain, de- 
stroy it altogether: great thirst, or cerebral inflammation produces 
intense consciousness. That it is intimately related chemically to 
the oxygen dissolved in the arterial blood of the brain is shown 
by the circumstances that during excitement of mania, there is 
great oxidation and waste of brain, the products of which, in form 
of phosphates, are found in the urine: the rapid waste of brain 
also during deep meditation limits the duration of our power of 
attention. One of the methods of reducing consciousness is by 
diminished the oxygen in the circulation: thus many animals pro- 


mote sleep by covering their noses and breathing the impure de- 
oxygenised air from their lungs. The circulation of duly oxygen- 
ised blood through our arteries during the waking-state is a con- 
stant cause or condition of feeling, thought, and action. The great 
fact that consciousness is dependent upon many natural conditions 
proves that it is itself natural; and we are not morally justified in 
fixedly believing without evidence that it is supernatural. 

Farther: there is a systematic order of relation between it 
and other natural phenomena: thus the sense-organs are evolved 
out of material food by vital processes, the senses out of the par- 
ticular -structures of those organs, consciousness out of the senses, 
comparison out of dual acts of consciousness, and inference and 
reasoning out of comparison. During this series of changes the 
stored-up energy of food is transformed into vital energy of the 
sense-organs, that into the energy of the senses ; the energy of the 
senses becomes that of consciousness, and that of consciousness 
turns into that of reasoning-power through the medium of compari- 
son, which is itself essentially dual perception. In this order energy 
of intellect is produced, and some heat is lost during the process. 


The sensorium is a storehouse of memory, and an incomplete 
register of our pains and pleasures. The latent impressions made 
upon it are fixed by repetition and habit, ready to be revivified 
by associated ideas, and by the oxygen dissolved in the blood, 
Much of our happiness and misery depends upon these imprints; 
if they are untruthful they are liable to produce pain because they 
contradict each other, and those persons who have a mixture of 
truthful and untruthful ones, often do not know what course to 

Multitudes of persons suffer in this manner, and are driven to 
seek consolation in irrational hopes and unprovable ideas, by the 
clamor of their desires. Under the influence of cerebral excite- 
ment and memory malicious persons are rendered liable to suffer 
from uncontrollable malicious dreams and ideas, and in some cases 


have even committed murder and suicide whilst under their in- 
fluence. The foregoing and a multitude of other "evil" effects due 
to unregulated consciousness, show the necessity of truthful ideas, 
proper food, pure air, judicious exercise, and pure blood, to healthy 
consciousness. It is well known that gout makes the sensorium 


The relation of consciousness to morality is very extensive. 
"As we feel, so we act," unless intellect prevents it. All moral 
acts are conscious ones, and the conscious state is a requisite con- 
dition of all moral action; we are not considered morally respon- 
sible for acts performed by us whilst we are unconscious, nor even 
for those we commit during dreams or somnambulism, nor whilst 
we are insane: the compulsory influence of natural causes is 
usually recognised in such cases, but how far a person is allowed 
to injure his fellows even when compelled to do so by internal or 
external circumstances, differs in every different case and depends 
upon a variety of conditions. Our feelings compel us not only to 
commit "evil" but also to resist it. 

Simple automatic consciousness, uncorrected by knowledge 
and inference, is frequently a great deceiver, thus we often wrongly 
estimate magnitudes, numbers, distances, periods, volumes, and 
weights ; we make mistakes with regard to existences, events, per- 
sons, forms, colors, and appearances, and this gives rise to innumer- 
able false beliefs, lawsuits, sectarian and political conflicts, wars, 
diseases, accidents, and crimes. Our senses and feelings afford us 
a mixture of truth and error, from which we have to sift the truth 
by means of experiments, comparison, inference, and analysis. The 
actions of all our limbs, organs, and faculties, are similarly more or 
less unreliable, and even our most highly corrected scientific knowl- 
edge is frequently only approximate. We are all of us in different 
degrees "blind leaders of the blind," and a large proportion of the 
pains we suffer and inflict is due to the circumstance that we are 
kept in ignorance by our very limited powers. Similar to moths fly- 
ing into the flame of a candle, so we are compelled by our instincts to 


hasten unknowingly toward disease, insanity, crime and death. 
Untruthful consciousness misleads millions, and we are compelled 
by natural influences to expend much of our time in elaborating 
and diffusing untruths and illusions, and but little in discovering 
new knowledge. 


Consciousness and belief are closely allied, as we feel, so we 
usually believe, especially in difficult subjects: internal and ex- 
ternal influences cause our feelings, and these, with or without cor- 
rection by intellect, determine our opinions ; we cannot always stay 
to investigate. The great advantage of consciousness in causing 
us to believe and act is its quickness, and that of intellect is its 
greater reliability; it needs more time to reason than to feel be- 
cause reasoning requires us to compare two or more feelings or 
impressions. Consciousness alone produces only blind belief, but 
reason produces reliable conviction. As reason is frequently weaker 
than feeling, it is our higher faculties rather than our lower ones 
which most require stimulating. Consciousness is fallible because 
it does not compare its impressions but acts immediately upon them ; 
it determines our conduct more frequently than our intellect be- 
cause it acts wholly automatically; but when it has been properly 
trained it is often our best guide and produces similar results. Auto- 
matic consciousness is like a "ready reckoner," it saves us the 
trouble of calculating: 

"Reason, however able, cool at best, 
Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, 
Stays till we call, and then not often near 
But honest instinct comes a volunteer." 



Our senses and consciousness are very dull in comparison with 
inanimate agents, a wave of light travels 700,000 times faster than 
one of nerve-energy, a photographic surface detects thousands of 
heavenly bodies which we cannot even see with the aid of a telescope ; 


a bolometer is estimated to be about 200,000 times more sensitive 
to heat than our skin; a galvanometer can show the influence of 
one part of chlorine in 500,000 million parts of water, whilst our 
taste cannot with certainty distinguish one part in a million; a 
photograph is a much more extensive, minute, and certain record 
than our brain ; and even the process of reasoning can be mechan- 
ically performed by means of Jevous's "logical machine." We de- 
pend very largely upon the properties of scientific appliances for 
our beliefs; the microscope, spectroscope, telescope, photography, 
the kinematograph, etc., have brought a new world of impressions 
into our consciousness, and as such instruments, processes, and 
methods are free from personal prejudice, and vastly surpass in 
delicacy and reliability our senses and perception, it appears highly 
desirable that they be used for testing the idea of telepathy and 
the hypothesis of the existence of human spirits in space. 

Jnil ,t'tbH N'Hn ,,;. .;>...-'>.;;> ,110 .-.- ;. -. : b 

The relations of the sensorium and consciousness to truthful- 
ness are of a most practical kind; immovable false beliefs, fixed 
impressions without evidence, and ignorance or lack of cerebral 
impressions, are dangerous, and contradictory ones destroy peace 
of mind. As the sensorium of criminals and insane persons is 
moved and governed by the same natural influences and laws as 
those of the wisest men, we are all of us compelled to believe more 
or less untruth, and are largely unable to get rid of false impres- 
sions. Consciousness includes both truthful and untruthful im- 
pressions; we often believe, though we cannot really know, that 
which is untrue ; and without proper and sufficient evidence we can- 
not with certainty know anything. The properly trained sensorium 
can contain a much larger number of impressions than the untrained 
one, because its impressions do not contradict each other, and are 
systematically united together by truthful principles. The phe- 
nomena of false belief, improvable belief, belief without evidence, 
delusions and illusions, belong to the subject of mental disorders; 
and the question as to how far we are morally justified in believing 


serious statements without evidence, or believing and diffusing 
unprovable statements in such matters, belongs to the subject of 
scientific morality. The moral duty of improving our minds by 
receiving the truths of science is already to some extent recognised. 
The hopes of the human race depend largely upon scientific correc- 
tion and extension of consciousness: the discovery of new knowl- 
edge is the starting-point of human progress, and as the possession 
and application of great truths is the chief remedy for the pains 
and "evils" of life, original scientific research is a very practical 
matter, but the process entails a vast amount of labor. 

As consciousness and all our faculties are so extremely limited 
in comparison with the contents and powers of the universe, it is 
not surprising that only a few persons can fully realise the idea of 
universal natural causation, or "whatever is, must be" under all 
the conditions and circumstances, and consequently the necessity 
of crime, "evil," and conflict. In the continual presence of so much 
pain and misery in nearly all directions, it is almost beyond human 
power to even faintly imagine the still further truth that "whatever 
is, is right," yet both these conclusions must be come to if we scien- 
tifically and thoroughly examine the subject. 

The chief claims of the foregoing "view of consciousness" 
upon our attention are: it agrees with the principle of universal 
natural causation and with all well-verified knowledge: it involves 
no real self-contradictions: by its agreement with these, and by 
its self-consistency it gives us confidence in the natural powers 
which govern us, and imparts greater confidence, courage, and 
carefulness to all our thoughts and actions: it affords us con- 
solation by showing that our trials, if properly accepted, are often 
our greatest blessings; and by its truthful explanation of the 
real cause of the shortcomings of mankind it makes us reasonably 
tolerant towards all men : but as this view is a comprehensive one, 
it cannot be accepted, nor its advantages secured without the labor 
of acquiring sufficient suitable knowledge. 





TT7"HILE the pragmatic point of view is suggestive to many as 
* ' a working hypothesis, it seems that there is much uncer- 
tainty as to the consequences if it is taken as an ultimate statement 
of reality. It is felt to be a view of things that has a measure of 
truth but which is at the same time subject to serious limitations. 
In a word, it is doubtful what sort of a reality it presupposes and 
with what sort of a reality it is able to satisfy those who follow it 
consistently. I do not presume to hold any of the illustrious ex- 
pounders of pragmatism responsible for the interpretation here 
offered. It is simply an attempt to explain what pragmatism means 
to me. It is no doubt an inadequate and onesided statement, but 
this is an evil inherent in all our philosophy and from which there 
is not the slightest possibility of our escaping. If there is any one 
point that seems to be a fundamental one pragmatically it is that 
every thing and all things that we can possibly say are essentially 
abstractions from and hence inadequate to the reality of what we 
know in immediate experience. 

As a philosophical method pragmatism seems to be primarily 
an attempt to interpret consistently the world of expereience, its 
movement and its moments, It is thus that it is distinguished from 
science, which is concerned with the contents of experience. It 
is distinct from previous philosophy in that it does not seek to con- 
struct by logical processes a reality that lies partially or completely 
beyond the world of experience. In so far as philosophy has been 


concerned with things or contents, as such, its field has not been 
different in kind from that of science. It has been rather mediaeval 
science, vaguely guessing at what science failed to discover, and 
finding, as science extended its outposts, that its only ultimate and 
secure ground was in the sphere entirely beyond all possible ex- 
perience. It is needless to say that the pragmatist stands for some- 
thing radically different from this. He proposes to deal with a 
reality but not one that the progress of science will eventually take 
from him. His realities are the moments and movements of ex- 
perience as it deals with the realities of science. 

As suggested above, the real, whatever it is, is a great deal 
larger than can be stated in any formula or series of formulas. Our 
philosophies as well as our sciences are abstractions, and are there- 
fore true only relatively. We shall try in this paper to illustrate 
by means of a particular abstraction, the nature and limitations of 
the real that a pragmatic view of things seems to afford us, and fur- 
ther to show that it is a case typical of all our attempted formula- 
tions of experience. By experience we mean not that of the empiri- 
cist, nor something present to some absolute consciousness after the 
manner of the idealist, but rather experience as it is naively under- 
stood when one says he knows that this task is hard because he has 
tried it, or as when one says that he can sympathise with us be- 
cause he has already experienced sorrow. It may roughly be called 
the world that appeals to us directly, the world in which are our 
values and in which we work, struggle, aspire, win and fail. No 
philosophic system or science has ever given us an adequate descrip- 
tion of it, nor have they ever stated its meaning as a whole. When 
the last word has been said we feel that it has all been extremely 
inadequate as compared with concrete experience. The condition 
under which alone a scientific or philosophic statement can appeal 
to us with any force is that it be taken in a context similar to that in 
which it arose. To take an extreme case, the theory of Thales that 
all things are made of water, would not seem as unilluminating to 
us as it probably does, if we could reproduce a concrete situation 
similar to the one that led him to make his famous hypothesis. Phil- 
osophic and scientific systems are then simply formulations of some 


particular aspects of experience that have for some reason come 
acutely to attention. The reality of immediate experience seems to 
fall apart, its elements to be in conflict. We seek a statement to bring 
together the conflicting elements and the statement is valid in so far 
as it does this and no farther. 

It is a matter of indifference what we have to say about the 
more ultimate meaning of our working hypotheses. We may say, 
if we choose, that because this or that hypothesis works, in so far 
it is a correct statement of the nature of the ultimately real. Func- 
tionally the working hypothesis has no claim to being a statement 
of ultimate reality beyond its meeting this crisis or others similar to 
it. It may also be noted that there is no appeal from immediate ex- 
perience or from that which resolves its tensions. The only way 
to discredit the former is to bring forth another experience that is 
more immediate or of wider extent. 

Suppose for a moment we assume that there is a reality beyond 
that of our stream of experience, or possible experiences ; a reality 
that is supernatural or at least greater than our experience but of 
which our experience is in some way a part. Concerning this hypo- 
thetical larger reality we may make a certain supposition on the 
basis of which there is sought a control of some present tension. 
It is assumed that there is something real that does not fully enter 
into experience but which must nevertheless be acted upon if that 
which is in experience is to be dealt with adequately. The theories 
of atoms and their modes of combination within the molecule are 
illustrations of the legitimacy and necessity of this type of assump- 
tion in physical science. The religious consciousness furnishes a 
similar illustration. Here also there is the hypostatising of an 
order of existence that does not enter into immediate experience. 
There is a supposition of a universal moral order, of a supernatural 
being or beings that have some connnection with the process of our 
experience. Particular things are undertaken on the strength of 
such moral order or of such a supreme being. A crisis or problem 
arises which to the religious consciousness seems inexplicable ex- 
cept on the supposition of a God who is just, or jealous, or loving. 
It is clear that the only basis for such an assumption is the presence 


of a real experience which seems to demand some hypothesis to 
make it intelligible. All may not agree that the particular hypoth- 
esis offered is a satisfactory one, but that is immaterial here. Mani- 
festly the point of emphasis is the experience that is to be made in- 
telligible and only secondarily is a more ultimate form of existence 
implied. It is because the emphasis is where we have indicated that 
it is maintained that the true function of philosophy is to attempt 
a description, not of some more ultimate reality than that present 
in our finite experience, but rather the exact and objective condi- 
tions under which hypotheses appear and their relation to the on- 
ward movement of experience. Strictly speaking, aside from our 
world of experience and its successful hypotheses there is no more 
ultimate existence as far as philosophy is concerned. We may here 
recur to the fundamental limitation of all thinking to which reference 
was made above. Restated briefly it is this : thought and the products 
of thought are to be interpreted, and hence are valid only, with 
reference to certain crises or tensions that arise in action. It is 
not permissible to take the conceptual machinery thus evolved 
and hold that it gives us a cue to the construction of a reality 
beyond experience. The concepts of the chemist are true because 
they enable him to control his reactions, but he has not the least 
right to assume that he has therefore in them an account of the 
ultimate nature of matter. They give an account of it only as it is 
concerned in practical experiences of the sort with which the chem- 
ist deals. It is an almost universal tendency, however, to take these 
statements that seem to give us definite control under specific con- 
ditions and to generalise them into dicta about absolute existence. 
As opposed to this tendency it is here maintained that our concepts 
are only functionally valid and do not refer to ontological realities. 
All our realities are of the functional variety. They are realities 
because they serve these definite functions, and for no other reason. 
Some of them have a wider variety of uses than others and hence 
appear in a greater number of our practical experiences. As such 
they seem to have a high degree of objectivity. "Objective reality" 
is in fact our name for those elements which appear in the greatest 
variety of situations and mediate the most varied experiences. Such 


a statement does not dispute the reality of the world but simply 
tells in what it consists. It amounts simply to this, that whatever 
else reality may be, as far as we are concerned, it is something in- 
volved in the onward movement of our experience and all our de- 
scriptions of it are with reference to its function in this onward 

This functional view of reality is very suggestive when applied 
to the facts of the religious consciousness. The religious attitude 
is of all others pre-eminently a practical one, that is, it is primarily 
concerned with the conduct of life. An examination of it, from this 
view-point, should be practically suggestive in these days of reli- 
gious reconstruction. It should throw light upon the vexed ques- 
tion as to the place and authority of the dogmas of past ages in the 
modern religious consciousness. It is worth while to inquire 
whether they should be rejected in to to as false or whether they 
have a certain validity, and if so, what. Does the dogma of the 
Trinity, for instance, have any claim from this point of view to 
being a valid statement of the being of God ? We should note first 
the context in which some of these dogmas originated. 

It is well known that New Testament Christianity was not dog- 
matic but practical. That is, it did not promulgate the dogmas of 
a system of religion but was the exponent of a certain manner of 
life. "The teachings of Jesus do not appear in a systematic form, 
but in terms of life and social relations. It requires laborious re- 
search and reconstruction to formulate them into scientific state- 
ments. Neither do the apostles present the Gospel in a theology, 
although doubtless they come nearer to it than Jesus does, and that 
is why theology took its point of departure from them rather than 
from Christ. But still, even with them, while the theological mate- 
rial is more accessible, there is no systematic arrangement nor at- 
tempt at true philosophical explanation. They wrote for specific 
practical purposes, and always massed their teachings so as to bear 
upon the end in view .... The New Testament is a book of religious 
truth, not of theological science ; and it is content to state this truth 
in its practical aspects, upon the sole authority of Jesus Christ, and 


not because its philosophical foundations have been worked out 
and approved." 1 

"The distinctively theological interest which first began to make 
itself strongly felt in the church during the second century centered 
immediately in Christology and the doctrine of the Trinity. These 
doctrines were converted into dogmas by the first six general coun- 
cils. . . .They are justly called the Greek contribution to Christian- 
ity, for they were born of the Greek spirit, and their form and de- 
velopment were decisively determined by Greek philosophy. That 
these dogmas soon ceased to be living issues and to find a place in 
the interests of men, did not disturb their theological authority, but 
rather strengthened it. The fact that they became petrified made 
them an all the more satisfactory, because unshakable, foundation 
for a church that was built upon the traditions of the past." 2 

It is this development of practical belief into dogmas that we 
wish to examine. There are a number of problems involved in 
such an examination. One of them is c'ir tendency to generalise 
our practical concepts into statements of ultimate reality. Does 
such a procedure render them of more practical significance, or 
does it rather indicate that the practical need that called them forth 
has vanished, and that new needs have taken their place? We hold 
that it was not merely because the Church came into contact with 
Greek thought that its practical concepts were turned into dogmas 
but that it was due to a certain peculiarity of the development of 
experience. Another problem is as to the legitimacy of such a 
generalisation and the implication as to the reality of the resulting 

We may use the doctrine of the Trinity as our first illustration. 
As we have seen, it does not appear as a dogma in the New Testa- 
ment, for primitive Christianity was concerned with the concrete 
problems of life. Thus the concepts on which the dogma was later 
founded and which are to-day interpreted in the light of the dogma, 
were essentially the expression of definite practical situations and 
problems. It is true the idea of the Trinity was present, but purely 

1 Osborn, The Recovery and Restatement of the Gospel, pp. 171, 172. 
1 Osborn, p. 75. 


as a practical concept. It had developed in the centuries immediately 
preceding the Chrisian era under the influence of Greek thought. 
It grew out of the notion that God could not act directly upon the 
world but only through certain intermediaries, as angels, his word, 
his spirit, etc. Hence when anything occurred which seemed to de- 
mand the explanation of supernatural influence, it was natural to 
attribute it to the spirit of God or to his angels. In this form it is 
not a dogma but simply a working concept that is in harmony with 
the current notion of God. 

This is certainly the context of its appearance in the New Testa- 
ment. Wherever the Spirit is mentioned it is with reference to 
just such practical problems or crises within experience, problems 
that demanded some sort of explanation. For example the mys- 
terious conception of Mary is explained thus. The baptism of 
Jesus differs from that of John by the presence in it of this divine 
element. Certain peculiar states of mind, or changes of mental atti- 
tude that seem to transcend experience come to attention, and these 
are interpreted as caused by the Holy Ghost. 3 That it is essentially 
a practical concept comes out most clearly when Jesus seeks to allay 
the sorrow of the disciples over his departure by promising the 
Holy Ghost as a comforter in his place. In no case do we find ref- 
erence to the Spirit except when some real or conceived situation 
of life is in the foreground. If with their peculiar heritage of thought 
these practical situations were met in the light of such a concept 
of the relation of God to man, we shall certainly not wish to deny 
its validity, but to maintain that it was essentially illogical to turn 
this doctrine into a dogma and postulate as ontologically real what 

3 As examples note the case of Zacharias cited in Luke i. 15, 35; that of 
Elizabeth in the same chapter, 41, 67; that of Simeon, Luke ii. 35. So also 
through the concept of the Holy Ghost is explained the state of mind that 
lay back of otherwise unaccountable actions. Thus in Acts iv. 31, "They were 
all filled with the Holy Ghost." It is a means by which one may be endowed 
with wisdom, Luke xii. 12; an assistance in defending the faith, Mark 
xii. 36. It is the agency by which one's entire mental attitude may be 
changed, as in Acts viii. 15, 17, 18, 19; x. 44, 45, 46; xi. 15-16; xv. 8; xix. 2-6; 
Titus iii. 5. Prophetic power is to be explained by its presence, Luke ii. 26; 
iii. 22. Our own attitude of life is modified by it, Romans xiv. 17; xv. 13; 
i Thes. i. 6. 


had reality only as it served certain functions in concrete life. How 
could its practical significance be enhanced by its being generalised 
into an ultimate view as to the nature of the person of God ? Every 
thinker must feel that the reality of God is far greater than can be 
crystallised in any such relation of son, spirit, and father. Such 
concepts are simply ways of making his infinitude come into working 
contact with our life. If the concept is recognised as a working one 
then succeeding generations with a different intellectual heritage 
and a different practical conception of God are not so likely to have 
the older point of view forced upon them. As we change, and our 
problems with us, it certainly is by all means likely that our inter- 
pretations of events should change also. 

As with the question of the spirit of God, so with that of the 
Son. His significance was certainly a functional one. Whether 
we take the standpoint of those of his time who expected a Messiah 
or that of the Christian world of to-day, we must admit that he was 
significant to them and is significant to us primarily because he is 
conceived as the mediator of certain definite experiences. With the 
modern Christian the significance of Christ is certainly as an inter- 
preter of God. The phrase, "What would Jesus do," however ob- 
jectionable it may be, is at least evidence of this attitude. The 
dogma as to his metaphysical relation to God is meaningless except 
in so far as he is also functionally real. If the orthodox could only 
realise that this is the point of primary import, there would be less 
useless controversy with th.e more liberal believers. On the other 
hand, the liberal needs to realise that this tendency to crystallise a 
functional reality into a dogma is not mere perversity but itself 
needs to be explained and located and is no doubt an unavoidable 
peculiarity of the movement of thought. 

In the New Testament times it is of course true, as every one 
knows, that the followers of Christ conceived him rather in terms 
of a definite earthly mission, more or less, of course, in the light of 
the earlier Jewish notions, and by no means as bearing a certain 
metaphysical relation to God. He bore a definite relation to the 
glory of Israel, if not temporarily, at least in a spiritual sense. The 
conclusion is then that both the son and the spirit were originally 


the embodiments of certain practical attitudes related in a certain 
way to the tendency that became prominent among the Alexandrian 
Jews to exalt God infinitely above all that is earthly, human, and 
imperfect, even above all human conception. "From the idea that 
God is absolutely incomprehensible and infinitely exalted flows the 
other that man cannot enter into direct relations with him, that he 
can neither know nor tell what he is." 4 

''This idea that God is infinitely exalted above the world and 
without direct relations with it, necessarily led to the recognition 
of intermediate beings, through whom relations might be made pos- 
sible." 5 

The point of the whole discussion is simply that there existed 
at that time a certain attitude of mind that could best view its on- 
ward movement in terms of son and spirit, and God himself could 
likwise be best conceived, and no doubt always can be for that mat- 
ter, as a father. It is further held that these concepts interpreted 
to the believer certain practical situations, gave him their value, so 
to speak, and hence freed him for further action in similar directions. 
We do not question but that such an attitude may still exist and 
hence demand such concepts for its expression. But the point of 
emphasis, in any case, is upon the tension within a certain type of 
experience, rather than upon any reality outside this tension. It 
is only when the specific need has passed, or at least is no longer 
realised acutely that the conceptual tools are brought into clear 
consciousness and come to be regarded as having a reality of their 
own. It is then that the functional reality ceases and the dogma 
takes its place. If a certain type of mind finds the concept of the 
Trinity significant, it is certainly a significant point of view, but it 
does not follow, as has already been said, that because it is true 
functionally it is also true without reference to any function, that 
is, ontologically. To hold that it is, is to commit, as it seems to me, 
a supreme philosophical fallacy. Our only realities are functional 
realities. If there are others we know not of them. 

4 Piepenbring, Theology of the Old Testament, p. 250. 

5 Ibid., p. 250. 


This point of view may be applied with profit to a number of 
other Christian doctrines. I quote directly from an article by H. 
Barker in the eleventh volume of the Intern. Journal of Ethics. 
Traditional religion embodied "a great religious or ethical concep- 
tion, that of a suffering saviour-god. Such a conception appealed 
directly to faith; it was a gospel of salvation that told of a divine 
love and pity greater than it was possible to hope for, and summoned 
men to strive with all their energies to be worthy of their God. Such 
a gospel was worth believing. It was a true object of faith, and its 
moral grandeur was a legitimate motive for faith. On the other 
hand the traditional creed set forth certain miraculous or super- 
natural facts which guaranteed the reality of its ethical conception." 
Barker ilustrates the above point as follows: The essence of the 
belief in the resurrection of Christ on the religious side is the con- 
viction that the personality of Christ has a spiritual value which 
constrains us to think of it as eternal. A universe in which it 
passed away and lesser things remained, would for the Christian 
be irrational. Now this conviction can as little be proved by any 
ghost-like appearances of Christ after his death as it can be refuted 
by their absence. If such appearances counted for anything they 
would be as important in the case of any other man of whom they 
have been asserted .... The truth is that the Christian's religious 
conviction about Christ craves for some visible sign and confirma- 
tion of its truth, and the resurrection seems to faith to be such a 
sign. The error lies in turning a symbol which only faith can appre- 
hend into the very premise by which the faith itself is proved .... 
Thus when the symbol begins to be used as a logical premise we 
may be sure that the faith has lost its intrinsic certainty and is 
seeking to quiet itself in some outward and inferior guarantee." 
Putting this point in the terms that we have been using, we shall 
say that when the practical situations cease to be acutely felt the 
mental attitude that belonged with them in a manner holds over 
and finds its guarantee, no longer in its practical efficiency in a 
certain type of experience, but in the unconditioned reality of that 
which before had been real only because it had proved itself prac- 
tically valuable. The intrinsic certainty referred to in this state- 


ment of Barker's is the same point we have made regarding all 
practical attitudes. Intrinsic certainty is the fundamental charac- 
teristic of all practical experience. Abstract the experience from 
the situation that caused it to differentiate and these specialised 
parts are left as it were in the air. Hence the attention is fixed upon 
them and they are held to be valid in themselves. This attitude 
is represented in many types of emotional experience. The virtuoso 
in the sphere of emotion has abstracted his feelings from the situa- 
tions in which they belong, in which they have been in conscious- 
ness only as contributing to an end toward which the whole expe- 
rience is moving. He has abstracted them, we repeat, and brought 
them to the focus of attention, in other words given them a validity 
of their own. It seems to me that this procedure is strictly parallel 
to the one we have been discussing in the religious sphere. 

Barker continues, "Consider the belief in the miraculous birth 
of Christ. The absence of any strictly logical relation between the 
supernatural event and the religious doctrine which is connected 
with it is here more patent than ever. That Christ was born into 
the world in a preternatural way is in itself no proof at all that he 
was an incarnation of the deity, although, of course, to one already 
convinced of his divinity the miraculous birth has a certain fitness 
as a symbol." As Barker further points out the symbol has a cer- 
tain function, for faith comes in pulsations, that is the practical 
situations in which the symbol is significant are not always at hand, 
but the attitude of readiness to meet them must be preserved intact 
and this is the more possible if the tools of the attitude can continue 
to be held in the foreground. The mind is thus kept accessible to 
the influences by which faith can be revived. "The Christian whose 
faith had grown weak attributed the lack of faith to himself as a 
fault, because he did not doubt that the objects of faith were there 
to be apprehended, although he could no longer feel their reality 
and truth for himself." In other words, we represent the values 
of our past experiences by means of the conceptual machinery they 
involve, apparently because it can be most easily isolated. The 
mental concomitants of a practical attitude can never be isolated 
and still be expected to retain their original nature. It may be the 


only way we can represent to ourselves that we have had the ex- 
perience but we must nevertheless not forget that this conceptual 
framework is not the original experience. The only reality the con- 
ceptual structure or system of dogmas has, its only validity is, in 
pointing to a time when practical situations were very acutely felt. 

The significant characteristic of the practical situation is that 
it is immediate and its reality needs no logical proof. No theory 
of the universe, no philosophy, can disprove this fact of the imme- 
diate appeal of the practical crisis, and its total independence of the 
necessity of any logical support. As soon as there is felt to be 
necessity for proving the attitudes involved, the situation itself has 
passed away. The whole force and significance of the concepts and 
attitudes depended upon the undisputed presence of the practical 
situation. Thus "the supernatural facts embodied in the creed do 
not need to be disproved to lose their peculiar value. This value 
is already lost when they can be reasonably doubted. Their pecu- 
liar function is gone from the moment they appear to be doubtful." 6 
That they are doubted means that they are isolated from their func- 
tional place in experience, that practical needs have changed, and 
hence that different systems of concepts are now needed. The only 
way to prove any claim of theology is to show its vital relation to 
the crises of life. No one was ever convinced of the truths of reli- 
gion in any other way, nor has any one who has believed them from 
this side lost his faith by mere ratiocination. If such an one has 
lost his faith, it has been because its vital contact with his life has 
had ceased and the work of reason is simply to show that what is 
left was dead. Our point, in a word, is this, that the reality of a 
practical situation is recognised immediately, and its tools are in the 
same immediate manner regarded as valid solely because of their 
functional connection with the situation. There is no other way 
to prove their truth and to attempt to do it otherwise is to admit 
that they have lost their functional value and hence are false. 

It is suggestive to apply this point of view to the doctrine of the 
second coming of Christ. There is no question but that the expec- 

Ibid., Barker. 


tation of this had a very important place in the thought of New 
Testament times. It is an excellent illustration of the evolution of 
a belief according to the theory here presented. The Church of to- 
day, obliged to admit that the early Church was mistaken in the 
particular form in which it held to this belief, holds it now in a 
modified form. But in a sense the early Church was not in error. 
This belief in the second coming of Christ was a part of a more 
general attitude toward the world and human conduct, and as such 
it served to mediate a definite practical attitude which was then 
significant. When this appropriate context disappeared the belief 
was left stranded and in the eyes of later ages it was manifestly a 
mistaken one as far as ontological fulfilment went. But the convic- 
tion that it stood for an ontological reality has led each generation 
to reconstruct the belief on a basis that at least offered a possibility 
of fulfilment. What is true of this particular belief is true of all 
others referred to above, except that in this one its falsity when 
taken out of its context was so self-evident that it had to be recon- 
structed if it were to continue to be believed. Of the other dogmas 
it was not so evident that they were meaningless when thus iso- 
lated, and hence they were more easily adhered to in unreconstructed 

It is likewise as regards the doctrine of inspiration. The in- 
dividual who finds in the Scriptures a key that interprets his ethical 
life asks for no other proof that they are inspired. But the so- 
called logical proofs of inspiration never convince any one because 
when such proofs are offered it is evidence that inspiration is now 
taken as a fact out of connection with the actual unfolding of ex- 
perience. It is notorious that no argument for the inspiration of 
the Scriptures, for immortality, or for the divinity of Christ is con- 
vincing to any one who does not believe in them already as facts of 
immediate experience. 

In conclusion we may repeat what was stated at the outset, that 
there is a fundamental limitation to all our thinking. This limita- 
tion, however, in no wise invalidates it as some have assumed. 
There is no better proof of the validity of thinking than that it does 
solve the crises that arise within experience, and that experience 


does move on. Thinking is for no other purpose. There is no such 
thing as absolute thought, for thought is essentially a process of ab- 
straction from an undefined matrix of possible experiences for the 
solution of particular crises. It means by its very nature that some 
things are slighted and some overemphasised, but it is justifiable 
because of the particular tension of the situation that demands solu- 
tion. If this is the nature of thought it is manifestly invalid to 
hold that the tools that it creates for the solution of this tension are 
valid instruments for reality as a whole. That which relieves the 
tension is undoubtedly an aspect of reality, but it is true of the whole 
only as the whole is in contact with the particular. We have illus- 
trated this limitation by the evolution of some of the Christian dog- 
mas. The field of religion offers excellent material for such illustra- 
tion because its attitude is primarily so immediate and practical, and 
because in it more than in any other there has been a tendency to 
give the conceptual machinery of this practical attitude an inde- 
pendent validity, thus imposing upon one age the tools that were use- 
ful only in ages long past. The evil of such a procedure is, of 
course, that the new generation mistakes the meaningless intellectual 
machinery for the essence of religion itself and is in danger of re- 
jecting both together. Respecting this view of truth in its general 
significance, the words of Barker are significant. "It will hardly 
be disputed that whatever may have been the shortcomings of primi- 
tive Christianity, it was sufficient for the needs of the early Chris- 
tians." 7 This is the most that can be said of any attitude of mind, 
of any system of concepts, of any theory of things, and this only can 
be said. If we attempt more, we drift into speculations of which 
it can only be said, "They may be true, for aught we know, but we 
certainly do not know." 


7 Ibid. 


A TEN have always been struck by the fact of the regularity of 
*-**- astronomic occurrences, and also, though in less degree, by 
the alternation of the seasons on the earth, which depends upon 
these celestial movements, by the reproduction of living creatures, 
whether vegetable or animal, in conformity to their specific type, 
and, finally, by the repetition of a thousand common phenomena 
of heat, light, electricity, or affinity under similar or analogous cir- 

Through the observation of these phenomena there is intro- 
duced to our minds the idea of order, and at first this idea signifies 
periodicity, constant recurrence, because of the aspect of phenomena 
which impress their first or most obvious mark upon it. But anal- 
ysis soon shows that this is only a crude and superficial mark; an 
appearance of stability hides from our short sight the incessant 
changes of the universe. 

Even in the movements of the heavens we discover inequalities 
and perturbations. The solar system, to which we belong, is but 
a dab of matter wandering among millions of systems which people 
space. Imperceptible internal modifications in the course of time 
alter the relations of velocity and mass within it so as to disturb 
the economy of the whole; nothing recurs constantly in the same 
number and form, and we are forced to recognise that the period- 
icity of these astronomic movements, regular as they seem to our 
brief observation, is only relative and depends probably on wider 
systems of periodicity whose rhythms and times we know not, 

* Translated from the original manuscript by W. H. Carruth, Univer- 
sity of Kansas. 


In physical and chemical phenomena, and in the end every- 
thing is reduced to the relations comprised under these two names, 
that is, to the laws of the constitution of matter, things present 
themselves to us under this same double aspect; on the one hand, 
the constancy of the qualities of matter and the permanence of its 
laws; on the other hand, the diversity of circumstances, the ac- 
cidental conjunction of the conditions which cause this quality to 
manifest itself or that combination to result; here the most rig- 
orous determination, by which every fact is what it is; there the 
contingent element, that is to say, the seemingly fortuitous concourse 
of series of events which might not have come about in this par- 
ticular point of space and at this particular moment of time. 

The notion of order would be reduced, then, to this: that the 
same causes always produce the same results. It would mean the 
necessity of the consequences under equality of conditions. But 
it would not do to understand this in the narrow sense of periodicity, 
as implying the inevitable recurrence of the same conditions, the 
recommencement of the same phenomena without assignable or 
possible limit. 

As far as we can comprehend it, the world seems to us to be 
organised for the sake, in a word, of variety, rather than for repe- 
tition. The very constancy of the laws permits all the possibilities. 
When we consider that every substance has its particular properties 
of density, expansibility, radiation, conductivity, etc., and its fixed 
equivalent of combination; that for every gas, for instance, there 
is a critical temperature, below which this gas resists all pressure, 
and then, that at this temperature pressure on the contrary turns it 
into a liquid ; if we reflect upon the interdependence of all facts, so 
that the very least action is re-echoed throughout the universe, 
then we shall comprehend without difficulty that the possibility of 
new arrangements in it is indefinite and so enormous as to transcend 
all efforts of the imagination. 

And yet, science succeeds none the less in its generalisations. 
The three domains of light, electricity, and magnetism, which form- 
erly were separated, are to-day united. Thermodynamics, limited 
at first to the study of the expansion of bodies and to their changes 


of condition, now comprises the theory of thermo-electrical phe- 
nomena. Immutability, which was formerly regarded as a mark 
of the class of chemical facts, is doubtless so only in appearance, 
and the difficulty of finding a mechanical explanation for these facts 
is due solely to the extreme complexity of the elements under con- 
sideration. Moreover, the essential point for the success of our 
theory is that the relations established among objects supposed to 
be simple remain the same when their complexity is recognised. 1 
Thus the great variety of possibilities is not a lack of order, 
since human intelligence manages to find its way among them, be- 
ing guided by the permanence of elementary qualities and by 
certain simple principles, such as that of the conservation of energy 
and that of least action. It is not a lack of order, since the success 
of our hypothesis depends on their very simplicity. The scientist, 
after the manner of the poet, imagines analogies, and only those 
are fruitful which enable him to figure out a connection between 
series of facts which had appeared to be disconnected. 


The living world presents the same contrast. A miracle, which 
is repeated every day, strikes our attention here at once: I refer to 
the constant reproduction of beings by generation. In spite of 
accidents, this is accomplished with regularity for each species. 
From every fertilised egg there comes forth a new animal of com- 
plex organism whose acts are spontaneously co-ordinated with ref- 
erence to its purpose, which is to live. And the typical form of 
each creature is so indelibly fixed in the egg or in the seed, faintly 
differentiated as their germs are to our eyes, that it always develops 
as the same in its essential characteristics as soon as the favorable 
conditions of aeration and temperature coincide. 

As a consequence of these very facts, when we consider the 
variety of structures of the vast number of creatures and their 
succession in time, in which is revealed in the whole the growing 
complexity of their mechanisms, the hypothesis is forced upon us 

1 Poincare. 


that the successive, if not progressive, variations of these mech- 
anisms could not fail to correspond to mutations in the conditions 
of existence. Definite variations, although of limited scope, are 
produced under our very eyes : the probable causes of them are 
known to us, modifications of the environment, the struggle of 
the organism to adjust itself to new conditions, selection, the in- 
heritance of acquired characteristics. It is even possible for us 
to add to the work of nature, by making these means serve us in 
our own experiences. 

Over against a relative constancy, here also appears the acci- 
dental, the casual. Whether it be transformation or creation, the 
spectacle is the same in both cases. But the intervention of the 
casual, that is to say, of the new, of realised possibilities, is subject 
here in the living world to the law of constant development com- 
prised within the limits of a definite periodicity, which is the life 
of the planet itself, whatever be the actions which have supervened 
in the course of this development. 

Low temperatures, as has become known lately, diminish the re- 
sistance of metals to the transmission of electricity in such pro- 
portion that an extremely strong current has been successfully made 
to pass over a conductor of the smallest diameter, after it had 
been cooled by plunging it into liquid air. This fact helps us to 
comprehend how, in an egg, a little vesicle of only a few hundredths 
of a millimeter in diameter nevertheless contains all the properties 
necessary to the development of a living being, and at the same 
time holds in concentrated form all the states of being of previous 
generations. Furthermore, since such an extremely small quantity 
of matter suffices for the development of vital energy, it enables us 
to realise what varied aspects life in other planets may present, 
what superiority of organism other humanities peopling other worlds 
might possess. 2 

Moreover, is it not a sufficient explanation of such a variety, 
that the life of higher organisms results from the harmonious ac- 
tivity of hundreds of thousands of living elements, while these ele- 

* D' Arsonval. 


ments are in their turn the result of reactions of hundreds of thou- 
sands of atoms? 

Thus in their realm the domain of the possible is equally un- 
limited. At the same time that she is repeating herself, Nature does 
not weary of producing anew. A like law of simplicity is found, 
as one may well believe, in this diversity. Science succeeds here 
also, in guiding herself by a principle which is analogous to the 
principles of the least action and the conservation of energy, that 
of finality or teleology. 

The more one studies at close range the physiological machin- 
ery, the more one is struck by the adaptation which exists between 
the various organs and their function. From vegetables to animals, 
from the humblest creatures to the highest, there are revealed deli- 
cate adjustments and proportions which one might consider inten- 
tional. Teleology, one may say, is a hypothesis inseparable from the 
investigation of life; it is a monster which we exorcise but do not 
kill. Science cannot dispense with it, even when she rejects it 
under this name ; if she is ignorant of the use of a piece of organ- 
ism, she applies herself to discover it; and these precise determina- 
tions of vital adaptation constitute physiology itself. 

It is doubtless possible to reverse the proposition and say that 
the eye was not made to enable the animal to see, but that the 
animal sees because eyes came to it. At bottom this is only a child- 
ish equivocation, for the miracle then consists in attributing to the 
predestined or fortuitous play of physical and chemical laws the 
formation of an apparatus so complicated as that of vision, with its 
parts so specialised and so precisely adjusted: the transparent and 
lenticular media, the retina, the motor muscles, the specialised nerve, 
the rods and cones, the sclerotic and choroid membranes. And this 
miracle is renewed in constant variety for each of our senses, for 
our apparatus of locomotion, for our viscera, up to the ultimate 
marvel of the brain, in which is produced the consciousness of self. 

No less striking is the picture of the adjustments of life if we 
consider the ways of animals, the curious habits of bees, for ex- 
ample. They all adapt themselves to one end, which is the success 
of the hive and the preservation of the species. They do not repeat 


themselves in an automatic way; they vary according to circum- 
stances, and their keepers know how to arouse, or to utilise to 
their own profit, these intelligent variations of instinct. 

It is true that we are dealing here with machines already per- 
fected. The aspect of the matter is different if we consider the 
phenomena of elementary life. Teleology in cells or plastids seems 
reduced to simple reactions. But the sequence of these reactions 
in the course of development is none the less worthy of remark. 
It will be useless for us to trace back the intelligent act to the in- 
stinctive, instinct to the simple reflex, the reflex to the chemical 
reaction, and to imagine the successive stages of this astonishing 
evolution; we shall not have eliminated for all that the essential 
problem of the co-ordination of the reflexes with reference to an 
end which is the same in every instance, and whose interpretative 
value is never zero or negligeable for the scientist. 

In sum, and without wishing to draw any premature inferences 
from this principle, it remains true that the biologist in his turn, 
in beginning the study of life by studying its elements, takes for 
granted the unity of the living world, as does the physicist the 
unity of the physical world. Between these two worlds there exists 
without doubt a hiatus ; the gulf appears impassable when we con- 
sider only the phenomena of the life of higher organisms. It is 
less profound when we descend to origins ; science does not despair 
of connecting the facts of elementary life with the general prop- 
erties of matter, and the success of such an attempt will be the 
clearest testimony that can be furnished of order in nature. For 
we can suppose and affirm it to exist there definitely only in 
proportion as it exists for our minds and is formulated in our 


The reactions which constitute the life of a plant, even if they 
can be reduced to laws of physics and chemistry, are none the less 
a unique phenomenon compared with the simple reactions of in- 
organic matter. Still more delicate are the reactions of animate 
beings, in proportion as they depart more and more from the type 


of vegetative life: sensibility, consciousness, volition, increase with 
complexity of organism and abundance of forms, and here we have 
an ultimate transmutation of energy whose scope is assuredly con- 
siderable in the economy of the universe. 

The results of co-operation, so remarkable even in the com- 
munal life of the lower animals, take on their true importance in 
communities of human beings. Here we see individuals springing 
from one another yet retaining more or less resemblance, in the 
same manner as plants and animals. Something, however, changes 
in them, their morals or their mentality, and these inward changes 
are expressed outwardly by entirely new relations which are made 
effective in some other way. The same aim which governs the 
animal world has impelled man to his social arrangements, and 
this aim is living, the satisfaction of all demands of life. But we 
also see how in society he becomes more the master of the conditions 
of his existence. 

Something of initiative seems, then, to be thereby introduced 
into the necessary train of events; a great complexity of facts is 
met by an increasing contingency whose maximum is found in the 
thought of man ; necessity, if I may say so, is transformed to a 
free and reflex action in passing through our consciousness. 

One of our most learned philosophers 3 recently opposed to 
the theory of evolution that of dissolution. He very ingeniously 
showed, supporting his argument frequently with strong proofs, 
that all things in the psychological and social order as well as in 
the mechanical tend toward assimilation, not to differentiation. 
The actual course of events in the world would nevertheless be 
such that we should still be permitted to predicate an opposite 
course. Dissolution and evolution doubtless represent only phases 
of a universal rythm whose ultimate reason we do not know, and it 
remains admissible to postulate periodicities of immense duration, 
into which would fit our phenomenal world, perpetual new begin- 
nings offering constantly new combinations regulated by the same 
general laws, the same determinism which perpetually governs 
other contingencies. 
1 M. Andre Lalade. 


To resume, the constitution of the world appears to us to be 
such that the domain of the possible has no limits there. The 
variety of phenomena is so bewildering even to the human mind, 
that the success of science in this field has been doubted. It is 
undermined on one side even while it is being built up on the other. 

In truth, science would be impossible if there were not, in spite 
of all, stable relations in nature. It would be impossible, further- 
more, if there did not exist a general system, a direction of evolution, 
reaching even to communities of human beings, and it is upon the 
hypothesis of such an order spontaneously sprung from common 
observation, that the knowledge of psychological and social facts 
is founded. 


Death is necessary to life. We see creatures, from the least 
to the greatest, struggling among themselves for the means of 
existence, devouring one another for food, or destroying one an- 
other for the sake of gaining more room. The economy of our 
world is as hard to comprehend without this law as it would be 
without the equilibrium of seasons, winds, and waters. But our 
sensibilities revolt at that which our reason explains : and this dis- 
agreement enters into our judgments. Justice, goodness, whence 
do we derive these ideas which rise above the mere resistance to 
pain? How does it happen that we are constituted so that we op- 
pose our ideals to the fatality of things and labor to subdue the 
forces that govern us? In whatever way this attempt is inter- 
preted, it remains true that man is also a part of nature and that 
his reason, weak as it is, can and must have its place therein. The 
laws of our sentiments and of our understanding are not our work ; 
they constitute a part of the great whole. Our inner logic must 
conform to the logic of this universe in order that it should be 
depicted thus in our brains. The consciousness of self cannot be 
pure accident, the individual a nullity, the intelligence which re- 
flects the world a fleeting gleam ; and hence our attention is fixed 
upon the vast extent of an horizon which one cannot narrow down 
without lessening his own function as a thinking man. 


In the class of physical and chemical phenomena we have seen 
only constant and necessary relations: no system seemed invariable 
except alternating and compensating destruction and recomposition. 

In the phenomena of life we have perceived a law of adapta- 
tion: a development, or progressive course, across specific or in- 
dividual cycles; the action of an internal finality which groups and 
directs for a time the uncertainties of general conditions. But the 
purpose is perceived only from without, interpreted with reference 
to the needs of the mind which conceives it; and the purely psy- 
chological problem of teleology remains to ascertain whether con- 
sciousness precedes adaptation, or whether it follows and accom- 
panies it. 

In the class of social phenomena there appears, over and above 
an end perceived and desired and a perceptible order, the con- 
sciousness of a plan, the idea of a higher control exceeding the 
limitations of simply biological beings. But the conception of such 
a plan is founded only upon an analogy between our thoughts and 
a thought in the world ; nevertheless it is permissible, since it 
is innate, since it is realised in part by our own efforts, and since 
we ourselves are comprised in this universe. It is the definition of 
the plan, of the desired order, which remains impossible and chimer- 
ical, apart from what we conjecture and imagine concerning our 
own destiny. 

Constant relations, an order, a plan, such, then, would be the 
stages of the philosophical hypothesis. We follow them up to the 
last, in spite of our reservations, when once we have reached this 
critical point where our inductions exceed our data, and the mind 
with difficulty resigns itself to not crossing this indeterminate fron- 
tier which separates verifiable conjecture from that which cannot 
be verified. 




T N China the most ancient mode of recording thought was accom- 
* plished by chieh sheng (|g $g) or "knotted cords," which is 
alluded to by Lao-Tze in his Tao Teh King, ai&ff, 1 (written in 
the sixth century before Christ) as the ancient and venerable, though 
awkward, mode of writing, and also by Confucius in the third 
appendix to the Yih King. 2 

All detailed knowledge of the use of knotted cords in China 
has been entirely lost, but we can easily understand that it was a 
mnemo-technic method of remembering data of various kinds and 
communicating ideas. The same practice prevailed in ancient Peru 
as well as among the islanders of Oceania, and seems to have been 
common all over the globe among the peoples of a primitive civili- 

In South America the knotted cords are called "quippu" and 
some that are still preserved in ethnological collections were used 
to indicate the tribute to be paid to the Incas by the several tribes. 
They consist of woolen threads, the different colors of which repre- 
sent different kinds of produce : corn, wheat, fruits, furs, etc., while 
the number of knots register the amount or measure. 3 

1 See Lao-Tze 's Tao Teh King, Chapter 80. 

3 Section 23. See James Legge's translation in Sacred Books of the East, 
Vol. XVI, p. 385- 

* What can be done with knotted strings is well illustrated by the fact 
that a string alphabet has been invented for the use of the blind in which 
the letters are indicated by form or arrangement. The knots are easily made 


Herodotus informs us that King Darius when fighting the 
Scythians gave his orders to the lonians in the form of a leathern 
thong with sixty knots in it, therehy indicating the number of days 
in which they should expect his return. We thus see that the Per- 
sians employed the same mnemo-technic means that have been dis- 
covered in several South Sea islands as well as in America, and we 
may assume that the ancient Chinese knotted cords (chieh sheng) 
also were in principle the same. 

Knotted cords were replaced by notched bamboo sticks, and the 
incised characters may in olden times have been as primitive as are 
mnemotechnic communications of the American Indians, such as 
prayer-sticks and such other pictorial writings as are still extant. 

* * * 

The invention of writing in the proper sense of the word is 
credited to Ts'ang Hieh (^flU), also called Shih 'Huang ($> Ji), 
the "Record Sovereign" because he is the protector and patron 
saint of history and archival documents. He is said to have lived 
in the twenty-eighth century B. C, and having ascended a mountain 
overlooking the river Loh, he saw a divine tortoise rising from the 
water. It exhibited on its back mysterious tracings of letters which 
"lay bare the permutations of nature to devise a system of written 
records," 6 a report which imputes that he saw the characters of 

It is not impossible that Chinese writing has been introduced 
from ancient Mesopotamia, a theory vigorously advocated by M. 
Terrien de Lacouperie, rejected by many, but, after all, sufficiently 
probable to deserve serious consideration, for we cannot deny that 
many Chinese symbols exhibit a remarkable similarity to the ideo- 
grams of both ancient Babylonia and ancient Egypt, and remember- 
ing the fact that Chinese bottles have been discovered in Egyptian 
tombs and also in Asia minor, we cannot help granting that in 
prehistoric days there must have been more trade, and more travel, 
and a greater exchange of thought than is generally assumed. 

and sufficiently different to be easily deciphered. The Standard Dictionary, 
II, p. 1780, contains an illustration of the string alphabet. 

* Myers's Chinese Reader's Manual, p. 228, I, No. 758. 
the five elements on the tortoise's back. 



We here reproduce from Garrick Mallery's work on Picture 
Writing of the American Indians,' 1 a table of symbols which shows 
the cuneiform signs in three forms; pictorial, hieratic, and cursive, 
the Chinese and the Egyptian in parallel columns. 
























A Comparison of the Cuneiform, Chinese, and Egyptian Systems of Writing. 
The words omitted in the Chinese column of Mr. Mallery's 

''Ann. Rep. of the B. of Ethn., 1888-9, P- 675. Mr. Mallery does not 
state the source from which it is taken. It may be from W. St. Chad, Bos- 
cawen, or M. T. Lacouperie. 


table (God, ear, home) are not less remarkable instances than the 

The word "God" is more similar than it appears if we were 
to judge merely from its external shape. In cuneiform writing as 
well as in Egyptian it is a star, and the Chinese word shih (^) 
shows a horizontal dash and underneath three perpendicular wave 
lines. This seems very different from the Babylonian and Egyptian 
conceptions, but the Chinese character is explained to mean "light 
from the sky" or "celestial manifestation," the dash on top meaning 
"the heavens," and the three vertical lines depict the emanations in 
the form of rays. 

The character for "ear," in its present form J$ (V/t), might 
very well have originated from the Babylonian. The same is true of 
the Chinese character that denotes "field," or "farm land," which 
may very well be used in the sense of "homestead." The character 
t'ien ( ) is in principle the same as the pictorial Babylonian and 
the hieroglyphic Egyptian. 

Further, we have to add theat the Chinese word meaning 
"corpse" is explained as "body lying" and thus resembles the 
Egyptian word for "mummy" which in different senses is repre- 
sented either as a standing or a lying mummy. 

We have to correct a mistake in Mr. Mallery's table ; the word 
"half" in Chinese is not a cross, but either half a tree or the ideo- 
gram "cow" combined with the character "division." A cross 
means "completion" and the complete number of our fingers, viz. 

Whether or not the theory of Lacouperie be tenable, one thing 
is sure, that all three systems of writing, the Babylonian, the Egyp- 
tian, and the Chinese, have begun with pictorial representations of 
the objects which, according to circumstances, were conventionalised 
in different ways. 

The writing material always influences the character of a script. 
Thus, after the invention of brush and paper, the method of writing 
down from top to bottom was naturally retained, but the script 
acquired that peculiar picturesque character of brush dashes which 
it still possesses. 



The hair brush is called mao-pi, or simply pi (bamboo pencil),* 
and tradition states that General Meng Tien was the inventor of 
writing with a brush, a statement which is not impossible but 

kwei. cbi. tsz', aiang, luh, hn, shan, 



strange, for he was the most faithful servant of Shih Hwang Ti, 
the great hater of ancient literature, who on capital punishment 
ordered all the ancient books burned. Shih Hwang was a warlike 
emperor who ruled from 259 until 210 B. C., and for the first time 
(in 222 B. C.) united the entire Chinese empire under one scepter. 
He is the same who erected the great wall, so expensive and at the 
same time so useless, and General Meng Tien was in command of 
the laborers. When the Emperor died, General Meng Tien is said 
to have committed suicide. 8 

We here reproduce a list of ornamental Chinese characters 
which are commonly, and without doubt rightly, assumed to repre- 
sent the most ancient forms of Chinese writing with a brush. 

Boundary (p) 

To revolve ([j) 



To wrap 


* Reproduced from Williams's Middle Kingdom. 

* The character jg pi consists of the radical "bamboo" and the word 
"brush" or "stylus." 

8 See Myers, loc. cit., Nos. 597 and 497. 



River (J|( ) 


Rain (later 

Elephant, Idea(^) 




Wheel, Carriage (*) 

Field (ffl) 






Boy, Child 

Star (g) 









One-half (half 

a tree)(^) 




Q Sun(B) 


Bright (Sun 
and Moon) 

Bright (Moon 
shining in 


; Many 




y Mouth (tt) 


jjj Teeth 




Muscle ( 

Infant, Feeble 

Weak (infant 


Male (muscle working 
in field) (U) 

Complete, ten (-f-) 
Middle (c) 

Below ( T) 

Between (|gj) 

Divide, (A) 

To cut (#) 




Hatred (Crookedness HA 


of heart) (3) 


(Ma/1 v 

Half (Cow divided) 



Justice (my sheep) (||) 



Invert, change ( 


Looking backward, 
To flee before 
enemy (North) 


Beauty (large 

sheep) (g) 



Most of the symbols of the list explain themselves. A "bound- 
ary" is a simple line of enclosure. ''Revolve'' is a curve. The mean- 
ing of the signs "to wrap," "mountain," "water," "river," "rain," 
"horns," "grass," "child," "constellation" or "star," "thread," 
"wheat," "tree," "fruit," "sun," "moon," is obvious enough. The 
symbols "elephant," "bird," "heart" require more imagination ; but 

* This character does not exist in modern Chinese. 
t Not used in modern Chinese. 


the original picture is still recognisable in them. The word "flesh" 
is meant as a slice of meat. "Mouth," "teeth," "eye," are also in- 
tended to depict the objects. The word "muscle" represents the 
upper arm, and in connection with the word "weak" which origi- 
nally means also "infant," it denotes "lack of strength." A char- 
acter consisting of two lines, representing two pieces cut off, means 
"to divide." Later the character "knife," as the instrument by 
which the division is to be made, was added. Crooked roads mean 
"crooked" or "evil," and in combination with the word "heart" we 
have the word "hatred." In the symbol "cow" the horns form the 
most prominent part, the body being reduced to a mere cross. The 
symbol "cow" combined with the symbol "division" means "half." 
The picture of a sheep shows the symbol "horns" on the top while 
the rest is scarcely recognisable. The symbol "sheep" in combi- 
nation with the symbol "mine" represents the character "justice," 
because the ancient Chinese were shepherds, and their main quarrels 
in courts of justice were disputes about the ownership of sheep; 
and their idea of beauty was expressed by "a sheep" that is "great." 
The symbol "middle" is easily understood and so are the symbols 
"below" and "above." The character "gate" is a picture of a 
double doorway, and the character "between" shows a mark between 
the two posts of the gate. The character "sun" or "moon" and a 
picture of a "window" means "bright," for if the moon shines into 
the window it denotes "brightness," and "sun and moon" in their 
combination mean the same, viz., the best light there is in the 
world. The ideogram "moon," if written in a special way, is read 
''evening," and if "moon" is repeated it means "many evenings," 
or simply "many." The earth is represented by a horizontal line 
on which a cross stands, implying that the soil of the earth is 
stable; it is the place on which to take a stand. Two trees mean 
"wood," three trees "forest." If the tree is cut in two, it originally 
denotes "one-half," later on it acquired the meaning "part or par- 
cel," and finally "piece." 

The outline map of a field means "field" or "farm," and lines 
limiting two fields mean "frontier" or "boundary." 

If the character "man," of which only the legs are left, has the 


symbol "two" attached to it, it means the relation which obtains 
between two or several people, viz., "humanity," "humaneness," or 
"kindness." One man or two men turned the other way means "to 
compare." A man upside down means "to invert," "to change." 
One man in his normal position, and the other upside down ac- 
quires the sense of "transformation" or "conversion." One man in 
a normal position and another man looking the other way means 
"north," for the Chinese determine directions by looking south; 
hence, to look backward means "north." The symbol consisting of 
three men means "many." To this symbol is frequently attached the 
character "eye," and thereby it acquires the meaning "many as a 
unit," i. e., "a multitude." 

A pretty instance of Chinese word formation is the word shu 
(%), which means "book" or "treatise," and is composed of the 
characters "brush" and "speak," the idea being that it is a thing 
in which "the brush speaks." 

There are several styles of Chinese script (shu), and we here 
reproduce from Professor Williams's Middle Kingdom (Vol. II, 
p. 594) a table which shows at a glance their similarities and dif- 
ferences. The most old-fashioned style is called "the seal script," 
or, after the name of the inventor, Chuen Shu. The second is the 
official style, or Lieh Shu, used for engrossing documents and com- 
monly considered the most elegant form of writing. The third is 
called the pattern or normal style (Kiai Shu) ; because it preserves 
most clearly the essential character of Chinese writing. The fourth 
is a shorthand and demotic style called cursive script or Hing Shu, 
much used in practical life. It is the most difficult for foreigners to 
read, as many lines are run together, thus obliterating the distinct- 
ness of the original character. The fifth style is called the grass 
script or Tsao Shu. It is almost an approach to the easy hand of 
the Japanese, and its name may be translated "fancy style." Under 
the Sung dynasty a new style was adopted which is practically the 
same as the normal style, only showing more regularity, and it is 

Hing means "to walk," "to run" ; and as a noun the same character 
means "element." 



Sung Fancy Cursive Normal Official 
style style style style style 























running or 


grass or 



(Reproduced from Williams's Middle Kingdom.) 


commonly called Sung Shu which has become the pattern of modern 
Chinese print. 

The writing of Chinese requires eight different kinds of dashes, 
and the word yung (jjt), "eternal," contains all of them. This 
significant character accordingly has become the typical word with 
which Chinese scholars start their calligraphic lessons. 

Dot Hori- Perpen- Hook Dash Sweep Spike Curve 
zontal dicular 


The little mark like a fat upward comma is called dot. Among 
the lines we have a horizontal and a perpendicular. Further there 
is a hook, which latter is added to the perpendicular by joining to 
its lower end a dot line. A dash is a short horizontal line. A taper- 
ing line downward is called a sweep, upward a spike, and a smaller 
sweep in the shape of a big downward comma, stroke. A crooked 
line is called a curve. 


The Chinese are in the habit of propounding their favorite 
notions and beliefs in enumerations. They are so accustomed to 
the mathematical conception of Yang and Yin that they would 
agree with Pythagoras who finds in number the explanation of the 

The Chinese speak of the Hang i, i. e., the two primary forms 
representing the positive and negative principles. Further they 
speak of the two great luminaries, sun and moon ; the two divinities 
presiding over war and peace, the two emperors of antiquity, the 
two first dynasties, viz., the Hsia and Yin ; and the two venerable 
men that hailed the advent of the Chow dynasty, etc. 

The number "three" plays an important part in Chinese enume- 
rations. There are three systems of religion authorised by the 
government: Confucianism, or the system of the Literati (fH ) ; Bud- 



dhism, or the system of Shakya Muni (SI) ; Taoism or the system 
of Lao Tze ( jj|) . There are three kinds of heavenly light : of the 
sun, the moon, and the stars. In Chinese ethics there are three 
forms of obedience: of a subject toward his sovereign, of the son 
toward his father, of a wife toward her husband. There are three 
mental qualities (ft) of a student: application (jsB)> memory (f), 
understanding (^|). There are the three gems worshipped by 
Buddhists, the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. There are 


iree pure ones or precious ones worshipped in the Taoist temples, 

>robably in imitation of the Buddhist trinity. There are three cere- 

lonial rituals ; one in worshipping heavenly spirits, another in wor- 

lipping spirits of the earth, and the third one in worshipping the 

)irits of ancestors. There are three sacrificial animals : the ox, the 

joat, the pig. There are three holy men : Yao, Shun, and Yii. 

^here are three auspicious constellations: the constellation of hap- 

)iness, the constellation of emolument, and the constellation of 



longevity. There are three kinds of abundance that is desirable: 
abundance of good fortune, abundance of years, abundance of sons. 
There are three powers (= /fr) of nature: heaven (5c), earth (tjlj), 
man (A)- There are three regions of existence, the heavens, the 
earth and the waters. There are three degrees of kinship. Fur- 
ther there are three penal sentences: the death penalty, corporeal 
punishment, and imprisonment. There are three tribunals of jus- 
tice: the board of punishments, the court of judicature or appellate 
court, and the censorate or supreme court. There are three forms 
of taxation : land taxation, a service of twenty days labor each year, 
and tithes of the produce. There are three great rivers : the Yellow 
River, the Loh, 'and the I. There are three great river defiles: 
Kwang Tung, the Valley of the Yang Tse Kiang, and the defiles 
of the Si Ling on the Yellow River. There are three primordial 
sovereigns: Fuh Hi, Shen Niing, and Hwang Ti. In addition 
there are innumerable sets of three in the literature of the Confu- 
cianists, the Buddhists, the Taoists, and also in history. 

The number "four" is not less frequent. We have four quad- 
rants and four divisions of the heavens ; the East is the division of 
the azure dragon, the North of the somber warrior, the South of 
the vermillion bird, and the West of the white tiger. There are 
four supernatural creatures considered as endowed with spirituality : 
lin (|) or unicorn, feng (M) or phoenix, kwei (H) or tortoise, 
and lung (ft ) or dragon. The scholar possesses four treasures 
(58 ) : ink ( H ) , paper ( g) , brush (H ) , and ink slab (xSi) ." There 
are four figures which originate by combining the two primordial 
essences in groups of two, the great yang, the small yang, the great 
yin and the small yin. There are four cardinal points and four 
members of the human frame. 

Instances of the number "five" are above all the five blessings 
(E H) : longevity (HO, riches (a), peacefulness (Jj|) and seren- 
ity ( 3|J ) , the love of virtue ( fa #? $* ) , and a happy consummation 
of life (3|- -^). There are five eternal ideals ( &) : humaneness 

11 The Chinese have no ink stand but use a slab upon which they rub 
their ink, taking it as does a painter from a palette. 


28 5 

uprightness (ft), propriety (flf), insight (!?), and faith- 
fulness ( -fg) . There are five elements ( 5 If ) : water, fire, wood, 
metal, earth. There are five cardinal relations among mankind: 
between sovereign and subject (;fj g), between father and son 
( 3 ip. ) , between elder brother and younger brother ( 3j> | ) , be- 
tween husband and wife (J~ ^), between friend and friend (jpj jg). 
There are five genii : of spring, of summer, of mid-year, of autumn, 
and of winter. There are five beasts used for offerings : the ox, the 
goat, the pig, the dog, the fowl. There are five colors: black, red, 
azure, white, yellow. There are five classes of spiritual beings: 







ghosts or disembodied human spirits, spiritual men, immortalised 
beings living in this world, deified spirits who have departed from 
the material world and live in the islands of the blest, and the celes- 
tial gods who enjoy perpetual life in heaven, There are five planets : 
Venus, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, and Saturn. Further the Buddhists 
enumerate five attributes of existence: form, perception, conscious- 
ness, action, and knowledge. There are five degrees of feudal rank, 
five tastes, five notes of harmony in music, five sacred mountains, 
five kinds of charioteering, five colors of clouds, five ancient em- 
perors, five imperial courts, five kinds of mourning, etc., etc. 



The characters which stand for the five blessings, and also the 
five eternal ideals, are naturally the most popular symbols all over 

(After a Tibetan picture.) 


China. They are used for congratulations and are inscribed upon 
wall pendants as ornaments. Among them the characters "longev- 

* Reproduced from Professor De Groot's Religious Systems of China, 
page 60. 



ity" and "blessing" are most used of all. They appear upon the 
decanters of convivial meetings; they are written on the bottom of 
tea cups ; they are wrought into artistic forms of furniture ; they 

Symbols of long life. (Bronze candlestick.) 

ire used for buckles, on pins, on dresses, and as ornaments of every 

* The tortoise drags along the moss that has grown on its back. 



. Blessing is called fu in Chinese, which is an exact homophone 
of fu meaning "bat," and so the five blessings, wu fu, are frequently 
represented by five bats. 

The meaning of the symbol "longevity" is not limited to the 
secular meaning of long life in this world, but is endowed with 


religious signification verging on the idea of immortality among 
Western peoples. 

Ancient traditions tell us that Si Wang Mu, the Royal Mother 
of the West, who lives in the Kwun Lun Mountains, possesses a 


peach-tree bearing fruit but once in three thousand years. From the 
peaches of this tree the elixir of life can be distilled, and this is the 
reason why the peach symbolises longevity. Other symbols of 
longevity are the pine-tree, the crane, and the tortoise.* 

Of enumerations in sets of six we will only mention the six 
accomplishments: intelligence, humanity, holiness, sincerity, mod- 
eration (keeping the middle path), and benignity; further the six 



forms of writing: the seal character, the ancient official style, the 
normal style, the cursive style, the grass style, and the printer's 

There are fewer enumerations of seven than might be ex- 
pected. We mention the seven sages in the bamboo grove, the seven 
precious things (Sapta Ratna) of the Buddhists, the seven primary 

* For special reference see De Groot's Religious Systems of China, pp. 



notes of music, the seven stars of Ursa Major commonly called "the 
dipper," the seven apertures of the head: ears, eyes, nostrils, and 




mouth; the seven luminaries: sun, moon, and the five planets; the 
seven emotions: joy, anger, grief, fear, love, hatred, desire. 


The most important set of eight is the eight kwa or trigrams. 

The figure "nine" is represented as the nine heavens, situated, 
one in the center, and the eight remaining ones in the eight divi- 
sions of the compass. There are further nine degrees of official 
rank, and nine divisions of the Great Plan, an ancient Chinese state 

There are ten canonical books : the Book of Changes, the Book 
of History, the Book of Odes, the Record of Rites, the Ritual of the 
Chow Dynasty, the Decorum Ritual, the Annals of Confucius, the 
Three Commentaries, the Conversations of Confucius (Lun Yii), 


and the Book of Filial Piety. There are ten commandments and ten 
heinous offences. 

Of twelve we have the twelve animals of the duodenary cycle 
called rat, ox, tiger, hare, dragon, serpent, horse, goat, monkey, 
cock, dog, and pig. They preside, each one over a special hour of 
the day and the night and are supposed to exercise an influence 
peculiar to the character of the several animals. There are further 
twelve months, corresponding to the twelve divisions of the ecliptic, 
and the Buddhists speak of the twelve Nidanas or links in the chain 
of causation. 


The figure "twenty-eight" is important as the number of day 
of a lunar month. Accordingly, the heavens are divided into twenty 
eight constellations or stellar mansions, and it is noteworthy tha 
four days in the twenty-eight, corresponding to the Christian Sun 
day, have been signified as resting-days and are denoted by th 
character mi ($j 0) which has been traced to the Persian Mithra 
and proves that, in remote antiquity, Mithraism must have exercisec 
an influence upon Chinese habits. 12 




These enumerations are not accidental and indifferent notions, 
but form the staple thoughts of Chinese ethics. They have beconn 
fundamental principles of Chinese morality and constitute the back 
bone of the convictions of everv half-way educated inhabitant o 

12 See Mr. A. Wylie's article on the subject in the Chinese Recorder 
Foo Chow, June and July numbers, 1871. 

* The deity Wen Ch'ang points upward, indicating that all blessings 
come from heaven. 


China. Whatever their station in life may be, all Chinese people 
know these ideas, they bear them in mind and allow their lives to 
be determined by the conception of the five eternal ideals, the five 
virtues, the five blessings, etc. They recognise in nature the funda- 
mental contrast of Yang and Yin as having originated from the 
great origin and believe that the moral world of social conditions 

The centre contains the character fu "blessing." 

is governed by the same law. Their highest ambition is to fulfil 
all the demands of hsiao, i. e., "filial piety." Scholarship is highly 
respected, and even the lower classes are punctilious in the obser- 
vance of all rules of propriety. 




To the Editor of The Monist. 

In the Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods (Vol. 
I, p. 541) Professor James, the eminent Harvard psychologist, makes the fol- 
lowing positive assertion: 

"In Taine's brilliant book on 'Intelligence,' substitution was for the first 
time named as a cardinal logical function, though of course the facts had al- 
ways been familiar enough." 

Now I should like to put this question to your readers : Are not the 
statements contained in the following sentences what may fairly be called 
"the naming of substitution as a cardinal logical function"? 

"Every conclusion may be regarded as a statement substituted for either 
of its premises, the substitution being justified by the other premises. Nothing 
is relevant to the other premises except what is requisite to justify this sub- 
stitution. Every substitution of one proposition for another must consist in 
the substitution of term for term. Such substitution can be justified only so 
far as the first term represents what is represented by the second." 

These sentences occur in a pamphlet entitled Three Papers on Logis, by 
C. S. Peirce, which was, as I am informed, widely distributed in the summer 
of 1867. The same papers were also printed early in 1868 in Vol. VII of the 
Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, pp. 250 to 298, 
as having been presented to that society in March, April, and May, 1867. 
Taine's work De Intelligence is dated, in its preface, December, 1869. 

Since Ockham, Hobbes, and Leibnitz, who all regarded mind from the 
same general standpoint as Taine, like him, spoke of thoughts as signs sub- 
stituted for things and for other signs, the question as to whether or not 
any great step in logic was made in thus regarding substitution as the "car- 
dinal function," is one of too large a scope to be here entered upon ; but I 
subjoin a few more sentences from the papers referred to to show that the 
conception was not left undeveloped by Mr. Peirce. 


"The objects of the understanding, considered as representations, are 
symbols, that is, signs that are at least potentially general. But the rules of 
logic hold good of any symbols, of those that are written or spoken, as well 
as of those that are thought." 

"Symbols which directly determine only their imputed qualities are but 
sums of marks, or terms; 

"Symbols which further independently determine their objects by means 
of other term or terms, and thus, expressing their own objective validity, be- 
come capable of truth or falsehood, are propositions; 

"Symbols which still further independently determine their interpretants, 
and thus the minds to which they appeal, by premising a proposition or 
propositions which such a mind is to admit, are arguments." 

Mr. Peirce seems to have regarded it as essential to an argument that 
it should appeal to the interpreting mind to judge of it independently. Thus, 
he says, "an argument will here denote a body of premises considered as 
such," for it must distinctly show what the interpretation of the premises 
is expected to be, yet, in so far as the argument is a rational appeal, the con- 
clusion which embodies this interpretation is not put as an assertion, but is 
only formulated and submitted to the interpreting mind to judge. 

Mr. Peirce has always been careful to exclude from logic, matter that 
he considers psychological, and therefore it is not surprising that he did not 
explain to what mind the appeal of the argument is addressed when one 
reasons with oneself. But it would seem to be plain from the above extracts, 
and is rendered perfectly clear in the papers referred to, that he not only 
considered all logical thought as an operation upon symbols consisting in 
substitution, but that he undertook to demonstrate this and to show how the 
same is true. 

I may add that Peirce does not in the papers referred to say that sub- 
stitution, which he makes the one hinge of all reasoning, is an indecomposable 
operation, and that in Baldwin's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, 
Article "Symbolic Logic," he shows that no operation of substitution is 
valid unless the operations of insertion and subsequent omission into which 
it can be resolved are both valid. 



The present rector of the University of Munich, Professor Ferdinand 
-indemann, has devoted his official rectorate lecture to the important subject 
>f the significance of mathematics in the higher schools. At present the cur- 
riculum of the German gymnasia is based upon the principle that education 
insists first of all in a knowledge of classical philology and history. Pro- 


fessor Lindemann is fully convinced that a knowledge of Greek thought is 
indispensable for any educated man. But we must not forget that the lead- 
ing philosopher of ancient Greece wrote over his school the significant words 

and Melanchthon quotes this famous maxim of Plato in his preface to the 
Latin edition of Euclid (Basel, 1537). How different is the classical con- 
ception from the modern treatment which mathematics receives ! It is now 
considered dry, monotonous and tedious, and the mathematician is generally 
eschewed, being stigmatised by the saying, mathematicus non est collega, "the 
mathematician is unsocial." 

In order to point out the value of carefully elaborated mathematical 
exercises, Professor Lindemann quotes Helmholtz as saying, "In my judg- 
ment, a true comprehension of mathematics is attained by working out 
mathematical propositions on paper and accurately revising each statement 
that is given. When one simply thinks out something in his mind, there is 
always a possibility of error, of disregarding some important term which he 
will never notice until he writes it down. I consider this most excellent 
practice in order to arrive at really clear logical thought, and to understand 
mathematics. For if students do not work out their mathematics and write 
it down they will never positively understand it." 

How little consideration is given mathematics among leading experts on 
ancient and classical times, appears from Mommsen's famous dictum to which 
he gave utterance in his speech before the Royal Academy of Sciences, Berlin, 
in 1884. "We shall, furthermore, continue to call the ideal culture of man- 
kind in good Latin, humanity ; and the man who would in time replace Homer 
by the doctrines of conic sections, in good Greek, banausic." In answer, 
Professor Lindemann says, "Mommsen misunderstands the facts. We agree 
with him perfectly that Greek reflection and Roman thought continue to 
sway even to-day, consciously and unconsciously, our humanistic culture, and 
we too designate the ideal of human civilisation as humanism, but this ideal 
comprehends not only the development of art, politics, literature and history, 
but of the exact sciences as well. The innumerable theorems of conic sections 
certainly consitute mathematics as little as the recitation of Homeric songs 
can pass for classical scholarship. But if elements of the theory of conic 
sections have lately been introduced into the program of our higher schools, 
this step has an ulterior purpose. The treatment of conic sections in meth- 
ods of analytical geometry familiarises the student with an instance of the 
general laws of interdependence ; it is the general idea of functions as here 
introduced in geometrical form, which has directed and controlled the devel- 
opment of mathematics during these latter centuries, and upon which rest the 
great discoveries of Newton and Leibnitz. 


Professor Lindemann further calls attention to the application of mathe- 
matics in technical occupations and sciences, especially in astronomy, physics, 
and of late even in chemistry. He points out that the only road to success 
in the sciences in modern times passes through the gate of higher mathe- 
matics, and mentions in connection therewith such names as Kepler, Newton, 
Comte, Mayer, Helmholtz, Clifford, Hertz, Mach, Pearson, Poincare, and 

Wilamovitz has made progress in his method of teaching the classics by 
introducing bits of Euclid in his textbooks ; but, argues Professor Lindemann, 
will a classical philologist be able to explain the subject-matter of the 
seemingly most simple statements of mathematics referring to definitions, 
axioms, etc.? Do the philologists have an idea of the vast literature which 
of late has grown out of the discussion of these simple propositions, since 
Bolyai, Lobatchevsky, and Gauss? There are quite a number of mathematical 
textbooks which still retain the false ground that it is possible to improve 
upon Euclid, and in spite of the discussions and lectures held at almost every 
University on the subject, they continue to offer definitions and even demon- 
strations which long since have been shown to be insufficient. 

Professor Lindemann declares that mathematical instruction in gymnasia, 
corresponding in America to undergraduate courses in college and university, 
should not cover all the details of mathematical branches, but should be so 
arranged as to enable the student to gain a proper comprehension of the 
grand edifice of mathematics and its solid foundation. Teachers of mathe- 
matics should be equipped to satisfy these conditions and should be familiar 
with the methods by which the science of mathematics has been worked out. 
They should know its history, not only in general, but some of its main prob- 
lems ; for instance, how mankind happened to be interested in the trisection 
of the angle and the squaring of the circle. He should have a command of the 
basic ideas of analytic mechanics ; should at least have become acquainted 
with the exact execution of certain experiments, such as the motion of the 
pendulum ; and should also have clear ideas concerning the field of applied 
mathematics and its significance in practical life. It is these aims that the 
leading mathematicians have had in mind since the beginning of the last 



While other nations are waging wars, causing loss of life, property, 
and money, the United States is passing through industrial struggles which 
are not less expensive. The anthracite strike commission estimated the loss 
of the last strike at one hundred million dollars. Mr. Frank Julian Warne, 


Ph. D., who is correspondent for the Philadelphia Ledger and contributor to 
The Outlook, and who was in the Pennsylvania coal fields in 1900 and 1902, 
has published his views of this great struggle, and it may be surprising to 
many that he regards the industrial phase of the strike as a mere incident 
and insists that it is above all a struggle between the Slavs and the Saxons. 
He has published his views in a book entitled The Slav Invasion and the Mine 
Workers, a Study in Immigration, (J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 
$1.00 net,) and suggests at the end of the book the advisability of the amend- 
ment of our immigration laws. His view may be onesided but it contains 
much valuable information, presented by an impartial observer. It is char- 
acterised in the Preface as follows : 

"This book shows how the competition of the so-called Slav races, in- 
cluding the Italian, for the places in and about the hard-coal mines of the 
English-speaking mine-workers the Irish, English, Welsh, Germans, Scotch, 
etc. has resulted in a conflict between these two distinct groups for in- 
dustrial supremacy in hard-coal mining, and how this is forcing the English- 
speaking nationalities out of this industry and out of that section. The 
strikes of 1900 and 1902 were mere surface indications of the wide-spread in- 
dustrial unrest which naturally accompanies this struggle; they should be 
regarded as mere episodes in this great conflict of races." 

Mr. Warne has great faith in the United Mine Workers of America, and 
he believes that though the Union may pass away, it has accomplished a 
work that otherwise might have seriously endangered the healthy develop- 
ment of the nation. The United States has shown an enormous power of 
assimilation, but the Slavs are so different from the Teutons, who really 
give character to our nation, that the usual methods proved insufficient. Mr. 
Warne says: 

"The power of assimilation in Northeastern Pennsylvania is being weak- 
ened by the heavy task thrust upon it, and unless aid comes from other 
sources it may be questioned whether American ideals and institutions are 
to be equal to the work of making the Slav immigrant into an American citi- 
zen. The one bright ray of hope lighting up the uncertain future is shed from 
the activity in the coal-fields of the United Mine Workers of America. With 
this organisation, to a much greater degree than most of us realise, rests the 
solution of many of the problems presented in the hard-coal producing com- 
munities. Its power of uniting the mine-workers of all nationalities and 
creeds and tongues of bringing together the Slav and the English-speaking 
employees on the common ground of industrial self-interest has only recently 
been demonstrated. Through this it is breaking down the strong racial ties 
which until its entrance into the region kept the two groups apart. In brief, 
this organisation is socialising the heterogeneous mass." 

There are three causes which have primarily contributed to the ultimate 


failure of the trades union movement in the anthracite coal region. Thev 
are: (i) the inability to control all the workers in the three several fields; 
(2) the railway ownership of the mines ; and (3) the "Molly Maguires." 

The first two causes are sufficiently well known and stand in need of no 
further comment. The "Molly Maguires" were a secret oath-bound organi- 
sation which flourished in the regions from 1866 to 1876. Their history is 
described by Mr. Warne as follows : 

"The 'Molly Maguires' were principally Irish immigrants, who brought 
the society with them from Ireland, where it had been formed as the An- 
cient Order of Hibernians, under Robert Emmet, for the purpose of freeing 
their native land from the British control. None but Catholics were eligible 
to membership, and, despite the opposition of the Catholic Church and its 
priests in the anthracite region, the society continued in existence nearly ten 
years with the worst possible elements opposed to law and order in control. 
Its secret meetings, which planned murder and incendiarism, were conducted 
with solemn religious rites, and its vengeance seemed to be directed mainly 
against mine superintendents and bosses. A number of murders of such 
officials was traced to the society, but in every case alibis would be sworn to 
in the trial by other members of the society, and convictions were rare. So 
daring did they become, and so atrocious were the crimes committed, that 
detectives were employed to ferret out the criminals. One of these was John 
McParlan, an Irishman and a Catholic, who in 1873 succeeded in becoming 
a member of the society under the name of James McKenna. He played his 
part so well that he continued a member for three years before his real pur- 
pose was discovered and he was forced to flee. He had gained the confidence 
of the leaders, however, and had become secretary of the Shenandoah branch 
of the society. The evidence of the operations of the society he was thus 
able to furnish, led to the arrest of seventy members. With his mass of un- 
disputed testimony, and through some of the prisoners turning State's evi- 
dence, twelve members of the society were convicted of murder in the first 
degree, four of murder in the second degree, four of being accessory to 
murder, and six of perjury." 

Mr. Warne fully appreciates the work of the United Mine Workers of 
America in breaking down the inherited sources of separation and binding 
the heretofore antagonistic groups and races into a new relation: 

"The racial and religious and social forces which heretofore tended 
to divide the mine-workers into innumerable groups antagonistic one to the 
other are being bridged over by the much more powerful force of industrial 

Mr. Warne describes the meeting which was called by President Roose- 
velt on October i, 1902, in which the miners were represented as well as the 
operators. While Mr. Mitchell disclaimed the responsibility for the terrible 


state of affairs and suggested that the questions in dispute between the mine- 
workers and the operators be submitted to a tribunal to be appointed by the 
President of the United States, Mr. Baer accused the unions of interference 
with their competitors, the "scab" element. He said : 

"There are from fifteen to twenty thousand men at work mining and 
preparing coal. They are abused, assaulted, injured, and maltreated by the 
United Mine Workers. They can only work under the protection of armed 
guards. Thousands of other workmen are deterred from working by the 
intimidation, violence, and crimes inaugurated by the United Mine Workers, 
over whom John Mitchell, whom you invited to meet you, is chief. I need 
not picture the daily crimes committed by the members of this organisation." 

In Mr. Warne's opinion the danger of further trouble will continue so 
long as the Slavic immigration is not stopped. At present, however, immi- 
gration continues, and the Slav element is increasing rapidly. 

"In politics the Slavs are already a facto'r that must be reckoned with. 
They are becoming naturalised in an ever-increasing number. In Schuylkill 
County they are rushing into the naturalisation courts at the rate of sixty a 

Yet, while Mr. Warne points out the danger and the trouble which is still 
in sight, he is not blind to the fact that the final solution of the problem must 
come through the education of the Slavs, for he says : 

"Yesterday the Slav was a pauper immigrant; to-day he is what the 
English, Welsh, Irish, and German miner was a quarter of a century ago 
on the way to becoming an American citizen. What sort of a citizen he may 
be will depend upon the influences that are brought to bear upon him. It 
is too early to judge him finally; certainly he should not be judged too harshly, 
especially as he has shown himself adaptable. But we may not blink the fact 
that the Slav offers at present a problem of much complexity and danger." 

"All children of Slav parentage and the Slav races are very prolific 
do not attend the parochial schools. Many of them are in regular attendance 
at the public schools, and in general they are diligent and painstaking stu- 
dents. Invariably one hears good reports of them from teachers and super- 
intendents in fact, not a few public school teachers report the Slav children 
to be more proficient and in many ways more progressive in their studies 
than children of the English-speaking races. Under the public school system 
many of the Slav children are being trained into good American citizens. 
This educational force is, perhaps, the one bright promise lighting up the 
uncertain future." 


VORTRAGE UBER DIE DESZEDENZTHEORiE. Gehalten an der Universitat zu Frei- 
burg im Breisgau von August Weismann. Zweite, verbesserte Auflage 
2 Vols. in i. Jena: Gustav Fischer. 1904. Pp. xiii, 340; v, 344. 

Professor Weismann's Theory of Descent, which is a carefully revised 
report of lectures actually delivered at the University of Freiburg i. B., is 
intended by its distinguished author to be a resume of his life's work, and 
we are glad to notice that within a short time it has already reached the 
second edition. He calls it his Hauptergebnisse, the chief results of his 
labors, and it constitutes a condensed statement of his theory on heredity. 

Professor Weismann was one of the first among the naturalists of Ger- 
many to indorse Darwin's views, for which he made a strong plea in his 
inaugural address in 1867; but he thought at the time that Darwin's theories 
could be enlarged and deepened, and so he worked out his own theory of 
selection, in which he insisted on the significance of the selection that takes 
place in the domain of germs. He may be accused of exaggerating the im- 
portance of this principle, and of one-sidedness in deriving from it all his 
explanations. But, he answers, one might as well accuse physicists of one- 
sidedness when they claim that the law of gravitation is possessed of uni- 
versality. He says : 

"In this application of the principle of selection to all stages of living 
units, lies the nucleus of my views. To this thought all these lectures lead, 
and I am convinced that it constitutes the import of this book. It will last 
even if everything else in the work should prove temporary." In another place 
he says: "In spite of many contradictions, I take the fundamental ideas of 
my views to be right, and among them are the propositions of the existence 
of the determining units of life called determinants, and their combination 
into ids. Upon the doctrine of determinants rests the theory of germinal 
selection; and, according to my conviction, without this, the great thought 
as to the guidance of the transformation process of the forms of life through 
selection, by discarding the unfit and by favoring the better adapted, will 
remain a mere torso, a tree without roots." 


Whatever may be just in the objection of exaggeration and one-sidedness 
that is made to Professor Weismann's theory of germinal selection, even 
his adversaries must admit that he has done good work, and that his investi- 
gations have contributed considerably to the progress of our comprehension 
of the theory of evolution. If we consider all the replies that have been 
made to Weismann, and if we consider, too, the innumerable new facts brought 
to light in controversy, partly by himself and partly by his adversaries in 
their anxiety to refute him, we may fairly say, even from the standpoint of 
his severest opponents, that the impulse which he has given to science is 

Within the last two decades biological science has penetrated more deeply 
into the mysteries of life than ever before, and at this period, Weismann has 
been the moving spirit, eliciting new data and utilising everything to its best 
advantage. Naegeli proposed his theory of the idioplasm that substance 
which determines the form of a being. Professor Weismann developed this 
idea by entering into details and showing that such idioplasms should not be 
sought (as Naegeli wanted) in the body of the whole cell, but in the nucleus 
which contained all the determinants for the structure of the organism, 
called by Weismann Anlagesubstans, a word which has caused translators 
much trouble, and which we will briefly define as the substance which con- 
tains a disposition of the organism. Every cell contains its idioplasm which 
was discovered in a colorable substance, whence the terms chromatin and 
chromosome. Professor Weismann calls the idioplasm of the germ cell, germ 
plasm, and any complex of germ plasm which forms a biological unit he 
calls an "id." Further, chromosomes that contain several ids he calls 
"idants," the existence of which, although invisible on account of the small- 
ness of the germs, Professor Weismann deems established on account of 
his observations of the salamander. 

From Professor Roux's investigations in regard to the struggle of the 
parts, we became familiar with the existence of the germ plasm, which is, 
as it were, a special substance of heredity. Roux discovered it in the chromo- 
some and traced its continuity through generations. We know now the 
potential immortality which single cells and germ cells possess in contrast to 
all higher forms of life. We have observed the mitotic division of the nu- 
cleus and the actions of the centersphere which constitutes that marvelous 
organ of division of the cell and allows us to look deeper into the unfathom- 
able mystery of the minute and complicated details in the structure of living 

How much more advanced are our views now as to fecundation and the 
details of that two-fold process, propagation and amphimixis ; that is, the 
mixture which takes place in the fusion of male and female germs. Further, 
we have new facts as to the phenomena of growth and the significant reduc- 


tion of heredity, units of which according to Professor Weismann lead to 
an abandonment of Lamarck's principle of selection and point out that ulti- 
mately selection is a selection of germs. 

Although the present work is a defence of Professor Weismann's theory 
of germinal selection, the nineteen lectures which it contains are by no means 
polemical. He has avoided all personal expostulations with his adversaries, 
and has limited himself to plain objective statements of differences. He has 
not burdened his book with all details of biological facts, because he in- 
tended it to be a book to be read, and not an encyclopedia for reference. In 
spite of his modest intentions, however, the work possesses the stately size 
of 684 pages, with numerable illustrations in the text, besides colored tables 
in the Appendix. It is not Weismannism, but an exposition of the theory of 
descent, which presents each link of the argument in a complete yet popular 
form from the standpoint of Weismann, who feels confident that if we have 
to explain the teleology of nature without falling back upon the assumption 
of teleological forces, his method is the only way to success. 

P. c. 

ley Hall. New York: Appleton & Co. 1904. 2 Vols. Pp. xx, 589, 

Dr. G. Stanley Hall, the President of Clark University, is rightly deemed 
one of the foremost authorities on psychology, and the present work in two 
stately octavo volumes deals with the practical problems of adolescence in 
its varsious aspects, always keeping in mind the need of the teacher, the edu- 
cator, and also the parent. It is scarcely possible to exhaust this important 
book in one review, and we do not mean to attempt it here. We venture 
only to characterise its contents and thus allow our reader to form a judge- 
ment of his own. In one passage of the preface the author says: 

"The book attempts a pretty full survey of pedagogic matter and method 
for the age treated, and also, to some extent, for earlier and later years. To 
motor education, grouped under four great divisions, and will-training, one 
of the longest chapters (III) is devoted. The last part of Chapter XV and 
Chapter XVI treats of the pedagogy of the English literature and language, 
history, drawing, normal and high schools, colleges and universities, and phi- 
losophy, and Chapter XII is devoted to that of nature and the sciences most 
commonly taught. Menstruation and the education of girls occupies two 
chapters (VII and XVII), hygiene, crime, and secret vice one each (IV, V, 
VI), social and religious training have each a chapter (XV and XIV, respect- 
ively), and the education of the heart is described not only in XI, but in 
XV, XII, and elsewhere." 


The psychology underlying Hall's investigations will be treated in a 
forthcoming work which we may expect to be as thorough as his Adolescence, 
in Chapter X of which, however, he offers a statement of his psychological 
views. He takes decided stand against those psychologists of both the past 
and present time whose interest in man's fate after death almost obliterates 
the interest in man's soul in the past. In fact this is the main burden of 
Dr. Hall's message to the psychological world, that the genesis of the soul 
can teach us more than the vague speculations as to its ultimate destiny, and 
so he insists that his book "embodies a new idea of profound scientific and 
practical importance." 

Dr. Hall's description of the nature of the soul is as follows: 
"The psyche is a quantum and direction of vital energy, the processes of 
which most need exploration and description, ordering and directing. By 
looking inward, we see for the most part only the topmost twigs of the 
buried tree of mind. The real ego is a spark struck off from the central 
source of all being, freighted with meanings that, could we interpret them, 
would give us the salient facts of its development history. Its essence is 
its processes of becoming. It is not a fixed, abiding thing, but grew out of 
antecedent soul states as different from its present forms as protoplasm is 
from the mature body. It tends to vary constantly and to depart indefinitely 
from what it is at any given moment." 

"The soul is a product of heredity. As such, it has been hammered, 
molded, shocked, and worked by the stern law of labor and suffering into 
its present crude form. It is covered with scars and wounds not yet healed. 
It is still in the rough, and patchworky, full of contradictions, although the 
most marvelous of all the products of nature. Where most educated and 
polished externally, it still has inner veins where barbaric and animal im- 
pulses are felt. Every individual soul is marked by limitations, defects, and 
arrests, often beside traits of marvelous beauty and virtue. None are com- 
plete, perfect, typical. Collective soul, however, is a sensorium of wondrous 
subtlety that reflects in its multipersonal facets most, perhaps all, that has 
been in the world." 

As to the underlying philosophy of his methods, he says : 
"It may be roughly characterised as in some sense a new and higher 
monism and an evolutionism more evolved, with a method which has already 
yielded some promising results hitherto unattained and a program of far 
more work yet to be done, which is little in harmony with the complacent 
sense of finality and completeness so often manifest. From this standpoint 
it becomes plain how gross have been the errors in both conceiving and prac- 
tically training the soul, which are due to the inexpugnable and all-dominant 
interest in its future state and the insistent and, to our thinking, not only 
unscientific but almost abnormal aversion to consider its past. This geneto- 


phobia pervades, consciously or often unconsciously, much of the best ancient 
and contemporary philosophical and theological thought, and is one of the 
greatest and most inveterate obstacles to a truly scientific psychology. The 
problem of the nature of the soul has also rarely, save in forms of material- 
ism now generally discarded, been separated from that of a future life, has 
led to a horror of materialism that is almost misophobia, and has betrayed 
many able professors to take an attitude toward genetic psychology like that 
of Agassiz toward evolution." 

It is interesting to read Dr. Hall's views on Christianity in its relation 
to psychology: 

"Christianity has shown little interest in the past of the soul, save for that 
of its founder and in order to account for sin. Its emphasis on personal im- 
mortality gave the soul immense and unprecedented dignity, but focused 
attention and endeavor upon its future. Even the traducianism of Tertullian, 
who taught that the soul was in some sense hereditary and had a somatic 
continuity with previous generations back to Adam, found little vogue, help- 
ful as it was in explaining the mystery of transmitted sin and guilt, and was 
twice condemned as a heresy, although Luther seems to have held it. Some 
form of creationism, or the view that at a certain age of the embryo a newly 
and miraculously made soul joined the body ab extra, has been the prevailing 
one. The soul of the natural man is tainted, corrupt, and children depraved 
perhaps totally at birth, and the supreme work of life is to save it from 
eternal woe." 

"The ethical value of the idea of a future life of rewards and punish- 
ments has, of course, been incalculable. If it has brought in cosmo-heteron- 
ymous motives of morality unknown to the Stoics and disallowed by Kant; 
if it has sometimes engendered a transcendental selfishness that may become 
gross, and in neurotic ages, races, or persons, favored fears and anxieties 
that were hysterical ; if formal, external, and even mechanical ways and means 
of salvation have often been relied on all these things concern us here only 
as products and illustrations of the evils of a too exclusive interest in the 
soul's future, which is, in fact, still unknowable save to faith, and of ex- 
cessive neglect of its past, which is really now increasingly accessible and 
which is proverbially the best means of judging of its future." 

Psychologists know Dr. Hall as a strictly scientific and conservative man, 
and so it will be interesting to learn his views on the New Thought move- 
ment and all that is concerned with it. Here is a passage both of apprecia- 
tion and criticism of the significance of the Society for Psychical Research, 
and it will be noticed that the professors alluded to are portrayed so minutely 
that no one can be in doubt about their identity: 

"One striking example of the havoc which this lust to pierce the secrets 
of the future makes with science is seen in the English Psychic Research 


Society. It has collected masses of precious and hitherto neglected border- 
land phenomena between waking and sleep, sanity and insanity, on trancoidal 
states, automatisms of body and mind, illusions, hypnotism, etc. But almost 
the sole interest of this large and cultured society in these data is what con- 
tribution they make to what its able leader calls the most insistent question 
of the human heart, If a man die, shall he live again? Is there a land of 
disembodied spirits, and can communication be established and demonstrated 
between them and us? Possession, apparitions, phantoms of the dead, mes- 
sages from the ghost world, or transcendental as well as mundane telepathy, 
and in general an inductive demonstration of a survival of the soul after 
death, are thus the themes or conclusions, directly or indirectly, inspiring all 
this work. Now the folly and pathos of all this is that every fact and group 
of facts relied on point for their explanation directly and only to the past of 
the individual or the race and not to the future, to the ab- and sub- and not 
to the super-normal, or perhaps to the body even more than to the spirit. 
Greatly indebted as our guild is for facts, suggestive apercus, and new in- 
terests to these students, their service is, as I have elsewhere tried to point 
out in some detail, not unlike that of the alchemists who sought the elixir 
of life for chemistry, of astrologists in quest of the influence of the stars on 
human life for astronomy, and just as the desire to locate heaven and faith 
in planetary influences and modes of attaining physical immortality had to 
be cast out of these fields before science could really do its great work in 
them, so similar purgation must be made here. 

"How profoundly contemporary psychologists and philosophers of the 
highest academic rank, even those who shrink from all such extreme con- 
clusions, are influenced by this bias, consciously or unconsciously, in the 
deeper motivations of their work, its direction, methods, and conclusions, 
we see on every hand. One professor of great learning and acumen has 
been apparently almost unpivoted by the prolonged and acute study of the 
revelations of a noted trance medium, which he is convinced are from rela- 
tives in the spirit world. Another profound and acute leader of American 
metaphysical thought attains as his consummate conclusion the conviction of 
an eternal world of many monadic minds or selves, in a republic or city of 
God, the free members of which control the natural world and are the sources 
of all its law. The supreme fact in his world is 'the eternal reality of the 
individual.' Creation itself is not an event, but a symbol, and these personal 
spirits never fully and completely enter the real world, for they are out of 
time and of the chain of causality. Another of no less power and eminence 
makes the goal of philosophy the demonstration of an individuality deeper, 
more permanent, and real than that of persons as they appear to us, because 
knowledge and love are stronger than life, and so, if our nature is not a lie, 
the actuality of our dead friends transcends sense. Such instances might be 


multiplied. The great majority of people, expert as well as lay, think and 
speak of soul in the future tense, and to very few does the word suggest any 
connotation with the past. Ask the very man on the street what he thinks of 
the soul, and he assumes that you speak of another life or of preparation 
for it." 

THE SOCIALIZATION OF HUMANITY. A System of Monistic Philosophy. By 
Charles Kendall Franklin. Chicago: Charles H. Kerr & Company, 
1904. Pp. x, 481. 

Mr. Franklin says in the Preface : 

"The object of this investigation is to trace physical, organic, and social 
phenomena to their sources in order to discover their laws, so that the sub- 
sequent expenditure of energy in nature, life, mind, and society may be de- 
termined for human welfare. It will necessitate reviewing all of the great con- 
cepts of the race, matter, motion, life, mind, and society, and will result in 
an attempt at a complete orientation of the race and the establishment of the 
principles which will lead to the democratisation and socialisation of human- 
ity. The magnitude of the undertaking need not deter us, for it is by at- 
tempting the impossible that we accomplish what we are capable of." 

The author attaches great significance to what naturalists would call 
uniformity, as it appears first of all in the phenomena of chemistry. He 

"The spectrum analysis shows that all identical substances, not only here 
on earth, but in the heavenly bodies throughout the visible universe, are 
identical in composition. The law of definite proportions in chemistry shows 
that all identical chemical compounds are the same in composition. When- 
ever a substance is produced, it is but a repetition of all other substances 
of a like kind. Wherever a chemical compound is reproduced, it is a repe- 
tition of all identical compounds, but owing to external energies being differ- 
ent there are some slight variations." 

While in plant life and in the animal kingdom the variations are greater 
than in the domain of chemistry, still we find there too the selfsame law of 
repetition which does seem to dominate all nature. Bearing in mind this 
law of repetition, Mr. Franklin discusses the origin of life; the physics of 
the senses and the intellect; the chemistry of the senses, the emotions and 
the will; animal mechanics; realism and idealism; naturalism versus super- 
naturalism, and the expenditure of energy controlled by mind. In Chapters 
19 and 20 our author forestalls criticisms that might be made to his system, 
and in Chapter 21 offers his applications and conclusions. 

His monism is expressed on page 237 in these words: 

"All nature is one. We can interpret all nature in terms of our life, 
and our life in terms of nature; thus we are akin to everything and every- 


thing is akin to us. This is monism. And nature, including everything, is 
due to the unversal process of the eternal adjustment and readjustment of 
the radiant and gravitant energies constituting the universe." 

The most important application of his system lies in the domain of social 
ethics. Mr. Franklin says : 

"At vast intervals of time in the history of the race there have occurred 
great epochs of improvement in civilisation with prophecies of a perfect exist- 
ence yet to come. In the East, Brahminism was followed by Buddhism with 
a promise of Nirvana; in the West, Judaism was followed by Christianity 
with a promise of heaven. It is this perfect existence, dreamed of by the 
race since its beginning, the socialisation of man, that we enter upon to-day. 
And the step we take, whether it be large or small, is left to the world to 

DIE LEBENSWUNDER. Gemeinverstandliche Studien iiber biologische Philo- 
sophic. Erganzungsband zu dem Buche iiber die Weltrathsel. By 
Ernst Haeckel, Professor in the University of Jena. Stuttgart : Alfred 
Kroner. 1904. Pp. xii, 567. Price, 9 marks. 

THE WONDERS OF LIFE. A Popular Study of Biological Philosophy. Supple- 
mentary Volume to "The Riddle of the Universe." By Ernst Haeckel. 
Translated by Joseph McCabe. London: Watts & Co. 1904. Pp. xiv, 
501. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1905. Pp-48s. Price $1.50 net. 
Our indefatigable Haeckel has published another book of 567 pages de- 
voted to the fascinating subject of the miracle of life. Professor Haeckel 
had declared that his Riddle of the Universe should be his last writing, but 
having inquiries concerning many statements made in it, he feels that an an- 
swer is due his many admirers as to his position concerning the one and only 
miracle of this world, to the solution of which the science of biology is de- 
voted. The biological studies of the present volume are intended as a popular 
treatment of the subject, and they make a fascinating writing indeed. They 
are treated in six parts and twenty chapters which, after the laudable prac- 
tice of our ingenious author, are preceded by brief summaries so as to en- 
able any one of his readers to look up those points in which he would be 
specially interested. The book abounds in tables and is supplied with a good 
index. The author would gladly have added illustrations which in some 
parts will be sadly missed by many readers, but he did not yield to the temp- 
tation of satisfying this natural craving, for fear that the book would become 
too expensive and be beyond the reach of the large masses for whose in- 
formation it is intended. In every line of the book we feel the joy of work 
which has animated the strenuous Professor in all his literary labors, and it 
seems that even his adversaries will find it both profitable and pleasant read- 


Haeckel is so popular that Watts & Co., the English publishers of his 
Riddle of the Universe and The Evolution of Life have engaged Mr. Joseph 
McCabe to translate this new work under the title, The Wonders of Life; a 
Popular Study of Biological Philosophy. The book forms a stately volume 
of 500 pages and the translation is well done. 

The American edition is published by Harper. I 

EUCLID'S PARALLEL POSTULATE: Its Nature, Validity, and Place in Geometrical 
Systems. By John William Withers. Chicago : The Open Court Pub- 
lishing Company. 1905. Pp. vi, 192. 

Mr. Withers, Principal of the Yeatman High School of St. Louis, Mo., 
has taken his Doctor's degree on the thesis "Euclid's Parallel Postulate," 
and its significance for other systems of hyperspace than is known to us in 
our tri-dimensional world. The book is scholarly and the arguments are sober. 
Dr. Withers begins with an historical exposition of his problem, relating 
the difficulties discovered in the parallel postulate and the several methods 
of disposing of it, one main result being the discovery and development of 
non-Euclidean systems. He explains the nature of the problem and its 
philosophical bearings. He then discusses the psychology of the parallel 
postulate, comparing it to its kindred conceptions. Finally he treats of its 
validity which is not a priori necessary, but most convenient. He says : 

"The world, as our actual experience reveals it, is certainly tri-dimen- 
sional; judged by the same standard, it is also Euclidean. If, then, only one 
variety of tri-dimensional space is possible, if non-Euclidean tri-dimensional 
geometry really demands a fourth dimension, the so-called non-Euclidean 
spaces are in reality not spaces at all, for they are not self-dependent total- 
ities. It is not, then, a question as to whether non-Euclidean geometries are 
possible, but a question as to whether non-Euclidean tri-dimensional spaces 
are possible. It is, of course, possible to construct such geometries by making 
use of the idea of a fourth dimension, just as we ordinarily build up our 
plane geometry by frequently referring to figures which are only possible 
in a third dimension; but this, of course, is very different from establishing 
the possibility of non-Euclidean tri-dimensional spaces. 

"The question, then, simply reduces to this : Are tri-dimensional space- 
worlds rationally possible whose internal relations considered as totalities 
are essentially different from each other? And it is answered by showing 
that the geometries of such spaces can be constructed without appealing to 
a fourth dimension. This can be done. As in the case of two-dimensional 
spaces, we have here also all the conditions necessary to render such geom- 
etries possible. Indeed, the most interesting and significant feature of non- 
Euclidean solid geometries lies in the fact that they are just as independent 
of a fourth dimension as is Euclid itself. There are, to be sure, certain facts 


in all these geometries that make us wish sometimes for a fourth dimension 
and the power of moving into it, but they do not necessarily imply this dimen- 
sion. The simple principle of congruence fails, for example, if we attempt to 
apply it directly in proving the equality of two Euclidean pyramids whose 
corresponding parts are mutually equal but arranged in reverse order. The 
analogous theorem in plane geometry is proved by obverting one of the 
triangles in the third dimension. Were there a fourth dimension and had 
we the power of moving into it, it is conceivable that this might also be 
done for the pyramids. What would happen is simply this : By obverting one 
of the pyramids in the fourth dimension and then returning it to its own 
tri -dimensional world, its relations to the other objects of this world are 
changed in a way that is wholly impossible so long as we confine it to three 
dimensions. But the internal relations of the pyramid itself, as in the ob- 
served case of the triangle, remain entirely unaltered. The self-identity of 
the figure is retained. But as we have said, these facts cannot be regarded as 
implying the logical dependence of Euclid, or of non-Euclid, upon a fourth 

The author sums up his inferences as to the nature of space by recog- 
nising that only pure logic is strictly a priori, while geometry with its space- 
conception contains an element of experience the actuality of which can only 
be proved empirically. We sum up the situation in his own words: 

"The only a priori manifold at present definable in Kant's sense of a 
priori seems to be a manifold constituted by a totality of logical classes or 
distinctions of any similar sort. The constitution of such a complete system 
of logical entities must be implicitly known to any rational being 

"The connection between this a priori logical manifold and the empirical 
space of our own experience lies in the fact that the space-aspect of experience 
is the one which most definitely implies and is implied by our power to co- 
ordinate our activities so that "a leads to b leads to c," etc. It is that aspect 
which enables us to introduce illative relations among acts and systems of 
acts of our own (acts actual and acts possible). 

"That this aspect of experience exists is an empirical fact. What cor- 
relations of acts it permits and how it permits them are also empirical. All 
the details are empirical. But if it is to permit such a system at all, it has 
to conform to the general type of the illative relation and its parts viewed 
as coexistent must be related to each other in accordance with the general 
type of an illative relation." 

THE FOURTH DIMENSION. By C. Howard Hinton. London: Swan Sonnen- 

schein & Co. 1904. Pp. vi, 247. 

Mr. Howard Hinton, already well known from the publication of his 
Scientific Romances, ably written rambles into the domains of metageometry 


and other spheres of the super-sensible world, presents us now with his 
theory of the fourth dimension that to him is a well-founded fact, to the 
explanation and evidence of which he has dedicated the whole of this small 
volume. His procedure may be briefly characterised as forming a systematic 
conception of four-dimensional space, and then pointing out how a three- 
dimensional system ought to act if it were a part of a higher or four-dimen- 
sional one. Mr. Hinton shows that in investigating the real universe when 
descending into the finer subdivisions, we come to forms of matter possessing 
properties different from those of larger masses ; and analogous conditions 
prevail when we take into consideration cosmic relations such as the paral- 
laxes of stars, where the combined angles of triangles cease to measure 
exactly 180 degrees. Unfortunately the argument is not conclusive in the 
opinion of those who are not willing to be carried away by mysticism. But 
even those antagonistic to a belief in the objective actuality of metageometry 
will find Mr. Hinton's presentation of the subject refreshing and ingenious. 
How much room a romance of science can find in the mysterious realm of 
the fourth dimension ! 

TUTONISH. A Teutonic International Language. By Elias Molee, Ph. B. 
Published by the author. Tacoma, Wash. 1904. Pp. 96. Price, $0.40. 

Among the enthusiasts who propose the creation of a new language, 
Elias Molee of Tacoma, Wash., takes an intermediate course by offering not 
a universal language, but a speech that should be acceptable to the Germanic 
race. Living in a community which is mostly made up of Teutonic people, 
he tried to establish a tongue that could serve as a means of communication 
between the English, the Germans, the Swedes, the Norwegians, the Danes, 
the Dutch, and the Icelanders. He calls this new language "Tutonish" and 
trusts that it will prove superior to the English. It is constructed after the 
analogy, of German and English and retains much of the grammar common 
to all Teutonic languages. As an instance may serve the Lord's Prayer which 
in Tutonish reads as follows: 

"vio fadr hu bi in hevn; holirn (hallowed) bi dauo (thy) nam; dauo 
reik (kingdom) kom; dauo vil bi dun an erd, as it bi in hevn; giv vi dis 
dag vio dagli bred, and fergiv vi vio shuld (debt), as vi fergiv vio shulders 
(debtors), and lied vi not into fersieku (temptation), but befrie vi from ievl, 
fyr dauo bi du reik, du makt (power) and du herlinu (glory) fyr ever 
amen. (from mataeus 6, 9-13.)" 

Matthew ii. in Tutonish begins as follows : 

"nau ven jesus bin birtn in bethlehem ov judea in di dags ov herod, do 
king, sie, dar komen veis mans from du ost tu Jerusalem, sagend, ver bi 
hi hu bi birtn king ov di judars? fyr vi hav sien hio star in du ost, and hav 
komen tu anbied hi." 


We doubt very much whether his proposition will ever be introduced 
anywhere in the United States, let alone in any European country. Those 
who know both English and German will acquire Tutonish easily, but they 
will probably prefer the use of English. 

M. Couturat who has distinguished himself in behalf of the establishment 
of an international auxiliary language, discusses, in a recent letter addressed 
to the inventor of Tutonish, the proposals of M. Elias Molee from his stand- 
point as a believer in Esperanto. 

M. Couturat considers that the project of Mr. Molee does not fall within 
the scope of his Commission and feels consequently that he cannot take it 
into account in the final edition of his History of the Universal Language. 
In fact, M. Couturat wishes to see one single language, while Mr. Molee's 
scheme is intended for Germanic peoples alone. Mr. Molee would doubtless 
say that the Romance and Slavic nations might in their turn adopt inter- 
Romance and inter-Slavonic languages. But this would make two or three 
international languages instead of one, which would very much diminish 
their utility, to such an extent that no one would wish to adopt them. The 
objection is already made to the partisans of a single international language 
that this would be one moie language to learn. What then would be said 
if there were three to be learned? 

But Mr. Molee doubtless hopes that the pan-Germanic language would 
in time supplant the others, or even prevent their ever coming into existence 
And Mr. Molee puts forward in support of this hypothesis, arguments of 
political and patriotic nature which seem calculated to convince his com- 
patriots, but which for this very reason can only arouse invincible opposition 
in other nations. He forgets that such considerations, if they prevailed in 
every country, would make any international language impossible. M. Cou- 
turat appeals to the agreement and concurrence of all the peoples of civilised 
Europe, while Mr. Molee, as M. Couturat thinks, appeals, on the contrary, 
to their feelings of rivalry, if not of hostility, and conceives of a linguistic 
union only between peoples of the same race. M. Couturat believes that 
Mr. Molee greatly exaggerates the importance of race-feeling among modern 
civilised nations, which, he thinks, are quite cosmopolitan in this respect; and 
that, moreover, unity of race does not necessarily entail unity of language 
and vice versa. Have not the English a language which Max Muller classed 
among the Romance languages? And furthermore, diversity of race does 
not prevent community of language: the United States are a good example 
of this. Neither does it prevent community of civilisation: as instance, the 
Hungarians and the Finns. On the other hand, community of race does not 
imply community of interests and consequent sympathy, for the English, the 
Germans, and the Americans are commercially bitter rivals. And it may be 
remarked in passing that this rivalry would make the adoption among them 


of a single Teutonic language more difficult than that of a neutral tongue 
such as is advocated by M. Couturat, not to mention the natural and invin- 
cible hostility which the former would meet on the part of all non-Germanic 
nations. All this proves that it is unwise to introduce into the question 
political and racial considerations which have in fact nothing to do with it 
and which can only render impossible any solution whatever. 

To sum up, Mr. Molee's project tends, in M. Couturat's opinion, to 
divide nations and make their natural opposition more profound and in- 
vincible, while his own tends to unite them and draw them together upon 
an equal footing, and consequently to develop a feeling of common interest 
and fraternity. The union which he dreams of is not one of races, whose 
mutual opposition is, indeed, much less than that of nations; it is a union of 
all civilised mankind without distinction of race or religion, of weakness or 

After the Methods of the Class-Room, to the Author's Students, and 
Designed also for General Practitioners of Medicine and Surgery. By 
C. H. Hughes, M. D. Edited by Prof. Marc Ray Hughes, M. D., Barnes 
Medical College, St. Louis. St. Louis: Hughes & Co., 1902. Pp. 417. 
Price, $3.00. 

This book on Neurology allows us an insight into the work of Prof. C. H. 
Hughes, President of the Faculty of Neurology and Psychiatry of Barnes 
Medical College, former Major and Surgeon-in-Chief of Schofield and of 
McDowell's College Military Hospitals, also Superintendent of the Missouri 
State Insane Hospital. 

Being overworked in his profession, Dr. Hughes has found no time to 
edit the book himself, but left the work to his son and assistant, Prof. Marc 
Ray Hughes of the Barnes Medical College. The contents, beginning with 
Chapter I on page 12, form a connected course of lectures on neurology and 
kindred subjects: I, Definitions of Terms; II, Neurones and Nerve Cells, 
their Composition and Characteristics; III, Neurones and Nerve Centers, 
Neurone Theories, Association Neurones, etc. ; IV, Efferent Prolongations, 
Histological Composition of Nerve Centers, etc. ; V, Polar and Apolar, Bi- 
Polar and Multi-Polar Neurones; VI, Neurones Grouped into Layers and 
Brain Cortex; VII, Head Heat in Brain Disease; VIII, Temperature Sense, 
etc. ; IX and X, Extra-Neural and Adneural Nervous Disease ; XI, XII, and 

XIII, Instruments and Procedures of Precision in Diagnosis and Practice; 

XIV, XV, XVI, and XVII, Ascending and Descending Degeneration, Wal- 
ler's Law and Its Diagnostic Significance, the Reaction of Degeneration and 
How to Discover It; XVIII, the Evolution of Neuraxis; XIX, and XX, the 
Evolution of the Brain and Spinal Cord; XXI, Electricity and Electrical 


Appliances; XXIII, the Dura and the Sinuses; XXIV, Cerebral Embolism, 
Hemorrhages and Thrombosis; XXV and XXVI, the Spinal Cord and its 
Morbid States; XXVII, Sensory-Motor System; XXVIII, Cerebro-Spinal 
Axis; XXIX, the Neuraxis Diagnostically Viewed; XXX, Outline of Cere- 
bral and Spinal Nerves and Their Relation to Nervous Diseases; XXXI, 
Virile Reflex and Its Symptomatic Value in Practice; XXXII, Aphasia 
Defined and Recorded; XXXIII and XXXIV, the Medico-Legal Aspect 
Illustrated in the Case of William T. Bevin; XXXV, Neural and Psycho- 
Neural Aspects of Surgical Practice; XXXVI, Nutrition and Conservation 
of Neurones. 

The book is illustrated with the same diagrams which are used in lec- 
ture rooms, and the style is rather that of the speaker in the amphitheater 
than the author confined in his study. We have obviously to deal with a man 
who is at home in his specialty but who cares little for literary finish or the 
external appearance of his book. The typography is imperfect, and the 
proof-reader did not attend to his work properly. Letters are broken off and 
Greek words are repeatedly misspelled. We notice for instance "struments" 
for "instruments" (page 117) and "thenos" for "sthenos" (strength) (pages 
13-14). The man who made the makeup began both the Introduction and the 
first chapter on the left-hand page of the book. 

The book will be useful to the students of Professor Hughes and other 
neurologists who have acquired sufficient knowledge to overlook the short- 
comings of the book which are mostly of an external nature. It would be 
highly desirable that the book should be republished by some medical pub- 
lishing house which could properly attend to its makeup. 

EMPIRICAL ESSAYS. By the Author of Unthinkables. Edinburgh: George 
A. Morton. 1904. Pp. 187. 

The anonymous author of this book apparently belongs to theosophical 
circles that shake off the crudities of its common beliefs and try to work 
out a higher world-conception in the direction of the New Thought movement. 
His essays are on four subjects. 

The first one is entitled "Rome, Jerusalem and an Ideal," and in it he 
comes to the conclusion that we need no capital city of our faith; that the 
only metropolis required for a religion which believes in the fatherhood of 
God, the words of Jesus, an unworldly life, the service of God, etc., would 
be the "City of Mansoul." 

The second article on "The Ten Commandments" is characterised by 
the following conclusion : 

"It stands to reason that a Code given thousands of years ago to a 
barbarous nation, a Code which condemns image-worship, but has no word 
of reprobation for drunkenness, lying, or impurity as such, is inadequade 


and unsuitable to the moral requirements of a civilised English community 
at the present day. And its place should be taken by the Eight Beatitudes, 
supplemented by the Two Commandments which received the sanction of 
Christ, and the Golden Rule. All the rest, as Hillel said, is but commentary." 

The third article, entitled "Karma and Reincarnation," insists on the 
fact that early Christianity must have accepted the doctrine of reincarnation, 
for Christ declares that Elijah had appeared in John the Baptist, and the 
gnostic book Pistis Sophia shows that this was the current belief among the 
early Christians. The fourth essay on the "Higher Agnosticism" tries to sup- 
plant the common negativism among liberal circles by a better, truer, and 
more thoughtful view. 

As to theosophy, to which our author devotes considerable attention in 
the third essay, he sums up his views in the question, "What, then, shall our 
attitude be towards theosophy as a whole?" and its answer: 

"Beyond all doubt, ninety-nine intelligent persons out of a hundred 
would be inclined to condemn the entire system offhand, one part of it having 

been seen to be so palpably at variance with the laws of evidence But, 

let us in fairness ask ourselves, is it necessary to reject every theory of the 
system called Theosophy because of a few foolish statements made in con- 
nection with one particular aspect of it? In all seriousness, I do not think 
it is. We do not treat other systems with such rigor, be they philosophical 
or religious. No one thinks it incumbent on him to repudiate Christianity 
as a tissue of delusion and imposture because many of the doctrines put 
forward in its name are an outrage upon common sense." 

WRITINGS. Selected and arranged by Frederick J. S. Woodbridge. 
Pp. xxxvi, 391. Minneapolis : The H. W. Meson Co., 1903. 
This volume of extracts from the writings of Hobbes is to be welcomed 
as an incentive to the direct study of a master both of thought and of style. 
It includes Chapters 1-6 of the "Elements of Philosophy Concerning Body" 
and Chapters 1-18, 31, and 43 of the "Leviathan"; and it adds to these, as 
supplements or as footnotes, most of chapter 25 ("Of Sense and Animal 
Motion") of "Concerning Body"; Chapter 2 of "Human Nature," Chapters 
1-3 of "Philosophical Rudiments Concerning Government and Society"; and 
a series of extracts formulating Hobbes's doctrine of causation from Chap- 
ters 9, 10, and 26 of "Concerning Body" ; besides many shorter extracts 
mainly from the works already named. 

The re-publication of the first part of "Concerning Body" is of real 
significance, for these chapters constitute a vigorous contribution to the 
doctrine of scientific and logical method, and they are not otherwise acces- 
sible except in the many-volumed Molesworth edition of Hobbes. The re- 


maining selections offer an admirable outline of the ethical and political 
philosophy of Hobbes, as this is based on his psychology. Such an outline 
well represents the teaching by which Hobbes is best known. Yet the writer 
of this notice questions the wisdom of precisely these selections from the 
works of Hobbes. Most of the chapters from "Leviathan," which make up 
the greater part of the book, are accessible not only in inexpensive editions 
of the "Leviathan" itself, but also in Sneath's Selections from the ethics of 
Hobbes. Furthermore, the book hardly makes good the promise of the 
preface, "to present practically all that Hobbes has contributed to the main 
questions of philosophy and psychology." So far as psychology is concerned, 
this introductory statement is indeed justified. But the book does not in- 
clude, except by incidental statement, the characterisic contribution of 
Hobbes to metaphysics : his teaching that every reality God and human 
spirit no less than physical phenomenon is through and through material. 
The materialism of Hobbe.s was, it is true, so bitterly opposed both by his 
contemporaries and by his immediate successors, that it was never seriously 
studied and so failed of exerting due influence on the course of philosophical 
thought. But this constitutes the greater reason for presenting in systematic 
form Hobbes's metaphysical teaching about the nature and the manifestations 
of body. This would be accomplished by a volume including the greater 
portion of Part II. of the "Elements of Philosophy Concerning Body" ; and 
such a book is unquestionably needed by students of the history of philosophy. 

The present volume is heartily to be commended for its lack of the usual 
critical apparatus. Dr. Woodbridge reprints Aubrey's quaint "Life of Mr. 
Thomas Hobbes of Malmesburie," but he omits the ordinary "critical intro- 
duction" for the sound reason that, if read first it will "make an immediate 
and uncolored impression by the author impossible." In place of introduc- 
tion and notes. Dr. Woodbridge offers, as has been indicated, an admirable 
selection of parallel passages from the different works of Hobbes himself, 
explaining and amplifying one text by another in a scholarly and illuminating 


FROM EPICURUS TO CHRIST. A Study in the Principles of Personality. By 
William De Witt Hyde, President of Bowdoin College. New York: 
The Macmillan Company. London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd. 1904. 
Pp. viii, 185. Price, $1.50. 

The Author, William De Witt Hyde, has given much thought to the 
philosophical problem, and he treats it from the standpoint of modern Prot- 
estant Christianity. To him personality is the secret of human life. Still 
there are some of the higher elements of personality, represented in philo- 
sophical principles which rise above the threshold of consciousness and are 


reducible to scientific analysis. Of these principles the author selects five: 
"The Epicurean pursuit of pleasure, genial but ungenerous; the Stoic law of 
self-control, strenuous but forbidding; the Platonic plan of subordination, 
sublime but ascetic; the Aristotelian sense of proportion, practical but un- 
inspiring; and the Christian Spirit of love, broadest and deepest of them all." 

The author's main aim is to prove that though all of them possess a 
grain of truth, the four first are insufficient and find their fulfilment only 
in the fifth, in the Christian spirit of love. 

Our author's plan is to proceed by quotations and then add his own ex- 
planations. The best portions of the book are Chapters I and II, in which 
he does justice to the Epicurean and Stoic principles, analysing them and 
subjecting them to a fair criticism. Parts III and IV show less mastery of 
the subject, for there are some passages in Plato's writings which ought to 
have been quoted, and thus the nobility of the Platonic conception and also 
its great affinity to Christianity does not become sufficiently apparent. The 
fifth part is not so much an explanation of the Christian spirit based upon 
quotations of New Testament sayings, but may be characterised as a sermon 
in which the crown of perfection is offered to Christianity. The author's 
Christianity, however, is neither the Christianity of the primitive Church, 
nor of the Middle Ages, nor even the Protestantism of the Reformers, but 
the modernised Christianity which is imbued with the spirit of syncretism, 
a Christianity that would be rejected by the Christians of by-gone ages. 
The author concludes his work with the following sentences : 

"The omission of any truth for which the other ancient systems stood 
mutilates and impoverishes the Christian view of life. Ascetic Puritanism, 
for instance, is Christianity minus the truth taught by Epicurus. Sentimental 
liberalism is Christianity without the Stoic note. Dogmatic orthodoxy is 
Christianity sadly in need of Plato's search-light of sincerity. Sacerdotal 
ecclesiasticism is Christianity that has lost the Aristotelian disinterestedness 
of devotion to intellectual and social ends higher and wider than its own 
institutional aggrandisement. 

"The time is ripe for a Christianity which shall have room for all the 
innocent joys of sense and flesh, of mind and heart, which Epicurus taught 
us to prize aright; yet shall have the Stoic strength to make whatever sacri- 
:e of them the universal good requires; which shall purge the heart of 
pride and pretence by questionings of motive as searching as those of Plato; 
and at the same time shall hold life to as strict accountability for practical 
usefulness and social progress as Aristotle's doctrines of the end and the 
mean require. It is by some such world-wide, historical approach, and the 
inclusion of whatever elements of truth and worth other systems have 
separately emphasised, that we shall reach a Christianity that is really 


Harper. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1905. Pp. 51. Price, 

We have scarcely finished reviewing Dr. Harper's Religion and the Higher 
Life, when a new publication of his comes to our desk. In the meantime the 
strenuous President of the University of Chicago has been affected by a 
serious disease which has brought him to the verge of the grave, and we 
could not but feel the deepest regret and sorrow, if his useful career should 
come to a premature end. He is at present taking a much needed rest, while 
his friends hope for the best. 

The publication before us is the revised Hebrew text and a new trans- 
lation of the book of Hosea. It is in a handy form for any one who wants 
to see at a glance the meaning of a verse side by side with the original, and 
especially whether it is part of the prophet's own writing, or a later addition 
or a gloss. For further explanations as to the reasons of these discriminations 
the learned author refers us to his essay on "Amos and Hosea," published 
in the International Critical Commentary, 1905. The translation follows 
closely the Hebrew edition, and so Dr. Harper says that it is "sometimes 
more Hebraic than English." For the purpose which this version serves, it 
is certainly most appropriate and will unquestionably be appreciated by He- 
brew scholars. p. c. 

DESCARTES, DIRECTEUR SPIRITUEL. Correspondence avec la Princesse Palatine 
et la Reine Christine de Suede. Portraits, dessjns et autographes. By 
Victor de Swarle. Preface de M. Emile Boutroux de 1'Institut. Paris : 
Felix Alcan, editeur. 1904. 

Two royal ladies of good education played an important part in the life 
of Descartes. In the year 1862 Count Foucher de Careil published an edition 
de luxe, under the title Descartes et la Princesse Palatine, oii de finnuence 
du cartesianisme sur les femmcs au dix-septieme siecle. The correspondence 
of Elisabeth was discovered in 1879 at Arnheim and appeared under the 
title Descartes, la Princesse Palatine et la Reine Christine. The present 
author has utilised these works and has rummaged the libraries and archives 
of France and Germany to fill out all their gaps, and with the assistance of 
Messrs. Boutroux and Darboux, he publishes the present collection of the 
literary correspondence of these two princesses with the great philosopher. 
The book affords a real insight into the influence of two noble women upon 
a great man and is as such a contribution not only to the history of philoso- 
phy but as it were of the civilisatory influences which are at work in shaping 
our great men. Descartes's correspondence acquires an additional interest 
through the dreadful fate of Elizabeth, the wife of the Prince-Elector of 
Palatine, who was elected king of Bohemia and lost crown and throne in 


the battle of the White Mountain near Prague. It was the first stroke of the 
Catholic powers in Germany to reassert themselves and set a limit to the 
expanse of the Reformation which ushered in the Thirty Years War so disas- 
trous to Germany. The fate of Christine was happier. She was certainly 
the equal of Elizabeth in intellectual accomplishments. The book is well 
written, contains good portraits of Descartes, Elizabeth, and Christine, and 
also a facsimile autograph of Elizabeth, and a reproduction of an old en- 
graving of the city of Herford. 

la "Bibliotheque des Methodes dans les Sciences experimentales." 
Paris: Librairie C. Reinwald. Schleicher Freres & Cie., Editeurs. 

This little book which bears the modest title Notes on the General His- 
tory of the Sciences is a useful manual which will familiarise students with 
the aim, the general plan, and methods of the sciences. The several chapters 
of it treat the following subjects: What is and what is not, doubt and belief, 
construction of materials and facts, analysis and synthesis, encyclopaedic 
knowledge, the unity of nature and the unity of science, imagination and 
science, anthropocentrism and anthropomorphism, method, revolutions of 
method, the true and the useful, medicine and agriculture, impossibilities, 
paradoxes, progress, the domain of science, contradictions and reconcilia- 
tions, conditions of scientific progress, useful errors, classical errors, exag- 
gerations, nothing new under the sun, science is social work. In conclusion, 
our author discusses how to build up and how to teach, and what ought to 
be accomplished. 

HAUPTPROBLEME DER ETHIK. Sieben Vortrage von Prof. Paul Hensel. Leip- 

sic: B. G. Teubner. 1903. 

Dr. Paul Hensel, a professor of ethics at Erlangen, had been invited to 
lecture on the main problems of ethics at Mannheim, and having offered in 
concise outline to his public the main problems of ethics, he here publishes 
them, making them accessible to a larger public. He sketches and criticises: 
(i) utilitarianism; (2) evolutionism; and (3) the ethics of conviction, which 
represents his own views. He declares that in order to perform a truly 
moral act one must presuppose an unfailing norm of judgment which can be 
found only in a dutiful conviction. This, then, is the basis, and the only basis, 
of true morality, and here our author finds himself in close touch with Kant, 
but endeavors to go beyond Kant in giving the abstract notion of Kant's 
categorical imperative a definite content, and thus the purely formal ought 
becomes an ought of a definite conscience, based upon a narrower or larger 
experience, or a more or less correct judgment. He who looks upon man 


only as an object of science, he who can judge of him under no other view 
point than the law of cause and effect, is unable to understand that man is 
a moral being. We must first come into possession of a system of valuation 
which will help us to judge of reality and to determine man's mode of action. 
From the standpoint of moral valuation man appears to himself as the pro- 
duct of the entire past. Thousands of years, to speak with Carlyle, have con- 
tributed to his birth, and other thousands of years wait what he will do in 
his life for their realisation. When thus conceding the enormous importance 
of our own life, our ethics will lead up to a religious thought, it teaches us 
that it is no accident that our life falls exactly in the present time, and that 
we are here to solve its problems. In order to act morally and to make the 
claim to be judged as a moral man, we need above all the consciousness of 
duty and the intention to act accordingly. It is not a theological morality 
which constitutes ethics, but a moral theology will be the necessary completion 
of our world conception. Any one who has not this faith in a higher power 
and who does not place his life's work into its service cannot accomplish his 
labors with the same moral earnestness as he who possesses such a faith. 

' O;u .' [> '}. . ; 'i/// ; .;'i. 

Owen, Ph. D., Professor of the French Language and Literature in 
the University of Wisconsin. Reprinted from the Transactions of the 
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters, Vol. XIV. 
This book belongs to the class of logical investigations which attempt to 
classify our methods of thinking, and Professor Owen has devoted his special 
attention to the element belief or disbelief which is the missing element in 
the interrogative. The treatise discusses words as idea symbols, sentences 
as thought symbols, and enters into the different analyses of thought. The 
second chapter is devoted to judgments, the ordinary, the imperative, and 
the interrogative judgment. The writer leads to a determination of the 
missing element which is analysed in Chapter III, while Chapter IV treats of 
the elements, peculiarities, and structure of belief, its operation on the 
hearer's mind, and kindred topics. Professor Owen has given much thought 
to this important problem, but it is difficult to say even after a careful 
perusal how specialists in logic will take to his investigations, and how far 
his colleagues in this special line of thought will deem his lucubrations sig- 

VOL. XV. JULY, 1905. No. 3. 



TN the ever-changing panorama which the world offers to the con- 
templation of sentient beings, two characters have never failed 
to arouse the interest of the human mind, to provoke it to the activ- 
ities of philosophic thought the manner in which objects are related 
to each other, and the nature of the objects themselves. Being 
under necessity of adapting himself to it, man looks to the external 
world for the materials of an organized intellectual awareness to 
its twofold aspect of extension, or so-called "space," of succession, 
or so-called "time." Among the most important of the conditions 
of this awareness, two may be mentioned on the one hand man's 
local position in nature and limited power of movement within it, 
restricting him to a mere fragment of its vast spatial extent ; on the 
other hand, that serial character of the mind process which, yield- 
ing direct glimpses in such narrow area of no more than momentary 
aspects of the nature there accessible to him, confines him largely 
to the appearances yielded by objects in the present stage of their 
cycle of change. The conditions of man's existence thus combine 
with the limitations of sense to favor incomplete and therefore 
erroneous views of nature lead man, that is to say, to treat the 
local environment with which he is familiar as if it were the whole 
environment ; to regard the present stage of the objects with which 
he is acquainted as if it constituted all the stages of such objects ; 
in a word, to confound each sense-image with the object which it 
merely represents, and thus to make the temporary and local aspects 


of the world around him do duty in his intellectual processes for 
nature in its totality. 

Now the actual mechanism of these limitations given man's 
local position in "space" has always been the sense-image ; and as 
the sense-image restricts us to single objects at a time, as well as to 
the present aspects of such objects, it makes our power to realize 
what objects are as wholes in "time" and "space" depend on that sup- 
plementary intellectual process by which the mind segregates and uni- 
fies all the objective aspects of the environment which sense-images 
yield. But as this intellectual process, this ordering of the sense- 
images by the intellect, this totalizing of the fragmentary elements of 
sense, matures late in the history of the race, the early period of man's 
acquaintance with nature is one in which he is not only restricted 
to little more than sense-image knowledge of it, but is compelled 
to view objects as dynamically isolated from, as out of relation to 
each other. For as sense-knowledge contains no evidence, apart 
from the intellectual process, of the way in which objects are in- 
timately and fundamentally related to each other, of how they are 
connected by action and reaction, it compels the primitive mind to 
treat each of them as having absolute instead of contingent exist- 
ence, as possessing in and of itself all the qualities or properties 
which it manifests, as being self-sourced instead of system-sourced. 

There has undoubtedly been advance on this primitive treatment 
of objects as if they existed independently of each other; consider- 
able progress has even been made towards the realization of their 
dynamic interrelatedness. For sense-images are merely the mate- 
rials of nature knowledge ; in the earliest stages of its development, 
the human mind was always at work upon this sense-material, classi- 
fying, segregating, unifying it under the stress of an impulsion to 
self-maintenance that demanded of the organism an increasingly ac- 
curate adjustment of itself to environment. Yet it is only in the 
modern stage that this intellectual process has attained anything 
like considerable development. Releasing the mind from more or 
less dependence on the present aspect of an object, it has enabled 
us to realize the object as constituted of all its aspects of all the 
changes through which it passes and thus to deal with it intel- 


lectually as a whole in time ; by simultaneously revealing interaction 
between the individual object and other objects, it has enabled us to 
recognize that objects are not isolated from each other, but dynam- 
ically interrelated and interdetermining. 

That the doctrine of "evolution," so called, should have formed 
the first great step towards the completion of nature knowledge 
becomes explicable only when regard is had to the fact that the re- 
lations earliest revealed to the mind are always those of change. 
As the "time" aspects of objects are aspects of difference; as it is 
the procession of an object from one stage of its existence to another 
and not its continuing existence, which most excites our attention 
it was inevitable that when the human mind began to reach out for 
the deeper and wider acquaintance with objects which is to be gained 
only from a knowledge of their connection with each other, it should 
have been overwhelmingly impressed, not with the fact of their 
relation in "space," but with the phenomena of their relation in 
"time." And if it be asked why the mind has simultaneously fallen 
short in the equally necessary process of realizing objects as total- 
ities in their extension aspect, the reply is that the field is here not 
one of differences that shock the consciousness because they em- 
body change, but of resemblances cognizable by the intellect rather 
than by the senses that the deeper extension aspects of existence, 
being aspects of the fundamental, the universal, the permanent, 
manifest themselves, not as differences, but as likenesses, and long 
resisting the solvent of the sense knowledge, yield only to the in- 
tellectual process, thus coming late into nature knowledge as one of 
its most mature and advanced stages. The result of this failure to 
complete our succession or "evolutionary" knowledge of objects 
with an equally radical insight into the extension aspect of nature 
has been, so far as the fundamental method of its thought is con- 
cerned, to retain science in a stage which has advanced little beyond 
that represented by the mind of primitive man. There is undoubted 
recognition of the fact that objects are interrelated by action, yet 
the action is viewed independently of the nature of the objects 
which act. Alike in regard to their motion and nature, objects are 
regarded, not as contingent, but as absolute existences not as 


system-sourced, but as self-sourced not as constitutively, but as 
adventitiously related. 


Let us now see what this absolute view of objects must signify 
for nature knowledge, even when pervaded and permeated here and 
there by glimpses of the larger relational view. Observe first how 
it diminishes interest in and retards discovery of the relations which 
exist between the different phases of objects in both "time" and 
"space." For if an object as extended possess its properties abso- 
lutely, no new knowledge of it can be gained by inquiring into the 
properties of other objects; if, on the other hand, it possess each 
"time" phase of its existence absolutely, nothing can be gained by in- 
quiring into the nature of the other phases. Whence it follows that, 
were we to accept the absolute view of objects the view that they 
are self-sourced rather than system-sourced it could only be a waste 
of effort to seek for the individual being the explanation yielded by 
the human society, to consider the cell in the light of the community 
of cells, to study life in general in order to obtain accurate knowl- 
edge of some special class of organisms, to rely on the inorganic 
for the characters of the organic, to resort to the universe for the 
illumination of the unit. In the view that each object possesses its 
powers independently of all other objects, the search for cause, 
which has done so much for the advance of nature knowledge, 
dwindles to a mere quest after relation between states of conscious- 
ness until the organism comes to be regarded as in no way neces- 
sarily dependent for such states upon any real, upon any actual 
universe which can be conceived of as existing outside. We find 
this uncertainty even in Kant ; the very belief of Hume, still linger- 
ing in the philosophical aspect of nature study, to the effect that 
our supposed knowledge of cause is wholly subjective that what 
we call causal relation is merely the habitual succession of states of 
consciousness is itself due to the inadequate recognition of the rela- 
tion which exists between organism and environment failure to 
view conscious states as necessarily related to objects outside the 
organism themselves interrelated failure also to regard objective 
relations as constitutive instead of merely adventitious. 


We may begin our consideration of the retarding effects of 
the absolute view, here contrasted with the relational view of nature, 
by noting the almost complete indifference which science has thus 
far shown towards the problem of the relation of substance of 
the world of ether and matter to so-called "space"; and it has 
shown this indifference in the supposition that the problem is one 
of no importance for the practical interests of nature investigation. 
Meanwhile, it has tacitly accepted the view that "space," as a con- 
taining capacity for objects which would remain even were objects 
annihilated, is a real entity, an existence sui generis. Says Tyndall, 
in his paper on The Constitution of Nature: 

"Though compelled to think of space as unbounded, there is no mental 
necessity appealing to us to think of it either as filled or empty; whether it 
is so or not must be decided by experiment and observation. .. .If the ether 
have a boundary, masses of ponderable matter might be conceived to exist 
beyond it, but they emit no light. . . .As far as our knowledge of space extends, 
we are to conceive of it as the holder of the luminiferous ether through which 
are interspersed, at enormous distances apart, the ponderous nuclei of the 

The result of specialism thus unfounded in the intellectual con- 
ditions of nature knowledge has been to delay our realization of 
the universe as a unity, since the assumption of an entity called 
"space," which existence merely "occupies," compels us to com- 
promise in our minds between two ideas the conception of a uni- 
verse of objects which "fills" space and is therefore unending, and 
the conception of a cosmic system which, being limited, is bounded 
in every direction by "universal space." If we accept the former 
view, the notion of definite characters definite amounts of power 
and of the passing over of power into movement disappears in 
the thought of indefinite spatial vastness, or is reduced to an impasse 
of contradiction between characters which, though mentally con- 
ceivable, are intellectually irreconcilable ; if we accept the view of a 
limited cosmos locally situated in "universal space," we raise the 
question of the possibility of other systems, and with it that problem 
of the relation between them which, unless affirmatively resolved, 
with the result of irreconcilable contradiction, brings the thought 
of cosmic unity to an end: as the term "universe," implying "one- 


ness," signifies all-inclusive totality, it becomes a misnomer when 
an attempt is made to utilize it for the pseudo-conception of a plural- 
ity of "universes" separated from each other by tracts of unoccupied 
emptiness. That the thought of an existence vacuum which objects 
merely "occupy" has otherwise retarded nature knowledge is well 
seen in the assumption, frequently met with in scientific treatises, 
that heat may be dissipated from "our universe" into "space," as 
well as in the historic confusion of "empty space" with the ether 
system, and in the contradictory assumptions of popular science 
regarding what are called "the confines of the universe," the "limits 
of our system," the "material universe," etc. 


In now passing from the most general to the more concrete of 
the nature problems, it will help us if we bear in mind that the 
absolute view of objects the view that each exists independently 
of all the rest, and that the relation between them is adventitious, 
not constitutive ignores three principles of the profoundest import 
for nature study. These principles may be stated as follows : 

1. The Principle of Likeness. Objects which, however they 
may differ in superficial characters, resemble each other in funda- 
mental characters, belong to the same system, and must be inter- 
preted in the same way. 

2. The Principle of Derivation. Wherever in local, superficial, 
transitory aspects of nature we find characters that demand explana- 
tion, we are bound to seek that explanation not in other local, super- 
ficial, transitory aspects of existence, but in its permanent, funda- 
mental and universal characters. 

3. The Principle of Universality. True explanations of nature 
cannot be isolated explanations, explanations sui generis, explana- 
tions ad rem, but must be explanations which are themselves inter- 
related. In other words, all great laws which are to formulate or 
describe nature processes must be laws that are primordially valid 
for the universal, the fundamental, the permanent characters of the 
cosmic process, before being derivatively valid for its local, super- 
ficial, and transitory characters. The explanatory range of every 


true natural law, that is to say, must resemble, to use a homely 
illustration, the range of a through train which reaches the sub- 
sidiary, suburban, outlying stations only because it has begun its 
trip in the great metropolis. 

All three principles assume and demand the thought of the all- 
inclusive unity of the cosmos. The first, aimed at the failure to 
realize cosmic unity, preserves us from separating in our thought 
great classes of phenomena that belong together; the second saves 
us from the temptation, so strongly held out by sense knowledge 
and our local position in the universe, to reverse true principles of 
interpretation by employing the local and immediate for the eluci- 
dation of the permanent and the universal ; the third emphasizes 
the orderly filiation of all explanations of nature phenomena by 
referring such phenomena to their ultimate source in the substance 
system. Accepting all three, as we are compelled to do, then it 
follows from the principle of likeness, that matter and ether, being 
connected by action and reaction, are of fundamentally the same 
nature from the principle of derivation, that we must interpret 
the mind by the body, and not the body by the mind ; the individual 
by society, and not society by the individual ; the cell by the organ- 
ism, not the organism by the cell ; the organic by the inorganic, and 
not the inorganic by the organic ; matter by substance, not substance 
by matter; the unit by the universe, not the universe by the unit 
from the principle of universality, that whatever explanations are 
reached for vital, for chemical, for electro-magnetic, for gravitative 
phenomena, must be interrelated explanations, and that the causal 
determinations which result in organic activity and structure cannot 
be other than derivative forms of the causal determinations out of 
which inorganic activities and structures arise. 

Now all these principles are more or less negatived or ignored 
in the absolute attitude towards nature in the tacit acceptance by 
our so-called "scientific method" of the view that objects, possessing 
their characters absolutely, are related to each other not constitu- 
tively, but only adventitiously in views, that is to say, which really 
go together, for if an object be self-sourced, then any relation be- 
tween it and other objects must be adventitious, while if the object 


be system-sourced, then any relation between it and other objects 
must be constitutive. Taking our first example from the most im- 
portant of the concrete nature problems, we may easily recognize 
that, by ignoring the principle of likeness, the physicist need not 
assume that there is any relation other than an adventitious one 
between matter and ether; while, by denying the principle of deri- 
vation, he may even seek to explain ether from matter the uni- 
versal from the merely local element, with the result of one or other 
of the familiar comparisons in which physicists liken ether to jelly, 
wax, or steel. Well-nigh all the difficulties thus far met with by 
the human mind in trying to realize the nature of ether have been 
difficulties resulting from the effort to approximate it to the nature 
of matter. Le Sage used material corpuscles to elucidate gravitative 
action ; Newton's theory of light had an analogous basis in matter ; 
heat was long traced to material elements which could be mingled 
with and obtained from the molecules of objects; the early "fluid" 
hypothesis of electricity anticipated, in its material character, certain 
modern methods of accounting for the luminous manifestations of 
electro-magnetic phenomena ; it is still, in our own time found pos- 
sible to formulate hypotheses for ether which contradict those held 
for matter, as in the case of the so-called "vortex-atom" theory, 
which asserts the possibility of "frictionless" or unresisted motion. 
The absolute view of objects as existing independently of the 
system of objects carries with it the belief that the motion of an 
object is similarly independent. Even in modern times it has 
seemed unnecessary to set up any indispensable relation between 
motion and resistance to motion, whence physicists are able to pro- 
pound hypotheses regarding matter which accept or reject at will 
the notion that movement is possible in an existence vacuum. Nor 
does the ability of the mind to do this depend altogether on the sur- 
vival of the old thought of the ether system as a vast emptiness 
whose only function is to allow itself to be occupied by objects. If 
the object be itself absolute related only adventitiously and not con- 
stitutively to other objects then its motion must in like manner 
be absolute, and we may conceive of it as being utterly indifferent 
to the presence or absence of resistance may conceive of it, that 


is to say, as motion against resistance, or as motion without resist- 
ance, according to the assumed circumstances. The important 
question whether the resistance is constitutively bound up with the 
motion as an essential and therefore indispensable element thereof, 
thus turns on the question whether the object which moves exists 
absolutely, or only by virtue of some relation which connects it with 
the system of objects. If, moreover, each unit object be regarded 
as possessing its nature as such absolutely, instead of contingently 
upon the system ; and if motion be also viewed absolutely, as a char- 
acter not constitutively related either to the nature of the object or 
to the nature of the system ; then physicists are compelled to resort 
to one of two hypotheses either to regard motion as an original, 
underived property of matter, possessed by each unit object, or to 
treat it as divinely originated at some period in the early history of 
the cosmos. The latter view is now widely rejected as anthropo- 
morphic; as to the former, it will suffice to say that, besides being 
a negation of inertia, it is an effort to set up for unit objects in the 
"celestial spaces," characters which are denied by our experience of 
such objects on the surface of the earth. The law of likeness re- 
quires us to recognize the fundamental oneness of all the forms of 
power, yet physicists have thus far failed to unify the power which 
an object puts forth as moving with the power which the* same 
object possesses and exerts by virtue of its nature as related to all 
other objects. Meanwhile the principle of derivation has been ig- 
nored in the effort to make all power kinetic by deducing it from 
motion instead of from substance. 


This question of the relation of motion to the resistance which 
it encounters is always met with whenever we come to discuss such 
problems as the origin of motion, the direction of motion, the con- 
servation of energy, inertia, and cause. As it is of the utmost im- 
portance for us to reach relational rather than absolute solutions 
of such problems, we shall lose nothing by re-emphasizing, in a 
special form for each, the constitutive relation whereby motion and 
resistance inter-condition and inter-involve each other. Note first 


the difference between the absolute and the relative view of the 
origin of motion; in the absolute view motion is adventitiously ac- 
quired from the system, and is under no necessity of returning its 
energy to the system, whereas in the relational view the energy of 
motion, being from the system, must be returned to it. Our modern 
account, again, of motion as taking place along, or as following, the 
line of least resistance, cannot be regarded as other than overwhelm- 
ingly absolute. By distinguishing with such definiteness between 
the initial stress which results in motion and the resistance which the 
moving object encounters, it makes the so-called "resistance" adven- 
titious merely something which, so to speak, motion finds it has 
to deal with after it has once been set up. To say that motion fol- 
lows the line of least resistance is to assume that the "least resist- 
ance" is something superadded to a process which already exists 
de toutes pieces, is therefore complete independently of whether 
there is resistance or none in advance, that is to say, of any ex- 
perience of resistance by the moving object. The absolute view re- 
gards motion as a character sui generis as something which must 
happen whether it be "resisted" or not as a change which, while 
it frequently takes place through a resisting medium, may also 
take place through an existence-vacuum as something which is 
resisted not because "resistance" is any necessary, indispensable 
part of the motion process, but only because, under certain condi- 
tions, "resistance" happens to be present. The absolute view thus 
relates the "line of least resistance" adventitiously to the stress pro- 
ducing motion; the relational view relates it constitutively to that 
stress, and does this by showing that resistance, re-stress, or re-action 
is an essential condition of the stress which produces motion, and 
therefore an indispensable element of the motion process. The 
intellectual conditions of the problem, moreover, do not permit 
of an absolute view of motion, since were it possible for bodies to 
move through "empty space," the motion of such objects, being 
unresisted, would require no stress to initiate it, and we should be 
compelled to conceive of them as indifferently at rest or in motion 
as lacking definiteness of condition. 

An inevitable result of the view which regards the unit object 


as possessing its properties absolutely, which disconnects the power 
of motion from the power of substance, and finds no constitutive 
necessity for a relation between matter and ether, is the absolute 
attitude of modern physics towards the method of the so-called 
"conservation of energy." The term "conservation" is itself ob- 
jectionable, since it makes half the process do duty for the whole 
process. Not only must energy be expended in order to be con- 
served there is no energy in any form save to the extent that "ex- 
penditure" and "conservation" take place simultaneously. Power, 
in a word, whether it be the power of objects or of the motion of 
objects, can exist only in the degree of a conserving process which 
involves expenditure, and of an expending process which involves 
conservation. To speak of a "conservation" of energy, moreover, 
is to suggest that, were the conditions unfavorable, energy might fail 
to be "conserved," might pass out of existence in which supposi- 
tion there is at once the error of implying that energy is complete be- 
fore it is conserved, and the error of denying that presence of a con- 
serving process which is the indispensable condition of expenditure. 
Note also that the absolute view provides two methods of conserva- 
tion instead of one methods wholly irreconcilable with each other 
the distribution of the stress into the resistance, when there is 
resistance; and the continuance of the motion when there is "no 
resistance." It thus treats "expenditure" and "conservation" as sep- 
arate processes either of which might theoretically exist without the 
other ; it therefore regards the relation between them as adventitious. 
In the relational view they are constitutively related, since they 
reciprocally interinvolve each other as aspects of the two-sided 
unity which we call Power. 

Observe now some of the results which the absolute attitude 
towards "conservation" makes inevitable. If "conservation of en- 
ergy" is a character possessed absolutely, not contingently, by mat- 
ter, then it is useless to seek the explanation of it in any process out- 
side the realm of matter. If, again, the power with which an object 
moves is something sui generis not related either to the nature of 
the object or to the power of substance it is equally useless to 
seek for any relation between the "conservation" of the energy of 


motion and the "conservation" of mass (the so-called indestructibil- 
ity of matter). And if, finally, the conservation of the organism is 
in like manner something absolute, instead of contingent, there need 
be no inquiry as to its origin in earlier and more universal forms of 
conservation. It is, in fact, by failing to relate to each other the 
various forms of conservation conservation of ether, conservation 
of motion, conservation of the organism that science ignores the 
principles of likeness, derivation, and universality, and therefore 
abandons all hope of the solutions to which the application of these 
principles inevitably lead. 

Here we reach the conception of inertia, which is similarly 
open to an absolute and a relational interpretation. Bodies are said 
to "persist" in their condition of rest or motion until that condition 
is changed by power other than their own to go on moving in a 
straight line until they meet with resistance or are made to change 
their condition by force. All such propositions are characteristic- 
ally absolute : they warn us of the possibility of resistance ( reaction ), 
but say nothing of its necessity. They assume that the moving ob- 
ject, with a convenient existence-vacuum for its "medium," may 
go on moving for ever; yet they fail to show how motion is pos- 
sible to an object which the proposition has disconnected from the 
universe. In the absolute view, lingering everywhere in modern 
physics, the object is held to possess its condition of rest or of 
movement independently of its relation to the system, or at any 
rate, as a result of adventitious, rather than constitutive relation 
to the system; the continuous motion of an object is therefore at- 
tributed to absence of resistance, instead of to continuity of differ- 
ential stress, while the continuous rest of an object is held to be due 
to absence of differential stress, instead of to continuity of equalized 
stress. All of which is opposed to the relational view, which holds 
that when an object remains at rest, it is held at rest by the system 
that when it remains or continues in motion, it is kept in motion 
by the system. For inertia, instead of being a condition adven- 
titiously acquired from the system, is a condition constitutively im- 
posed by the system. 



The neglect to recognize constitutive relation is also seen in 
our modern attitude towards the organism, which has long been 
viewed absolutely viewed rather as imposed upon nature, with 
powers possessed independently of nature, than as arising out of 
nature with such powers contingently originated. Hence the effort 
to explain the organism from the cell rather than the cell from the 
organism an effort obviously founded on the belief, however 
tacitly held, that the cells are not constitutively, but only adven- 
titiously related. This attitude is manifest in the perpetual striving 
of biological experts to find in some detail of cell structure the 
"secret of life"; in the belief, which confounds the concomitants 
of phenomena with their causes, that life is to be traced to some 
electrical, fermentive or other local process in the organism. We 
are here reminded of the slow advance which has been made towards 
relational views since the time when the organs of body and mind 
were treated by physicians as if each existed and possessed its 
powers more or less independently of the rest when specialists 
expert in one field of human pathology were not expected to know 
anything of the other fields when sociology, essentially a science 
of human relations, was not yet born, and it was the custom to 
regard the characters of the human being as individually intelligible, 
instead of as being explicable only in the light of the society of 
individuals. As early hypotheses regarding man left out of con- 
sideration the world of the lower organic life, in the supposition 
that man was self-sourced, instead of system-sourced, so theorists 
in the realm of human society took that absolute view of the indi- 
vidual human being out of which the exaggerated individualism of 
the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had its birth. Even to-day 
our science of sociology still treats the human individual as related 
more or less adventitiously instead of constitutively to the sum of 
individuals, the biological idea, itself absolute, of a system of co- 
operating units, each complete in itself, having been incorporated 
almost bodily into the scientific conception of the social system. 


Note also how the absolute view has retarded our knowledge 
of the process of organic development. In the theory of "natural 
selection" we have an explanation contrived for organisms which has 
no application to anorgana a law which, being ad rem, describes 
no part of that higher, that more universal process in which organic 
development must have originated. And it is because of this iso- 
lation of the special theory from any more general theory that we 
have been compelled to ignore the problem of the manner in which 
variations arise in the attention which we give to the manner in which 
they are accumulated to believe, in a word, that we can solve the 
problem of the "origin of species" without having first solved the 
problem of the origin of life. Instead of seeking in the world of 
the inorganic for some fundamental process of which the superficial 
organic process is merely a highly special and derivative form, we 
have been trying to explain the organism by dealing with it alone 
by treating it as an object sui generis, as an object totally unrelated, 
or related only adventitiously, to the general system of objects 
which we call nature. 

It is also in the very temper of the absolute view that we have 
dealt with the problem of intelligence. The principle of derivation 
requires us to explain the conscious from the unconscious forms of 
intelligence, yet we have never succeeded in ridding ourselves of 
the notion that some form of conscious intelligence, if not our own, 
is at work in the countless adaptations of structure and process 
which we find within the bodies of plants and animals. In like 
manner, the principle of derivation requires us to refer the general 
intelligence of the organism, conscious as well as unconscious, to 
that larger world in which it must have had its origin; yet instead 
of tracing organic intelligence to the inorganic cosmos, where the 
fundamental characters of that intelligence are plainly manifest, 
we try to read into the universe the most local, the most special, 
the most transitory forms of intelligent activity those associated 
with the consciousness of the human organism. For scientific pur- 
poses, that is to say, we seek to explain the intelligence of the 
organism by making the atoms of matter intelligent; for general 
purposes, we try to understand nature by referring its intelligent 


adaptations to a divine intelligence patterned after the intelligence 
of man. 


The contrast thus shown between absolute and relational views 
may be traced, with simultaneous disclosure of the source of in- 
accuracy in the former, through every department of human knowl- 
edge. Everywhere the absolute method is the method of ignoring 
the dependence of the individual object, the single process, on the 
sum of processes, the system of objects; the relational view is 
everywhere the method of viewing objects and processes in the light 
of the totality of processes and objects. Advance in nature knowl- 
edge, however darkened and disguised by imperfect method, has 
ever been advance from absolute to relational ways of viewing 
nature; it has always meant progress from the thought of the ob- 
ject as self-sourced to the thought of it as system-sourced ; it has 
never been anything other than the progressive mastery, by recog- 
nition of fundamental likeness, of those relations of stress and re- 
stress, of action and re-action, which make up the total system of 
power which we call universe. Nor is the contrast between absolute 
and relational merely a character of mental processes: it has its 
foundation and source in the world of objects. The whole of so- 
called development, alike in inorganic and organic, is nothing other 
than a gradual setting up of relation between units and groups 
a growing dependence of each unit on the sum of units, a gradual 
increase of the contribution made by unit to group, by group to 
unit a progressive subordination of unit to system an advancing 
domination of unit by system. The formation of matter groups by 
the gravitational and chemical processes is simply the earlier form 
of the process which manifests itself on a larger scale in the phe- 
nomena of crystallization, and on its most complex scale in the or- 
ganism and in human society. In all the movements with which 
sociology deals movements industrial, political, philanthropic, re- 
ligious life shows itself as a moving away from conditions that are 
absolute towards conditions that are relational. As all failures of 
nature knowledge have been failures of the absolute view, so all 


failures in conduct, individual and national, have resulted from an 
inadequate sense of relation from the effort to substitute for 
system-sourced conduct the conduct which is sourced in self. Move- 
ment away from the view of the individual and the group as self- 
dependent towards the view of both as contingent upon and domi- 
nated by the system this is the process which has been at the heart 
of all moral advance. 

It is now proposed to rationalize, and therefore to universalize 
the procedure which has thus far been followed in the investigation 
of nature to make application to the cosmos as a whole the method 
which has hitherto been applied only locally and fragmentarily, 
and has thus been applied with inadequate realization of its universal 
meaning and scope. In the relational view, the solution of nature 
problems yet unsolved is nothing other than a process of reaching 
out from the individual object, the individual process, to the system 
which is to elucidate both a passing from the local and superficial 
characters which most easily affect the senses to those fundamental 
and universal characters which appeal to the intellect a process 
of universalization which, demanding fundamental likeness as the 
condition of its possibility, implies a universe of one kind through- 
out whose units, everywhere system-contributing and system-de- 
termined, exist only as they are constitutively interdependent. 

Reasserting, therefore, the supremacy of the total mind process 
over the deliverances of the senses, as well as over every imperfect 
application of the intellect to those deliverances, the relational view 
demands that our knowledge of nature, instead of being made up of 
unrelated or imperfectly related views, shall have its foundation in 
an outlook over the whole field. Holding that the warrant for any 
view of nature must always be the reasonableness of that view 
its consistency with all other attainable truths, with all other propo- 
sitions believed to be true it casts the light of the relational method 
over the path hitherto traversed by the mind. It indicates the way yet 
to be followed ; it points also the goal to be reached. Its task is that 
of completing the monistic account of nature, and of doing this by 
revealing that cosmic unity which the accumulated facts of science, 
when relationally interpreted, already disclose. 


The aim of the relational philosophy, so far as concrete nature 
problems are concerned, is to relate motion to the forms as well as 
to the substance of the cosmos; to correlate gravitation with light, 
electro-magnetism, heat; to connect chemical with electro-magnetic 
action; to unify the self -maintaining organism with the self-main- 
taining universe ; to revise the theory of natural selection with such 
an account of the internal factors of organic development as shall 
separate the process by which intelligent adaptations are accumu- 
lated from the process by which they are originated ; to universalize 
so-called "intelligence" by showing it to be primarily neither a con- 
scious nor even an organic process, but a process rooted in the 
very nature of power; and finally, without danger of "pantheistic 
absorption" or injury to moral interests, to derive all organic and 
inorganic characters characters of form, characters of motion, 
characters of mind from their fountain and source, the substance 
system, the Creative Universe. 



"\TfHILE to-day in researches on the foundations of geometry 
we are essentially agreed as to the procedures to be adopted 
and the ends to be sought, it is quite otherwise with the inquiry 
concerning the foundations of arithmetic: here even yet the most 
diverse notions of the investigators stand bluntly opposed to each 

The difficulties in the founding of arithmetic are partly indeed 
of a different character from those which were to be overcome in 
the founding of geometry. 

In the examination of the foundations of geometry it was 
possible to leave aside certain difficulties of a purely arithmetical 
nature ; in the founding of arithmetic, however, the appeal to another 
basal science seems unallowable. 

I shall show the essential difficulties in the founding of arith- 
metic most clearly by subjecting to a brief critical discussion the 
views of individual investigators. 

L. Kronecker, you know, saw in the concept of the whole 
number the true foundation of arithmetic; he formed the concep- 
tion, that the integer, and that too as a general notion (parameter 
value), is directly and immediately given; thereby he was prevented 
from recognizing, that the idea of the whole number needs and is 
susceptible of a foundation. In so far I would designate him as 
a dogmatist: he takes the integer with its essential properties as 
dogma and makes no attempt to get behind it. 

1 Translated by George Bruce Halsted. 


H. Helmholtz represents the standpoint of the empiricist; 
the standpoint of pure experience, however, seems to me to be 
refuted by the objection, that from experience, that is, through 
experiment, can never be gotten the possibility or the existence 
of an indefinitely great number. For the number of the things 
which are object of our experience, even though it is great, lies 
nevertheless below a finite limit. 

E. B. Christ off el and all those opponents of Kronecker's, who, 
led by the correct feeling, that without the concept of the irrational 
number the whole of analysis would remain doomed to unfruit- 
fulness, seek, by finding out "positive" properties of this concept 
or through like means to save the existence of the irrational number, 
I would designate as opportunists. 

In my opinion, however, they have not succeeded in reaching 
a real refutation of the Kronecker standpoint. .." ;; - 

Among the scientists who have penetrated more deeply into 
the essence of the whole number, I may mention the following: 

G. Frege sets himself the problem of founding the laws of 
arithmetic by means of logic, this taken in the usual sense. He 
has the merit of having rightly apprehended the essential properties 
of the concept of the whole number as well as the significance of 
the inference by complete induction. Inasmuch as he, however, 
true to his plan, takes this also among others as axiom, that a con- 
cept (an aggregate) is defined and immediately available, provided 
only it be determined for every object, whether it falls under the 
concept or not, and also in doing this subjects the concept "every" 
to no restriction, he exposes himself to just those paradoxes of the 
theory of aggregates, which lie, for instance, in the concept of the 
aggregate of all aggregates and which, it seems to me, show that the 
conceptions and means of investigation of logic, taken in the usual 
sense, are not adequate to the rigorous requirements set up by the 
theory of aggregates. 

The avoidance of such contradictions and the clearing up of 
those paradoxes is rather from the very outset to be fixed upon as 
a chief aim in researches on the number concept. 

R. Dedekind has clearly perceived the mathematical difficulties 


in the founding of the number concept and in most ingenious fashion 
first supplied a construction of the theory of whole numbers. 

I would, however, designate his as a transcendental method 
in so far as he conducts his proof for the existence of the infinite 
in a way, whose fundamental idea is indeed used in like manner 
by philosophers, but which because of the unavoidable contradiction 
of the concept therein employed of the totality of all things, I 
cannot acknowledge as allowable and sure. 

G. Cantor has perceived the above-mentioned contradiction and 
has given expression to this perception by distinguishing between 
"consistent" and "inconsistent" aggregates. Inasmuch as he, how- 
ever, in my opinion sets up no sharp criterion for this distinc- 
tion, I must designate his conception on this point as one which 
still leaves room for the subjective judgment and therefore affords 
no objective certainty. 

I am of the opinion all the difficulties touched upon can be 
overcome and we can attain to a rigorous and entirely satisfactory 
founding of the number concept, and that by a method, which I 
would call axiomatic, whose fundamental idea I wish briefly to 
develop in what follows. 

Arithmetic is indeed designated as a part of logic and it is 
customary to presuppose in founding artithmetic the traditional 
fundamental principles of logic. 

But on attentive consideration we become aware, that in the 
usual exposition of the laws of logic certain fundamental concepts 
of arithmetic are already employed, for example the concept of the 
aggregate, in part also the concept of number. 

We fall thus into a vicious circle and therefore to avoid para- 
doxes a partly simultaneous development of the laws of logic and 
arithmetic is requisite. 

In the brief space of a lecture I can merely indicate how I 
conceive of this common construction. Therefore I ask indulgence 
if I succeed only in giving you a rough notion of what direction 
my researches are taking. Moreover, for the sake of being more 
easily understood, I shall employ the ordinary speech "in words" 


and the laws of logic therein indirectly expressed, more than would 
be desirable in an exact construction. 

Let an object of our thinking be called a thought-thing or 
briefly a thing and designated by a symbol. 

Let us take as the basis of our consideration first of all a 
thought-thing I (one). 

The taking of this thing together with itself respectively two, 
three or more times, as: 


we designate as combinations of the thing i with itself; in like 
manner any combinations of these combinations, as: 

are in turn called combinations of this thing I with itself. 

The combinations likewise are designated merely as things 
and then in distinction to this the fundamental thought-thing i as 
simple thing. 

We adjoin now a second simple thought-thing and denote it 
by the symbol =( equal). We consider now in turn the combinations 
of these two thought-things, as : 

We say, the combination a of the simple things i, = differs 
from the combination b of those things, if they, as regards the mode 
and sequence of the combination, or the choice and participation of 
the things i, = themselves, deviate in any way from one another, 
that is if a and b are not identical with each other. 

Now let us think the things i, = and their combinations as 
somehow divided into two classes, the class of the existent and the 
class of the non-existent: everything which belongs to the class of 
the existent, differs from everything which belongs to the class of 
the non-existent. Every combination of the two simple things i, = 
belongs to one of these two classes. 

If a is a combination of the two fundamental things i, =, then 
we designate also by a the statement, that a belongs to the class 


of the existent, and by a the statement, that a belongs to the class 
of the non-existent. We designate a as a true statement, if a belongs 
to the class of the existent ; on the other hand let a be called a true 
statement, if a belongs to the class of the non-existent. 

The statements a and a constitute a contradiction. 

The composite from two statements, A, B, represented in sym- 
bols by 


in words: "from A follows B" or "if A is true, B also is true" is 
likewise called a statement and then A is called the hypothesis, B 
the conclusion. 

Hypothesis and conclusion may themselves in turn consist of 
several statements A 1} A 2 , respectively B 1} B 2 , B 3 and so forth, in 
symbols : 

A! & A 2 | B o. B 2 o. B 3 , 

in words: "from A x and A 2 follows B 1? or B 2 , or B 3 " and so forth. 

In consequence of the symbol o. (or) it would be possible, 
since negation is already introduced, to avoid the symbol | ; I use 
it in this lecture merely to follow as much as possible the customary 

We will understand by A 1} A 2 , . . . respectively those statements 
which to be brief result from a statement A(^r) when in place 
of the "arbitrary" x we take the thought-things I, = and their 
combinations ; then we write the statements 

A t o. A 2 o. A 3 ,. . . respectively A l & A 2 & A 3 ,. . . 
also, as follows: 

A(^r (o) ), in words "at least for one x" 

respectively A(^r( &) ), in words "for every single x" 

in this we see merely an abbreviated way of writing. 

We make now from the fundamental two things I, = the fol- 
lowing statements: 

1 . x = x 

2. [x y & w (x}} | w(y). 

Therein x (in the sense of .ar (&) ) means each of the two funda- 


mental thought-things and every combination of them; in 2. y (in 
the sense of y &) ) is likewise each of those things and each combina- 
tion, furthermore w(x) an "arbitrary" combination, which contains 
the "arbitrary" x, (in the sense of .r (&) ) ; the statement 2. reads in 
words : 

From x = y and w(x} follows w(y). 

The statements i., 2. form the definition of the concept = 
(equal) and are in so far also called axioms. 

If one puts in place of the arbitraries x, y in the axioms I., 2. 
the simple things I, = or particular combinations of them, there 
result particular statements, which may be called inferences from 
those axioms. 

We consider a series of certain inferences of such a sort, that 
the hypotheses of the last inference of the series are identical with 
the conclusions of the preceding inferences. 

Then if we take the hypotheses of the preceding inferences as 
hypothesis and the conclusion of the last inference as conclusion, 
there results a new statement, which in turn may be designated as 
an inference from the axioms. 

By continuation of this deduction-process we may obtain further 

We select now from these inferences those which have the 
simple form of the statement a (affirmation without hypothesis), 
and comprehend the things a so resulting in the class of the existent, 
while the things differing from these may belong to the class of the 

We recognize, that from I., 2. only inferences of the form 
a = a ever arise, where a is a combination of the things I, =. 

The axioms I., 2. in their turn as regards the partition in ques- 
tion of the things into the two classes are also fulfilled, that is true 
statements, and because of this property of the axioms I., 2. we 
designate the concept = (equal) defined by them as a concept free 
from contradiction. 

I would call attention to the fact, that the axioms i., 2. do not 
at all contain a statement of the form a, that is a statement, accord- 


ing to which a combination is to be found in the class of the non- 

We therefore could also satisfy the axioms by comprehending 
the combinations of the two simple things all in the class of the 
existent and leaving the class of the non-existent empty. 

The partition above chosen into the two classes, however, shows 
better how to proceed in the subsequent more difficult cases. 

We now carry the construction of the logical foundations of 
mathematical thinking further, by adjoining to the two thought- 
things u (infinite aggregate, infinite), f (following), f (accom- 
panying operation) and laying down for them the following axioms: 

3. f(u*)=u(fX> 

4. f(u;r) = f(u;y)| ux = uy 

5. f(tur)=ui 

Therein the arbitrary x (in the sense of ^r (&) ) means each of the 
five now fundamental thought-things and every combination of 

The thought-thing u may be called briefly infinite aggregate 
and the combination MJC (for example ui, u(n), uf) an element of 
this infinite aggregate u. 

The axiom 3. then expresses, that after each element \ax fol- 
lows a definite thought-thing f(ujF), which is equal to an element 
of the aggregate u, namely to the element u(f'^r), that is belongs 
likewise to the aggregate u. 

The axiom 4. expresses the fact, that, if the same element fol- 
lows two elements of the aggregate u, those elements also are equal. 

According to axiom 5. there is no element in u, after which the 
element ui follows; this element ui may therefore be called the 
first element in u. 

We have now to subject the axioms i. 5. to the investigation 
corresponding to that before made of the axioms i., 2. ; therein it 
is to be noticed, that those axioms i., 2. at the same time experience 
an extension of their validity, inasmuch as now the arbitraries 
x, y mean any combinations you please of the five fundamental 
simple things. 


We ask again, whether certain inferences from the axioms 
i. 5. make a contradiction or whether on the contrary the funda- 
mental five thought-things i, ==, u, f, f and their combinations can 
be so distributed into the class of the existent and the class of the 
non-existent, that the axioms I. 5. in regard to this partition into 
classes are fulfilled, that is, as regards that partition into classes, 
each inference from those axioms comes to be a true statement. 

To answer this question, we take into account that axiom 5. 
is the only one which gives rise to statements of the form a, that 
is that a combination a of the five fundamental thought-things is to 
belong to the class of the non-existent. Statements, which with 5. 
make a contradiction, must therefore in any case be of the form : 

such an inference, however, can in no wise result from the axioms 
i. 4. 

In order to perceive this, we designate the equation, that is the 
thought-thing a = b as a homogeneous equation when a and b are 
both combinations of two simple things, and also if a and b are both 
any combinations of three or both any combinations of four or 
more simple things ; for example 

(n) = (fu), (ff) = (uf), (fu) = (ui=), (fi)(fi) = (uu) f 
[f(ff'u)] = (iuui), [(ff)(in)] = [(i)(ii)(ii)], (fum=) 

are called homogeneous equations. 

From the axioms i. and 2. alone follow, as we have already 
seen, nothing but homogeneous equations, namely the equations of 
the form <z = a. Just so axiom 3. gives only homogeneous equa- 
tions if in it we take for x any one thought-thing. 

Likewise axiom 4. is certain to exhibit in the conclusion always 
a homogeneous equation, if only the hypothesis is a homogeneous 
equation, and consequently only homogeneous equations can appear 
at all as inferences from the axioms I. 4. 

Now, however, the equation 6., which is the one to be proven, 
is certainly no homogeneous equation, since therein in place of x^ 
one has to take a combination and thus the left side comes to be a 


combination of three or more simple things, while the right side 
remains a combination of the two simple things u and i. 

Herewith is explained, as I think, the thought fundamental for 

the recognition of the correctness of my assertion ; for the complete 

carrying through of the proof there is need of the idea of the finite 
ordinal number and certain theorems about the concept of equality 
as to number, which in fact at this point can without difficulty be 
set up and deduced : for the complete carrying through of the stated 
fundamental thought we have still to consider those points of view, 
to which I will briefly refer at the close of my lecture. (Compare V.) 

The desired partition into classes results therefore, if one reck- 
ons as in the class of the existent all things a, where a is an inference 
from the axioms i. 4,, and considers as in the class of the non- 
existent all those things which differ from these, especially the 
things f(u^r) = ui. 

Because of the property of the assumed axioms so found, we 
recognize, that these never lead at all to a contradiction, and there- 
fore we designate the thought-things u, f, f defined by them as 
concepts or operations free from contradiction or as existing free 
from contradiction (compatible). 

As to the concept of the infinite u in particular, the affirmation 
of the existence of the infinite u thus appears justified through the 
above indicated exposition; for it gets now a definite meaning and 
a content continually to be applied later on. 

The investigation just sketched makes the first case in which 
the direct proof of the freedom-from-contradiction of axioms has 
been successfully given, whereas the method heretofore usual 
especially in geometry for such proofs, that of suitable specializa- 
tion or construction of examples, here necessarily fails. 

That this direct proof here succeeds, is, as one sees, essentially 
owing to the circumstance, that a statement of the form a, that is 
a statement, according to which a certain combination is to belong 
to the class of the non-existent, only appears as a conclusion in one 
place, namely in axiom 5. 

When we translate the known axioms for complete induction 
into the speech chosen by me, we attain in like manner to the com- 


patibility of the so increased axioms, that is to the proof of the contra- 
diction-free existence of the so-called smallest infinite* (that is, of 
the ordinal type I, 2, 3, . . .). 

There is no difficulty in founding the concept of the finite 
ordinal number in accordance with the principles above set up; 
this is done on the basis of the axiom, that every aggregate which 
contains the first element of ordinal number and, in case any element 
belongs to it, also contains the one following this, surely must al- 
ways contain the last element. 

The proof of the compatibility of the axioms follows here very 
easily by the bringing in of an example, for instance of the number 
two. It is then the main point, to show, that an arrangement of the 
elements of the finite ordinal number is possible, such that each 
part-aggregate of it possesses a first and a last element a fact, 
which we prove by defining a thought-thing < by the axiom 
(x < y & y < *) | x < z 

and then recognizing the compatibility of the axioms set up with 
the addition of this new axiom, when x, y, z mean arbitrary elements 
of the finite ordinal number. 

By using the fact of the existence of the smallest infinite, the 
theorem then follows also, that for each finite ordinal number a 
still greater ordinal number can be found. 

The principles which must be normative for the construction 
and further elaboration of the laws of mathematical thinking in 
the contemplated way, are briefly the following: 

I. Arrived at a definite standpoint in the development of the 
theory, I may designate a further statement as true, as soon as is 
recognized, that it superadded as axiom to the statements already 
found true, gives no contradiction, that is leads to inferences, which 
in regard to a certain partition of things into the class of the exist- 
ent and that of the non-existent are all true statements. 

II. In the axioms the arbitraries as equivalent for the concept 
"every" or "all" in the customary logic represent only those 

* Compare my lecture delivered before the International Congress of 
Mathematicians at Paris in 1900 : Mathematical Problems, 2. The Compatibility 
of the Arithmetical Axioms. 


thought-things and their combinations with one another, which at 
that stage are laid down as fundamental or are to be newly defined. 
Therefore in the deduction of inferences from the axioms, the arbi- 
traries, which occur in the axioms, can be replaced only by such 
thought-things and their combinations. 

Also we must duly remember, that through the superaddition 
and making fundamental of a new thought-thing the preceding 
axioms undergo an enlargement of their validity, and where neces- 
sary, are to be subjected to a change in conformity with the sense. 

III. The aggregate is generally defined as a thought-thing m, 
and the combinations mx are called elements of the aggregate m, 
so that therefore in opposition to the usual conception the con- 
cept of the element of an aggregate appears only as later product 
of the idea of aggregate. 

Exactly as the concept "aggregate" are also "correlation," "trans- 
formation," "reference," "function" thought-things for which, pre- 
cisely as was done a moment ago with the concept "infinite," the suit- 
able axioms are to be stated, and these then in the case of the possi- 
bility of the partition of the respective combinations into the class 
of the existent and that of the non-existent can be recognized as 
compatibly existing. 

In I. the creative principle receives expression which in the 
freest application warrants us in ever new concept-building with 
the sole restriction of the avoidance of a contradiction. The para- 
doxes mentioned at the beginning of this lecture become because of 
II. and III. impossible; especially does this hold of the paradox of 
the aggregate of all aggregates not containing themselves as ele- 

In order to permit the perception of the far-going agreement 
in content of the concept of aggregate defined in III. with the 
usual aggregate-concept, I prove the following theorem: 

At a definite stage in the development let 

I, . . ., a, . .., k 

be the fundamental thought-things and a() a combination of these, 
which contains the arbitrary ; further let a (a) be a true statement 


(that is a (a) in the class of the existent) : then there is sure to 
exist a thought-thing m of such a sort, that a(mx) for the arbitrary 
x represents true statements only (that is a(mx} always occurs in 
the class of the existent) and also inversely each thing , for which 
a() represents a true statement, is equal to a combination mx^, 
so that the statement 

is true, that is the things , for which a() is a true statement, make 
the elements of an aggregate m in the sense of the above definition. 
In proof we set up the following axiom : m is a thought-thing, 
for which the statements 

are true, that is if is a thing such that o() belongs to the class 
of the existent, then must m = hold good, otherwise w| = a ; ad- 
join this axiom to the axioms which are valid for the things 

I, . . ., a, . . ., k, 

and then assume, that thereby a contradiction is produced, that is, 
that for the things 

i, ..., a, . ..,k, m 
perchance the statements 

P(m) and p(m} 

are at one and the same time inferences, where p(m) is a certain 
combination of the things 

i, . ..,k, m. 

Therewith 8. means in words the stipulation w = a, if a() 
belongs to the class of the non-existent. 

Whenever in p(m} the thing m appears in the combination m, 
replace in accordance with the axioms 7. and 8. and taking 2. into 
consideration the combination w| by |, respectively a; if from p(m) 
is formed in this way q(m) (where now q(m) no longer contains 
the thing m in a combination mx}, then must q(m) be an inference 
from the original fundamental axioms for 

i , . . . , a, . . . , k 


and therewith also remain true if we for m take any one of these 
things, as for instance the thing i. 

Since the same consideration holds also for the statement p(m), 
there would therefore exist also at the original stage, when we take 
as a basis the things 

i, . . . , a, . . ., k, 
the contradiction 

g(i) and 

which cannot be it being presupposed that the things 

I, ....k 

exist free from contradiction. We must therefore reject our assump- 
tion, that a contradiction is produced ; in other words, m exists free 
from contradiction which was to be proved. 

IV. If we wish to investigate a definitely given system of 
axioms in accordance with the above principles, then we must parti- 
tion the combinations of the fundamental things into the two classes, 
that of the existent and that of the non-existent, and in this process 
the axioms play the role of prescriptions which the partition must 

The chief difficulty will consist in making out the possibility 
of the partition of all things into the two classes, that of the existent 
and that of the non-existent. 

The question of the possibility of this partition is essentially 
equivalent to the question, whether the inferences, which can be 
obtained from the axioms through specialization and combination 
in the previously exemplified sense, lead to a contradiction or not, 
if besides are adjoined the familiar logical deduction-modes such as 

((a\b) & (a\b}}\b 

[(ao. b) & (oo. c)]|[ao. (b & c)]. 

The compatibility of the axioms can then either be made out 
by showing how a peradventure contradiction must show itself as 
early as a preceding stage in the development of the theory, or by 
making the assumption, that there is a proof, which leads from the 
axioms to a definite contradiction, and then demonstrating, that 


such a proof is not possible, that is to say contains in itself a con- 
tradiction. Thus indeed the proof just now sketched for the con- 
tradiction-free existence of the infinite amounts also to making out, 
that a proof for the equation 6. from the axioms I. 4. is not pos- 

V. Whenever in what precedes several thought-things, com- 
binations, combinations of manifold sort or several arbitraries were 
spoken of, a limited number of such things ought always to be 

After the setting up of the definition of the finite number we 
are in position to take that mode of expression in its general mean- 

Also the meaning of the "any you please" inference and of 
the "differing" of one statement from all statements of a certain 
kind is now, on the basis of the definition of the finite number 
corresponding to the idea of complete induction through a recur- 
rent procedure, capable of an exact description. 

Thus also is to be conceived the complete carrying through of 
the proof just now indicated, that the statement 

differs from each statement which results through a finite number 
of steps as inference from the axioms I. 4.: one has, that is, to 
consider the proof itself as a mathematical structure, namely a 
finite aggregate, whose elements are connected through statements 
expressing that the proof leads from I. 4. to 6., and one has then 
to show that such a proof contains a contradiction and therefore 
does not in our defined sense exist free from contradiction. 

In a way like that in which the existence of the smallest infinite 
can be proven, follows the existence of the assemblage of real 
numbers: in fact the axioms as I have set them up* for real num- 
bers are expressible precisely through such formulas as the axioms 
hitherto laid down. As for that axiom which I have called the 
axiom of completeness, it expresses that the assemblage of real 

* Grundlagen der Geometric, second edition, Leipsic, 1903, pp. 24-26. 


numbers in the sense of the reversible unique referability by ele- 
ments contains every other aggregate whose elements likewise ful- 
fill the preceding axioms ; thus conceived the axiom of completeness 
also becomes a requirement expressible through formulas of the 
foregoing structure and the axioms for the assemblage of real 
numbers are qualitatively distinguished in no respect from the 
axioms necessary for the definition of the whole numbers. 

In the perception of this fact lies, as I think, the real refutation 
of the conception of the foundations of arithmetic advocated by 
L. Kronecker and at the beginning of my lecture designated as 

In like manner is shown, that contradiction- free existence be- 
longs to the fundamental concepts of the Cantor theory of aggre- 
gates, in particular to the Cantor alefs. 






A VERY interesting question concerning the relations of the 
famous Hammurabi Code to the Hebrew record has hitherto 
been passed over by critical students. The intrinsic interest of the 
narrative, when read in the light of the law of the time in that re- 
gion, as well as its value as material for critical purposes, suggest 
that it should be given careful consideration. For the present paper, 
a bare presentation of parallels must answer: critical conclusions 
being left to the reader. 

The Hebrew traditions declare that their ancestors were Ara- 
means. 'An Aramean ready to perish was my father," was the 
confession of the devout Hebrew. "Laban the Aramean" is of 
Abraham's own kindred. The point of departure, geographically 
speaking, is Ur-Casdim. The various theories about the location 
of Ur need not be discussed here. The preponderance of opinion 
is toward a location in southern Babylonia. We are therefore justi- 
fied in examining the early Aramean stage of the Hebrew people 
for traces of Babylonian influences. Conversely, should comparison 
of the Code of Hammurabi with the patriarchal narratives disclose 
in the latter evidences of Babylonian culture, we would be strength- 
ened in the view that the site of Ur-Casdim must be sought in Baby- 

The theory that a primitive common clan law sufficiently ac- 
counts for all resemblances between the Babylonian and the patri- 
archal law can also be tested. If they are but sister developments 



from a common nomad code, we should not anticipate wide differ- 
ences in patriarchal practice in the same generation. But if kins- 
men dwelling in different lands are shown to speak and act as 
though the laws of their respective homes were widely different, 
we may be sure that we have to deal with considerably developed 
local laws, instead of mere primitive clan customs. 

Hammurabi's own records also warrant our making the pro- 
posed examination. "Martu," as Palestine was called, is mentioned 
repeatedly in his inscriptions. The precise extent of Babylonian 
authority there we do not know. But Harran and Aleppo are men- 
tioned by Hammurabi as objects of his special care and attention. 
We find that Babylonian supremacy seems complete throughout 
the Euphrates valley : and we may expect all important transactions 
in that region to be influenced by the Hammurabi Code, while a 
stranger from Southern Palestine would probably not be familiar 
with the law of the land. Only one of the patriarchal narratives, 
that of Jacob and Laban, has its scene laid in the land of Harran. 
The sharp practice narrated should then be examined in the light 
of Harran law. :$ 

In the Code of Hammurabi, much attention is given to the 
property rights of women. We are concerned with but one of the 
elements of a woman's property in the present case, the tirhatu, or 
betrothal present. The groom is expected to bring such at the time 
of the formal arrangement of the marriage contracts. The father 
of the bride must not appropriate this gift, and must endow his 
daughter's marriage, else he puts her in the position of having been 
sold as a slave, instead of honorably married. 

The bride's possession of the tirhatu is clearly indicated by the 
general principle of the code, which compels a wrong-doer to for- 
feit to the injured party a sum at least equal to the amount origin- 
ally involved in any given business transaction. In the cases where 
a wife is wronged by her husband, the equivalent of the original 
tirhatu is paid over to the wife herself, not to her father. If the 
latter holds the tirhatu, it seems that he does so merely in trust; 
to divert it to his own uses would be equivalent to embezzlement. 
If the wife be divorced without just cause, the tirhatu is doubled 


by the husband and paid over to the wife as penalty for infringe- 
ment of the marriage contract. 

One naturally asks, with regard to the tirhatu, what were the 
poor man's chances for marrying into a wealthy family, or what 
he would do if unable to purchase a maid-servant. The code makes 
it apparent that some equivalent might be offered by a penniless 
suitor. In section 139 we are told, in case of unjust divorce, that if 
no tirhatu had been presented by the husband in the beginning, 
one mina of silver must be paid to the divorced wife. That is to say, 
one mina of silver is named as the equivalent of the least tirhatu 
which should have been brought by the penniless suitor. 

Now from the wage-scale in the code we learn that the stand- 
ard daily wage for a first-class herdsman or agriculturist is 5 SE 
of silver per day; skilled artisans being rated slightly lower. As 
180 SE make one shekel, and 60 shekels a mina, and, as Prof. Morris 
Jastrow has shown (A. J. T., 1898), that the Babylonians observed 
a seventh day in some fashion, we readily recognize that one shekel 
means six weeks wages and one mina 360 weeks ; or exactly seven 
years, at the ordinary Semitic standard of 360 days to the year. 
Seven years service, for a day-laborer who is a competent workman, 
stands then as the possible alternative for a tirhatu in cash or goods, 
if his aspirations are to alliance with one in more fortunate circum- 
stances. But what has been pointed out with regard to the bride's 
ownership of the tirhatu would indicate that the net proceeds of 
such service the bride would consider as constituting her tirhatu; 
and appropriation of it by her father she would be prepared to 

In the story of Jacob and Laban, the former, after a month's 
residence, proffered seven years service for the hand of Rachel. 
Perhaps Laban felt that the minimum amount proffered was derog- 
atory to the dignity of his family. Whatever the motives of his 
conduct, it appears that Jacob did not know the laws of the land, 
and Laban was prepared to take advantage of the fact. He had 
the law constructively in favor of his specious excuse. While not 
specifically enjoined, it is clearly expected (C. H. 66) that the mar- 
riages of the older children shall be arranged first. 


Laban has the further advantage in the fact that no bonds 
appear to have been drawn up, specifying which daughter Jacob 
desired as his bride. C. H. 128 declares that if a man has betrothed 
or married a wife, but has not drawn up the required bonds, that 
woman is no wife. In the absence of such documents Jacob could 
not have a legal claim to Rachel. 

Jacob's reliance upon a mere verbal agreement between kins- 
men in a land whose laws made witnesses or bonds essential to the 
validity of all important business transactions (C. H., passim) had 
brought him a bitter experience. By the end of the second seven 
years, however, it is apparent that he knew something of the tech- 
nicalities of the law himself, and was prepared to better the instruc- 
tion by putting Laban in the position of breaking the law repeatedly. 
Two important sections of the code may be quoted here (C. H. 
264, 265) : 

"If a herdsman, to whom oxen and sheep have been given to 
pasture, receives his hire according to agreement, is satisfied (in 
that particular), and allows the cattle or sheep to become enfeebled, 
or lessens the birth-rate, according to his contracts he shall make 
good the birth-rate and the increase." 

"If a herdsman, to whom oxen or sheep have been given to 
pasture, has been dishonest, or has altered the terms (of his con- 
tract) or has sold them, they shall call him to account, and he shall 
restore to the owner oxen or sheep tenfold what he had stolen." 

These provisions are not intended for the ordinary day laborer, 
but for the master-herdsman or contractor. Laban's experience with 
Jacob had convinced him that he had a valuable master-herdsman 
whom it might be well to keep at his own terms. The sections 
quoted indicate the customary character of such agreements. It 
is expected that contracts shall stipulate a certain reasonable pro- 
portion or percentage of increase. With such a contract, Jacob 
would have no opportunity for his revenge. Hence the peculiar 
proposition he makes to Laban. 

Now if Jacob proposes to alter the terms of his contract, he is 
liable for heavy damages ; but he so manipulates matters that Laban 
changes the terms himself, ten times over; and Jacob has Laban's 


daughters as witnesses to the fact (Gen. xxxi. 6, 7). Again, if 
Jacob, under an ordinary contract, diminishes or enfeebles the cattle, 
Laban can collect damages from him; but the character of the 
agreement leaves Laban no such recourse, and he repeatedly alters 
the terms to recover his previous losses. 

Meanwhile Laban's daughters have a deep sense of wrong. 
No dowry had been given them: the results of Jacob's service had 
been appropriated by Laban; and they were in consequence in the 
status of maid-servants, who had been sold to a foreigner, contrary 
to the provisions of the code (C. H., 280). Or they might consider 
themselves as legally in the status of unportioned concubines whose 
marriage their father refused to endow, and who must expect their 
brothers, after their father's death, to give them their rights (C. H., 
184). But the black looks of their brothers, who are asserting that 
Jacob has robbed Laban, warn them that they need not look for 
redress in that quarter. At the family council the wives of Jacob 
apparently approve his methods, declaring that their father has 
treated them as strangers or foreigners, that he has devoured or 
wholly alienated all that they rightfully considered their own, and 
that he has simply sold his daughters as if they were slaves. Jacob, 
in their view, is only helping himself in a case where the law could 
not help him, when he plans to get possession of the vast increase 
in Laban's cattle, which his service had produced, as their tirhatu. 

But there is another contingency, which they apparently con- 
sider: Laban's original fraud, with the absence of legal documents, 
makes it possible for Laban to take radical action in the case. He 
might choose, in the last resort, to take away his daughters by force, 
upon the ground that they were not legally married, and so send 
Jacob away stripped of everything. As the strained relations make 
it clear that the end is nigh, Rachel, the ancient Jessica, cunning 
and daring as well as beautiful, plans the final coup. 

This may be understood from C. H. 6. We learn that who- 

I ever steals the property or household furnishings of a god, shall 

be put to death, and whoever receives the stolen goods shall be put 

to death. Such property of the god would include not merely 

symbols and statuettes, but all kinds of votive or dedicated objects. 


Babylonian Judaism in a later period shows how wide a range of 
interpretation could be given the law. It could be made to accord 
to property as well as to person the privilege of sanctuary. Unprin- 
cipled Jews gave it great abuse. Christ alludes to it in his reference 
to "Corban," "dedicated," being made an excuse by unnatural chil- 
dren for not using their property to help a needy parent. Perhaps 
this originated the. other device of a "gift to Caesar" to forestall 
confiscation by some greedy official. Such protection of valuables 
may have been the end sought by Micah's wealthy mother, in the 
story in Judges. Learning the fact, and of the terrible curses 
launched against the thief, the frightened Micah hastened to sur- 
render his plunder. 

The reader may imagine the frame of mind of Laban when 
he learned that Jacob and Rachel had outwitted him, and had a week 
the start in the race for the frontier. One may apply, if he will, the 
outcry of Shylock as described by Salanio. But in the present case 
perhaps because Jacob has the stronger troop, and because efforts 
to recover any property without violence would lead to recrimina- 
tions that would not be helpful to his cause, Laban discovers that 
he has religious scruples upon certain points, and will speak neither 
good nor bad. His insincerity is shown by his boasting of power 
to do hurt to the fugitives, and by his immediate preferment of a 
capital charge. 

Jacob replies, stating that he had feared forcible action upon 
the part of Laban, and later tells him openly that Laban would, if 
he dared, strip him of everything. Of the final offense charged 
by Laban he knows nothing, but admits its capital character : "With- 
whomsoever thou findest thy gods, let him not live." Legal action 
concerning all earlier proceedings Jacob does not fear, as the ab- 
sence of documents in the original fraud destroys Laban's oppor- 
tunities for appeal to the law. Laban cannot deny the bringing of 
a tirhatu- in the form of seven years' service. If he choose to assert 
that the marriage is not legally complete, and that he prefers to 
bestow his daughter upon some one else, the law would compel him 
to refund the tirhatu or proceeds of Jacob's service, and to add to 


it an equal sum (C. H., 160, 161). Such course would be out of 
the question for such as Laban. 

To grasp at once the sudden change of the roles of prosecutor 
and prosecuted in the dramatic denouement, it must be remem- 
bered that the lex talionis is the fundamental principle of the code, 
and every formally preferred charge, if unproven, recoils with the 
corresponding penalty upon the head of the accuser. C. H. i de- 
clares that if a man charge a capital crime upon any one and fail to 
prove it he shall be put to death. 

At the end of the search, Jacob suddenly turns upon his accuser, 
and in his lofty rage he assumes the role of the magnanimous, as he 
demands instant trial, before witnesses. Laban has charged a cap- 
ital crime, and boasted of his power to hurt before the whole com- 
pany. His charge is not proven and his life is legally forfeit. The 
herdsman's contracts between them have been altered repeatedly, 
despite the most faithful service upon Jacob's part ; each alteration 
is liable to a fine of tenfold the amount involved. Laban's sons have 
been charging fraud (Gen. xxxi. i) ; they should prove their al- 
legations, or the family may be fined a sum equal to that which 
they assert lost. The aggregate fines for the charges made would 
bankrupt the family. Jacob goes further. The law does not hold 
the shepherd responsible if wild beasts slay his employer's cattle 
(C. H., 266). Yet Jacob declares that he voluntarily assumed such 
losses at first, and that Laban later required it, contrary to the law. 
He then reverts to the original fraud and closes by asserting that 
Laban would, if he dared, rob him of everything. Thus the avari- 
cious Aramean, very punctilious about small technicalities of the 
law when he would get the advantage of his foreign kinsman who 
did not know the law of the land, has, without his suspecting it, 
been put in the position of breaking the law repeatedly. He is le- 
gally bankrupt, his life is forfeit ; his jewelry and sacred equipment 
have been stolen by his fleeing daughter; and, despoiled of all 
opportunity for legal redress, he is compelled to sue for peace, and 
to ask for an agreement that there shall be no effort at prosecution. 

In this request for a treaty we may observe another point of 
contact with the code. Under its provisions a man could not marry 


two wives unless the first were a chronic invalid. But for Leah's 
weak eyes, (perhaps serious abscesses, a common malady of the 
eye in the Orient and especially considered in the code, 215-220) 
the first fraud of Laban could have permanently closed the way 
to Rachel. Neither as wife, maid or concubine could she have come 
to Jacob, under the law. Perhaps Laban had never intended that 
she should. But the advisability of retaining a skilful master herds- 
man would be enough to impel a man like Laban to avail himself 
of the very convenient section 148 of the code, using Leah's bad 
eyes as a pretext. But at the witness cairn of Gilead the frontier 
is near. Beyond the border the code does not apply, and other 
social standards prevail. That his daughters may not be mistreated, 
and that Jacob shall take no other wives, Laban has recourse to 

We may have here one version perhaps the original of that 
much varied, far traveled popular tale, which the genius of Shake- 
speare has immortalized for the English-speaking world in the 
"Merchant of Venice." The main elements the contest of wits 
over legal technicalities between an avaricious old man and a young 
man of another land, who finally bests the elder man and runs away 
with the daughter and the family jewelry, with the dramatic boule- 
versement at the trial scene are all in the patriarchal tale. It should 
prove a very interesting problem for the student of comparative 




r I A HE problem of quality and quantity implies two distinct stud- 
ies, which we shall combine here for greater convenience 
in exposition. The first is of an historical nature and must answer 
the question : What is, in the history of philosophy, the exact mean- 
ing of the opposition of the concepts of quality and quantity? 
or, in other words, what is the original attitude of modern physics 
toward the old conception? The second study, of a purely rational 
character, must solve the question, What is the psychological mean- 
ing of the words quality and quantity, and from a scientific point of 
view what is the import of the contrast of two categories so long 
admitted to be mutually irreducible? in other words, what must be 
thought of the transition from the unextended to the extended? or, 
in any case how is it brought about, and what is really the value 
of the distinction between intensive and extensive magnitude the 
latter being clear and serving as an adequate symbol to the former 
which is as confused as the very depths of being? 

Quality and quantity characterize very exactly the two points 
of view, from which the human mind has successively regarded 
physics during the long history of the progress of that science taken 
in its most general sense. In turn each term becomes the cru- 
cial test as to the nature of matter: quality is the pivot around 
which the old science of physics gravitates ; quantity, the new. 
Between these two conceptions has evolved the theory of living be- 
ings as well as that of inorganic bodies. It is enough to say that the 

1 Translated by Amelia Seraphon. 


problem of the relation of quantity to quality is not lacking in 
interest. We will consider here only very general ideas. 
These then are the terms of the psychological problem: 

1. From the subjective point of view, trying to find quantity 
in quality will be looking for the application of the law of number 
or measure in the realm of mere intensity ; it will be reducing to 
well-known proportions the mobile and intangible depths of sen- 
sation ; it will be finding out the connection between the object ex- 
citing sensation, and the sensation itself. From this point of view, 
however, one particular will always escape us, and that is the purely 
emotional and affective in sensation. 

2. From the objective point of view, searching for quantity in 
quality, will be passing from the subject to the object, by reducing 
to distinct and clear formulas the sensations that we interpret as 
signs of some object outside of ourselves ; it will be affirming that 
we know objects only in relation to the clear ideas we have of them, 
and that the reality of the external world is connected with the 
evidence of the mathematical formulas to which we reduce them. 
This is again transferring the unextended into the extended, and 
making general mathematics the condition of all certitude. But 
from this point of view also, one thing will always escape us, namely : 
to know the very fundamental facts set in equation, and the neces- 
sity of this interdependence postulated a priori of reason and real- 
ity. Therein lies the great problem of thought. 

Sound, color, odor, taste, cold and heat, resistance, weight, 
hardness, shape, situation, and movement: in these consists all our 
external world, or at least as much of it as can be perceived by a 
consciousness in which reflection has had no part. The distinction 
between the qualitative and the quantitative point of view that we 
establish in things, is not so clear on the whole as it would seem 
at first. Common sense, far from seeing a great difference between 
the extensive and intensive, makes of them two forms of one and the 
same thing, as it were. It immediately looks upon quantity and 
quality as notions fusing into the unity of an object of which they 
express different modes of existence on a common basis. Thus 
quality and quantity imply each other, since all ideas relating to 


magnitude indicate as many ways of existing, and everything that 
serves to determine the nature of a thing is rightly called quality. 
Such is the common opinion. We shall see later, on what precon- 
ceived idea it rests. Now we shall limit ourselves to stating that 
this radical difference which is primarily established between qual- 
ity and quantity is not founded on reason. What we first know 
are the sensations which we distinguish from what we suppose to 
be their causes ; that is to say, we first perceive ourselves and after- 
wards that which is not ourselves. 


Before going further, let us examine what may fitly be called 
the distinction between primary and secondary qualities. Does 
such a distinction impress itself upon the popular mind ? or is it but 
the sublimated result of reflecting thought? 

It seems to me that common sense clearly makes this distinc- 
tion. As we have said it intreprets all sensations, in so far as they 
relate to an external object, as qualities of that object and places 
them nearly on the same level. Moreover, the contradiction of 
primary and secondary qualities is no longer of any consequence 
whatever, since science has shown most emphatically that both were 
in the first place, but states of consciousness identical by nature ; 
and in the second place, that they were only the different expres- 
sions of the action upon us of a certain cause under given con- 
ditions, and following a ratio of which one's own self is one of 
the terms, and the cause in question which remains to be determined, 
the other. 

People say, "We know the primary qualities quite clearly; the 
secondary but confusedly." This argument in favor of a distinc- 
tion had its value when science had not yet shown what could be 
expected of it. But now we know how to regard all those sensa- 
tions formerly thought to be confused from the fact that they could 
not be measured, and qualities such as sound, color, odor, taste; or 
such others as weight, resistance, impenetrability, and in general 
all sensations which with the exception of extent, shape, and size 
were considered secondary (that is to say, confused) are at present 


quite susceptible of being submitted to measurement and therefore 
to quantity. This progress in analysis makes sufficiently clear how 
slight is the foundation for a distinction uncritically established, 
and also how necessary it is to continually verify the content of 
certain notions, the frequent use of which blinds us to their sig- 


But how to escape from sensation? How can we pass from 
quality to quantity? Here indeed arises the psychological problem 
which interests us. 

At this moment I experience a sensation of heat. What is the 
meaning of this fact? It means that just now my consciousness 
subsumes its present state under a class of past conditions called 
heat. Strictly speaking, I have not a sensation of heat in me. My 
being is simply in a certain state different from the preceding and 
it has the consciousness of this state and of this difference. I try 
to find the reason of this sensation. Now as I am near the fire I 
conclude that the fire is the cause of my actual condition ; and then 
passing from my self to what is not myself, I affirm that the fire 
has a property, a quality, that of causing warmth. 

It is important to establish the terms of the ratio: on one side, 
my own self ; on the other, that which is certainly not my self. Two 
terms being present I have the right to establish the relation, and 
it is expressed here for me by the sensation of warmth. Have I 
perceived by this sensation a quality of the fire? I cannot state 
positively that I have ; for a relation is never an expression of the 
existence of one of the two terms on which it rests. It is only the 
new result derived from a comparison of the two terms, but is 
neither the one, nor the other. In the above instance my sensation 
of warmth is but the tertium quid, resulting from the fact that my 
body is near another body which I call "fire." That is all I can 
say about it. 

Let us continue the analysis. According to the judgment of 
common sense, actual sensation is what puts me into direct and im- 
mediate communication with the external world. Practically this 


belief in the comprehension of external reality is sufficient. I say 
that I am actually warm and that this sensation is not the result of 
my own will. Now by repeated experiments I have come to know 
that fire has the property of causing the feeling which I now ex- 
perience. Hence I conclude that fire has one quality (among others, 
doubtless) that experience has already revealed to me or will in the 
future, namely, that of warming; and that is enough for every-day 

But the reasoning of the scholar is quite different. He will 
not draw his conclusion simply from self and non-self. He will 
not say: "I am warm now because the fire is warm" or "because 
there is heat in the fire." How could he really know it since he 
perceives but the actual sensation which can only give him what it 
implies, namely a state of consciousness for himself who experiences 
it, and not a certain quality of the fire, the existence of which he 
could only affirm positively by transporting himself momentarily 
into the consciousness of the fire, supposing it to have one. So the 
philosopher instead of concluding from a psychological state a re- 
ality outside of himself an entity which would explain nothing 
would try instead to lift the veil from the illusion of common sense. 
Applying the process of analysis to the actually experienced sensa- 
tion, he will there establish a very nice distinction. He will first 
of all try to find out what this sensation within himself may be, 
and will say, "It is only a state of my own self; it is still my own 
self, but different from what it was an instant before." But here 
he is only at the philosophical explanation of the popular point of 
view ; and if he did not go further with his reasoning, this conscious- 
ness of a certain psychological state which has been preceded by 
another, and will be followed by an infinite number of others, in 
other words, the consciousness of a possible series of psychical states, 
would be practically sufficient for him. 

But this knowledge pertains only to his own being, and does 
not inform him of what is commonly called the external world. He 
is led to ask himself what it is he really knows of this state of con- 
sciousness. I say that it is a state of my being ; but if I cannot reduce 
it to anything simpler, in what way will this knowledge help me 


on with the idea I have of it? And I shall never be able to escape 
from the narrow circle in which the actuality of this condition en- 
closes me, unless we suppose that spontaneously and without our 
being able to explain this psychological mystery, thought lays down 
the postulate of otherness, that is to say, something different from 
my present state. 

Note that there is nothing excessive in the claim of this postu- 
late. In fact we treat here the question of the psychological origin 
of belief in an external reality, which is found closely combined 
with our affirmation of the existence of qualities outside of our- 
selves. Now to make this task easier, we have the right to take 
into account all that philosophical reflection has created in the ex- 
ternal world whether under the name of illusion or of reality. In 
short, we cannot neglect all the facts which actually constitute for 
us that kind of moral certainty which Descartes mentions. We 
have recourse to that well-known process of demonstration which 
consists in taking for granted what we are about to demonstrate. 
In a word, to give a solid foundation to our thesis on quality and 
quantity we take our footing on the notions which we consider 
provisionally in the light of purely moral or practical certainties 
and of which we shall bring out the rational character afterwards. 

So, admitting the postulate of an existence foreign to mine, 
and which I suppose to be the cause of certain sensations for me, 
am I entitled to say that these sensations are qualities of an object? 
No, I simply affirm a relation and still have to deal only with the 
question of states of consciousness. In order to have a clear idea 
about quality and quantity, our thought must have become conscious 
of the objective laws which govern it. "Mere consciousness of my 
own existence, if empirically determined," says Kant, "proves the 
existence of external objects." It is necessary to understand well 
the sense of this theorem. I do not conceive external objects in- 
dependently from my thought, but only inasmuch as they are mat- 
ter necessary to its activity. My thought cannot become isolated 
from its external condition. In order to regard itself as a series 
of states of consciousness, it must take hold of something upon which 
to record these states. Thus we manage to affirm the existence of 


an external object which up to the present time was entirely un- 
known, and to which we attribute as its own by a sort of illusion, 
qualities that are in reality nothing but our own sensations. Here- 
with ends the first stage of psychical processes that lead the philos- 
opher to establish the terms of the relation between quality and 


But reflection is not contented with this still confused point of 
view. In ancient times science found these explanations sufficient ; in 
all things it searched only for the essence, which it identified with 
a certain quality. Aristotle, for instance, isolated qualities, classi- 
fied them and thus settled the whole of creation in functions of one 
qualitative hierarchy. In the Middle Ages too, men were contented 
with such considerations ; scholars spoke only of substantial forms, 
natural finalities and haecceity. 2 

Even the Renaissance, which with its double current of schol- 
ars and mathematicians prepared the way for modern philosophy, 
clung to the determination of qualities belonging to things, of the 
forms in which they express themselves, and of the forces which 
they symbolize. There is nothing in that to surprise us. It is diffi- 
cult for us, even now, not to interpret our internal states as real 
qualities of things. Why then should we wonder at the grosser 
illusions on which was wrecked a science which had never engaged 
in the study of psychical existence. Descartes's cogjfo was the 
signal of a reaction. While to the popular mind the growing number 
of experimental discoveries seemed to render more and more legiti- 
mate its belief in an external reality, to the philosopher they proved 
that this reality depends on ourselves since it is really known to us 
only when we have reduced it to a simple idea, especially that of 
magnitude or quantity. 

The human mind knows only number adequately. By reducing 
perceptible things to the quantitative relations pursued by science, 
the horizon of thought has widened. Until then, an abyss divided 
self from non-self. The mind, having a conception of itself only as 

2 From the Latin term, haecceitas, meaning "thisness." 


a mirror on which external objects are reflected, and accepting 
sensations as real qualities apart from itself, established on a classi- 
fication of these qualities the dualism of reality, self and non-self. 
Since Descartes the external world is closely bound to ourselves. 
The illusion about quality is denounced ; it is no longer of impor- 
tance, but quantity (that is, numerical relation) takes its place. 

With the author of Principles of Philosophy, mathematics is 
declared to be the symbol of all intelligibility and to reduce the 
knowledge of bodies to the laws of quantity is to bring them back 
to reason. The mind only grasps fully and clearly that which is 
reducible to the terms of ratio. Such is the nature of our thought 
that it can see distinctly at a glance only what it creates, so that 
the external world is known to it only in so much as it is the re- 
flection of its own laws, and above all the work of the initial cate- 
gory of quantity from which the principles of mathematics are de- 
rived. And if since the mind has not become conscious of its con- 
ditions of existence, or in other words, since it has not understood 
that it can only think through analytic ideas, quality in itself is 
not susceptible to perfect apprehension, it is therefore reducible 
to something simpler than itself, and is a confused notion requiring 


We have seen how it is possible to understand the distinction 
between qifality and quantity, and how the mind can pass from 
one to the other. It remains to show how the total reduction from 
the first to the second is brought about. It is the last stage in the 
ascent of the mind towards purely rational knowledge. This last 
investigation will throw a new light upon the two preceding stages 
of the processes we are trying to follow. 

We shall see that just as in mathematics the progress of re 
flections consists in exhausting as far as possible the objective, cc 
crete matter of ideas, "unceasingly diminishing the part of intuition, 
and seeing as little as possible in order to demonstrate better," 3 so 

3 Milhaud, Essai sur les conditions et les limites de la certitude logique, 
P- 47- 


here the progress of knowledge will be proportional to the abandon- 
ing of the perceptible element, to the predominance of representa- 
tion over affection, in short, to the substitution of mathematical 
formulas for the purely intensive fact. 

Herein lies precisely the object of physics taken in its broadest 
sense: to reduce the most diverse phenomena to motion, all science 
to mechanics. It is only a question of establishing a unit of measure 
for the elements of which the latter disposes, space, time, speed, 
form and mass of bodies in order that mathematics may adapt it- 
self to it and furnish us with an explanation of facts. "I find," says 
Descartes, "that in the ideas about corporeal things one meets with 
very little that he can conceive clearly and distinctly, and that is to 
know size, or rather extension in length, breadth, and thickness, the 
figure that results from limiting that extension, the position that 
bodies of different forms hold in relation to each other, and motion 
or the change of that relation .... As to other things such as light, 
color, odor, taste, heat and cold, and other qualities which come 
under the sense of touch, they meet in my thought with so much 
obscurity and confusion that I do not know whether they are real 
or false." 4 

The ideal of physics has not changed since that time. The 
question for it is still only to submit to analysis our ideas about 
qualities and to show that if in ourselves they are sensations, outside 
of ourselves they are nothing but different modifications of motion 
that may take place within particles of matter. Thus we must con- 
ceive the material universe as a "machine in which there is nothing 
at all to consider except the figures and movements of its parts," 5 
and physics in its highest abstraction is only a web of algebraic 
formulas, expressing forms and motions. 

Then if, like M. Evellin, 6 we consider the world as a system 
of forces (according to the views of L'Abbe Moigno) or if like so 
many scholars, we study it only from a mechanical point of view, 
gravity, weight, mass, density, resistance, impenetrability, and many 

*3rd Med. I, 277; Principes IV, 203; III, 518. 

6 Principes, IV, 188. 

8 Infini et quantite, pp. 60-65. 


other material properties which we transform into entities will be 
brought back either to the mutual attraction of dynamic monads, 
or to a collection of partial attractions, or to combinations of move- 
ments; but whatever the explanation may be, in the last analysis 
it will resolve itself into a system of equations. The mechanical 
nature of physical phenomena, that is the reduction of quality to 
quantity; this is indeed the last word of science. 

It would be useless to insist any further on this point; let us 
rather investigate the meaning of our knowledge of things, after 
we have submitted them to the category of quantity. 


What is a numerical relation if not a product of our thought? 
and why is it a product of our thought if not because laws of our 
thoughts are such as they are? Affirming the agreement of an ex- 
ternal reality with a certain equation, is establishing a postulate of 
which nothing can warrant the foundation unless we connect it with 
a metaphysical idea, that of the perfect God admitted by Descartes, 
for instance. There may be a connection between our thought and 
reality; but probable as it may seem to us it is still but uncertain 
since in fact we only perceive through our senses, such as they are, 
although they might be different and since we reason by the means 
of what we call laws of thought such as they are but they also might 
be different. This starting-point admitted, the relativity of all 
knowledge will follow. We reduce our impressions to particular 
mathematical formulas, and simply by means of this reduction of a 
confused state to a clear idea, let us say, we manage adequately to 
grasp the real. 

Adequately indeed, but in relation to our way of knowing. So 
that when we think that we are reducing external reality to a mathe- 
matical formula, it is nothing but ourselves that we are so reducing 
ourselves rendering objective the product of our thought; our- 
selves inasmuch as the organic laws of our thought symbolize them- 
selves, express themselves in a form we call equation for instance, 
and which is only a result of the laws of these thoughts beginning 


to act on the occasion of any kind of a sensation the cause of which 
is outside of ourselves. 

And what may that other thing be? Subjectively (and we are 
coming back to our first point of view) a sensation; objectively, 
the same sensation entirely transformed through thought, and this 
is due to the fact that the category of quantity comes into play. Ob- 
jectively and scientifically, the external object is only our sensation 
measured in what we suppose to be its cause; it is the intensive 
expressed by the extensive. This expression is found moreover in 
the question of time and space. Space is the extended, time the 
unextended. We can grasp fully only the former and that helps 
us to know the latter; and still we get to the knowledge of space 
only through time, which to be measured needs a conception of 

One of these two terms is certainly primary and doubtless it 
is time, since it is in time that we live, while undergoing a state of 
consciousness of any kind ; but we are forced to admit that we get 
an exact conception of time only when the notion of space is given 
us, and also the result of the application of the category of quantity 
to particular sensations. 

The outcome of all this is that quality is scientifically the ex- 
pression of a relation between two terms of which our own self is 
one ; objectively, an illusion derived from the habits of our mind but 
founded on reason, inasmuch as it is an expression of the relation 
established between objects and ourselves ; and subjectively, a sen- 
sation whose certainty lies in our own psychical existence. 


We see therefore how unreasonable it is to turn quality into 
a category of thought, since it is reducible to that of quantity which 
is in reality founded on a necessity of the human mind. Now herein 
consists the principal characteristic of the theory of categories. 7 They 
are not things-in-themselves distinct in some way from thought, 
after the manner of the faculties admitted by the Eclectic school. 
To admit them as real qualities, would be going back to the system 

7 Couturat, L'Infini mathematique, p. 208. 


of explanation by occult powers. They are laws and still this term 
seems only accurate in part, for we know to how many interpreta- 
tions it is liable. Whichever term we use to designate the fact that 
thought has states of existence, it will be impossible to determine 
what after all cannot be determined. Indeed we do not seize cat- 
egories in the act. We infer them from all this activity of which 
we have only been quite conscious from the time when the results 
of science began to reveal themselves so considerably. Is not that 
the salient point of Kant's philosophy, to place science on a solid 
foundation? Having an immediate knowledge only of the succes- 
sion of our states of consciousness, we cannot imagine in what way 
that wonderful structure science and society to which we all agree 
to grant, at least, moral certainty, has been able to build itself on 
the fragile basis of our ephemeral sensations. Kant attributes this 
to the categories of thought. This world is only my own represen- 
tation, but a well-founded representation in the sense that the real- 
ity of the harmony of the external world, with the knowledge that 
we have of it, is all in the cognizant subject, that is in the forms of 
thought. Hence we see that only through induction we can become 
conscious of the categories ; that is why we must be careful not to 
interpret them as realities, distinct from the sensations to which 
they apply, and to limit them to the simple affirmation that our 
thought (as well as every other thing) has its conditions of activity, 
which we designate by the word category. 

To explain mathematically, that is, to reduce to extensive mag- 
nitude what we call the qualities of bodies, remains therefore the 
essential condition of sure knowledge. But if we may indeed pre- 
tend that we comprehend objects only in so far as we reduce them 
to the clear and distinct notion of quantity, it is not less exact to 
maintain that something will always remain out of the reach of ex- 
act science, we mean quality, considered as one of our inner states. 
Those qualities which we think belong to objects, are in ourselves; 
they are relations. Now being such, it is difficult for us to pretend 
that we can reduce them to a formula absolutely exact, for of the 
two terms of each relation the most important, the psychological 
inner self, escapes any fixed determination. The proof of it is that 


those qualities which we know only from the intensity of one of 
our passing states experience variations according to the tempera- 
ment of each individual. Quality subjectively taken always oscil- 
lates in the obscure vagueness of a more or less vivid state of con- 

The difficulty presented by the absorption of the intensive by 
number entitles us to wonder if there is no danger in wishing to 
submit by force the originality of our psychical life to the rigor of 
an equation. The same process of reduction of the external world 
to numerical relations raises the same objection. Do we not muti- 
late things by setting them in algebraic formulas? 

We shall be content with saying that science does not in any 
way pretend to reduce the reality of things to a formula; but it 
simply affirms that the mathematical expressions in which it sets 
reality are to us the only condition of any perfect intelligibility. 
Thought has no knowledge besides the working of its laws. Now 
these laws are the principles of mathematics. When the mind sub- 
sumes its internal conditions to them it grasps in the operation all 
that is thinkable in the external object. That is what M. Couturat 
brought out clearly when he wrote: 8 

"While all perceptible qualities that we draw through abstraction from 
the objects of experience lose all distinctness when generalized. .. .and give 
place only to vague and confused concepts, the dimensions of concrete objects 
thus brought out through abstraction of their perceptible qualities, keep their 
primitive determination. That is why natural science becomes exact only 
when it treats of physical dimensions and when it turns perceptible qualities 
into measurable and calculable qualities. Scientific knowledge could not be 
founded on concepts because qualities are essentially heterogeneous and hence 
impossible to compare with one another. To take away their original inten- 
sity and their own fine distinctions to bring them under one and the same 
concept, heaviness or lightness, heat or cold, is indeed destroying them, and 
substituting for the concrete object an undecided and colorless image, without 
objective or scientific worth. On the other hand science took possession of 
nature when it resolved to determine dimensions and their relation towards 
each other, because dimensions being essentially homogeneous may be com- 
pared, combined, and measured, and without losing their individual precision 
they may be classified under a single and universal type of magnitude. After 

8 Couturat, L'Infini mathematique , p. 558. 


all, the concept is fatally and irremediably inadequate to the real object. 
Magnitude, on the contrary, is certainly not the whole object, but it is all 
that may be scientifically known about an object." 


Thus the problem of quality and quantity concerns at the same 
time: psychology, by the fact that it is in ourselves with reference 
to our states of consciousness that the question about the value of 
the two concepts arises ; the criticism of the mind, inasmuch as it is 
important to establish the rational foundation of the transition from 
the intensive to the extensive by applying the notions acquired by 
experience to the initial category of thought; the logic of sciences, 
since we are compelled to found on reason the exact meaning of a 
term which plays so important a part in general mathematics ; meta 
physics, for it is impossible to do without investigating whether the 
two concepts have any relation whatever with fundamental exist- 
ence ; finally the history of philosophy, which traces for us the dif 
ferent points of view from which the problem of quality and magni- 
tude has been successively faced. 

To sum it up, quality and quantity are not radically opposed 
except in the dominion of science ; for common sense the contradic- 
tion does not exist at all. It appears only when the mind, trying to 
unravel the general conditions of every existence, makes the dis- 
tinction between what is in itself only a tertium quid, resulting from 
the relation of things to our own selves, and what we justly cal 
existence, which means subject to measurement or in other words 
that which can be subsumed under the necessary forms of thought 

Quality, scientifically speaking, is a point of view relating to 
the exigencies of our body in its relation to external objects; it is 
in us the more or less confused feeling of something good or evil 
for our organism. Quantity is the irreducible point of view 
thought in its effort to reflect and classify the world. 



r T A HE question as to the nature of quality is one of the most im- 
*- portant problems of philosophy. It is, first of all, of practical 
importance, for the difference of quality is the most significant fea- 
ture of experience and in practical life it is quality not quantity we 

The existence of quality is a fact. The question is not whether 
or not quality exists, but what it is and how it has to be explained. 
Quantity may be very important, but quality is more important, and 
all of us have to learn how we have to deal with it in actual life. 

Quality may be (and we believe it actually is) different from 
quantity by being unstable and contingent upon conditions, while 
quantity (in so far as it is equivalent for mass) is constant and 
indestructible, but for that reason no one can deny either its actual- 
ity or its paramount significance. Every trader knows that good 
quality commands a higher price than bad quality, and quantity is 
only appreciated if the commodities are of equal quality. 

Qualities withdraw themselves from our direct observation. 
They seem to be occult entities that reside within things. Moreover, 
qualities change. Some goods deteriorate in course of time, and 
on the other hand better qualities can be produced from poorer 
materials by human labor, be it through chemical combinations, 
mechanical mixture, or other manufacturing processes. 

There was a time in the development of mankind in which dif- 
ferent qualities were attributed to different agencies that had mys- 
teriously taken possession of things ; spirits were supposed to enter 
or to leave bodies; diseases were explained by obsession and so 
exorcism was the natural method of the medical art. With the 


progress of science and the deeper insight into the mechanical 
nature of things the animistic conception changed into the meta- 
physical and the metaphysical into that of positivism. Scientists 
learned to appreciate the methods of weighing and measuring and 
they noticed that many differences in qualities could be explained 
by a difference of proportion. Thus they fondly imagined that they 
could discard quality altogether and have it subsumed under the 
category of quantity. No doubt this was possible (at least in a 
certain sense) in some cases where differences of mixture produce 
different effects, and, since quality is discredited as mystical, the 
assertion is made that quality is an illusion and that the old philos- 
ophers, among them Aristotle and Kant, had simply blundered by 
admitting the idea of quality among the categories. 

In this sense M. Gros has written his essay on quality and 
quantity, and he proposes to explain the transition of our philo- 
sophical conceptions from quality to quantity. Modern science, 
he thinks, has disposed of the idea of quality and supplanted it, at 
least in theory, by methods of counting; but such is not the case, 
for in spite of the proclamation of the demise of Quality, quality will 
forever remain the most significant fact of experience, which, if it 
were merely for practical purposes, can not be dismissed and will 
have to be retained. A closer inspection will show that the existence 
of quality is not limited to practical life; it is not a mere illusion 
of merchants and grocers which disappears in the light of science. 
For theoretical purposes also the categories of quality will have to 
be retained as being essentially different from quantity, and this 
distinction will remain forever indispensable not only to the men 
of practical life but also to the scientist and to the logician. 

Incidentally the statement should be made here that there are 
some scientists and philosophers who characterize modern science 
as mechanical and purely materialistic. It is frequently assumed that 
we should dispose of all former philosophies as antiquated and be- 
longing to the animistic era of savage life. This kind of modern 
science has proved to be a fond illusion of the rationalist movement 
which was started in the eighteenth century, for it had to be aban- 
doned on a closer acquaintance with the most important problems 



of life. The rationalists of the eighteenth century overlooked en- 
tirely the existence of soul. They thought they could explain all 
processes by mechanical laws, but they forgot that feeling is not 
a motion and so could not be subsumed under the category of 
mechanical action. As a result Weber and Fechner introduced the 
theory of parallelism which showed that feeling is one side of a 
process which accompanies the physical actions of the nervous sys- 
tem. Thus they fell back on Spinoza who had been the first to teach 
the duality of existence which in a monistic sense he conceived as 
one whole, the two sides being sentiency and extension, or idea and 
matter, or spirit and body. In this contrast quality had been sub- 
sumed under the category of the subjective element, sentiency, and 
quantity under its contrast, the objectivity of extended bodies. 
Quality began to be suspected on account of its mysterious char- 
acter. It was denounced as an illusion together with the notions 
of idea, soul, spirit, etc., and its non-existence was maintained. 
The absurdity of these theories was obvious, for the theory amounts 
to a negation of our own spiritual existence, of our thinking, which 
constitutes the very nature of our most essential being. Thus a 
reaction has set in and we may say that the modern tendency is no 
longer to discard the notions of soul, spirit, quality, etc., but to 
comprehend their nature and significance; to understand what they 
mean and how they can be explained without resorting to mysti- 
cism or a belief in occult phenomena, and this we shall attempt to 
do now. 

Before we give our brief explanation as to the nature of qual- 
ity we must remind our readers of the monistic principles of science 
and the philosophy of science. We must be clear as to the nature 
of the scientific ideas which we use as instruments of thought and 
we must bear in mind that all general notions are abstractions. The 
real world is one great totality and the observing thinker describes 
certain features of it which he symbolizes by a name that applies 
generally. Abstractions denote real and actual qualities of things 
but not things-in-themselves. Gravity is not an essence, not an 
object, but a certain feature which is observed in all things heavy. 
There is no whiteness in itself, but whiteness is a quality which is 


observable in all things which we call "white," which possess such 
chemical qualities that they reflect the light that shines upon them 
so as to produce in our eye a chemical reaction which causes the 
sensation called "white." Sentiency or feeling is a quality which 
appears in all things sentient. All these general notions and other 
abstractions are methodically arranged so as to produce different 
hierarchies in which specific ideas are subsumed under general ideas 
so as to represent all things, according to rules of logic as genera 
and species. It is this method of arrangement which makes it pos- 
sible for us to pigeonhole as it were our knowledge of things sys- 
tematically and make each notion easily and quickly accessible. It 
enables us to know the nature of things and to do the right thing 
at the proper time. In fact, comprehension is nothing but an ade 
quate description of things and a pigeonholing of each correctl) 
under its proper category. Knowledge is a sufficient stock of sue 
descriptions and their orderly arrangement in our minds. 

As to the categories quality and quantity, we must observe tha 
there have been things which could be counted and others the natur 
of which could not be established by counting, but was possessec 
of features that were describable only in terms referring to specia 
experiences. For instance, we can see how many head of cattl 
there are in an enclosure, we can tell how many pounds a bag o 
salt weighs, we can measure how high a tree or house may be, but w 
cannot by measuring or weighing set forth the taste of salt; w 
cannot by measuring or weighing explain the nature of a circle 
Of course we can measure the size of it, but in order to describ 
the figure of it we must draw a circle and show it. No amount o 
counting or weighing will explain its curvature or the relation o 
the circumference to the center. Thus quality is a thing that stand 
in contrast to quantity. It cannot be determined by measuring o 
weighing, but is in need of special experiences, and those who use 
the same language know exactly what is meant when we speak o 
the taste of salt, or the taste of sugar, or the color sensations of red 
green, blue, etc. 

Some sensations have been reduced to a difference in quantity 
for instance: rough or smooth may under circumstances be due to 


more or less high elevations on the surface. The smoothness of 
velvet is due to a fine fibre of its fabric which may be of a definitely 
measurable thickness and height. The rougher plush may be simi- 
lar in its manufacture, only showing the thread thicker and longer. 
Thus we may in certain cases reduce quality to quantitative measure- 
ments and say that the feeling of roughness or smoothness depends 
upon certain arrangements that are quantitatively determinable ; 
but this is not true of quality itself, only of some features of qual- 
ity, and assuredly it is not true of all qualities. Some qualities are 
due to a difference of configuration. Opaqueness of a piece of coal 
and the transparency of a diamond are due to an arrangement of 
their atoms, and we have here a difference of quality which cannot 
be reduced to a quantitative analysis. It is a difference of quality. 
The material of which both bodies consist is the same, but the 
arrangement is different and is due to form. 

Difference of form is describable but it cannot be determined 
by the use of either the yard-stick or the scales. Its nature cannot 
be defined by either measuring or weighing. 

What is true of the qualities of the diamond and the coal is 
true of all other qualities, spiritual as well as corporeal. Nor is it 
true that quality is restricted merely to the subjective sphere of 
existence. Quality plays also a most significant part in the objective 
world of bodily extension, and indeed the difference of psychological 
qualities will find its explanation according to the theory of paral- 
lelism in the physiological formation of its bodily counterpart. 
The difference of red sensation and white sensation can be explained 
by a difference of the nervous state of the retina, and thus an insight 
into the physical laws of our nervous structure will throw light upon 
the psychical process of our soul-life. 

Intimately connected with the several problems of quality is the 
idea of unity. In fact the two notions, "quality" and "unity," appear 
to be inseparable. Every unity is possessed of a quality of its own, 
and whenever by combination a new unity is created, we are con- 
fronted with a quality which originates not as the product of a 
quantitative summation of its elements, but through a characteristic 
interaction of parts. 


A clock, a steam-engine, a dynamo, etc. are not quantitative 
amounts of metal, but definite configurations of wheels and other 
contrivances of machinery which perform a certain kind of work. 
In addition to the sum total of the weight of all particles a new 
value is established which is of a qualitative nature ; so that in case 
the machinery breaks down, although there is no loss in quantity, 
that imponderable something which constitutes the nature and use- 
fulness of the machine, its quality, is gone. 

Every chemical combination is a new thing that acts otherwise 
than did its several constituents. 

The qualities of salt (NaCl) cannot be explained as the sum of 
the qualities of Natrium (Na) and Chlorin (Cl). The taste of salt 
is contained in neither of its constituents ; and so all other qualities 
of chemicals originate through combination according to the way 
in which they are grouped. 

When we draw three different straight lines in three divergent 
directions and prolong them until they meet, we produce a triangle ; 
and a triangle is a new geometrical figure with definite angles, pos- 
sessed of a constitution of its own. The nature of a triangle can- 
not be deduced from the nature of the several lines; the triangle 
is a configuration representing a new unity, possessing qualities 
not contained in its constituent parts. 

The combination of parts into a higher unity produces effects 
which are not a sum of equivalent elements, but introduces a new 
factor which is of a qualitative nature. 

Quantitatively, the universe remains the same, and in every 
process of nature we can trace the same amount of matter before 
and after each change. Qualitatively, the universe changes. New 
qualities originate and old qualities disappear. There is no increase 
in either matter or energy, but there may very well be an increase 
of value in quality, or, vice versa, a loss. The effort of life is every- 
where directed toward a favorable change of quality so as to trans- 
form the materials on hand into goods that will give more susten- 
ance of life, greater comfort and better facilities. 

And what is the part played by unity in this transformation? 

If a number of grains of sand are heaped up in a pile, we have 


a mere summation of their several qualities ; nothing but an addition 
of their weight, mass, etc. But if a number of constituent parts enter 
into a compound which forms a higher unit we produce something 
new that did not previously exist. A unitary complex is not merely 
a summation of its constituent parts ; it contains a new factor which 
is not of a quantitative but a qualitative nature, originating through 
the co-operation of its parts; and this new factor would not have 
been produced by any of its parts alone, but is the result of their 
mutual interaction. 

The characteristic features thus originated are sometimes most 
marvelous in their effects and thoughtful observers of natural phe- 
nomena, accordingly, have been overwhelmed with awe and wonder. 
The origin of higher unities with their production of new qualities 
of most astounding and unheard-of effects, has become the main 
source of all mysticism; and, assuredly, the inexhaustible possibil- 
ities of new formations are the most fascinating events of life, some- 
times as surprising as the tricks of sleight of hand. 

Supposing the world to exist of homogeneous material of some 
kind whirling about in cosmic space, we find it consolidated in the 
alembic of nebulae into hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen and other chem- 
ical elements, which condense into planetary systems. Every chem- 
ical element is not merely the sum total of a certain amount of 
world-stuff, but a new combination in which, through peculiar 
groupings of its particles, new units of interaction are created that 
possess an individuality of their own with qualities that did not 
exist in the homogeneous ether. Higher complexes are formed in 
more complicated chemical combinations, and inventors are busy 
to increase their number by artificial formations. Some chemicals 
crystallize. According to their angle of juncture they combine 
with substances of the same kind in different geometrical forms of 
crystallization. Every crystal forms a new unit, and though its 
elements are homogeneous in their chemical makeup, yet the crystal 
as a whole is something new which as such did not exist before. 

The most important new departure is attained by organization 
which produces the phenomena of life. Some of the most unstable 
chemicals enter into such a co-operation that they form a constant 


circuit of materials which by constant renewal of its waste products 
preserves the original form of the same round of function, and this 
process is called metabolism. It is a combination of adaptibility 
and permanence; the old form is preserved but constantly modified 
by new experiences. We call the new product of this wonderful 
interaction of parts vitality, and there are two forms of it; one, 
endowed with sentiency, and the other void of it; the former de- 
velops into animals, the latter into plants. There is a qualitative 
difference between the two, and each is differentiated into higher 
and more complicated forms in the course of evolution. 

We see that we can not appreciatively study nature or under- 
stand the evolution of life without comprehending the significance 
of quality. In quality the creativeness of the universe reveals itself, 
and in contemplating the increasing efficiency of quality, we are 
confronted with the divinity of nature. 

Every unitary complex is an individual, and the tendency is 
that unitary complexes in their turn will combine into higher uni- 
ties. The higher unitary complexes in the domain of life are called 
organisms; their parts which in themselves are smaller units de- 
pending on the co-operation of the whole, are called organs. Organs 
are such intermediary units as could no longer lead a separate in- 
dividual existence. Thus they are, in a certain sense, true unitary 
complexes, but are never found separate or isolated. 

The highest kind of a unitary complex is man, who as such is 
called a person. Several persons enter into higher combinations 
such as states, churches, societies, corporations, etc., and even their 
interrelations coalesce into organized institutions such as language, 
habits, laws, forms of government, etc. 

Properly speaking, all persons are organs of the social whole; 
for it will be seen that the combinations of personal interrelations 
are the most important features of human life. If we could cut out 
from a person all he owes to society and his social intercourse with 
his fellow-men, nothing would be left of his personality but the mere 
physiological organism. Our exchange of ideas, our school insti- 
tutions, trade, commerce, and even our charities, also the struggle 
in our social life, competition, trust formations, labor unions, the 


antagonism between capital and labor, etc., are due to new combina- 
tions in the field of human hopes and ideals. The interrelations 
of human society are being constantly readjusted, and the result 
is a difference which is not purely quantitative but qualitative. 

The problem of unity found a peculiar construction in India 
where the unity of the soul was hypostatized into a thing-in-itself 
called atman (or "self") that was assumed to be independent of its 
parts. The Vedanta affirms, and Buddhism denies, the existence 
of an atman. Buddha proclaimed as an essential truth of his doc- 
trine that (i) all compounds are transient, (2) that all compounds 
are subject to suffering and (3) all compounds are lacking an at- 
man, i. e., a self that is independent of its parts. The Vedantic 
view leads to mysticism while the Buddhist doctrine takes a bold 
stand upon a sober and purely scientific conception.* 

There is no need of entering into further details or pointing out 
all the applications of the non-existence of the atman, but we must 
insist on the paramount importance of the part which unity plays. 
Though a unitary compound, be it in the shape of chemical mole- 
cules, or organisms, or inventions of machinery, or mathematical 
concepts, or ideals, is not a thing-in-itself, though it is not a meta- 
physical entity which owns its parts as if they were its properties, 
though there is no atman; yet the effects of a unification are real, 
and so we say in a certain sense, that things act as if they were 
ensouled with atmans. 

Atmans are conceived in the Vedanta as eternal and immutable, 
not subject to time and space, and the same can be predicated of 
the unity of compounds without ascribing to them any mysterious 
selfhood of atman-existence. Though unifications must be accom- 
plished in time and space, they are possessed of a pre-existence as 
potentialities in the womb of eternity. They are the Platonic ideas 
which constitute the formative factor of existence. They are not 
things-in-themselves but forms-of-themselves. Like pure mathe- 

* How difficult the question of unity proves to be can be seen in Plato's 
attempt at solving the contradictions of "the one and the many." Concerning 
Kant's theory of things-in-themselves see the author's book The Surd of 
Metaphysics, pp. 6 ff., and 29 ff. 


matics, they exist in the domain of potentiality, and their reali- 
zation, unlike the invention of a fairy tale, has "not been woven 
out of the pure fancy of the inventor. Their realization is, properly 
speaking, an incarnation or actualization of eternal possibilities. 
In the same way the invention of machinery, of the wheel, the 
sewing-machine, the steam-engine, the dynamo, the motor, electric 
light, etc., are (as indicated by the word) in-ventions, i. e., findings; 
they are discoveries; in fact they are revelations of hidden truths; 
they existed as much before their invention as did the continent 
of America before its discovery either by the Norsemen or by Co- 
lumbus. They lay concealed in the unfathomable abyss of the laws 
of being and no one knows what wondrous surprises the future 
still has in store for us. 

Thus we find that the old contrast of quality and quantity is 
justified. The old philosophers who distinguished these two cat- 
egories cannot be branded as dupes of an illusion, and we would 
make a great mistake if we discarded these notions or tried to ob- 
literate the idea of quality. In fact far from rendering our insight 
into nature clearer it would obscure matters and would involve us 
in untold contradictions. On the other hand the suspicion which we 
rightly entertain against notions that lead to mysticism has been 
disposed of. Quality is by no means an idea which necessarily leads 
to occultism. A right conception of the nature of quality, which is 
always due to a definite configuration or structure, constituting a 
higher unity endowed with new and characteristic features of its 
own, not contained in any one of its several parts, shows us that 
there is as little mystery in the differences of qualities as there is 
in counting, in weighing, and in measuring. 

The significance of our solution can hardly be underrated. It 
throws light upon all problems of philosophy, including the domains 
of psychology and ethics. It is a solution which commends itself by 
soberness and justice, soberness because it disposes of the mys- 
terious aspect of quality without denying the remarkable facts that 
naturally give rise to mysticism, and justice because we recognize 
the truth in the statements of both opponents; on the one hand 
those who insist on the significance of quality as a fact of experience 


which is true though it might smack of occultism, and on the other 
hand those who endeavor to reduce all phenomena of experience 
to a quantitative analysis in the hope of rendering the universe as 
intelligible as any system of mechanics. 

There is no use denying the wondrousness of thte facts of ex- 
perience after the fashion of the old rationalists, nor is there any 
need of seeking refuge in agnosticism. The appearance of new 
qualities necessarily seems a miracle to the uninitiate, and even when 
we explain these occurrences as the inevitable results of definite 
combinations of parts into new unities, the fact remains as strange 
as before. On account of it the universe we live in is replete with 
illimitable potentialities, a condition which constitutes the main 
charm of life. 

The nature of our own being the human soul stands out 
foremost among all the qualities that challenge the curiosity of the 
investigator; it is the noblest phenomenon of the universe, and the 
deepest problem of science. The qualities that appear in the do- 
main of psychology and ethics, constituting the background of re- 
ligious life and the history of mankind are the most wonderful facts 
more wonderful than could be invented by any poet or romancer. 
We have good reason to assert that all of them are explicable by 
science, and yet they remain what they are wonderful, curiously 
wonderful; apparently miraculous, and certainly divinely grand. 

Clearness of comprehension does not destroy the worth of 
things, and an explanation does not dispose of the facts explained. 



'T^HERE is no part of the Old Testament that has for us greater 
-* interest than the prophetic literature. In its impassioned 
poetic passages, in its lofty ethical thought and in its profound 
interest in life, it is far superior to any other type of literature 
which we find in the Hebrew canon. This is but saying that the 
greatest minds in Israel expressed themselves as spokesmen or 
interpreters of Yahveh in oracular literature, the highest thought 
was molded into prophetic forms of expression. For this reason 
the question, who wrote this literature ? who were the men who cast 
their thought into oracular molds? is an important critical question 
to the student of Hebrew life. The question has the greater sig- 
nificance, it is worthy of note, because the prophetic literature is 
so extensive. One fourth of the Old Testament canon consists 
of prophetic books and pieces. Three of these books are individu- 
ally equivalent to a duodecimo of one hundred and fifty pages. 
This prophetic literature is indeed, for an ancient literature, of 
vast dimensions. 

It has commonly been supposed that the writing prophets are 
known to us through the titles which the various books and pro- 
phetic pieces bear and through occasional personal allusions in 
these writings. There has been little disposition to question these 
titles and allusions ; especially as they have been thought to be sup- 
ported, measurably at least, by references to these prophets in the 
historical books; but such references are so few and so suspicious 
as to their character that the search for the men themselves becomes 
to him who prosecutes it very perplexing. Apparently too much 
has been taken for granted. It has been assumed that just as we 


know certain Greek tragedies as the work of an ^Eschylus, and 
certain as the work of a Sophocles, and certain others as the work 
of an Euripides, all prominent in Greek life ; so we know the 
various prophetic books and pieces of the Old Testament as the 
work of the men whose names they bear, which men indubitably 
appear in the historical annals of Israel. Such, as a careful critical 
study reveals, is not the case. 

The Greek tragic poets find a large place in the life and his- 
torical annals of the Greeks of the fifth century before Christ. 
^Eschylus is known to have borne an honorable part in keeping 
the Persians in the Marshes of Marathon and to have aided later 
in the overthrow of Xerxes at Salamis. It has been said of him 
that he was honored by his countrymen as a patriot rather than 
as a poet, though as such for a generation he was awarded the 
prize for superiority in the drama. Sophocles is known to have 
led as a youth the chorus which danced and sang around the trophy 
in celebration of the battle of Salamis and to have served as a 
colleague of Pericles in the Samnian war. The statement of his 
biographer that he bore his full share of the civic burdens of his 
people and that he served frequently in foreign embassies, has been 
regarded an exaggeration. There can, however, be no question 
but that as a poet for three decades he was prominently before his 
people and kept in close touch with the great movements of his 
time. Euripides had less fondness for public life; but his work 
as a dramatist kept him before the people for half a century while 
his unhappy family life became notorious. Though he in his old 
age expatriated himself, it is said that when the news of his death 
reached Athens the whole city was thrown into mourning. The 
same is not true, so far as we can discover, of the writers of the 
Hebrew prophetic literature. They do not appear in the historical 
annals of their supposed time. 

To him who is interested in the life and thought of Israel there 
is no more fascinating diversion than the search for the literary 
prophets. It is upon this still-hunt that I purpose to take my 
readers. My reasons for so doing will appear later. It is enough 
at this point to remark that our interest in the ethical thought of the 


past and nowhere is there to be found prior to Jesus's time 
loftier ethical thought leads us to desire to place this thought 
where it belongs, that we may appreciate it and grasp its signifi- 
cance to Israel and to the world. If we date some of these prophets 
two or three centuries too early, we must think of them as belaboring 
their people with messages which they could not understand, and 
which, because they were untimely, accomplished nothing. If, on 
the other hand, we date these writings where they belong, we may- 
be able to determine what their authors accomplished as the great 
ethical teachers of their time. This will remain true though we 
may find that these books and pieces were written by men who 
belonged to a literary school and did not exercise orally the func- 
tions of prophets. 

In our search for prophets who are thought to have given 
utterance to oracles which were afterwards written out fully, or 
in part, we confine our attention to the books of the so-called major 
and minor prophets. The supposed authors of these only are known 
as literary prophets ; and it is for traces of the literary prophets we 
are looking. We cannot forbear noticing at the outset that there 
are credible reasons for believing that there were prophets, men 
who professed to speak for Yahveh in ancient times among the 
early Hebrews, just as among other peoples there were men who 
stood forth as prophets and professed to speak for the gods of 
their people. Scholars have been wont to regard suspiciously the 
words put in the mouth of Nathan in 2 Samuel (see vii. 2 ff. ; 
xii. i ff.) ; but we may take the allusions to him in I Kings (i. 8 ff.) 
as revealing the existence of an actual prophet who was a member 
of David's household. His functions may have been few and simple ; 
and he may have been wholly subservient to his royal master, still 
it is reasonable to suppose that David had some such man who 
professed to be able to ascertain the will of Yahveh and to speak 
for him. 

There are numerous allusions in the history of the kings of 
Judah and Israel to such a class of men. Ahijah the Shilonite who 
is said to have encouraged Jeroboam appears to have been such 
a one (i Kings xi. 29 ff.) ; though the Deuteronomists spoil the 


simple story told of him by their expansion (see vss. 32 ff.). It is 
not unreasonable to suppose that Elijah and Elisha, despite all the 
legends which gathered about their names, were men who figured 
prominently in certain directions in the life of Israel, though the 
latter seems to have been more inclined than the former to play the 
part of a courtier. We are told that Jonah, son of Amittai, served 
at the court of Jeroboam II, and that he encouraged him in his 
imperialistic policy (2 Kings xiv. 25). Such, not to mention others, 
were the prophets of Israel and Judah. They were men of action, 
rather than men of letters. There is nothing to lead us to suppose 
that they ever committed such petty oracles as they uttered to 
writing, if, indeed, they were possessed of the art. Our search is not 
for such men; but for traces of the men who are named as the 
great actors of the prophetic literature, who are said to have uttered 
the great oracles which were grouped about their names. Can we 
discover in the actual history of those times such men as Amos, 
Hosea, Isaiah, and Jeremiah? For these men we are to search. 
If they were actual personages, and, especially, were the great 
voices and actors of their time, then we should expect to find many 
traces of them in the annals of those old days. 

We have to confess at the outset that we do find, as, indeed, 
we have seen, mention of a certain Jonah ben Amittai ; but we hasten 
to remark that this man who figures in the book of Jonah, as 
scholars have long since noted, was imaginatively taken by the late 
writer of the book as his supposed prophetic actor. Some four or 
five hundred years must have separated the age of the prophet 
who frequented the court of Jeroboam II from the time when this 
delightful little evangel was written. Here, then, we have, ad- 
mittedly, a late piece of literature, dated back and fictitiously as- 
signed to a prophet of the eighth century. A study of the phe- 
nomena which this book presents raises in our minds the question 
whether this is the only pseudepigraphic prophetic piece in the Old 
Testament. It would be strange if this were the only one, so strange 
that we note with interest the fact that other prophetic books have 
been found perplexing, that scholars have been wont, for example, 
to question whether Malachi was an actual prophet, or whether 


the name was that of the supposititious prophet of the writer who 
had given Israel this little book that is universally recognized as 
late. It is not matter for wonder that they should have done so, 
for the name means "my messenger." It is just such a name as 
we may conceive a writer who wished to put his thought in pro- 
phetic form might have taken. Of this Malachi there is no trace in 
the history. "Obadiah" (servant of Yah, or Yahveh), was a com- 
mon name among the Hebrews, but of a prophet of this name the 
history gives us no hint. The oracle against Edom which forms 
the burden of the little prophetic piece, which is ascribed to him, 
might have been published near the Maccabean age; for we know 
it was not until the time of Judas that the Edomites, who had been 
crowded by the Nabateans up into southern Judea in early exilic 
days, were subjugated (i Maccabees v. 3 ff., 65). The oracle is 
really an expansion of one which occurs in Jeremiah (xlix. 7 ff.). 
As for the name, here again we have just such a name as a late 
writer might have taken if he wished to conceive of an oracular 
prophet as uttering what he had written. 

Nowhere in the historical books do we come upon prophets 
known as Nahum and Habakkuk. Nahum (consolation) is a fit 
title for the supposed prophet of the impassioned oracle which, Otto 
von Happel in his recent handbook thereon concludes, must have 
been late, thus agreeing substantially with my unpublished notes 
of two or three years ago. There can be no question but that the 
allusions to the Assyrians are veiled allusions to the Greeks or the 
Syrians, while Nineveh stands for some city of the third or second 
century B. C. As surely are the references to the Chaldeans in 
Habakkuk veiled allusions to later peoples. 

Of a prophet known as "Zephaniah," who appears as the preacher 
in the little prophetic book which is said to be his, there is no men- 
tion in the history. The manifest attempt to give this supposed 
prophet a royal pedigree in the title renders the existence of an 
actual prophet of this name all the more doubtful. Of Hosea, 
Amos, and Joel there is not the shadow of a trace in the history of 
Israel. This is, as scholars have confessed, remarkable. Amos, 
as the herdsman of Tekoah, who is thought to have gone north 


as a Judean prophet and roared, though ineffectually, at the old 
sanctuary of Bethel, has been declared to be "one of the most mar- 
velous and incomprehensible figures in the history of the human 
mind." So incomprehensible has he seemed that we can understand 
why one scholar has been moved to remark that Amos could not 
have gone north to the Bethel of which we read in North Israel, 
but must have gone rather to some house of God or local shrine 
of that name in Judea. Hosea is thought, as the title of the book 
named as his intimates, to have labored as a prophet in the north 
for half a century, though no trace of him is to be found. The book 
of Joel comes before us as a problem quite as perplexing. It is 
significant that the book of Amos which is a burden, a message of 
doom to Israel and Judah and neighboring peoples, with but a word 
of bright promise and assurance at the end thereof which has been 
supposed to be an appendix by another hand, has for its title "Amos" 
(a burden), a name which occurs nowhere else in the Old Testa- 
ment. While "Hosea" and "Joel" are common Israelitish names, 
it is easy to see why they may have been taken by late writers as 
names of the authors of their prophetic pieces. 

More astounding still is the fact that Ezekiel, who is supposed 
to have been the great prophet of the early exilian days, is mentioned 
nowhere in the Old Testament outside the book which bears this 
name. Even in the book the name appears but twice. On the very 
reasonable supposition that the book is a late pseudepigraphic work 
whose author purposely dated it back several centuries, we may 
explain the failure to speak of such a one as Ezekiel in the histor- 
ical annals, not otherwise. We are likely to find that Zunc and 
Seinecke, as they labored long ago in this field, were the pioneers 
of a more intelligent conception than were their opponents. 

Micah the Moreshite is named as the prophet of one of the 
short prophetic books. Though unmentioned in the history, this 
supposed prophet is quoted by name in Jeremiah (xxvi. 18). This 
has little evidential value without Jeremiah as a prophet actually 
played an important part in the life of Judah in the days of Josiah 
and later. 

Haggai and Zechariah who are named as the prophets who gave 


utterance to the oracles of two of the minor prophetic books are 
mentioned in Ezra (v. I ; vi. 14) ; but if we are to conclude with 
one of our modern scholars that Ezra was, as he appears in Hebrew 
literature, a creation of the late priestly school and that the book 
which bears his name was largely, if not wholly, imaginative, we 
must admit that the mention of such prophets in the late literature 
counts for little. In some curious ways the book of Ezra and these 
two prophetic books are interlinked. It is possible that both Haggai 
and proto-Zechariah were written to bolster the fictitious priestly 
story of the return and restoration which we find in Ezra. We can 
safely assert that in the actual history of Israel no such prophet 

Two prophetic books remain to be considered, two of the longest 
and most important to the student of this part of the Old Testament 
literature, Jeremiah and Isaiah. There is probably no one of the 
literary prophets who has puzzled scholars more than has Jeremiah. 
According to the book which bears his name he must have been the 
most important personage in the last half century of Judean life 
prior to the exile. In the days of Josiah and for several decades 
thereafter he is said to have figured prominently as the spokesman 
of Yahveh. He is pictured as throwing himself into the civil affairs 
of his time with a zeal which knew no abatement and with a 
heroism which was unquestioned. Opposed, yet never disheartened, 
thwarted and made to suffer terribly, yet never crushed by adver- 
sity, he made his influence powerfully felt in a lost cause. Recog- 
nizing the inevitableness of the spread of Chaldean power he un- 
weariedly endeavored to save from utter ruin the Judean state 
and to turn the thoughts of his people to the loftier ethical ideals 
for which they might live as dreams of material advancement and 
splendor faded. Such he appears to have been, according to the 
writings and the oracles incorporated therewith, attributed to him; 
yet when we come to search for him in the history of his time we 
discover not the slightest trace. This, as Dr. MacCurdy and others 
have noted, is marvelous and manifestly inexplicable. 

It must of course be admitted that the references to Jeremiah 
in the late priestly literature (2 Chron. xxxv. 25; xxxvi. 12, 21, 22; 


Ezra i. I ) are without critical value, as is the mention of the name 
in Daniel (ix. 2), a Maccabean book. Such allusions were made 
long after, though perhaps not more than a century after, the 
writer of Jeremiah had published his work and it had been accepted 
as an ancient prophetic book. When we call to mind the fact that 
some three or four centuries intervened between the date usually 
assigned this supposed prophet and the date of the first priestly 
mention of him we can easily see how little warrant we have for 
assuming that there was an actual personage of that name in Josiah's 
day. We have also to take into account the fact that the writings 
promulgated as Jeremiah's are thoroughly saturated with Deute- 
ronomy and must in consequence have been written some consider- 
able time subsequent thereto. If the Deuteronomists were post- 
exilic, as we shall have to conclude they were, then the book of 
Jeremiah must be placed somewhere between 40x3 and 250 B. C, 
or even later. 

In turning to Isaiah, we are interested to notice that much of 
the book has long been thought to be the work of an unknown 
exilic writer who for convenience is called Deutero-Isaiah ; even 
much of what was once thought to belong to the original, or proto- 
Isaiah, is now, for reasons which appear to be conclusive, assigned 
to the second Isaiah, or some later prophet. To some, as to Canon 
Cheyne (see Isaiah, S. B. O. T.}, but little is left of the work of 
the first Isaiah, the equivalent of about fourteen chapters in all. 
The mention of Isaiah in the titles of chapters i and ii has no 
evidential value, for either we must consider the titles late, or must, 
and more reasonably, with certain advanced scholars, regard these 
chapters as a part of the work of Deutero-Isaiah, and therefore 
late. Similarly the mention of Isaiah in xiii. I, the title of an ad- 
mittedly late oracle against Babylon is equally valueless. Let no 
one remind us of the Assyrian chapters (xxxvi-xxxix) in which 
the name of this supposed prophet occurs several times, for these 
are undeniably late, as Dr. Cheyne has conclusively shown. To 
discredit these chapters as the work of an original Isaiah is to throw 
out 2 Kings xix, xx as evidence that there was such a person in the 
days of King Hezekiah. The mention of Isaiah in the Berodach- 


baladan episode (2 Kings xx. 12-19; I sa - xxxix) may form a pos- 
sible exception, though it is not wholly free from suspicion. It 
certainly is somewhat after the character of the accredited stories 
of the old prophets of action, unlikely as it is that such a prophet 
bore such a suggestive name as "Isaiah." 

There remain only the references to the supposed prophet in 
chapters vii and xx. The passages in which these allusions to Isaiah 
occur are quite different from anything else which is found in this 
book, absurd and apparently incredible as they are. In the first pas- 
sage we are told that Isaiah at the command of Yahveh went forth 
to meet King Ahaz with his son whom he had strangely named 
"a remnant shall return," and encouraged him with fitting words. 
We are expected to believe that Isaiah, about a century and a half 
before Jerusalem fell and two or three centuries before the pious 
Zionists began to straggle back from foreign ports, by this won- 
drously suggestive symbolic name thus designated his son. The 
story is palpably absurd : it puts too great a strain upon our credulity. 
And a symbolic name may have been given by a late writer to a 
son of his supposed prophet very naturally, for then did he and others 
cherish the hope of a return and of a resurrection of the old Hebrew 
state, then and not until then. 

Quite as incredible is the allusion to Isaiah in chapter xx. 
According to this passage Isaiah is said to have gone naked and 
barefoot about Jerusalem for three years as a sign and warning 
against Egypt, lower and upper (Mizraim and Ethiopia), thus in- 
sinuating to his friends and neighbors who were said to be looking to 
Egypt for help, that the people of that land were to be led abroad as 
captives, and that dependence on them was therefore vain. Some- 
thing akin to this, the old prophets were ever doing ; but it is hardly 
conceivable that the writer is here describing an actual occurrence. 

We are thus forced to conclude that neither in the historical 
books nor in this great prophetic book do we come upon convincing 
evidence of the existence of such a one as Isaiah. It is significant 
that the very name "Isaiah" is symbolic, and is strongly character- 
istic of the oracles throughout. It is the salvation or deliverance 
of Yahveh which is the theme of the book; and "Isaiah" means 


"salvation or deliverance of Yah, or Yahveh." Here, moreover, 
as in the case of other supposed literary prophets the name of the 
supposed father of the prophet is of one who appears nowhere in 
the history. Besides "Amos" means "strength," or "strong one." 
Even if our search in this instance be thought to bring to light an 
actual prophet of the olden time we are not to think of him as 
having anything to do with the oracles here brought together. 
We may regard them as late writings thrust back imaginatively 
into the earlier time by their author or authors in a way thoroughly 
characteristic of the Hebrews. 

We shall have to admit that our search for the literary prophets 
of Israel has not brought such men to light. Nowhere do we find 
traces of such men. Though they are pictured in their supposed 
writings as figuring prominently in the life of Israel from the close 
or middle of the eighth century on for five hundred years ; we cannot 
in the chronicles of the people put our hands on them: always and 
everywhere they elude us. Need we wonder that scholars who have 
spent much of their time in this quest in their study of the prophetic 
literature should have drawn back amazed and perplexed? 

I ask no one to accept my conclusions; but I cannot forbear 
saying that I see but one reasonable explanation of this most per- 
plexing problem, it is that in common with most of the other Old 
Testament literature the prophetic is pseudepigraphic and as such 
is late. Such writings must be accounted for. There is in the Old 
Testament nothing finer, nothing more uplifting from both the 
poetic and ethical point of view than large sections of the prophets. 
For good reasons the great men of the post-exilic time chose to 
publish anonymously or pseudonymously their prophetic thought. 
Taking up the work and following on after the Deuteronomic 
school, the school which for convenience we call the prophetic, 
chose to work out of sight, giving an air of mystery to their pieces 
as they were sent forth; as the publication of Deuteronomy itself 
had been compassed about with mystery, as a work attributed to 
Moses, the reputed discovery of which in the time of Josiah was 
said to have occasioned a great and drastic reformation. 

If my findings as to the Deuteronomists are accepted there need 


be no question as to the prophetic writers that cannot be reason- 
ably explained. If we can conceive of pious Zionists as they straggled 
back from foreign ports with their nobler conception of Yahveh 
and their purer ethics in their endeavor to build up a new Israel 
on the ruins of the old, labored as Deuteronomic monotheists, re- 
dacting after their peculiar manner the old chronicles of their people 
and promulgating Deuteronomy as a recapitulation and enlargement 
of the Book of the Covenant, as passing over into the prophetic 
school which was further reinforced by other returning Zionists, 
we have a conception of the prophetic literature which is most in- 
spiring as it is withal most reasonable. Already the discovery of 
the fact that Deutero-Isaiah is post-exilic and late, that the burden 
of its matchless oracles has to do with the golah, the Jews who 
returned from Babylonia and other distant parts, has rendered it 
a most fascinating book. A more careful examination of the prophets 
reveals the fact that large portions of them are of the same general 
character as Deutero-Isaiah, that whenever the golah is mentioned 
in the prophets it is with radiant optimism. To think of the pro- 
phetic literature as late and to discover how the writers of this liter- 
ature turned to the Zionists to whom they undoubtedly themselves 
belonged is to find how needless it is to mutilate the prophetic writ- 
ings and assign to late writers all portions and fragments which are 
hopeful and optimistic. 

We cannot of course be sure of the integrity of any one pro- 
phetic book ; though we may seriously doubt if it be any such patch- 
work as some find such books as Amos and Isaiah to have been. 
Still there is nothing inherently incredible in the thought, if these 
different books are late, that they are for the most part the work of 
men who gave their books an individuality and unity that may be 
apparent to us ; while certain of the books may be the work of two 
or more writers. In a few instances a prophetic writer may have 
produced more than one prophetic piece or may have had a hand in 
the composition of two or more of the larger books. There are 
chapters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel that may have come from the 
hand of the writers of the more optimistic portions of Isaiah. It 
is thus that a prophetic school sends forth its work. Once grant 



that the prophetic literature of Israel is the pseudepigraphic and 
late work of such a school and we have to admit that the question 
of the authorship of any individual book or piece is of no particular 
moment as it certainly is as much beyond our power to determine 
as the authorship of a psalm. It is significant that the titles of so 
many of these prophetic books have been regarded by certain of 
our great critical scholars as spurious. Taken as they stand they 
are supposed to be inexplicable. By looking upon the prophetic 
writings, as I have here suggested we must, we may let the titles 
stand as the efforts of their late writers to give an imaginative set- 
ting for their work in earlier centuries. 




HPHE century which closed a few years ago must be regarded as 
-* an eminently successful period for science, whose influence is 
everywhere felt at this beginning of the twentieth century. Japan, 
too, which has been following in the wake of European scientific 
progress only during the last few decades, could not but feel its 
consequences. Men of science have shown their brilliant achieve- 
ments in almost every phase of life, and naturally they stand now 
before us much elated over their triumphant march. Japanese 
education, which had hitherto placed too much importance upon 

ethics to the exclusion of scientific study, could no longer hold its 

ground against this general assault so successfully carried on, and 

a reaction soon set in. People ran wildly after things scientific, 
applauded the scientific frame of mind, and showed everywhere a 
disposition to disregard the old traditions. Recently, however, symp- 
toms are becoming more and more recognizable, that point to a 
revival of the old spirit. Young men of Japan are beginning to 
feel that science does not necessarily satisfy all their moral needs, 
and that it is a mistake to attach too much significance to it. But 
I am seriously in doubt as to whether this revival really is to be 
welcomed at this juncture in the development of our national cul- 
ture. By no means do I wish to make light of the ethical culture 
which was strenuously pursued by our fathers. The point I wish 
to make, is that this is not yet the time to revive ancient tradition 
at the sacrifice of the general scientific culture which has but lately 

translated by T. Suzuki. 


started. A universal propagation of the scientific spirit among our 
people is still needed, and even more urgently than it was a few 
decades ago. 

In this connection, I have one or two questions to ask: "Do 
science and ethical culture antagonize each other or not? And 
further, not only do they perhaps not antagonize, but do they not 
actually cooperate with and complement each other?" Broadly 
speaking, science aims at discovering and elucidating laws that 
govern natural phenomena, while by culture we mean the improve- 
ment of our subjective attitude toward the laws thus formulated, 
or in short, character building. 

When viewed from this standpoint, science and culture must 
be said to complement and not to contradict each other. Why, 
then, are some people inclined to think otherwise ? The explanation 
of this lies in the fact that such thinkers are generally specialists 
who, in the heat of enthusiasm over successes achieved in the par- 
ticular department of science to which they have devoted their lives, 
forget the necessary limitations of their subjects and arrogantly 
attack hypotheses and even ignore facts, when both facts and hy- 
potheses are beyond the scope of their own study, and, therefore, 
can not be included within the bounds of their favorite theories. 

The proper object of science is to investigate various laws con- 
trolling natural phenomena. For instance, it is a proper subject 
of scientific study to find out the laws that govern the phenomena 
of mutual attraction between the sun and the earth, or those which 
make one element combine with another in various degrees of affin- 
ity, or to discover those psychological principles which prompt men 
and women to unite themselves in matrimony. Sciences, to use 
logical terms, are made to determine some particular propositions, 
explaining each natural phenomenon by a certain definite law. They 
have no right whatever to overstep this limitation and absolutely 
deny or affirm things which do not properly belong to those specific 

Suppose here is a man whose special study is psychology. He 
can investigate the relations that exist between the soul and the 
body, between the nervous system and consciousness, and he can 


assert that particular states of consciousness are accompanied by 
or follow from corresponding organic or nervous conditions ; or, 
that whenever the brain is affected in a certain way, a certain state 
of consciousness may be expected. But he will go beyond his sphere 
of study, if he tries to positively decide the problem whether our 
consciousness could continue to be active after a dissolution of the 
material body. The psychologist, who studies the relation between 
the mind and the body, feels naturally disposed to think that with- 
out a nervous system mentation would be impossible. But he, as a 
scientist, has no right to make, or rather has no positive facts to 
support, the unqualified denial of mentation without cerebration. 

Let me make a wider application of this scientific attitude and 
method. Our wonderful solar system is, as is well known, mathemat- 
ically governed by the laws of attraction. But we cannot say by 
reason of these laws that there is no God in the universe controlling 
its multitudinous phenomena. We are not scientifically justified 
in making such a universal negation. In this respect Newton was 
quite right. He has scientifically mathematically established in 
his Principia the laws of gravitation, by which all celestial bodies 
attract or repel one another. But the fact did not warrant him in 
advancing his logic further, and denying the existence of God. On 
the contrary, he said that there probably is a supreme being above 
all these natural laws. 

Unfortunately, however, a number of scientists both in Europe 
and America, dazzled by successes brought about by some special 
scientific investigations in their chosen spheres, have sometimes 
yielded to the temptation of unscientifically extending their conclu- 
sions beyond the limits which they have set for themselves. Thus, 
even the principles of ethics and religion have been discussed and 
attacked and condemned by the scientists, whose business, strictly 
speaking, had nothing to do with those subjects. Rising against 
these encroachments, philosophers and men of letters declare that 
there are some facts and principles which defy treatment by regular 
scientific methods, so called. The sudden revival of mystic roman- 
ticism whose waves have also begun rolling over the Japanese sea 


of thought, may be considered as a reactionary movement against 
the belief in scientific omnipotence. 

Whatever its claim, mystic romanticism has at least one lesson 
to teach us. This is its peculiarly inspiring stimulus to our inner 
life. According to its doctrine, the human soul is considered to 
perform three distinct functions, thinking, feeling, and willing. 
Each of them has peculiar needs of its own. Science and philosophy 
may satisfy our intellectual demands, but utterly fail to administer 
to our emotional needs ; and what mystic romanticism strives after 
is to fill this deficiency. As far as it stands above simple mechan- 
ical intellectualism it has a unique fascination, which strangely 
appeals to man's innate spiritual aspirations. It cannot be regarded 
as an abnormal pathological phenomenon of the soul, for a mystic 
element is surely to be found in our normal mental activities. Its 
only danger is that some weak-minded people are apt to take refuge 
in mysticism, thereby excusing themselves for want of thought and 
giving a free rein to their unjustifiable subjectivism. 

I cannot here enter into any detailed discussion concerning the 
recent revival of mysticism in Europe. But we can remark that the 
further the progress of various sciences, the more complicated, de- 
tailed and specialized they become, and this fact finally tends to 
isolate the scientists of one branch from those of every other, con- 
fining each within his own narrow department. Therefore, the social 
soul, if there really be such a thing, at this beginning of the twentieth 
century, must be said to be losing unification and gradually dis- 
integrating. In this sense we can say that the present social soul 
is pathological. Such men as Helmholtz, Virchow, Huxley, and 
Tyndall, are getting rarer every day. They were scientists of a 
high order, and at the same time had a great interest in general 
social education, and did everything to propagate scientific knowl- 
edge among the masses. Mystic romanticism, it seems to me, is 
trying to fill the vacancy. Standing against the isolation of over- 
specialized sciences, romanticism aims at concretely inspiring the 
social soul. It is a sort of humanistic movement. But I doubt 
whether this romanticist activity is able to do what was done by 
Helmholtz, Huxlev, and other scientists. 


One more point I wish to notice; and that is, why mysticism 
came to be so widely welcomed by the public. The progress of 
science towards the end of the nineteenth century has been so ama- 
zingly great that people have been induced to put too much confi- 
dence in its possibilities. But as a matter of fact there are a great 
many problems still left unsolved by science. This opened the eyes 
of some scholars to the limitations of scientific knowledge, while 
others have failed to unravel such "miraculous" phenomena as 
spiritism, telepathy, etc. Tired of fruitless researches and disap- 
pointed at unfulfilled expectations, scholars as well as the general 
public began to look for something else to satisfy their inner yearn- 
ings. And they happened to think of the long-forgotten mysticism. 

After all, what is necessary at the present juncture, is to start 
a humanistic movement founded upon scientific ideas, to effect a 
coordination among isolated departmental sciences, and to establish 
an organic relation between actual life and science. 

From the psychological point of view, science belongs to the 
domain of intellect, and character means individual subjective life. 
Now this being the distinction between character and intellect, in 
what relation does one stand to the other? What are the funda- 
mental constituents of character? Can character be moulded inde- 
pendently of the development of intellect? 

Among the many constituents of which character is made up, 
the intellect takes a very prominent place. The widening of a man's 
intellectual horizon is certainly greatly conducive to the refinement 
and consolidation of his character. If, on the other hand, he acts 
hastily, from the lack of sufficient knowledge, as dictated by an 
impulse of the moment, his character must be said to be standing 
on a very unsteady basis. Knowledge, especially well-systematized 
scientific knowledge, is surely needed for the building up of char- 
acter. ':.' '' 

Generally speaking, we can distinguish two forms of knowledge : 
scientific knowledge and religio-philosophical knowledge. By the 
former we mean the knowledge that relates to a specified group of 
facts. Its practical result is the quickening of will-activity rather 
than the refining influence ; it promotes the practicality and definite- 


ness of conduct rather than its ennoblement. Religio-philosophical 
activity, on the other hand, is a synthetic factor. It watches over 
the totality of things, it grasps the individual's relation to his entire 
environment. It has, therefore, to be distinguished from the faculty 
that deals with special laws or a particular mode of activity. Religio- 
philosophical knowledge, therefore, elevates character to a higher 
plane of activity rather than making it exact and definite, and secures 
will-activity on a steady foundation. 

These two forms of knowledge, one of which can properly be 
called scientific and the other religio-philosophical, thus perform two 
different functions in the formation of character. At this stage of 
the national development of Japan, which of these kinds of knowl- 
edge is more needed, which is more to be developed, than the other ? 
It is of course difficult to form a definite opinion about these things ; 
but to my mind, one is needed just as much as the other, and both 
of them are still in an adolescent stage of development. While we 
have to do all we can to further the dissemination of scientific 
knowledge, we must not neglect to encourage the cultivation of 
religio-philosophical knowledge. 

The fact that scientific knowledge can be acquired from with- 
out, but religio-philosophical knowledge must be evolved from 
within, is readily explained. The former can be obtained without 
great difficulty by any fairly-endowed mind either through instruc- 
tion or through self -application. To develop the latter, however, 
it is necessary to have a strong, comprehensive will, fine sentiment, 
steady aspirations, keen insight into life, and various inner experi- 
ences. Moral discipline, therefore, is indispensable here. As was 
once discussed by Socrates and Plato in ancient times, morality is 
not a thing which can be grafted into one's being from without. 
Unlike scientific knowledge, it must be created by each individual 
from within. It is truly said that every man is his own philosopher. 
However wide or however narrow a man's sphere of interest in life, 
he must have his own philosophy that comprehends and is in har- 
mony with his entire environment. It is the same with a petty 
tradesman whose store front does not exceed more than a few yards, 
as with a great statesman on whose shoulders rests the fate of em- 


pires. Every man must have a philosophical knowledge comprehen- 
sive enough to grasp the whole situation to which he has to adjust 
himself. With a successful business man every dollar and cent must 
be accounted for, for otherwise he will sooner or later fail. There- 
fore, philosophical knowledge has to do with the entirety of things, 
whatever their importance and consequence. Its characteristic is 
completeness and universality. To the development of character, 
this form of knowledge is highly essential, and it would be truer 
to say that every man should be a philosopher than to say that every 
man is a philosopher. 

Some people imagine that philosophy is a dry, tasteless, and 
uniteresting affair, having no direct important bearing on practical 
life. To illustrate that this popular notion is not justified, let me 
say a few words about love. This sentiment is no doubt at first 
awakened by some organic impulses, but gradually losing its orig- 
inal significance, it becomes spiritualized. For this spiritualization 
two things are necessary. One is esthetical association and the other 
generalization. Sexual love may start with an individual admiration 
of beauty in the other sex, but as the soul expands and elevates it- 
self, the sentiment of love grows beyond the pale of individualism 
and begins to cover a wider field, finally embracing entire humanity 
under its wings. This love, now purely spiritualized, is Platonic. 
It is then evident that the two things, association and generalization, 
are necessary to enoble and spiritualize a sentiment which was pri- 
marily confined to some particular object. 

Some philosophers, especially those of the Middle Ages in 
Europe, were wont to take into consideration only the element of 
generalization in philosophical knowledge. This naturally led the 
common people to understand by philosophy anything but what is 
interesting and inspiring, while in point of fact philosophy does not 
exist independent of human sentiment. But the sentiment becomes 
widened through the generalizing process of philosophical specula- 
tion, while it retains its original character of concreteness througl 
out. Here we have the conception of a universal concrete. Whil 
still maintaining its realistic effect, the sentiment moves in unis 
with general concepts. To illustrate this, take a dramatic wor 


or a novel. It is an artistic delineation of concrete facts such as 
we observe in our daily life and is not the presentation of an abstract 
theory such as we have in Lao-Tze's Tao Teh King or Chwang- 
Tze's philosophy. Yet we have in the concrete statement of a novel 
or a dramatic production some general truth reflected or suggested. 
Every particular incident as it is depicted awakens our associations 
with things general and conceptual. 

This universal concreteness of a sentiment is essential in the 
development of character. People who act only according to im- 
pulses of the moment may be innocent enough, but cannot be said 
to have any character. The worth of a man's character is betrayed, 
however, when his apparently meaningless acts, such as laughing, 
smiling, or chatting, reflect some general concepts deeply ingrained 
in his being. Sometimes, students disciplining themselves in the 
Dhyana practice of Buddhism or in the Taoistic doctrine of Lao- 
Tze and Chwang-Tze, may wrongfully interpret the significance of 
their master's teachings. They begin to think that the most essen- 
tial qualification of a philosopher is absolute transcendentalism or 
utter indifference to worldly interests. The truth is, we cannot 
escape this earthly entanglement, we must laugh or weep as every 
other fellow-being, but we can make our every particular act mean- 
ingful and reflect in it some grand universal truths. This philosoph- 
ical discipline is essential to culture. 

Next comes practical discipline, which means the adjustment 
of thought to action. It frequently happens in our daily life that we 
are unable to execute what we know we ought to do. It is not that 
we are too lazy, but simply that we are not sufficiently disciplined. 
The channel between central motives and motor nerves has not 
been cleared sufficiently for an idea when awakened to find its unob- 
structed course in action. 

As the last essential factor of ethical culture, we have to refer 
to the strength of will, of which so much is spoken lately in this 
country. What is meant by a strong will ? Can the will be strength- 
ened by discipline? Is a strong character born and not made? 
These are the questions I wish to discuss here. But before doing 


so it is necessary to see what constitutes the will from a psycholog- 
ical point of view. 

There are among modern psychologists so many conflicting 
theories about the nature of the will, that they have not yet come 
to any definite settlement, but this is not the place to enter into a 
discussion and criticism of those various will-conceptions. Let me 
state my own view here and apply it to the practical subject under 

Several conditions necessary to make up will-activity are: (i) 
End-concept; (2) Motive; (3) Adaptation of the peripheral organs ; 
(4) Persistency of the motive, which comes from the conjunction 
of end-concept and motive ; etc. The first is a simple concept ; the 
second is a feeling of uneasiness; the third is the physical action 
such as talking, gesturing, or any other mode of adjusting the 
muscles to the central motive; the fourth is a continued state of 
uneasiness. When the conjunction of the end-concept and the mo- 
tive is effected, the latter will persist in the satisfactory adjustment 
of the peripheral organs, so long as the feeling of uneasiness is not 
eliminated. A thirsty person will not be quieted until he secures 
a copious drink of water. If, however, the adjustment of the periph- 
eral organs is not up to the expectation and fails to satisfy the inner 
needs, there are only two ways between which the individual must 
choose. The first is the unyielding persistence of a dissatisfied mo- 
tive which insists upon repeatedly trying the adjustment of the 
organs, until the result is entirely gratifying to it. The second way 
is the disappearance of the dissatisfied motive itself. Not being 
able to overcome the difficulties besetting the final adjustment, the 
motive yields to them in consequence of its weakness. 

For instance, I sometimes take a fancy to play at chess and 
try to learn the game. But after a few vain attempts I soon come 
to the conclusion that it is not worth my while, and then abandon 
it altogether. For in this case my motive is not backed by any 
strong desire arising from higher aspirations. But it is not so 
with those experts who, spurred by some irresistible impulses, never 
relax their efforts to master the art. 

Speaking of matters of more serious importance, might there 


be any artificial method by which the lack of a strong inner impulse 
can be remedied? In my opinion, this is done by the cultivation of 
the foundation of will which consists in a harmonious blending of 
natural inclination and religio-philosophical knowledge. Ethics, 
which is still in its primary stage, has not yet given any definite 
name to what I call here the foundation of will. Some call it will- 
motive and others end-concept. But neither term is quite accurate, 
for in our active life it cannot be so analyzed. It may appear to be 
one or the other according to our viewpoint, but its real significance 
lies not in the analysis, but in the synthesis in which end-concept 
and motive-feeling work as one. This synthesis cannot properly 
be called the will, for it is the source from which the will derives 
its vitality. Scholars have not named this definitely. I sometimes 
term it the "foundation of the will," but may it more properly be 
called the "nucleus of personality"? It is well known in biology 
that the vitality of a cell depends upon its nucleus. When a proto- 
zoic cell is cut in two, the nucleus being left entire in one half, this 
half continues to grow and heals its wound completely; but the 
other half in which there is no nucleus, dies. In a similar fashion, 
the nucleus of personality is, on the one hand, an end-concept of 
spiritual activities of a man, and, on the other hand, their ground- 
motive constituting the vital principle of his personality. 

Now, that which is most essential in building up a strong, 
noble chaarcter is to nourish this nucleus of personality. When a 
man loses his hold on it, he must be said to be spiritually dead. 
Nobody is perfect, and we are all liable to err frequently, but these 
errors are not to be censured very severely as long as a man is in 
possession of a strong, healthy, growing nucleus of personality, for 
he is sure to recover from the wounds temporarily inflicted and will 
grow perhaps with more energy. As was seen before, the nucleus 
must have as its constituent element a comprehensive concept such 
as Mencius's Vast Energy (Hao fan chih ch'i}, Christian God, 
Buddhist Amitabha, or ethicist's humanity. And at the same time 
it must have this universal concept organically coupled with a 
healthy, pure sentiment, such as Confucian fellow-feeling (Jen), 
Christian love, Buddhist mercy (karuna), or ethicist's philanthropy. 



The man who has these two essentials cooperating in the make-up 
of his nucleus of personality, is truly to be called great. 

The final issue of our spiritual culture turns on the development 
of this moral nucleus. To a certain degree, it is a matter of pre- 
disposition or heredity. But by accelerating religio-philosophical 
activities in our soul-life, and by having this soul-life coupled with 
the noblest sentment, and finally by disciplining oneself in its actuali- 
zation, much can be achieved by a fairly-endowed soul. 

To conclude, it is science that furnishes us with the necessary 
knowledge of dealing with life and things, and makes our conduct 
accurate and definite and practical ; and in this respect science does 
much toward moral culture. We cannot do very well without it; 
science and culture must supplement each other. But as to the 
establishment of the central nucleus of personality on a solid foun- 
dation, we must look for religio-philosophical activities which are 
vigorous and unbiased, while the scientific knowledge which con- 
cerns itself with our natural wants and activities may be compared 
to the protoplasmic matter that surrounds and feeds the nucleus. 






TT7"HEN students of comparative religion began to collect their 
**^ data of the several faiths of primitive peoples, they were 
astonished to find that a belief in the immortality of the soul was 
all but universal ; and there are many scholars who look upon this 
unanimity as a proof that the idea is inborn in man and that this 
consensus gentium, so called, is a strong argument in favor of its 

There is a good reason for the prevalence of the belief in im- 
mortality, and it is based upon the fact that primitive peoples do 
not discriminate between dreams and reality. Dreams are real to 
them, and so if their dead appear to them in dreams, they believe 
them to be living still. 

We must, however, modify our statement, lest we be misunder- 
stood. To say "Savages believe in immortality," is, closely con- 
sidered, wrong. It is not a "belief" with them, not a religious doc- 
trine, nor even a conviction of any moral tenor. To them it is 
simply a fact of immediate experience. 

Savage psychology has been studied in several parts of the 
globe, and the similarity of its essential features among the different 
tribes of all continents is remarkable. Indeed, if we consider the 
logic of primitive man in face of the facts which confront him, we 
have to understand that to his unsophisticated mind the dead 
are actually present when they appear in dreams. Savages do not 
philosophize on the subject, nor do they formulate a credo. They 
see the dead in dreams and visions; they hear their voices; they 



converse with them; they consult with them. To question their 
existence would be as ridiculous to them as to doubt their own 
being or the actuality of material bodies. What to later generations 
changes to belief is to them knowledge. Doubt is a creation of 
incipient civilization, when ideas begin to be "sicklied o'er with the 
pale cast of thought." 

We know of no time when the Egyptians did not believe in 
immortality, and we may assume that the aborigines as well as the 
Punt invaders had both some notions of the fate of the soul after 
death. Their ideas must have been hazy, for in different districts 
different notions seem to have prevailed, many of which survive in 
later historical documents. The result is that while all the Egyp- 
tians may fairly well be said to have believed in an immortality of 


some kind, there are different views, and it is obvious that they 
have never been systematized into one consistent formula of the 
Egyptian faith. 

We may enumerate many different conceptions of souls, all of 
which play an important part in the Egyptian religion, and yet we 
are not informed whether the Egyptians believed in all of them at 
once, or whether some of them are different names for the same 
or approximately the same thing, or finally whether we have some- 
times to deal with heretical opinions. 

The probability is that in some districts the soul was regarded 

*From Naville, Das Thebanische Todtenbuch, I, plate CIV. Maspero. 
Dawn of Civilization, p. 108. 



a shadow image, an unsubstantial and idealized shape of the 
body; in others it was thought to be a bird, a hawk or a phoenix. 
Later on, it became a human-headed hawk, a mysterious being with 
wings. Again, it was regarded as a spiritual essence, man's energy 
and will-power, obviously the product of philosophical reflection. 
Those who had a vague idea of the significance of the heart-beat 
looked upon the heart as the seat of the soul, and hence, as the 
organ of consciousness. All in all, we have no less than nine con- 


ceptions of the soul, which occur side by side in the same papyri 
of the great books of Egypt, among which the Book of the Dead 
is the most important one. 

This mysterious work, the Book of the Dead, is a collection of 
prayers or incantations, which the soul must recite on its journey 
to the other world. The name has been given it by modern Egyp- 
tologists, because the several chapters of it have been discovered 

* From Leemans, Monuments Egyptiens, I, III, pi. XII ; Maspero, Dawn 
of Civilization, p. 187. 


in sarcophagi wrapt up with the dead, but the title is, to say the 
least, highly inappropriate. The best Egyptian name for it would 
be, as Budge proposes to translate it, "The Coming Forth by Day/' 
meaning thereby that the soul, in its passage through the under- 
world, will rise again with renewed life, as the sun, after having 
set in the West, comes forth again in all his glory in the East. In 
brief, these prayers are intended for the protection of the soul, and if 
we had to modernize the name, we ought to call it the "Book of 


* * * 

The prehistoric inhabitants of Egypt buried their dead in 
crouched positions with knees drawn up to their faces, on mats 


The soul (ba) is visiting the body and lays its hands upon the heart 
of the mummy. 

or gazelle skins. There are instances in which the bodies were 
mutilated, with heads severed from the trunks, and in some cases 
there are indications of a religious cannibalism. This means that 
parts of the flesh had been removed for the purpose of being eaten, 
presumably by the heirs in order to symbolize the transference of 
the soul of the deceased upon his descendants. 

The historical Egyptians, who may have been an entirely new 

* From a photograph by Emil Brugsch-Bey. Maspero, Dawn of Civili- 
sation, p. 199. 



race (probably a mixture of the descendants of the Punt invaders 
with the aborigines), developed a definite system of preserving the 
bodies by embalming. The reason for this practice must have lain 
in the belief that the fate of the soul after death depended mainly 


While Anubis prepares the mummy, the soul holds to its nostrils 
the scepter and the wind-filled sail, the former symbolizing the 
power of renewal, the latter the breath of life. 

on the preservation of the body, and the idea of the significance of 
the body in connection with the belief in a resurrection has been pre- 

* From Rossellini, Monumenti Civili, pi. CXXIV, 2 ; Maspero, Dawn of 
Civilization, p. 179. 


served through the history of Egypt. Indeed it has survived in the 
Christian doctrine of the resurrection of the flesh and is still in- 
corporated in the confession of faith which is recited each Sunday 
from every orthodox altar, Protestant as well as Greek and Roman 
Catholic, although actual belief in it is rapidly fading from progres- 
sive Christendom. 

The ideals that underly the Christian conception of Christ the 
Saviour, are not foreign to the ancient Egyptians, but the part 
which Christ plays in Christianity is there ascribed to 'several deities. 
First of all he is typified in the god Osiris who, too, had to die after 

(From the Papyrus of Ani.) 

he had lived on earth as a man and like unto any other man. Hav- 
ing died, he was embalmed and guided through the under-world 
by his brother-god Anubis. Anubis accordingly played in this 
respect the part of Christ not only for Osiris, but for all the dead 
of Egypt, and we know that among the early Christian Copts, 
Christ was frequently identified with Anubis. He was the Greek 
Hermes, who is called by Homer psychopompos, leader of souls. 

The idea of the soul visiting the body was dear to the Egyp- 
tian, for it is represented again and again in papyri, on wall frescoes, 
and illuminated sarcophagi. The soul's visit to the mummy must 



have meant a temporary resuscitation of the dead person, and it 
was for his benefit that libations and sacrificial meals were offered at 
the tombs. 

No doubt the Egyptian soul-conception is typically Egyptian. 
We do not find it in the same shape anywhere else on the surface of 
the globe. Nevertheless, it is also typically human, and sums up 
in a matured and cultured form the soul-conception of savage life 
as it is known to us in Africa, Oceania, North America, and in 
stray historical records of the primitive people of Europe and Asia. 

In spite of the typical peculiarities which confront us in the 
Egyptian monuments, Egyptian life and Egyptian religion form a 

(From Wiedemann's Religion of the Ancient Egyptians.) 

definite phase characteristic of a certain stage in the development 
of mankind. The ingredients which do not go back to the aboriginal 
inhabitants are partly Lybian, partly Abyssinian, partly Punt Arabic, 
partly Canaanitish, and a mixture of all these elements with a few 
incidental ingredients from other countries: Assyria, Phoenicia, and 
Greece; but the general result is decidedly human, and that is the 
reason why it still attracts and fascinates us. Moreover, Egyptian 
views have entered into the life of our present civilization, and in 
this sense the Egyptians are as much our spiritual ancestors as are 
the Greeks and the Israelites. 

Professor Budge in his recent work on The Gods of the Egyp- 


tians, characterizes the situation in the Preface (pp. xiv-xvi) as 
follows : 

"The cult of Osiris, the dead man deified, and the earliest forms of his 
Worship, were, no doubt, wholly of African origin; these are certainly the 
oldest elements in the religion of the Dynastic Period, and the most per- 
sistent, for Osiris maintained his position as the god and judge of the dead 
from the Predynastic to the Ptolomaic Period. The Followers of Horus, 
who brought a solar religion with them into Egypt from the East, never suc- 
ceeded in dislodging Osiris from his exalted position, and his cult survived 
undiminished notwithstanding the powerful influence which the priests of Ra, 
and the worshipers of Amen, and the votaries of Aten respectively exercised 
throughout the country. The heaven of Osiris was believed to exist in a 
place where the fields were fertile and well stocked with cattle, and where 
meat and drink were abundant; the abodes of the blessed were thought to be 
constructed after the model of the comfortable Egyptian homesteads in which 
they had lived during life, and the ordinary Egyptian hoped to live in one of 
these with his wives and parents. On the other hand, the followers of Ra, 
the sun-god, believed in a heaven of a more spiritual character, and their 
great hope was to occupy a seat in the boat of the god, and, arrayed in light, 
to travel whithersoever he went. They wished to become bright and shining 
spirits, and to live upon the celestial meat and drink upon which he lived; 
as he was so they hoped to be in every respect. The materialistic heaven of 
Osiris appealed to the masses of Egypt, and the heaven where Ra lived to the 
priests of Ra and other solar gods, and to royal and aristocratic families, and 
to the members of the foreign section of the community who were of Eastern 

The various waves of religious thought and feeling, which swept over 
Egypt during the five thousand years of her history which are known to us, 
did not seriously disturb the cult of Osiris, for it held out to the people hopes 
of resurrection and immortality of a character which no other form of religion 
could give. Secure in these hopes the people regarded the various changes 
and developments of religious ideas in their country with equanimity and 
modifications in the public worship of the gods, provided that the religious 
fasts and processions were not interrupted, moved them but little. Kings and 
priests from time to time made attempts to absorb the cult of Osiris into re- 
ligious systems of a solar character, but they failed, and Osiris, the man-god, 
always triumphed, and at the last, when his cult disappeared before the reli- 
gion of the Man Christ, the Egyptians who embraced Christianity found that 
the moral system of the old cult and that of the new religion were so similar, 
and the promises of resurrection and immortality in each so much alike, that 
they transferred their allegiance from Osiris to Jesus of Nazareth without 



(After a colored facsimile of a picture in the Book of the Dead, by Pleyte.) 



difficulty. Moreover, Isis and the child Horus were straightway identified 
with Mary the Virgin and her Son, and in the apocryphal literature of the 
first centuries which followed the evangelization of Egypt, several of the 
legends about Isis and her sorrowful wanderings were made to center round 
the Mother of Christ. Certain of the attributes of the sister goddesses of 
Isis were also ascribed to her, and, like the Goddess Neith of Sals, she was 
declared to possess perpetual virginity. Certain of the Egyptian Christian 
Fathers gave to the Virgin the title "Theotokos," or "Mother of God," for- 
getting, apparently, that it was an exact translation of neter mut, a very old 
and common title of Isis." 

The body of man was called khat 1 , and was represented in 
hieroglyphics by a dead fish and a perfume bottle, indicating in 

(From Lenormant's Histoire de I' Orient, III, 269.) 

their combination putrid odor. It was also written in a fuller form, 2 
which means something subject to decay that can be preserved by 
mummification. The hope of the Egyptians for immortality being 
closely affiliated to the idea of the restitution of the body, they were 
bent on preserving its form, which gradually led to the practice of 



The tomb was built to be the residence of the mummy for all 
time to come, and was hence called "the eternal house," pa t'etta; 
and we must assume that there, at appointed seasons, comparable 
to our All Souls' Day, memorial services were held with libations, 
food-offering, and incense-burning. 3 



8 The priest is called ker heb < ~ :> 
who conducts the festivals at the tomb 

* <= * 5= 

j^f which signifies one 
pa t'etta, the everlasting 

* The king belongs to the XVIIIth dynasty ; his double carries on his 
head the king's fea-name. (From Arundale-Bonomi-Birch, Gallery of An- 
tiquities from the Br. M., pi. 31. Maspero, Dawn of Civilisation, p. 261.) 

f This bas-relief in the temple of Luxor represents the birth of Amen- 
othes III. From a photograph by Gayet ; Maspero, Dawn of Civilisation, 259. 




The soul is represented in many ways, either as a bird, 4 or as 
a hawk, 3 or, most commonly, as a human-headed hawk," called ba. 

The ba represents mainly the functions of consciousness and 
is supposed to visit the tomb from time to time, and enter into the 
khat, the perishable body. In fact, the purpose of the khat's mum- 
mification is simply to make it possible for the soul to enter again 
into its body. 

Another conception of the soul is the idealized shadow of a 
man, called ''the shade," which in hieroglyphics is called khaibit.' 

A typical Egyptian view of the soul is a description of the 
sentiment that throbs in our breast that part of the body that lies 
between the arms and finds a vivid expression in the use of our 
hands. It is called ka and is pictured in hieroglyphics by two out- 
stretched arms, 8 which is commonly translated "double," for it is 
supposed to be the ethereal shape of the man and represents the 
personality as a kind of astral body, which is supposed to be in 
possession of all attributes of the man to whom it belongs. The 
translation "double" is in so far justified as the monuments actually 
represent the ka as a second and an additional figure, which, at cer- 
tain times and certain places, is deemed necessary to add to the 
representation of a man. We see, for instance, the picture of a 
new-born prince in which his double, his idealized self, is represented 
right behind him, bearing a special name, the so-called a-name 
of the future king. 

The conscience of the man, the organ of his moral life, is sup- 
posed to have its seat in the heart, hence ab, the heart, is the name 
of the soul in a similar sense as even to-day we would use the word 
heart. It is written in hieroglyphics in two ways. 10 

The spirit of a man is called khu, represented as an ibis, 11 the 
emblem of Thoth, the scribe of the gods, the mediator between 

LJ Coptic 


"The &a-name is indicated by resting on the hieroglyph ka and having 
on top the hawk of Hor. 



man and the celestials, the protector of science and the divine incar- 
nation of the Word, the Logos a conception which plays an im- 
portant part in Egyptian theology. 

Another way of representing the soul is as the vital force, 
called sekhem, represented in hieroglyphics by a symbol that seems 
to be a fan, representing breath, vitality, and energy. 12 

Finally, the personality of man is covered by all that appertains 
to his name, and thus it is represented in Egyptian by the hiero- 
glyph ren which means "name." 

The body when mummified is called sahu 14 and is pictured as 


an upright mummy. 15 When the deceased has been justified be- 
fore the judgment throne of Osiris, and when his heart has been 
returned to him, he is regarded as having received the benediction 
of truth and becomes maa-kheru a word which finds an equivalent 
in the German selig, and is translated in English, "triumphant," 


* From Naville, Das AegypHsche Todtenbuch, I, pi. LXIX. Maspero, 
Dawn of Civilization, p. 217. 

t From Guieyesse-Lefebure, Le Papyrus de Soutimes, pi. VII. Maspero, 
Dawn of Civilisation, p. 183. 



"justified," "victorious," or "sainted." When the body has been 
sainted, it is supposed to be in possession of a spiritual body ; it 
becomes luminous and is possessed of an incorruptible sahu, a 
transfigured body. 

Man's resurrection soul is characterized by the bird bennu, 17 
the Egyptian phoenix. 

The idea of resurrection has always been the main doctrine of 
the religious life of Egypt. Here all longings find their satis- 


Anubis adjusts the tongue of the balance the construction of which 
is noteworthy. A feather, the emblem of truth, serves him for a 
weight. (From the Papyrus of Ani.) 

faction, here all interests converge, and here all hopes are centered. 
When a mummy is removed in a boat to its eternal resting-place, 
a near relation of the deceased stands in the bow of the boat and 
calls to the helmsman : 

'"Steer to the West, to the land of the justified. 
The women of the boat weep much, very much. 


In peace, in peace to the West, thou blessed one, go in peace ! 

When time has become eternity then shall we see thee again. 
For, behold, thou goest away to that country in which all are 

equal." 18 

* * * 

All the amulets which were worn by the living or were placed 
upon the mummy to accompany the dead to the other world, are in- 
tended to serve the purpose of insuring a happy resurrection on the 
day when time will become eternity. 

The most common symbols used are the ankh called also the 
"key of life," or crux ansata (the handle cross), or the Egyptian 
cross. It means "life" and is seen in the hands of the gods as an 
emblem of their divinity. 

Another symbol is the tet or ded, 20 the backbone of Osiris, a 
symbol of stability. 

A third symbol is the scepter usr 21 meaning "strength," having 
on top a hook not unlike the head of the oryx (an animal sacred 
to Set) and ending below in a horse-shoe form. 

Still another symbol is the feather 22 of truth worn by the god- 
dess Maat on her head. It means "purity," "faithfulness," and 

The vulture, 23 representing "Mother Isis," was placed on the 
neck of the mummy on the day of the funeral. 

The uraus (snake), 24 like the vulture, is a symbol of Isis, the 
two being sometimes combined. The former represents Upper 
Egypt and is frequently painted with outstretched wings as hovering 
over the king; the latter received particular veneration in the Delta. 
Both were also worshiped as special goddesses, the vulture under 
the name Nekhbit, the tirceus (snake) under the name Uazit. 

The buckle or tie, called thet, 25 is one of the commonest amulets 
found in the graves. It is commonly made of red jasper, cornelian, 
porphery, red glass, red faience, or sycamore wood; and we are 

18 Ermann, Life in Ancient Egypt, chapter on "The Dead," pp. 320-321. 

1!t HH -20 21 ^ 22 f? 23 ^T\. 24 H 25 


told that the red color represents the blood of Isis. It is placed 
on the neck of the dead. 

The symbol iiefer originally representing the heart with the 
trachea, but later on interpreted as a lute, means beauty, gladness, 
joy, and good luck. It is frequently trebled so as to mean "thrice 

The symbolical eye, utat, made of glazed faience, wood, granite, 
haematite, cornelian, lapis lazuli, or precious metals, is shaped either 
as the right 27 or the left 28 eye or both in combination. Sometimes 
the right eye is called the sun and the left eye the moon ; and in 
other passages the former is explained as the eye of Hor in the 
south, meaning the sun in day-time, and the left eye, the eye of 
Hor in the north, meaning the moon during the night. The eyes of 
Hor are endangered by Set but are known to be always victorious. 
Frequently they bear the inscription uza, i.e., "prosperous" or "hale," 
and the souls of the dead were believed to be safe under their pro- 

In the Book of the Dead, the utats, the eyes of Hor, are painted 
with wings and human legs. 

The crook hek 2 * signifies the care that the gods take of mortals, 
and its use continues in the Christian Church as an emblem of 
episcopal responsibility. 

Other symbols representing royalty are the white crown of the 
south, het^ the red crown of the north, tesher^ and the double 
crown 32 of both Upper and Lower Egypt, called in later times 

The scarab, kheper, the Egyptian dung-beetle (ateuchus sacer) 
was considered with special awe, and it meant generation or regene- 
ration, transformation, resurrection, self-creative power, and im- 
mortal life. 

The Egyptians had observed the scarab roll a little mud ball 
and hide it in a safe place. In due time the young beetles came 
out of this mysterious ball, and it was assumed that the scarab had 
no sex, but that it possessed the power of regenerating itself. 

f 27 ^33 28 iS? 29 ^ 30 A 



The heart, ab, s * is also considered as an important amulet, and 
Mr. Budge quotes one instance in which a heart amulet bears, on 
one side, the inscription of the name of the goddess Neit, a picture 
of the bird Bennu, and the legend Nuk ba Khepara, that is, "I am 
the soul of life eternal" ; and, on the other side, the chapter on "The 
Heart" quoted from the Book of the Dead. 

We must mention also the symbol hefnu, which means "a 
myriad" and is represented as a frog, 35 , being the emblem of the 
goddess Hekt, a form of Hathor, wife of the god Khnemu. Hekt 
also was believed to have a favorable influence upon man's resur- 
rection. Even as late as in the Hellenistic period, and still in the 
Roman period of Egyptian history, we find frogs on lamps, and in 


one instance the frog bears the inscription in Greek, "I am the 
resurrection." 36 

An enumeration of Egyptian symbols would not be complete 
without finally mentioning the emblem of the winged disk, which 
appears over every temple entrance in Egypt. There is a legend 
about its introduction, which relates that Ra Harmakhis, "the Ever- 
living Sun-god," was confronted with the enemies of the gods of 
the Egyptians, and his son, Hor Behudti, "Hor as a sparrow hawk," 
struck terror among the host of Set, by assuming the overawing 
form of a winged disk. 



Thoth, the scribe of the gods, says : 

" 'The darter of rays who came forth from Ra, he conquered 
the enemies in his form [of a winged sun-disk] ; from this day he 
shall be called the Darter of Rays who emergeth from the horizon.' 

"Hamarkhis spake unto Thoth: 

" 'Set this sun at every place at which I tarry, at the places of 
the gods in the South Land, at the places of the gods in the North 
Land, [at the places of the gods] in the Underworld, that it may 
banish evil from their vicinity.' 

"Thoth set this form at every spot, at every place, how many 
soever there were, at which any gods or goddesses might be. And 
this is the winged sun-disk which is over the sanctuaries of all the 
gods and goddesses in Egypt, for their sanctuary is also that of 
Horbehudti." 37 

The winged disk, accordingly, as related in this legend, "ban- 
ishes evil from the temples." It is the emblem of rescue from 
enemies and of salvation. The same emblem is used in other 
Oriental countries, in Arabia, Phoenicia, Syria, and especially in 
Babylonia, and we must assume that even the Israelites had no ob- 
jection to it. At any rate, we find an allusion to it in the prophet 
Malachi (iv. 2), who apparently refers to this emblem of the deity, 
when he speaks of Yahveh as the "Sun of righteousness .... with 

healing in his wings." 

* * * 

A prominent feature was the effect which the belief in immor- 
tality had on Egyptian morals. The soul could pass easily in its 
migrations through the shadows of the under-world if it had not 
committed any offense against either the gods or its fellow beings. 
It had to know the magic spells that were required to overcome 
powers of darkness, and when finally it reached the hall of trutl 
the heart of the deceased was weighed in the balance with trutl 
which is represented pictorially by a feather. 

The deceased makes a negative confession to forty-two judge 
of the sins which he has abstained from committing, and we quot 

87 Alfred Wiedemann, Religion of the Ancient Egyptians, p. 74. 




the following examples from the Papyrus of Nu (Budge, Egyptian 
Ideas of the Future Life, pp. 130-134) : 

"I have not done iniquity. I have not committed theft. I have not made 
light the bushel. I have not acted deceitfully. I have not uttered falsehood. 
I have not uttered vile words. I have not eaten my heart (i.e. lost my 
temper and become angry). I have not pried into matters to make mischief. 
I have not set my mouth in motion against any man. I have not polluted 
myself. I have not made any man to be afraid. I have not made myself 
deaf unto the words of right and truth. I have not made another person to 
weep. I have not behaved with insolence. I have not increased my wealth 
except by means of such things as are mine own possessions." 

By his justification he becomes identified with Osiris who now 
lives in him as a power of salvation. We quote from the Papyrus 
of Ani (Book of the Dead, Vol. I, p. 29, Chicago, The Open Court 
Publishing Co. ) , where Horus, the son of Isis, the avenger of his 
father Osiris, and the saviour of mankind, addresses Osiris Un- 
nefer : 

"I have come to thee, O Un-nefer, and I have brought unto thee the 
Osiris Ani. His heart is [found] righteous, and it hath come forth from the 
balance ; it hath not sinned against any god or any goddess. Thoth hath 
weighed it according to the decree pronounced unto him by the company of 
the gods ; and it is most true and righteous. Grant that cakes and ale may be 
given unto him, and let him appear in the presence of the god Osiris ; and let 
him be like unto the followers of Horus for ever and for ever." 

Such in main outline are the leading facts in the Egyptian 
conception of the soul and its life after death, and closely considered 
they are but the natural outcome of those views which can be ob- 
served in all the prehistoric nations of the world ; but in the case 
of Egypt they are reduced to a clear conception, symbolized by ap- 
propriate emblems, stated in religious doctrines, systematically ap- 
plied to practical life in the shape of moral maxims, and pictured 
graphically in religious art. 



A yf AGIC squares are of themselves only mathematical curios, 
*** but they involve principles whose unfolding should lead the 
thoughtful mind to a higher conception of the wonderful laws of 
symphony and order which govern the science of numbers. 

The earliest record of a magic square is found in Chinese 
literature dated about A. D. 1125,* but since then this interesting 
subject has been more or less studied and developed by mathemati- 
cians of all nations. 

It is the writer's purpose to present some general and compre- 
hensive methods for constructing magic squares which he believes 
to be original, and also to briefly review what is commonly known 
concerning their construction. 


A magic square consists of a series of numbers arranged in 
quadratic form so that the sum of each vertical, horizontal and 
corner diagonal column is the same amount. These squares can 
be made with either an odd or an even number of cells, but as odd 
squares are constructed by methods which differ from those that 
govern the formation of even squares, the two classes will be con- 
sidered under separate headings. 


In these squares it is not only requisite that the sum of all 
)lumns shall be the same amount, but also that the sum of any 

* See p. 19 of Chinese Philosophy by Dr. Paul Carus. 



two numbers that are geometrically equidistant from the center 
number shall equal twice that number. Unless these conditions are 
fulfilled, the square cannot be considered perfect. 

The square of 3 X 3 shown in Fig. i covers the smallest ag- 
gregation of numbers that is capable of magic square arrangement, 
and it is also the only possible arrangement of nine different numbers, 
relatively to each other, which fulfills the required conditions. It 
will be seen that the sum of each of the three vertical, the three 
horizontal, and the two corner diagonal columns in this square is 
15, making in all eight columns having that total: also that the 
sum of any two opposite numbers is 10, which is twice the center 
number. It is therefore a perfect square of 3 X 3- 

The next largest odd magic square is that of 5 X 5, and there 
are a great many different arrangements of twenty-five numbers. 

Totals = 15. 


























Totals =65. 

Fig i. 

Fig. 2. 

which will show perfect results, each arrangement being the pro- 
duction of a different constructive method. Fig. 2. illustrates what 
is probably the oldest and best known arrangement of this square. 

The sum of each of the five horizontal, the five vertical, and the 
two corner diagonal columns is 65, and the sum of any two numbers 
which are geometrically equidistant from the center number is 26, 
or twice the center number. 

In order to intelligently follow the rule used in the construction 
of this square it may be conceived that its upper and lower edges 
are bent around backwards, and united to form a horizontal cylinder 
with the numbers on the outside, the lower line of figures thus 
coming next in order to the upper line. It may also be conceived 
that the square is bent around backwards in a direction at right 


angles to that which was last considered, so that it forms a vertical 
cylinder with the extreme right and left hand columns adjacent to 
each other. 

An understanding of this simple conception will assist the 
student to follow the new methods of building odd magic squares 
that are to be described, all of these methods being based on a 
right or left hand diagonal formation. 

Referring to Fig. 2, it will be seen that the square is started 
by writing unity in the center cell of the upper row, the consecutive 
numbers proceeding diagonally therefrom in a right hand direction. 
Using the conception of a horizontal cylinder, 2 will be located in the 
lower row, followed by 3 in the next upper cell to the right. Here 
the formation of the vertical cylinder being conceived the next upper 
square will be where 4 is written, then 5 ; further progress being 
here blocked by i which already occupies the next upper cell in 
diagonal order. 

When a block thus occurs in the regular spacing (which will 
be at every fifth number in a 5 X 5 square) the next number must 
in this case be written in the cell vertically below the one last filled, 
so that 6 is written in the cell below 5, and the right hand diagonal 
order is then continued in cells occupied by 7 and 8. Here the 
horizontal cylinder is imagined, showing the location of 9, then the 
conception of the vertical cylinder will indicate the location of 10; 
further regular progression being here once more blocked by 6, 
so ii is written under 10 and the diagonal order continued to 15. 
A mental picture of the combination of vertical and horizontal cyl- 
inders will here show that further diagonal progress is blocked by 
n, so 1 6 is written under 15. The vertical cylinder will then indi- 
cate the cell in which 17 must be located, and the horizontal cylinder 
will show the next cell diagonally upwards to the right to be occu- 
pied by 1 8, and so on until the final number 25 is reached and the 
square completed. 

Fig. 3 illustrates the development of a 7 X 7 square constructed 
according to the preceding method, and the student is advised to 
follow the sequence of the numbers to impress the rule on his mem- 
ory. A variation of the last method is shown in Fig. 4, illustrating 



another 7X7 square. In this example I is placed in the next cell 
horizontally to the right of the center cell, and the consecutive 
numbers proceed diagonally upward therefrom, as before, in a 
right hand direction until a block occurs. The next number is then 
written in the second cell horizontally to the right of the last cell 
filled (instead of the cell below as in previous examples) and the 
upward diagonal order is resumed until the next block occurs. 













2 7 























































































Fig. 3- 

Fig. 4. 


























Totals = 65. 

Fig. 5- 

Then two cells to the right again, and regular diagonal order c 
tinned, and so on until all the cells are filled. 

The preceding examples may be again varied by writing 
numbers in left hand instead of right hand diagonal sequen 
making use of the same spacing of numbers as before when blocks 
occur in the regular sequence of construction. 

We now come to a series of very interesting methods for 
building odd magic squares which involve the use of the knight 
move in chess, and it is worthy of note that the squares formed 
these methods possess curious characteristics in addition to those 





previously referred to. To chess-players the knight's move will 
require no comment, but for those who are not familiar with this 
game it may be explained as a move of two squares straight for- 
ward in any direction and one square to either right or left. 

The magic square of 5 X5 illustrated in Fig. 5 is started by 
placing i in the center cell of the upper row, and the knight's 
move employed in its construction will be two cells upward and 
one cell to the right. 

Using the idea of the horizontal cylinder 2 must be written 
in the second line from the bottom, as shown, and then 3 in the 
second line from the top. Now conceiving a combination of the 
horizontal and vertical cylinders, the next move will locate 4 in the 
extreme lower left hand corner, and then 5 in the middle row. We 
now find that the next move is blocked by one, so 6 is written below 
5, and the knight's moves are then continued, and so on until the 
last number, 25, is written in the middle cell of the lower line, and 
the square is thus completed. 

In common with the odd magic squares which were previously 
described, it will be found that in this square the sum of each of 
the five horizontal, the five perpendicular, and the two corner diag- 
onal columns is 65, also that the sum of any two numbers that are 
geometrically equidistant from the center is 26, or twice the number 

in the center cell, thus filling all the general qualifications of a 

perfect square. 

In addition, however, to these characteristics it will be noted 
that each spiral row of figures around the horizontal and vertical 
cylinders traced either right handed or left handed also amounts 
to 65. In the vertical cylinder, there are five right hand, and five 
left hand spirals, two of which form the two corner diagonal col- 
umns across the square, leaving eight new combinations. The same 
number of combinations will also be found in the horizontal cylin- 
der. Counting therefore five horizontal columns, five vertical col- 
umns, two corner diagonal columns, and sixteen right and left hand 
spiral columns, there will be found in all twenty-eight columns 
each of which will sum up to 65, whereas in either of the 5X5 



squares previously considered there will be found only twelve col- 
umns that will amount to that number. 

This method of construction is subject to a number of variations. 
For example, the knight's move may be upwards and to the left 
hand instead of to the right, or it may be made downwards and 
either to the right or left hand, and also in other directions. There 
are in fact eight different ways in which the knight's move may 
be started from the center cell in the upper line. Six of these 
moves are indicated by figure 2's in different cells of Fig. 6, and 
each of these moves if continued in its own direction, varied by 
regular breaks as before described, will produce a different but 
perfect square. The remaining two possible knight's moves, indi- 
cated by cyphers, will not produce perfect squares. 











































Fig. 6. 

Fig. 7. 

It may here be desirable to explain another method for locating 
numbers in their proper cells which some may prefer to that which 
involves the conception of the double cylinder. This method con- 
sists in constructing parts of auxiliary squares around two or more 
sides of the main square, and temporarily writing the numbers in 
the cells of these auxiliary squares when their regular placing car- 
ries them outside the limits of the main square. The temporary 
location of these numbers in the cells of the auxiliary squares will 
then indicate into which cells of the main square they must be per- 
manently transferred. 

Fig. 7 shows a5X5 main square with parts of three auxilh 



squares, and the main square will be built up in the same way as 

Fig. r 

Starting with i in the center of the top line, the first knight's 
move of two cells upwards and one to the right takes 2 across the 
top margin of the main square into the second cell of the second 
line from the bottom in one of the auxiliary squares, so 2 must be 
transferred to the same relative position in the main square. Start- 
ing again from 2 in the main square, the next move places 3 within 
the main square, but 4 goes out of it into the lower left hand corner 
of an auxiliary square, from which it must be transferred to the 
same location in the main square, and so on throughout. 

The method last described and also the conception of the double 
cylinders may be considered simply as aids to the beginner. With 
a little practice the student will be able to select the proper cells in 
the square as fast as the figures can be written therein. 

Having thus explained certain specific and novel lines of con- 
struction, the general principles governing the development of all 
odd magic squares by these methods may now be formulated. 

1. The center cell in the square must always contain the middle 
number of the series of numbers used, i. e., a number which 
is equal to one half the sum of the first and last numbers of 
the series. 

2. No perfect magic square can therefore be started from its 
center cell, but it may be started from any cell other than 
the center one. 

3. With certain specific exceptions which will be referred to 
later on, odd magic squares may be constructed by either 
right or left hand diagonal sequence, or by a number of so- 
called knight's moves, varied in all cases by periodical and 
well defined departures from normal spacing. 

4. The directions and dimensions of these departures from 
normal spacing, or "break moves," as they may be termed, 
are governed by the relative spacing of cells occupied by 
the first and last numbers of the series, and may be deter- 
mined as follows : 



RULE: Place the first number of the series in any desired cell 
(excepting the center one) and the last number of the series 
in the cell which is geometrically opposite to the cell con- 
taining the first number. The relative spacing of these two 
cells must then be repeated whenever a block occurs in the 
regular progression. 


Using a blank square of 5 X 5, i may be written in the middle 
cell of the upper line. The geometrically opposite cell to this being 
the middle cell in the lower line, 25 must be written therein. I will 
therefore be located four cells above in the middle vertical column, 
or what is the same thing, and easier to follow, one cell below 25. 
When, therefore, a square of 5 X 5 is commenced with the first 
number in the middle cell of the upper line, the break move will 
always be one cell downwards, irrespective of the method of regular 
















Fig. 8. 

Fig. 9. 

advance. Fig. 8 shows the break moves in a 5 X 5 square as above 
described using a right hand upward diagonal advance. 

Again using a blank 5X5 square, i may be written in the cell 
immediately to the right of the center cell, bringing 25 into the cell 
to the left of the center cell. The break moves in this case will 
therefore be two cells to the right of the last cell occupied, irrespec- 
tive of the method used for regular advance. Fig. 9 illustrates the 
break moves in the above case, when a right hand upward diagonal 
advance is used. The positions of these break moves in the square 
will naturally vary with the method of advance, but the spacing 
the moves themselves will remain unchanged. 


NOTE : The foregoing break moves were previously described in 
several specific examples (See Figs, i, 2, 3, 4, and 5) and 
the student will now observe how they agree with the gen- 
eral rule. 

Once more using a blank square of 5 X 5, i may be written 
in the upper left hand corner and 25 in the lower right hand corner, 
i will then occupy a position four cells removed from 25 in a left 
hand upward diagonal, or what is the same thing and easier to 
follow, the next cell in a right hand downward diagonal. This will 
therefore be the break move whenever a block occurs in the regular 
spacing. (See Fig. 10.) 

As a final example we will write I in the second cell from the 
left in the upper line of a 5 X 5 square, which calls for the placing 




Fig. 10. 

Fig. ii. 

of 25 in the second square from the right in the lower line. The 
place relation between 25 and i may then be described by a knight's 
move of two cells to the left and one cell downwards, and this must 
be the break move whenever a block occurs in the regular spacing. 
(See Fig. u.) 

As before stated odd magic squares may be commenced in 
any cell excepting the center one, and perfect squares may be built 
up from such commencements by a great variety of regular moves, 
such as right hand diagonal sequence, upwards or downwards, left 
hand diagonal sequence upwards or downwards, or a number of 
knight's moves in various directions. There are four possible moves 
from each cell in diagonal sequence, and eight possible moves from 
each cell by the knight's move. The greater number of these moves 



will produce perfect magic squares, but there will be found certain 
exceptions which can be shown most readily by diagrams. 

Fig. 12 is a 5 X 5 square in which the pointed arrow heads in- 
dicate the directions of diagonal sequence by which perfect squares 
may be constructed, while the blunt arrow heads show the directions 




























Fig. 12. Fig. 13. 

,. h&fliVlrt J tTTT 

of diagonal sequence which will lead to imperfect results. Fig. 

13 illustrates the various normal knight's moves which may be 
started from each cell and also indicates with pointed and blunt 
arrow heads the moves which will lead to perfect or imperfect results. 


Figs. 14, 15, and 16 show three 5X5 squares, each having 
i in the upper left hand corner cell and 25 in the lower right hand 
corner cell, and being constructed respectively with a right hand 




































Fig. 14. Fig. 15. Fig. 16. 

upward diagonal sequence and right and left hand horizontal 
knight's moves, the break move being necessarily the same in each 
example. (See Fig. 10.) 


Figs. 17, 1 8, 19, and 20 show four 5X5 squares, each having 
i in the second cell from the left in the upper line and 25 in the 

























Fig. 17- 


























Fig. 18. 

second cell from the right in the lower line, and being built up 

respectively with right and left hand upward diagonal sequence 

: .* v; . 


















































Fig. 19. 

Fig. 20. 

and upward right and downward left hand knight's moves, and 
with similar break moves in each example. (See Fig. n.) 


























Fig. 21. 


























Fig. 22. 


























Fig. 23. 

Figs. 21, 22, and 23 illustrate three 5X5 squares, each having 
I in the upper right hand corner and 25 in the lower left hand 



corner, and being built up respectively with upward and downward 
right hand normal knight's moves, and a downward right hand 
elongated knight's move. 

For the sake of simplicity these examples have been shown in 
5X5 squares, but the rules will naturally apply to all sizes of odd 
magic squares by using the appropriate numbers. The explana- 
tions have also been given at some length because they cover gen- 
eral and comprehensive methods, a good understanding of which 
will make the student a master of the entire subject of odd magic 

It is clear that no special significance can be attached to the 
so-called knight's move, per se, as applied to the construction of 
magic squares, it being only one of many methods of regular spa- 
cing, all of which will produce equivalent results. For example, the 
3X3 square shown in Fig. i may be said to be built up by a suc- 
cession of abbreviated knight's moves of one cell to the right and 
one cell upwards. Squares illustrated in Figs. 2, 3, and 4 are also 
constructed by this abbreviated knight's move, but the square illus- 
trated in Fig. 5 is built up by the normal knight's move. 

Totals = 369. 






























































7 l 





7 X 














Fig. 24- 

It is equally easy to construct squares by means of an elongated 
knight's move, say, four cells to the right and one cell upwards 
as shown in Fig. 24, or by a move consisting of two cells to the 
right and two cells downwards, as shown in Fig. 25, the latter being 


equivalent to a right hand downward diagonal sequence wherein 
alternate cells are consecutively filled. 

There are in fact almost innumerable combinations of moves 
by which perfect odd magic squares may be constructed. 





















7 s 



2 7 




Totals = 369. 

Fig. 25. 

The foregoing methods for building odd magic squares by a 
continuous process, involving the regular spacing of consecutive 
numbers varied by different well defined break moves is believed 
to be new and original with the writer, but other methods of con- 
struction have been known for many years. 

One of the most interesting of these older methods involves 
the use of two or more primary squares, the sums of numbers in 
similarly located cells of which constitute the correct numbers for 
transfer into the corresponding cells of the magic square that is 
to be constructed therefrom. 

This method has been ascribed primarily to De la Hire but has 
been more recently improved by Prof. Scheffler. 

It may be simply illustrated by the construction of a few 5X5 
squares as examples. Figs. 26 and 27 show two simple primary 
squares in which the numbers I to 5 are so arranged that like num- 
bers occur once and only once in similarly placed cells in the two 
squares; also that pairs of unlike numbers are not repeated in the 
same order in any similarly placed cells. Thus, 5 occupies the ex- 
treme right hand cell in the lower line of each square, but this com- 



bination does not occur in any of the other cells. So also in Fig. 27 
3 occupies the extreme right hand cell in the upper line, and in Fig. 
26 this cell contains 5. No other cell, however, in Fig. 27 that 
contains 3 corresponds in position with a cell in 26 that contains 5. 
Leaving the numbers in Fig. 26 unaltered, the numbers in Fig. 27 
must now be changed to their respective key numbers, thus pro- 
ducing the key square shown in Fig. 28. By adding the cell num- 
bers of the primary square Fig. 26 to the corresponding cell numbers 

Prime numbers,...!, 2, 3, 4, 5. 
Key numbers, ..... o, 5, 10, 15, 20. 



















































Fig. 26. 

Fig. 27. 

























Fig. 28. 


























Fig. 29. 

of the key square Fig. 28, the magic square shown in Fig. 29 is 
formed, which is also identical with the one previously given in 
Fig. 14. 

The simple and direct formation of Fig. 14 may be thus com- 
pared with the De la Hire method for arriving at the same result 

It is evident that the key square shown in Fig. 28 may be dis 
pensed with by mentally substituting the key numbers for the prime 



numbers given in Fig. 27 when performing the addition, and by 
so doing only two primary squares are required to construct the 
magic square. The arrangement of the numbers I to 5 in the two 
primary squares is obviously open to an immense number of varia- 
tions, each of which will result in the formation of a different but 
perfect magic square. Any of these squares, however, may be 
more readily constructed by the direct methods previously explained. 
A few of these variations are given as examples, the key num- 
bers remaining unchanged. The key square Fig. 32 is formed 
from the primary square Fig. 31, and if the numbers in Fig. 32 
are added to those in the primary square Fig. 30, the magic square 
given in Fig. 33 will be produced. This square will be found 
identical with that shown in Fig. 15. 


























Fig. 30. 


























Fig. 31. 
























Fig. 32. 


























Fig. 33- 

Fig. 30 cannot be used as a key square, but if two primary 
squares are constructed in which every horizontal and perpendicular 
column contains the numbers I to 5 placed according to rules pre- 
viously given, and having a different arrangement of numbers in 
each primary square, then either of these squares may be made 



the key square, and two different magic squares may be constructed 
therefrom, as shown in the next examples. 

The magic square shown in Fig. 37 is made by the addition 
of numbers in the primary square Fig. 34 to the numbers occupying 
similar cells in the key square Fig. 36, the latter being derived 
from the primary square Fig. 35. If the key square shown in Fig. 
38 is now constructed from the primary square Fig. 34 and the 
key numbers therein added to the prime numbers in Fig. 35, the 
magic square shown in Fig. 39 is obtained. This square has not 
been given before in this treatise, but it may be directly produced by 








































































Fig. 34- 

Fig. 35- 

Fig. 36. 
































Fig. 37- 

Fig. 38. 

Fig. 39- 

an elongated knight's move consisting of two cells to the right and 
two downwards, using the normal knight's move of two cells to the 
left and one cell downwards as a break move at every block in the 
regular spacing. 

It will be observed in all the preceding examples that the 
number 3 invariably occupies the center cell in every primary square, 
thus bringing 10 in the center of all key squares, and 13 in the 
center of magic squares, no other number being admissible in the 


center cell of a 5 X 5 magic square. A careful study of these 
examples should suffice to make the student familiar with the De la 
Hire system for building odd magic squares, and this knowledge 
is desirable in order that he may properly appreciate the more 
.direct methods which have been described. 

Before concluding this branch of the subject, mention may be 
made of another method for constructing odd magic squares which 
is said to have been originated by Bachet de Mezeriac. The appli- 
cation of this method to a 5 X 5 square will suffice for an example. 

The numbers I to 25 are written consecutively in diagonal 
columns, as shown in Fig. 40, and those numbers which come out- 






























I- 40. 

Fig. 41. 

side the center square are transferred to the empty cells on the 
opposite sides of the latter without changing their order. The re- 
sult will be the magic square of 5 X 5 shown in Fig. 41. It will 
be seen that the arrangement of numbers in this magic square is 
similar to that in the J 7 X 7 square shown in Fig. 4, which was 
built by writing the numbers I to 49 consecutively according to 
rule. The 5X5 square shown in Fig. 41 may also be written out 
directly by the same rule without any preliminary or additional work. 


In perfect squares of this class it is necessary that the sum of 
each column shall be the same amount, and also that the sum of 



any two numbers that are geometrically equidistant from the center 
of the square shall equal the sum of the first and last numbers of 
the series. 

The numbers in the two corner diagonal columns in even magic 
squares may be determined by writing the numbers of the series in 
arithmetical order in horizontal columns, beginning with the first 
number in the left hand cell of the upper line and writing line after 
line as in a book, ending with the last number in the right hand cell 
of the lower line. The numbers then found in the two diagonal 
columns will be in magic square order, but the position of the other 
numbers must generally be changed. 

The smallest even magic square that can be built is that of 
4X4, and one of its forms is shown in Fig. 42. It will be seen 

Fig. 42. 

Fig. 43- 

that the sum of each of the four horizontal, the four vertical, and 
the two corner diagonal columns in this square is 34, making in all 
ten columns having that total; also that the sum of any two geo- 
metrically opposite numbers is 17, which is the sum of the first and 
last numbers of the series. It is therefore a perfect square of 4 X 4- 
The first step in the construction of this square is shown in 
Fig. 43, in which only the two corner diagonal columns, which are 
written in heavy figures, have the correct summation. The numbers 
in these two columns must therefore be left as they are, but the loca- 
tion of all the other numbers, which are written in light figures, must 
be changed. A simple method for effecting this change consists in 
substituting for each number the complement between it and 17. 
Thus, the complement between 2 and 17 is 15, so 15 must be written 
in the place of 2, and so on throughout. All of the light figure 



numbers being thus changed, the result will be the perfect magic 
square shown in Fig 42. 

The same relative arrangement of figures may be attained by 
leaving the light figure numbers in their original positions as shown 
in Fig. 43, and changing the heavy figure numbers in the two 
corner diagonal columns to their respective complements with 17. 
It will be seen that this is only a reversal of the order of the figures 

Fig. 44. 

Fig. 45- 

in the two corner diagonal columns, and the resulting magic square 
which is shown in Fig. 44 is simply an inversion of Fig. 42. 

Fig. 45 is a geometrical diagram of the numbers in Fig. 42, 
and it indicates a regular law in their arrangement, which also holds 
good in many larger even squares, as will be seen later on. 

There are many other arrangements of sixteen numbers which 
will fulfil the required conditions but the examples given will suffice 
to illustrate the principles of this square. 
















































Fig. 46. 

Fig. 47- 

The next even magic square is that of 6 X 6, and one of its 
many variations is shown in Fig. 46. An analysis of this square 
with the aid of geometrical diagrams will point the way not only 



to its own reconstruction but also to an easy method for building 
6X6 squares in general. 

Fig. 47 shows a 6 X 6 square in which all the numbers from 
i to 36 are written in arithmetical sequence, and the twelve numbers 
in the two corner diagonal columns will be found in magic square 
order, all other numbers requiring rearrangement. Leaving there- 










2 7 



























Fig. 48. 

fore the numbers in the diagonal columns unchanged, the next step 
will be to write in the places of the other numbers their complements 
with 37, making the square shown in Fig. 48. In this square 
twenty-four numbers (written in heavy figures) out of the total of 



J U 




Fig. 49. 

thirty-six numbers, will be found in magic square order, twelve 
numbers (written in light figures) being still incorrectly located. 
Finally, the respective positions of these twelve numbers being re- 
versed in pairs, the magic square given in Fig. 46 will be produced. 
Fig. 50 shows the geometrical diagrams of this square, A 
being a diagram of the first and sixth lines, B of the second and 
fifth lines, and C of the third and fourth lines. The striking ir- 



regularity of these diagrams points to the imperfection of the 
square which they represent, in which, although the sum of each 
of the two corner diagonal, the six horizontal, and the six perpendic- 
ular columns is in, yet only in the two diagonal columns does the 
sum of any two numbers which occupy geometrically opposite cells, 
amount to 37, or the sum of the first and last numbers of the series. 
Owing to their pronounced irregularities, these diagrams convey 
but little meaning, and in order to analyze their value for further 
constructive work it will be necessary to go a step backwards and 
make diagrams of the intermediate square Fig. 48. These diagrams 
are shown in Fig. 49, and the twelve numbers therein which must 
be transposed (as already referred to) are marked by small circles 
around dots, each pair of numbers to be transposed in position 

Fig. 50. 

being connected by a dotted line. The numbers in the two corner 
diagonal columns which were permanently located from the be- 
ginning are marked with small circles. 

We have here correct geometrical figures with definite and well 
defined irregularities. The series of geometrical figures shown in 
A, B, and C remain unchanged in shape for all variations of 6 X 6 
squares, but by modifying the irregularities we may readily obtain 
the data for building a large number of different 6X6 squares, 
all showing, however, the same general characteristics as Fig. 46. 

A series of these diagrams, with some modifications of their 
irregularities, is given in Fig. 51, and in order to build a variety 
of 6 X 6 magic squares therefrom it is only necessary to select three 
diagrams in the order A, B, and C, which have each a different form 



of irregularity, and after numbering them in arithmetical sequence 
from i to 36, as shown in Fig. 49, copy the numbers in diagrammatic 
order into the cells of a 6 X 6 square. 

It must be remembered that the cells in the corner diagonal 
columns of even magic squares may be correctly filled by writing 

O^ ^O G^ ^ &^^^Q Cf^^^Q 


Fig. 51 (First Part). 

the numbers in arithmetical order according to the rule previously 
given, so in beginning any new even square it will be found helpful 
to first write the numbers in these columns, and they will then serve 
as guides in the further development of the square. 
,, - Taking for example the 6X6 magic square shown in Fig. 46, 



it will be seen from Fig. 49 that it is constructed from the diagrams 
marked I 9 and 17 in Fig. 51. Comparing the first line of Fig. 46 
with diagram A, Fig. 49, the sequence of numbers is i, 35, 34 
in unbroken order; then the diagram shows that 33 and 3 must be 
transposed, so 3 is written next (instead of 33) then 32 and 6 in 



X X X X 


Fig. 51 (Second Part). 

unbroken order. In the last line of this square (still using diagram 
A) 31 comes first, then, seeing that 5 and 2 must be transposed, 
2 is written instead of 5 ; then 4 ; then as 3 and 33 must be trans- 
posed, 33 is written instead of 3, 5 instead of 2, and the line is 
finished with 36. Diagram B gives the development of the second 



and fifth lines of the square in the same manner, and diagram C 
the development of the third and fourth lines, thus completing the 

The annexed table shows 128 changes which may be rung on 
the twenty-four diagrams shown in Figure 51, each combination 
giving a different 6X6 square, and many others might be added 
to the list. 



A B 

I, 2, 

3 or 4 


" " 





5, 6, 

7 or 8 

T 3 


" " 


" " 


17, 18, 19 or 20=16 changes 

_ ./: n 

tt _ f: 



21, 22, 23 or 24=16 

Total changes = 128 


























Square derived from dia- 
grams 2, 10, and 18. 

Square derived from dia- 
grams 8, 13, and 22. 

The next size of even magic square is that of 8 X 8, and instead 
of presenting one of these squares ready made and analyzing it, 
we will now use the information which has been offered by previous 
examples in the construction of a new square of this size. 

Referring to Fig. 45, the regular geometrical diagrams of the 
4X4 square naturally suggest that an expansion of the same may 
be utilized to construct an 8 X 8 square. This expanded diagram 



is accordingly shown in Fig. 52, and in Fig. 53 we have the magic 
square that is produced by copying the numbers in diagrammatic 

As might be anticipated, this square is perfect in all its char- 
acteristics, and the ease with which it has been constructed points 
to the simplicity of the method employed. 

Fig. 52. 

The magic square shown in Fig. 53 is, however, only one of a 
multitude of 8 X 8 squares, all of which have the same general 















Totals =: 260. 

Fig. 53- 

characteristics and may be constructed with equal facility from 
various regular diagrams that can be readily derived from trans- 
positions of Fig. 52. Five of these variations are illustrated in Fig. 
54, which also show the transpositions by which they are formed 
from the original diagrams. To construct a perfect magic square 



from either of these variations it is only necessary to make four 
copies of the one selected, annex the numbers I to 64 in arithmetical 


. f 


Fig. 54- 


* *<* 


* *"* 







> rv 















r i 



x 1 

J ^9 




) \ 

f ? 

t<S , 

r N 

, "9 


Fig. 55- 

order as before explained, and then copy the numbers in diagram- 
matic sequence into the cells of an 8 X 8 square. 


It will be noted in the construction of the 4X4 and 8X8 
squares that only one form of diagram has been hitherto used for 
each square, whereas three different forms were required for the 
6X6 square. It is possible, however, to use either two, three, or 






















Totals = 260. 

Fig. 56. 

four different diagrams in the construction of an 8 X 8 square, as 
shown in the annexed examples. Fig. 55 illustrates two different 
forms from which the magic square Fig. 56 is constructed. Fig. 57 



3 7 

Fig. 57 

shows three different forms which are used in connection with the 
square in Fig. 58, and in a similar manner Figs. 59 and 60 show 
four different diagrams and the square derived therefrom. The 
foregoing examples are sufficient to illustrate the immense number 







* *v 


-. rfj 



. *' 


1 5 




i >"' 


-, -7 


























z S 




4 & Sf 6& 




Totals = 260. 

Fig. 58. 

Fig- 59- 













Totals = 260. 

Fig. 60. 



of different 8X8 magic squares that may be constructed by the 
aid of various diagrams. 

We now come to the magic square of 10 X 10, and employing 
the comparative method of the last examples, it will be easy to ex- 
pand the three diagrams of the 6X6 square (Fig. 49) into five 

Fig. 61. 

iiagrams that are required for the construction of a series of 
[o X 10 squares. These five diagrams are shown in Fig. 61, and 
in Fig. 62 we have the magic square which is made by copying the 
numbers from I to 100 in diagrammatic order into the cells of a 
10 X 10 square. 



It will be unnecessary to proceed further with the construction 
of other 10 X 10 squares, for the student will recognize the striking 






7 S> 







7 s 





6 ? 















Totals = 505. 

Fig. 62. 

resemblance between the diagrams of the 6X6 and the 10 X 10 
squares, especially in connection with their respective irregularities, 















/3 7 


































Fig. 63 (First part). 

which point to the apparent impossibility of building perfect 10 X 10 

It will also be seen that the same methods which were used for 



varying the 6X6 diagrams, are equally applicable to the 10 X 10 
diagrams, so that an almost infinite variety of changes may be rung 
on them, from which a corresponding number of 10 X 10 squares 

Fig. 63 (Second part). 





































J 7 





















S 7 














7 3 



7 s 



7 f 



















3 7 






























/2 7 


















Totals = 870 

Fig. 64. 

may be derived, each of which will be different but will resemble 
the series of 6 X 6 squares in their curious and characteristic im- 



We have thus far studied the construction of all even magic 
squares up to and including that of 10 X 10, and it is worthy of 
remark that when one half the number of cells in one side of an 
even magic square is an even number the square can be made per- 
fect, but when it is an uneven number it is apparently impossible 
to build the square with perfect characteristics. 

Even magic squares may therefore be divided into two classes 
perfect and imperfect the 4X4 and the 8X8 squares belong- 

Fig. 65 (First Part). 

ing to the first class, and the 6 X 6 and 10 X 10 belonging to the 
second class. 

Fig. 63 shows a series of diagrams from which the 12 X 12 
square in Fig. 64 is derived. The geometrical design of these 
diagrams is the same as that shown in Fig. 52 for the 8X8 square, 
and it is manifest that all the variations that were made in the 8X8 
diagrams are also possible in the 12 X 12 diagrams, besides an 
immense number of additional changes which are allowed by the 
increased size of the square. 



In Fig. 65 we have a series of diagrams illustrating the de- 
velopment of the 14 X 14 magic square shown in Fig. 66. These 
diagrams being plainly derived from the diagrams of the 6x6 and 
10 X 10 squares, no explanation of them will be required, and it is 

Fig. 65 (Second Part). 

evident that the diagrammatic method may be readily applied to 
the construction of all sizes of even magic squares. 







The current doctrine of the text-books regards the straight line and the 
circle as essentially different things. The straight line is regarded as the limit 
toward which the circle tends but which it never reaches. So also the circle 
is regarded as the limit toward which the regular polygon tends but which it 
never reaches. The theorems regarding the circumference and the area of a 
circle are derived on the supposition that the circle is the limit which the 
regular polygon almost but never quite reaches and that the error is negligible. 
But we always have the reservation that the circle is not a polygon, say what 
you will, and that there is an error, however small it may be; less than any 
assignable quantity, but yet an error after all. The difference between the 
circle and polygon is so small that for all practical purposes we may con- 
sider them as one, but of course they are not one, and never can be, etc., etc. 

And through all the array of verbiage we feel that there is a fallacy 
somewhere ; it is and it isn't, all in the same breath ; the error is inexpressible 
and yet the two forms do not coincide. We can push the polygon almost to 
the circle; what is that invisible barrier which keeps it back? 

There is no barrier except our own narrow definitions and methods. The 
straight line is a circle of special form, not the limit of a circle; the circle is 
a polygon, not the limit of a polygon. There is no error. The circle straight- 
ens out into a straight line and sweeps over it into a circle on the other side. 
The inscribed polygon merges into the circle and sweeps over it into a polygon 
again on the other side. 

Let us see what is meant by a limit, and why forms have limits. 

A limit is that constant value (or form) which a variable value (or form) 
approaches indefinitely near but never quite reaches. The test of a limit is, 
where r is the limit of x, r x = o, and r x < *', where is any infinitely 
small value. 



The subject of limits as taught in the elementary text-books is very crude 
and fogged with lack of perspective. 

In the first place no distinction is made between the limit in the case of 
geometric forms (continua) and that of numbers (discreta). The two cases 
are quite different and the distinction must be recognized. 

It seems to be a rule that geometric forms have or have not a limit, de- 
pendent entirely upon the method of generation; one method of generation 
having a limit and the other not, for the same variable. For example, if the 
angle X is generated by the movement of the intersection A, it has no limit; 
but if by the movement of the intersection B, its limit is a right angle. So 
likewise if we generate the arc x by the swelling of a cartwheel rim, the limit 
is a straight line. But if we generate it by the tracing-point of a Peaucellier 

linkage, it has no limit ; it straightens out into a straight line and then curves 
the other way. In both these cases, it is the same variable, a line of constant 
curvature. The elementary text-books blindfold their readers with a, not 
necessarily faulty, but narrow definition. A circle is a line which always 
changes its direction and a straight line is one which does not change etc. 
And then triumphantly ask how one can be the other. 

Throw away the blinders and get a broader view by taking a broader defi- 
nition, viz., a line of constant curvature, and the contradiction ends. 

The old contradiction between a tangent and a secant has begun its eva- 
nescence by considering the tangent as a secant cutting in two coincident 
points, one double point. 

But when it comes to swelling an inscribed polygon into a circle, then, 
they say, the law laid down above fails, since there is no instrument to do the 
swelling, and however far you continue the process, there are points of cir- 
cumference yet unoccupied by vertices of the polygon. The same objection 


would have been made in the case of the circle and straight line, previous to 
1864 when Peaucellier invented his linkage; showing that the question of 
limit does not depend upon the inventiveness of man; but only our apprecia- 
tion. Such an instrument could have been imagined in nubibus, and the same 
argument used as here, and the argument would have been just as sound. 
The only difference would have been its effect upon the hearers. 

Let us look at some examples of limits. 

(a) A point moving half the distance remaining between itself and the 
goal each second; when will it reach the goal? Never, because between it 
and the goal will ever remain the half of some distance. (&) A point moving 
away half the distance between it and a pursuing point each instant of time; 
when will the pursuing point catch the other? Never, because the pursuing 
point is always the half of some distance ahead. But this is nonsense, for a 
pursuing point moving twice as fast as the pursued can overtake it, as witness 
the minute hand of a clock and the hour hand. 

Where is the fallacy? 

In (a) we have an infinite number of operations, stretching over an in- 
finite number of seconds and therefore never ended. In (&) we have an in- 
finite number of operations crowded into a limited time and therefore com- 
pleted sometime. In (a) the succession of events is regular, but the speed of 
the moving point is decreasing to infinite slowness. In (6) the speed of the 
moving point is regular, but the succession of events is increasing to infinite 

This shows how the same variable (the distance passed over by a point 
moving one half the preceding distance at each operation) may or may not 
have a limit, according to the special law governing its generation. 

The introduction of a timed succession of events (finite intervals) pro- 
duces a decreasing speed and a limit. A timed (finite intervals or constant) 
speed produces an increasing rapidity of succession of events and no limit. 
A horse straining at his halter finds the distance between him and the door 
diminished one half each second. Can he ever get out? Never! A horse 
straining at his halter finds the distance between him and the door dimin- 
ished one half at each instant of strain. Can he get out ? Certainly, a steady 
strain will carry him through the door. In the first case there is a timed 
succession of events. In the second case there is a continuous and steady 
strain, a timed rate of progress, finite speed. 

In the case of the summation of a series of discrete terms the use of 
discrete terms seems to be the equivalent of a timed succession of events, and 
the series has a limit, if convergent. An illustration of the difference between 
the summation of discreta and continua is given in the series I -f ^ + 1 A + 

i/ -f- If we consider these terms as ordinates erected at finite intervals, 

the summation has a limit, 2. But if we crowd the ordinates into a triangle 



as shown, the sum is easily seen, by reason of the similar triangles to be 
exactly 2, and there is no unattainable limit, no residual error. We actually 
reach the sum, 2. In each case we have dealt with exactly the same ordinates; 
and in one case arranged so as to have a limit to the sum, in the other case 

no limit. Which result we shall get is entirely a question of arrangement. 
In this instance, and for other geometric series, the sum of an infinite con- 
verging series is a real, tangible quantity, and not an elusive limit, just out 
of reach. A limit is the limit of a process and not necessarily any intrinsic 
property of the variable itself. 

If we imagine the inscribed polygon swelled toward the circle by doubling 
the number of sides, etc., the circle seems to be the limit of the operation, for 
the process of doubling introduces the timed succession of events which results 
in a limit. But imagine a process which forced each centre of a chord (in- 
scribed square) into a symmetrical position (i. e. on to the circumference of 
the circle, through the undisturbed points) and this process kept up at an 
even speed of surface change, like the constant strain of the horse at his 
halter, or the even movement of the minute hand. The succession of events 
increases to infinite rapidity, and the inscribed polygons sweep through the 
circle into the circumscribed polygons. The newly produced vertices are 
arranged on the circumference of the initial circumscribing circle until the 
circle itself is reached, and then they arrange themselves on circles (of in- 
creasing sizes) the alternate vertices being forced out until the undisturbed 
ones evanesce on straight lines and the polygons become of lessening number 


of sides until the circumscribing square is reached, and the process repeats 
itself into a new circle around this new square, and so on. If instead of say- 
ing "alternate vertices etc.," suppose we say, reversal of the process which 
produces the circle from the circumscribed square by forcing the vertices 
inward until they evanesce on straight lines, the newly produced vertices 
being symmetrically arranged. This process kept up at an even speed of 
surface change sweeps the polygons through the circle, and, by reversal of 
the swelling process, into the inscribed square, and so on through a new cycle. 
In imagination we can see the polygons swelling into other polygons, the 
transition figure between the sets being the circle; as the parabola is the tran- 
sition curve between the