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The Relation of Evolutionary Theory
to Ethical Problems

WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO METHOD

BY

J. R. SANDERSON

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

A DISSERTATION

PRESENTED FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

APRIL, 1912

UNIVERSITY PRESS
TORONTO

The Relation of Evolutionary Theory
to Ethical Problems

WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO METHOD

BY

J. R. SANDERSON

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

A DISSERTATION

PRESENTED FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

APRIL, 1912

UNIVERSITY PRESS
TORONTO

To THE SENATE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO :
GENTLEMEN :

I certify that the thesis presented by Mr. Joseph
Roy Sanderson, M.A., entitled "The Question of the Method
and Application of a Theory of Evolution to the Problems of
Ethics " is a distinct contribution to the knowledge of the
subject of which it treats, and recommend that it be accepted
for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

(Signed) J. G. HUME,

Professor of History of Philosophy
and Professor of Ethics.

I hereby certify that the thesis above mentioned has
been accepted by the Senate of the University of Toronto for
the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in accordance with the Terms
of the Statute in that behalf.

(Signed) JAMES BREBNER,

Registrar.

May 2nd, zyi2.

CONTENTS.
GENERAL INTRODUCTION.

PART I.— THE APPLICATION OF THE EVOLU-
TIONARY METHOD IN PSYCHOLOGY.

PAGE

I. INTRODUCTION 7

II. ASSOCIATION PSYCHOLOGY — PRE-DARWINIAN.

1. Sir Isaac Newton 8

2. John Locke 8

3. Bishop Berkeley 10

4. David Hume 10

5. Rev. John Gay 11

6. David Hartley 12

7. Joseph Priestley 15

8. James Mill 15

9. John Stuart Mill 16

10. Alexander Bain 19

11. Relation of Darwin to the Associationists 21

III. DEVELOPMENT OF EVOLUTION THEORY — PRE-DAR-

WINIAN.

1. Anaxagoras, Democritus, Empedocles, Aristotle,

Augustine, Harvey, Buffon, Bonnet 22

2. Erasmus Darwin 23

3. Lamarck, Chambers 23

4. Charles Darwin, A. R. Wallace 24

IV. CHARLES DARWIN.

1. 'The Origin of Species'— Natural Selection 25

2. 'The Descent of Man.' 27

( 1 ) Mental and moral phenomena from the stand-

point of Natural Selection 27

(2) Criticism 32

V. ASSOCIATION PSYCHOLOGY — POST-DARWINIAN. PAGE

1. Herbert Spencer 37

(1) Formula of Evolution 38

(2) Problem of the external world 39

(3) Relation between nervous system and men-

tal states 42

(4) Problems of the Ego, and the Will 47

(5) Pleasure and Pain 49

(6) Ethics 50

2. George J. Romanes 53

3. C. Lloyd Morgan 60

4. J. Mark Baldwin 62

VI. GENERAL CRITICISM 68

1. Association 70

2. Mathematical Necessity 76

3. Interdependence of psychical and physical

phenomena 84

4. The Will 85

5. External World, and Causality 90

6. Method 95

PART II.— THE APPLICATION OF THE EVOLU-
TIONARY METHOD TO AN ETHICAL
CONTENT.

I. INTRODUCTION 99

II. HISTORICAL SURVEY.

1. Hobbes 100

2. Cudworth 106

3. Clarke and Wollaston. 108

4. Cumberland 110

5. Locke Ill

6. Shaftesbury 113

7. Butler 115

8. Hutcheson 117

9. Hume 119

10. Adam Smith 122

11. J. S. Mill 126

III. CRITICAL ESTIMATION OF FOREGOING 135

Summary 141

PART III.— GENERAL CONCLUSIONS. 143

GENERAL INTRODUCTION.

The investigation of which this thesis is the outcome,
had its origin in a desire to reach a conclusion with regard to
the value of the method followed by the great evolutionists in
biology when they approached psychological or ethical
questions.

It is evident that what is at stake in such an investigation
is not, in the first instance, the great ethical concepts, for every
one would recognize a place for 'duty', 'obligation', 'virtue', etc.
The ethical schools differ in their interpretation of these terms
by reason of the conceptions of motive, moral criterion, etc.
It was very soon recognized that the aspect of the subject
which was really vital was the method of approaching these
questions rather than, in the first instance, the solutions reached.
For this reason it was felt that in order to appreciate the
position of the modern evolutionist, it was necessary to under-
stand the theories, both psychological and biological, with
which he approached the ethical problem. It is the attempt
to understand the evolutionist in a sympathetic way which led
to the somewhat extensive exposition of Part I. For clearness
we have confined the discussion of this part almost altogether
to the broad question of the use of the evolutionary method in
psychology. Very naturally, then, Part II. had to be taken
up with a discussion of the ethical content, for which, under
some form, all moralists have to provide a theory. In Part
III. the conclusions reached in Parts Land 1 1. have been briefly
summarized.

PART I.

THE APPLICATION OF THE EVOLUTIONARY
METHOD IN PSYCHOLOGY.

I. INTRODUCTION.

"Every student of experimental psychology, whose object is
the exact description of facts, and research into their laws,
must henceforth set out with a physiological exposition, that
of the nervous system. Mr. Bain has done this, and also Mr.
Herbert Spencer (in his latest edition of the Principles of Psy-
chology). This is the obligatory point of departure, not re-
sulting from a passing fashion, but from nature itself, because
the existence of a nervous system being the condition of psycho-
logical life, we must return to the source, and show how the
phenomena of mental activity graft themselves upon the more
general manifestations of physical life.' !1

With this statement, M. Th. Ribot introduces his exposi-
tion of the works of Mr. Bain and Mr. Herbert Spencer, in his
'English Psychology'. From this point of view, psychology,
as a science, must seek the explanation of its phenomena or
data, in the phenomena of physiology, particularly those of
the nervous system. This is fundamentally the position of
the Association psychologists up to the time of Darwin. From
the wealth of material supplied to biology by the work of
Darwin, and the great increase in the knowledge of organic
and nervous functions, this standpoint received a wonderful
impetus, and so firm became its hold, that, in the words of
Ribot, ' 'every study of experimental psychology must hence-
forth set out with a physiological exposition, that of the nerv-
ous system." Many psychologists since the time of Darwin,
following the example of Herbert Spencer and the Association
School preceding him, have faithfully taken their stand upon
this ground.

But, are we justified in accepting the above claim? That
is to say, is it absolutely necessary for psychology to presup-
pose a knowledge of the nervous system? In order to come
to a conclusion on this subject, it is proposed to set forth the
basis and claims of the Association School in a brief survey of

1 Th. Ribot, "English Psychology", p. 198. D. Appleton & Co., New
York. 1874.

8

the work of its principal exponents. Following upon this will
be presented a short exposition of the Darwinian standpoint,
to which will be related ensuing psychological theories, and a
criticism offered, with a view to clearing the ground for a
possible theory of ethics.

II. ASSOCIATION PSYCHOLOGY— PRE-DARWINIAN.

Association psychology took its rise in England not long
after the introduction of the modern scientific method into
science and philosophy. The introduction of this method into
Great Britain occurred in the early part of the seventeenth
century, but was not at that time popularly recognized. It
may be indicated, for our purpose, by two events, namely, the
work of Sir Isaac Newton, and the founding in 1660 of the
Royal Society.

1. SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

The attitude of Newton toward the use of speculation in
science, is seen in his well-known rule that the scientist should
make no hypothesis. This is indicated in the following state-
ment in reference to the properties of gravity: ' 'But hitherto
I have not been able to discover the cause of those properties
of gravity from phenomena, and I frame no hypothesis; for
whatever is not deduced from the phenomena is to be called a
hypothesis; and hypotheses, whether metaphysical or physi-
cal, whether occult qualities or mechanical, have no place in
experimental philosophy. In this philosophy, particular propo-
sitions are inferred from the phenomena, and afterwards ren-
dered general by induction. Thus it was that the impenetra-
bility, the mobility and the impulsive force of bodies, and the
laws of motion and of gravitation were discovered.' 'l

2. JOHN LOCKE.

The method indicated here by Newton had its effect upon
contemporary philosophical discussion in regard to the nature
of consciousness. One of the first men who attempted to deal
with this problem, without assuming hypotheses, was John
Locke. Disregard of facts in the speculation of the past, and
the emphasis laid upon the investigation of facts by his immedi-
ate friends, each, doubtless, in its own way influenced Locke

*Sir Isaac Newton, "The Principia", 1st American ed., Daniel Adee,
New York, p. 506.

in reaching the conclusion that the problem of knowledge
could only be solved by a study of the facts of consciousness,
that is, ideas. Locke's contribution to this investigation is
specifically the analysis of complex ideas, and the reaching of
those elements or materials out of which all ideas were made,
and on the basis of which all our knowledge must be reached.
Locke claimed that all the facts of consciousness are analys-
able into ideas of sensation and ideas of reflection.1 Ideas of
sensation include all the properties commonly called by the
name sensations, which are mediated to us through the sense
organs from the operation of external objects upon them.
Ideas of reflection are the ideas which we have of the operations
of our own minds, such as perceiving, remembering, thinking,
willing, etc. In their arising, all of these ideas of sensation
and reflection are simple ; that is, they cannot be analysed into
anything more elementary. As Locke says: "Each in itself
is uncompounded.' '2 Further, these ideas cannot be changed
by the mind in any way. It cannot alter them, nor make unto
itself any new idea not received in these ways.3 Out of these
materials, as the elements and foundations of all ideas, the
mind, by compounding, comparing, and abstracting, is able to
make all the complex ideas which we have. Some of these
ideas, both simple and complex, have natural or rational rela-
tions to one another. And from the perception of these rela-
tions, all our knowledge is built up. Others of them, "ideas that
in themselves are not at all of kin' '4 have no natural or rational
relations, and the fact that they are related at all is due solely
to chance or custom. This relation, which Locke calls a kind
of ' 'madness' ', and which he thinks to be the foundation of the
bitter differences of opinion and prejudice found in politics and
religion among other things, he calls Association of Ideas, to
distinguish it from the natural or rational relation. In this
association of ideas, Locke discovered a fact which is, in reality,
true of all combinations of simple ideas. It was to be the work
of Berkeley, and Hume in particular, to enunciate more
clearly than Locke had done, the significance of this fact. The
formula which expresses it, is stated by Hume in his Treatise,
viz., "Whatever objects are different are distinguishable, and
whatever objects are distinguishable are separable by the
thought and imagination."5 The significance of ^ this state-
ment is just that no combination or relation of simple ideas

'John Locke, "Essay on the Human Understanding", 1690. Bk. II, Ch. 1.

2O.C. II, 2, § 1.

3O.C. II, 1, §25.

*O.C. 11,33, §5.

5David Hume, "Treatise on Human Nature", Pt. I, § 7.

10

can be made, in which the ideas are essentially dependent upon
one another. Since they are separate to begin with, and are
put together to make the complex, whatever differences we
can distinguish in a complex idea may be separated into these
original elements. And this, in the last analysis, means that
there is nothing of the nature of a logical relation between the
constituents of our experience. The only thing which deter-
mines whether the relations are relatively fixed or not, is the
frequency with which the conjunction of ideas has been
experienced.

This theory of the nature of ideas is at the basis of the
British associational psychology. Apart from it, association
could never have become what it did as a principle of explan-
ation of thinking and reasoning. And, with this theory of
ideas, it should be quite obvious that no other theory of thought
could possibly be held. This word of anticipation should
make the understanding of our outline exposition of the
Association School entirely free from difficulty.

3. BERKELEY.

Berkeley's contribution to the theory of thinking1 is con-
nected with two points: first, his reduction of the law of causa-
tion to a principle which holds between the will and ideas, but
which cannot possibly hold between ideas, and anything but
the will ; second, what may be regarded either as a logical devel-
opment of this view of causation, or the logical foundation for
it, namely, that between ideas, nothing but customary conjunc-
tion can rule, and consequently the laws of nature can only be
such conjunctions which we expect will persist, but regarding
which we have no certainty.

4. DAVID HUME.

Hume,2 however, sees the basis of Berkeley's development,
as already suggested, in the fact that ideas, being simple, and
not dependent upon one another in their constitution, must be
separable where they are distinguishable, and hence that all
thinking consists of such successions of ideas under the guid-
ance of the natural relations of contiguity in time or place,
resemblance, and cause and effect.

lln particular in "Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Know-
ledge", 1710.

2In both the "Treatise on Human Nature" and "An Enquiry Concerning
Human Understanding", 1738-1748.

11

The development of association under Berkeley and Hume
is, however, not carried out as a matter of psychological inter-
est, but rather because of its metaphysical bearings. The
real psychological development of the theory is found in Hart-
ley, Priestley, James and John Stuart Mill, and Alexander
Bain. It, too, goes back to Locke and the theory of simple
ideas for its basis, but it borrows at the outset from two widely
different sources, namely, Newton's suggested theory of ether,
and Gay's application of association in the realm of morals, as
an explanation of our so-called intellectual (as distinguished
from sensuous) pleasures and pains.

5. REV. JOHN GAY.

Rev. Mr. Gay,1 having appropriated the suggestion thrown
out by Locke as to the operation of 'association' in conscious-
ness, based his essay ' Concerning the Criterion of Virtue' on.
what he had read in Locke. Hutcheson2 and others, contem-
poraries of Gay, had claimed that man was possessed of an
innate moral sense, by means of which every man could dis-
criminate between good and evil. This, however, for Gay and
his associates, was an unnecessary assumption, since all mental
states arise from sensations through the sense organs. From
this standpoint, Gay came to the conclusion that if the reasons
for our actions are sufficiently analysed, it will be found that
one's own happiness is the ultimate criterion for conduct.
Ordinarily, however, this is not always apparent. While in
many cases the individual may have his own happiness in view,
in the majority of cases this is not so. How then comes he to
act, when this ultimate criterion of conduct is not in conscious-
ness? This is accounted for, on Gay's theory, by the doctrine
of Association of Ideas. Moral maxims originate in connec-
tion with the happiness of individuals; through habit or associ-
ation this end gradually fades from view, and the observance
of such maxims comes to be more or less second nature.
"Whenever this end is not perceived," therefore, our actions
' 'are to be accounted for from the association of ideas' '.3 Gay
continues: "The case is really thus: We first perceive or
imagine some real good, that is, fitness to promote our happi-
ness in those things which we love and approve of. Hence we

141 A Dissertation Concerning the Fundamental Principle and Immediate
Criterion of Virtue", prefixed to Law's translation of Wm. King's ' Origin
of Evil", 1731.

2Francis Hutcheson, "A Short Introduction to Moral Philosophy , 2nd

ed. 1753. Ch. I.
3O.C. p. 14.

12

annex pleasure to these things. Hence these things and pleas-
ure are so tied together and associated in our minds that one
cannot present itself but the other will also occur. And the
association remains even after that which at first gave them
the connection is quite forgotten or perhaps does not exist, or
the contrary."1 Consequently we are mistaken when we
speak of an innate moral sense. What we commonly under-
stand as the moral sense is but the result of association of ideas
which are acquired ' 'either from our own observation or imita-
tion of others".2

6. DAVID HARTLEY.

Gay's essay was the stimulus which gave rise to the work
of David Hartley. The latter indicates his relation to Gay in
the following words: "About eighteen years ago I was in-
formed that the Rev. Mr. Gay, then living, asserted the possi-
bility of deducing all our intellectual pleasures and pains from
association. This put me upon considering the power of
association.' '3

Hartley's relation to Newton is made evident in the following
statement: ' 'My chief design * * is to explain, establish and
apply the doctrines of vibrations and association. The first
of these doctrines is taken from the hints concerning the per-
formance of sensation and emotion which Sir Isaac Newton has
given at the end of his Trincipia' and in the questions annexed
to his 'Optics'; the last from what Mr. Locke and other
ingenious persons since his time have told concerning the
influence of association over our opinions and affections,
and its use in explaining those things in an accurate and
precise way, which are commonly referred to the power of
habit and custom, in a general and indeterminate one.' '4

"The doctrine of vibrations may appear at first sight to
have no connection with that of association ; however, if these
doctrines be found in fact to contain the laws of the bodily and
mental powers respectively, they must be related to each other,
since the body and mind are. One may expect that vibrations
should infer association as their effect, and association point to
vibrations as its cause. I will endeavour, in the present chapter
to trace out this mutual relation.' '5

O.C. pp. 30-31.

2O.C. p. 33.

3David Hartley, "Observations on Man", 4th ed. 1801, preface, p. iii.

4O.C. p. 5.

6O.C. p. 6.

13

The doctrine of vibrations here spoken of is in reality a new
theory of the structure of the nerves. Instead of being filled
with 'animal spirits', a fluid which was supposed to move with
inconceivable rapidity, the nerves are supposed to be com-
posed of particles which move in ether. The impulses are
passed along them in the form of a vibration of these particles.
Consequently when a vibration comes to the end of a nerve,
and enters the brain, it begins ' 'to be propagated freely every
way over the whole medullary substance, being diminished in
strength in proportion to the quantity of matter agitated".
So also ' 'we must suppose that the vibrations, which ascend
along any sensory nerve, affect the region of the brain which
corresponds to this sensory nerve more, and the other regions
less".1

To gather these various points into one statement, we may
quote again from Hartley: "Let it be remarked also, that, if
the performance of sensation by vibratory motions of the
medullary particles be admitted, the existence of a subtle
elastic fluid must be admitted in consequence thereof, as the
only means that can be conceived for their rise and free propaga-
tion, so as to answer to the phenomena of sense, motion, and
ideas; and reciprocally, if the existence of so subtle and elastic
a fluid, as the ether described by Sir Isaac Newton, can be
established upon independent principles, it may reasonably
be supposed to penetrate the pores of the medullary substance,
how small soever they be, in the same manner as air penetrates
grosser cavities and pores, and, like air, both be itself agitated
by vibrations from a variety of causes, and also communicate
these to the medullary particles. We may therefore either
deduce the doctrine of vibrations here proposed from the con-
sideration of the ether, or the existence of the ether from the
doctrine of vibrations, according as either of these can be first
established."2

The application of this doctrine of vibrations to^the explana-
tion of the mental processes is worked out in detail in chapters
following dealing with the various classes of sensations, but it
would be unfair to Hartley to suppose that he regards what in
all his statements is obviously a mere correlation of facts^as a
completely satisfactory explanation. The doctrine of vibra-
tions seems to fit the physiological facts better than the theory
formerly held ; the doctrine of association, in exactly the same
way, seems to suit the mental facts better than any which he
knows; and the doctrine of vibrations is exactly suited to the

'O.C. p. 24.
'O.C. p. 25.

14

doctrine of association. He, therefore, thinks it reasonable to
suppose that these two, containing the ' 'laws of the bodily and
mental powers respectively, must be related to each other,
since the body and mind are' '.l But, as he says in the preface,
the reader should not expect ' 'more than hints and conjectures
in difficult and obscure matters' '.2 In other words, Hartley's
suggestion amounts to, first, a correlation of the vibrations of
certain parts of the body, and the association of ideas in the
mind. He assumes that the two are quite parallel, and that
as any particular vibration in the brain will be dependent upon
the previous and simultaneous conditions of the brain, so also
will any operation of the mind be dependent upon the previous
and simultaneous mental conditions. From this results his
doctrine of the mechanism of the human mind, which he states
as follows: "By the mechanism of human actions I mean
that each action results from the previous circumstances of
body and mind, in the same manner, and with the same cer-
tainty, as other effects do from their mechanical causes".3
' 'Every action, or bodily motion, arises from previous circum-
stances, or bodily motions, already existing in the brain, that
is, from vibrations, which are either the immediate effect of
impressions then made, or the remote compound effect of
former impressions, or both."4

The really important thing to notice in Hartley is, that
while he does not explicitly assert a causal connection between
the thought processes, or association, and the brain, he quite
evidently assumes something very like it; and, however logical
his development of association may be on the basis of the mater-
ials which he used, that is, the theory of simple ideas, it certainly
cannot be held that he made a serious investigation of the
processes of thought before he assumed that this theory, or the
theory of association, was correct. Viewed critically, from the
standpoint of Hartley himself, his whole account of the physio-
logical process and the mental, is what one might regard as
perfectly legitimate speculation, but still speculation rather
than proof. That seems to be Hartley's own view of his work,
and as such it is important, because it seems to be the fact
that some of his successors regarded his theory as evidently
established rather than as merely proposed.

KXC. p. 6.
2O.C. preface, p. iv.
3O.C. p. 500.
4O.C. p. 501.

15
7. JOSEPH PRIESTLEY.

Priestley's connection with the development of this view is
important, as in the republication of Hartley's almost for-
gotten work, he brought it to the attention of the scientific
world about fifty years after its first appearance. He con-
tributed practically nothing to it, but just as the world of
Hartley's day was not ready to receive the view, the world of
Priestley's day may be regarded as ready for it. In any case it
immediately received strong support, and was kept promi-
nently before those interested until in James Mill it received
what may be regarded as its purely psychological elaboration.

8. JAMES MILL.

' 'At an early period of Mr. Mill's philosophical life, Hart-
ley's work had taken a strong hold of his mind; and in the
maturity of his powers he formed and executed the purpose of
following up Hartley's leading thought, and completing what
that thinker had begun. The result was the present work,
which is not only an immense advance on Hartley's in the
qualities which facilitate the access of recondite thoughts to
minds to which they are new, but attains an elevation far
beyond Hartley's in the thoughts themselves. Compared
with it, Hartley's is little more than a sketch, though an emi-
nently suggestive one : often rather showing where to seek for
the explanation of the more complex mental phenomena, than
actually explaining them. The present treatise makes clear,
much that Hartley left obscure: it possesses the great secret
for clearness, though a secret commonly neglected — it bestows
an extra amount of explanation and exemplification on the
most elementary parts. It analyses many important mental
phenomena which Hartley passed over, and analyses more
completely and satisfactorily most of those of which he com-
menced the analysis."1

4 'I am far from thinking that the more recondite specimens
of analysis in this work are always successful, or that the
author has not left something to be corrected as well as much
to be completed by his successors. The completion has been
especially the work of two distinguished thinkers in the present
generation, Professor Bain and Mr. Herbert Spencer; in the
writings of both of whom, the Association Psychology has
reached a still higher development. * * What there is in

Barnes Mill, "Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind", edited
by J. S. Mill. 2nd ed. 1878. Vol. I, preface, pp. xvii-xviii.

16

the work that seems to need correction, arises chiefly from two
causes. First, the imperfection of physiological science at
the time at which it was written, and the much greater know-
ledge since acquired of the functions of our nervous organism
and their relations with the mental operations. Secondly, an
opening was made for some mistakes,' ' by a certain impatience
of detail on the part of the author.1

On Mill's showing, the elements of consciousness are gov-
erned by but one law, namely, the law of association. He
reduces experience to sensations, ideas, and associations of
ideas. ' 'With respect to the sensations, it is obvious enough
that they occur, according to the order established among
what we call objects of nature, whatever those objects are.' '5
' 'Our ideas spring up, or exist, in the order in which the sensa-
tions existed, of which they are the copies. This is the general
law of association of ideas."3 Imagination, memory, the
complex emotions, etc., are all the result of the association
process.4 In the matter of morals, not only pleasure and pain,
but also the causes of pleasures and pains, become motives to
action through association.5

9. JOHN STUART MILL.

The great significance of the theory of Association of Ideas
is nowhere more apparent than in the 'Logic' of John Stuart
Mill, and accordingly it may be wise to point out explicitly
from this work, some of the important conclusions which
were drawn from it.

"The subject of psychology," according to J. S. Mill, "is
the uniformities of succession, the laws, whether ultimate or
derivative, according to which one mental state succeeds an-
other, is caused by, or at least is caused to follow another."6
These laws are the laws of association. The most abstruse
phenomen^ of the mind, (for example, infinite time and space)
are formed of more simple and elementary phenomena by
means of association. Mill supplies us with three laws of
association. "Of these laws the first is, that similar ideas
tend to excite one another. The second is, that when two
impressions have been frequently experienced, (or even thought
of), either simultaneously or in immediate succession, then

1O.C. preface, pp. xviii-xix.

*O.C. p. 71.

»O.C. p. 78.

4O.C. Chs. 12, 7, and 10, respectively.

5Vol. II, Chs. 17, 18, ff.

6J. S. Mill, "A System of Logic", 7th ed. 1868. Bk. VI, Ch. 4, § 3.

17

whenever either of these impressions or the idea of it recurs,
it tends to excite the idea of the other. The third law is that
greater intensity in either or both of the impressions is equiva-
lent in rendering them excitable by one another, to a greater
frequency of conjunction."1 The idea of cause, it is stated,
is nothing but an indissoluble association, and the entire theory
of reasoning, which is founded upon this idea of cause, is
reducible to the same basis. For example, ' 'We may define,
therefore, the cause of a phenomenon to be the antecedent, or
concurrence of antecedents, on which it is invariably and
unconditionally consequent."2 Hence in regard to necessary
truths he affirms that axioms are not a priori ; ' 'they are experi-
mental truths; generalizations from observation. The pro-
position, Two straight lines cannot enclose a space, — or in
other words, Two straight lines which once have met, do not
meet again, but continue to diverge, — is an induction from
the evidence of our senses."3 Necessity, understood as the
inconceivability of the negative, is but a case of inseparable
association.

Mill, in fact, adopts throughout the psychological stand-
point of his father. That he did not accept the position with-
out some degree of hesitation and perhaps partial recognition
of some of the difficulties involved, may be seen in his form of
statement of the subject-matter of psychology, as "the uni-
formities of succession, the laws whether ultimate or derivative
according to which one mental state succeeds another; is
caused by, or at the least, is caused to follow another.' M A
realization of the situation is set forth earlier in the same
chapter, as follows:

"With regard to those states of mind which are called
sensations, all are agreed that these have for their immediate
antecedents states of body. Every sensation has for its proxi-
mate cause some affection of the portion of our frame called
the nervous system; whether this affection originate in the
action of some external object, or in some pathological condi-
tion of the nervous organization itself. The laws of this por-
tion of our nature — the varieties of our sensations, and the
physical conditions on which they proximately depend — mani-
festly fall under the province of Physiology.' '

"Whether any other portions of our mental states are
similarly dependent on physical conditions is one of those

KXC. VI, 4, § 3.
*O.C. Ill, 5, § 5.
3O.C. II, 5, § 4.
4O.C. VI, 4, § 3.

18

scientific questions respecting human nature which are still
in abeyance. It is yet undecided whether our thoughts,
emotions, and volitions are generated through the intervention
of material mechanism; whether we have organs of thought
and of emotion in the same sense in which we have organs of
sensation. Many eminent physiologists hold the affirmative.
These contend that a thought (for example) is as much the
result of nervous agency as a sensation; that some particular
state of the nervous system, in particular of that central
portion of it called the brain, invariably precedes, and is pre-
supposed by every state of our consciousness. According to
this theory, one state of mind is never really produced by
another; all are produced b^ states of body. When one
thought seems to call up another by association, it is not really
a thought which recalls a thought ; the association did not exist
between the two thoughts, but between the two states of the
brain or nerves which preceded the thought ; one of those states
recalls the other, each being attended in its passage by the
particular mental state which is consequent upon it. On this
theory, the uniformities of succession among states of mind
would be mere derivative uniformities, resulting from the laws
of succession of the bodily states which cause them."1

While maintaining that the facts of mind must be studied
independently of their antecedent physiological facts, Mill,
in further commenting on this matter, states: "The relations,
indeed, of that science to the science of physiology must never
be overlooked or undervalued. It must by no means be for-
gotten that the laws of mind may be derivative laws, resulting
from laws of animal life, and that their truth may therefore
ultimately depend upon physical conditions; and the influence
of physiological states or physiological changes in altering or
counteracting the mental successions, is one of the most im-
portant departments of psychological study."2

With very little change, then, the mechanical theory, so
explicitly stated by Hartley, is handed down from the elder to
the younger Mill. Though perhaps more implicit in the latter,
the essential bearing is practically the same. The significance
of the theory within the sphere of Ethics may be seen in
Mill's statement that all human character is the product of
circumstances, — formed "through the universal principle of
association".3

'O.C. VI, 4, § 2.

2Ibid.

3J. S. Mill, "An Autobiography", p. 108.

19

As is clearly pointed out by Douglas,1 the adoption by
Mill of this psychological basis implies "the complete and
direct subjugation of the mental process to the course of ex-
ternal events. It means that consciousness is essentially
passive, and merely receives and reproduces impressions from
the outer world, — that the order and connection of our ideas,
no less than the elements which make up their complexity,
come entirely from without. Such a view is not merely im-
plied, but is even explicitly advanced by Mill. He says that
' the conceptions * * * which we employ from the colligation
and methodisation of facts, do not develop themselves from
within, but are impressed upon the mind from without',2 and
that ' the conception is not furnished by the mind until it has
been furnished to the mind, and the facts which supply it are
sometimes extraneous facts, but more often the very facts
which we are attempting to arrange by it'."3

This close dependence of mental upon physiological
phenomena makes itself further manifest as the fundamental
psychological basis of Mill's Utilitarianism, wherein it is
claimed that all our actions are governed by two factors,
pleasure and pain, which are in turn definitely related to the
functioning of the physiological organism. In other words,
in their last analysis, all pleasures and pains are sensuous,
although in their highly developed form it may be true that
they show little or no mark of this origin.

10. ALEXANDER BAIN.

If we now turn to Bain, we shall find a practical agreement
with the fundamental position outlined above. "Conceiving
that the time has come, " he says, "when many of the striking
discoveries of physiologists relative to the nervous system
should find a recognized place in the science of mind, I have
devoted a separate chapter to the physiology of the brain and
nerves."4 In this statement Bain apparently manifests a
more willing tendency than J. S. Mill to bring^ psychological
phenomena "under the province of Physiology".

For Bain, the laws of association are contiguity and simi-
larity.5 We get our ideas one by one through the various

'Charles Douglas, "John Stuart Mill", Wm. Blackwood & Sons, 1895,

2J. S. Mill, "Logic", Original Peoples' Editions, Longmans, Green & Co.,
p. 427.

•Alexander Bain, "The Senses and the Intellect", 3rd ed. 1868, Preface
to 1st ed., and Ch. 2.

K).C. "Intellect", Chs. 1 and 2.

20

sense organs, and "association" does the rest. Bain differs
from his predecessors, however, in that he introduces a new
factor, namely, 'Spontaneity', which has special reference to
the Will. Prior to sensation there is a spontaneous activity
coming from ourselves, coming from within, which acts of
itself, and not by reaction against the external world. This
spontaneity contains the germ of the development of Will.1
In a few words it may be described as a "store of nervous
energy, accumulated through the nutrition and repose of the
system, and proceeding into action with, or without, the
application of outward stimulants or feelings anyhow arising".2
' 'Movement precedessensation , and is at the outset independent
of any stimulus from without; and that activity (ostensibly
the one above)3 is a more intimate and inseparable property
of our constitution than any of our sensations, and in fact
enters as a component part into every one of the senses,
giving them the character of compounds, while itself is a simple
and elementary property."4 As is evident, this Spontaneity,
and consequently the Will which develops from it, has its
origin in the physical organism, and thus, for Bain, as for his
predecessors, pleasure and pain are the all-important motive-
factors in the realm of morals. The necessity of the connection
of these with action is made more apparent in Bain's "law of
self-conservation" that "states of pleasure are connected with
an increase, and states of pain with an abatement of some,
or all, of the vital functions".5 The operation of pleasure and
pain in human action is thus seen to be essentially the opera-
tion of the organism to preserve itself, and thus pleasure and
pain, utility, and the preservation of life, are all reduced to
the operation of the one great law, by Bain. This has intro-
duced no little confusion into the distinction of the three forms
of ethical theory based upon these facts.

With the development of this psychology, it is not difficult
to understand the place which would be occupied by the
phenomena of morality. The words 'morality', 'duty',
'obligation', belong to the class of actions which is supported
and reinforced by the sanction of a punishment (that is, pain).
Conscience is an ideal reflection of public authority growing up
in the individual mind arid making to the same end.6 There is
no moral criterion in the human mind. The fundamental fact

1O.C. Bk. I, Ch. 1.

2Alex. Bain, "The Emotions and the Will", 3rd ed. 1880. "The Will",
p. 304.

'Parenthesis mine.

<O.C. p. 303.

«" Emotions and Will", p. 311. "Senses and Intellect", p. 283.

6" Emotions and Will", p. 286 ff.

21

is that of moral approbation and disapprobation. The moral
laws which prevail in almost all societies, if not in all, are
partly founded upon utility, and partly upon feeling. The
proper answer, therefore, to the question — what is the moral
standard? would be, the enactments of the existing society
as derived from some one clothed in his day with a moral
legislative authority. The very same remarks apply to re-
formers and the founders of new sects generally, who, from
causes quite assignable by history, have obtained influence
over a body of followers,1 — a position which Spencer adopts.
In this there is a striking similarity to the theory of evolu-
tion as propounded by Darwin and applied to the sphere of
morals. Of course Bain deals with man only, and has not the
unlimited resources of the evolutionist. In Spencer, too, we
have a close parallel, his whole theory of adaptation through
pleasure and pain being equivalent to Bain's law of self-
conservation.

11. RELATION OF DARWIN TO THE ASSOCIATIONISTS.

Thus we come, through the writers of the Association
School, to a consideration of Darwin. We might, at first
glance, take it for granted that Darwin, as a natural scientist,
would be quite free from any influence from the labours of the
British Association School, or any other school of psycholo-
gists. But the close relation that had existed between the
study of the mind and the study of the body, during the pre-
vious century, must not be overlooked. A suggestion of this
may be noted above, where the conditions of pleasure are
associated with an increase, and the conditions of pain with a
decrease of all or some of the vital functions. The faculty-
psychology, represented by men like Shaftesbury and Hutche-
son, had had the seeds of its dissolution sown in the works of
Locke, Gay, etc., of the Association School. That Darwin was
familiar with the Association doctrine, is evident from the
following quotation: "We can only judge by the circumstances
under which actions are performed, whether they are due to
instinct, or to reason, or to the mere association of ideas."2
Not only so, but in his chapter on the Moral Sense, Darwin
often refers to Alexander Bain's 'Mental and Moral Science',
to John Stuart Mill's 'Logic' and 'Utilitarianism', and to
Hume's 'Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals', in

HD.C. p. 283.

'Charles Darwin, "The Descent of Man", 2nd English ed., 1874, Ch. 3.

22

each one of which, as well, doubtless, as in other works by the
same writers, he would have become thoroughly familiar with
the doctrine of Association.

In part, as a result of the development of the theory of
Association, Darwin found conditions very favourable for the
introduction of the theory of Natural Selection. Natural
Selection itself, in what might be called an embryonic form, is
not an idea altogether foreign to the theory which had been
developing with the work of John Stuart Mill and Alexander
Bain. If we keep in view the association and utilitarian
psychology of Darwin's time, it is not unlikely that the idea
of utility — the criterion of our actions in the moral sphere —
and, on his own admission, the Malthusian theory of popula-
tion, should have influenced Darwin as a Natural Scientist,
in formulating a theory for the great mass of material which
he had gathered, and thus have suggested the idea of the
preservation of the most useful modifications of structure and
habit — that such useful modifications should be the criterion
of events in the sphere of biology, and hence the doctrine of
the 'survival of the fittest'.

III. DEVELOPMENT OF EVOLUTION THEORY—
PRE-DARWINIAN.

We have thus been led up to Darwin from the side of the
mental sciences as represented in the Association School
of psychologists. We have seen that for these men a know-
ledge of physiological processes in the human organism, and
especially in the nervous system, was of fundamental import-
ance. For the better understanding of the relation existing
between physiological and psychological phenomena, which will
be considered hereafter in some detail, attention may also be
drawn to the development on the side of physiology which
occurred prior to the time of Darwin and his theory of Natural
Selection. The main outlines of that development may be
obtained from such general works as that of H. F. Osborn,
'From the Greeks to Darwin',1 and of Max Verworn, in the
first part of his 'General Physiology'.2

1. ANAXAGORAS, DEMOCRITUS, EMPEDOCLES, ARISTOTLE,
AUGUSTINE, HARVEY, BUFFON, BONNET.

Like all other great questions, Evolution has had a variety
of forms, but the fundamental idea, that of the descent of

a2nd ed., 1896.

22nd ed., 1897. Ch. I, Sec. II.

23

higher forms of life from lower forms, has, as is well known,
been considered for a great many centuries. In the Greek
period, in the fifth century, B.C., Anaxagoras and Democritus
introduced what, in a developed and somewhat modified
form, is to-day known as Adaptation. Anaxagoras de-
clared that "animals would have been men had they had
hands". Empedocles held that all things found themselves
together, and those which were suited to each other remained
together. This is already a forecast of the idea of 'survival of
the fittest'. Aristotle gives us the first distinct idea of a
struggle from lower to higher forms. " It is due to the resist-
ance of matter to form, " he states, "that nature can only rise
by degrees from lower to higher types." In mediaeval times
one of the greatest of the many who spoke in favour of the
theory of descent was Augustine, in the fifth century. But
such speculations were placed in an entirely new light when
Harvey, in 1619, discovered the function of the heart in the
circulation of the blood. Buffon (1707-1788) laid in Zoology
and Botany the basis of modern biological evolution. Accord-
ing to his view, classification was the invention of man, and
species were mutable in relation to change of environment.
Bonnet, a few years later, was the author of the term
'evolution'.

2. ERASMUS DARWIN.

In Erasmus Darwin1 we find a theory of the origin of life
from 'filaments' analogous to what we to-day call 'protoplas-
mic masses'. His general theory of descent is that "all
animals undergo transformations which are in part produced
by their own exertions in response to pleasures and pains, and
many of these acquired forms or propensities are transmitted
to their posterity". Here we notice the introduction of pleas-
ure and pain into biology to account for certain modifications.
This application would not be remarkable had Erasmus
Darwin lived after Bain, but, coming when it did, it suggests
the necessity of utilizing the psychical as an explanation of
the process of evolution quite as much as the facts of physi-
ology are needed in the explanation of psychical phenomena,
the ultimate relation of the two, in other words, being not yet
settled.

3. LAMARCK, CHAMBERS.

Finally, in Lamarck, 1809, we have the inventor of the
modern theory of descent. "Animals were evolved, not by
the direct external action of environment, but by environment

1"Zoonomia, or The Laws of Organic Life", 1794-96.

24

acting upon internal structure through the nervous system,
and by the transmission of the modifications thus produced."
In 1844 appeared a work1 completely devoted to the subject
of evolution. "We are drawn on to the supposition, " the
author says, "that the first step in the creation of life upon
this planet was a chemico-electric operation by which simple
germinal vesicles were produced."1 From this first step
Chambers traces the development of life up to man, including
in the term 'man', mind as well as organic structure. This
work of Chambers met with a tremendous sale, and indicates
that the soil was well prepared for Darwin's 'Origin of Species',
which was shortly to follow.

4. DARWIN, WALLACE.

The peculiar circumstances under which appeared almost
simultaneously the work of A. R. Wallace "On the Law which
has regulated the Introduction of New Species", setting
forth a very strong argument for the theory of descent, and
the work of Darwin on "The Origin of Species ", wherein both
theories were remarkably coincident, are well known.

Notwithstanding the fact, as indicated above, that the
theory of descent had been clearly formulated, it was not until
Darwin had backed up the formulation of the Descent theory
with his wonderful accumulation of illuminating facts, that
the "Theory of Descent began to be spelled with capital
letters in the Biological Creed". Darwin's real contribution
to the doctrine of Evolution consisted in his theory of Natural
Selection. But even in the formulation of this theory there
must also be recognized the participation of other minds than
that of Darwin. He has mentioned in his autobiography that
it was not until he had read Malthus that he got a clear view
of the potency of Natural Selection. And, as already indicated,
there seems to be a connection with the association and utili-
tarian theories in psychology, in the atmosphere of which
Darwin lived.

This will be all the more apparent from a brief exposition
of Darwin with a view to showing in what relation the theory
of biological evolution, under the control of Natural Selection,
stands to the development of psychology and the ethical
theories based upon it.

^'Vestiges of Natural History of Creation ", 1844, Ch. 14. This work was
published anonymously, but is generally conceded to have been written by
Robert Chambers.

25

IV. CHARLES DARWIN.
1. "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES" — NATURAL SELECTION.

With the appearance of 'The Origin of Species' in 1859, we
have the introduction to a new view of things in the great
problem of descent.

In the first place, we have the general theory of descent
which had been developing through so many centuries. Taking
the whole of the animal world, from the smallest insect up to
man, there is nothing, either in the material composition or
the framework of their bodies which would prevent us from
assuming a gradual development from the lowest to the
highest forms.1 "Hereafter," says Darwin, "we shall be
compelled to acknowledge that the only distinction between
species and well-marked varieties is that the latter are known,
or believed to be connected at the present day by intermediate
gradations, whereas species were formerly thus connected."2

In the second place, Darwin supplies us with a new factor
in this descent theory, the factor which explains how it is that
the higher forms evolve from the lower, namely, Natural
Selection. The fundamental fact of Darwin's theory is the
tendency of all living beings to vary. Such variations may
be transmitted from one generation to another. Among
domestic animals, man, of course, does not produce variations.
Nature does this for him. But what man can do, and does, is
to select the variations given him by Nature, and thus accumu-
late them in any desired manner.3 "This process of selection
has been the great agency in the formation of the most distinct
and useful domestic breeds."4 And, "there is no reason why
the principles which have acted so efficiently under domesti-
cation should not have acted under Nature".5 But how does
selection under Nature, or Natural Selection, operate? "The
struggle for existence inevitably follows from the high geo-
metrical ratio of increase which is common to all organic
beings." "More individuals are born than can possibly
survive, "6 in view of the aforementioned struggle for existence.
The consequent modifications which are constantly appearing
in organic beings in a state of nature — produced by slight and
very gradual steps — are preserved and accumulated when

Charles Darwin, "The Origin of Species", John Murray, 1897, Vol. II,
pp. 291, 299.

2O.C. pp. 300-301.

'O.C. p. 277.

4Ibid.

6O.C. pp. 277-278.

6Ibid.

26

useful to the surviving and modified creature. Consequently,
those in which the most useful modifications are produced,
that is, those which are best adapted to the environment in
which they live, survive and transmit their beneficial modifica-
tions by procreating their kind. What Darwin means, then, by
Natural Selection is that Nature forms species from that selec-
tive breeding which is the necessary consequence of the exter-
mination of rivals and survival of the fittest in the struggle
for existence. The laws governing the process of Natural
Selection are, according to Darwin, as follows: " * * * these
laws, taken in the largest sense, being Growth with Repro-
duction; Variability, from the indirect and direct action
of the external conditions of life, and from use and disuse; a
Ratio of Increase so high as to lead to a Struggle for Life, and
as a consequence to Natural Selection, entailing divergence
of character and the extinction of less-improved forms. Thus,
from the war of nature, from famine and death, the most
exalted object which we are capable of conceiving, namely,
the production of the higher animals, directly follows."1

Since Darwin's time his theory of Natural Selection has
been tested in every conceivable way by succeeding biologists,
and it may be useful for us to know in what esteem it is held
at the present time. Vernon Kellogg briefly describes Dar-
winism, in biological language, as follows: "The exquisite
adaptation of the parts and functions of the animal and plant
as we can see it every day to our infinite admiration and
wonder, has all come to exist through the purely mechanical,
inevitable weeding out and selecting by nature (by environ-
mental determining of what may and may not live) through
uncounted generations in unreckonable time."2 Darwinism
is "a certain rational, causo-mechanical (hence non-teleologic)
explanation of the origin of new species".3

In 'The Origin of Species' we have the main principles of
Darwinism. Darwin's later works are either modifications
or extensions of the fundamental principles here laid down.
But even these principles have not been allowed to go un-
challenged. On the one hand, Natural Selection is denied any
power whatever in the process of species-forming. On the
other hand, the effectiveness of the theory of the inheritance
of acquired characters is similarly denied.4 From the con-
troversy that has prevailed for the past twenty-five years in

^.C. p. 305.

2Vernon L. Kellogg, "Darwinism To-Day", Henry Holt & Co., 1908,
p. 15.

3O.C. p. 13.
KXC. Chs. 3-6.

27

this domain, it would seem that the Neo-Darwinists and the
Neo-Lamarckians will each have to concede something, and
finally to adopt a position midway between the two, if that
be possible. Vernon Kellogg sums up the situation as follows :
"Natural Selection remains the one causo-mechanical ex-
planation of the large and general progress toward fitness;
the movement toward specialization; that is, descent as we
know it."1 "But what Darwinism does not do is to explain
the beginnings of change. What is needed, then, is a satis-
factory explanation of the pre-useful and pre-hurtful stages
in the modifications of organisms. Among all the divergent
lines of development and change instituted by this agent of
beginnings, Natural Selection will choose those who persist
by saying No to those who may not. And the result is organic
evolution."2

2. "THE DESCENT OF MAN."

(1) Mental and Moral Phenomena from the Standpoint of
Natural Selection.

We shall next consider Darwin's ' Descent of Man '.3 This
work was first published in 1871. It might be noted here that
Vol. I of Herbert Spencer's second edition of 'The Principles
of Psychology' (which will be examined later) appeared in
1870, from which Darwin quotes in 'The Descent of Man'.

It will have been noticed in 'The Origin of Species' that
the descent theory is treated purely from the standpoint of
Natural Science. When we come to 'The Descent of Man',
however, the field is widened so as to include the phenomena
of the intellectual and moral spheres; and it will here be
interesting to note from the plan according to which Darwin
writes his work, the different standpoints from which he views
man, according as he is considering him from the biological or
psychological point of view. In the first chapter ' ' the evidence
of the descent of man4 from some lower form" is dealt with.
In the fourth chapter we are led to consider the manner of this
development. The laws of variation are said to be the same
in man as in the lower animals. It is a study in biology simply.
In chapters two, three, and five, however, we meet with a
treatment of the intellectual and moral facts — a comparison
of the intellectual and moral powers of man with those of the
lower animals. In chapter six we find ourselves once more in
the sphere of biology in connection with the subject of "the

'O.C. p. 376.

2Ibid.

3Charles Darwin, "The Descent of Man", John Murray, 1871.

4Clearly, the physical organism is here indicated.

28

affinities and genealogy of man ". "Man is liable to numerous,
slight and diversified variations, which are induced by the
same general causes, are governed and transmitted in accord-
ance with the same general laws as in the lower animals."1
This biological standpoint is thenceforth continued to the
end of the book. This standpoint is the same as that adopted
in 'The Origin of Species', and it should be noticed, in contrast
with what we shall find when we come to deal with the intel-
lectual and moral qualities, that the point of emphasis here
is on the side of identifying man with the great animal class
below him. In a word, we might look upon 'The Descent of
Man' as a biological work, treating chapters two, three, and
five, as parenthetical.2

Now we may briefly examine the standpoint which Darwin
adopts in the chapters on the intellectual and moral qualities.
His own words will perhaps indicate this best. "We have
seen in the last chapter,3 that man bears in his bodily structure
clear traces of his descent from some lower form; but it may
be urged that as man differs so greatly in his mental power
from all other animals, there must be some error in this con-
clusion."4 "My object in this chapter is solely to show that
there is no fundamental difference between man and the
higher mammals in their mental faculties."5 How does Darwin
deal with this position? He does not, as so many writers on
mental evolution do, begin with a very minute analysis of the
nervous system, and thus trace the gradual rise of conscious-
ness. This is indicated in the following: "In what manner
the mental powers were first developed in the lowest organisms,
is as hopeless an enquiry as how life itself first originated.
These are problems for the distant future, if they are ever to
be solved by man."6 We find also that Darwin's standpoint
in dealing with 'man' is changed when he begins to discuss
mental facts. At least the order of his procedure is different.
From the biological standpoint, as we have seen, the effort
was to show that the human organism contains in a developed
form nothing but those properties which are found in animals.
In dealing with the difference between men and animals

'O.C. Vol. I, p. 185.

2In the second English edition, Ch. 4, of the 1st ed. is inserted after Ch.
1, as Ch. 2, thus dealing with intellectual and moral phenomena in Chs. 3,
4, and 5.

sThat is, Ch. 1, dealing with the manner of development of man , as a
physical organism, from some lower form.

<O.C. p. 34.

6O.C. p. 35.

•O.C. p. 36.

29

psychically, however, Darwin's language leads one to conclude
that the animals have the mental qualities which man possesses,
rather than to think that man has no mental characteristics
but those of the animals. This difference in standpoint is
manifest in such quotations as: "The lower animals, like man,
manifestly feel pleasure and pain, happiness and misery."1
"The fact that lower animals are excited by the same emotions
as ourselves is so well established that it will not be necessary
to weary the reader by many details."2 In the pages following,
one by one, the mental qualities of man are taken up, and the
lower animals shown to participate more or less in their
possession.3

The reason for this change in the point of view seems to be
the restriction in the field of scientific observation when dealing
genetically with psychological, as compared with physiological,
phenomena. While in the case of the latter the facts may
easily be observed, in the former we can at best but observe
physical and physiological facts when studying other beings
than ourselves. If we then wish to infer what may be the
subjective aspect of these facts, we can only infer on the basis
of our own experience. Darwin seems to realize this, for in
speaking of Abstraction, Self -consciousness, etc., with refer-
ence to animals, he says: "It would be very difficult for any
one with even much more knowledge than I possess, to de-
termine how far animals exhibit any traces of these high
mental powers. This difficulty arises from the impossibility
of judging what passes through the mind of an animal."4

In chapter three Darwin enters into a discussion of the
moral sense. He introduces the subject as follows: "I fully
subscribe to the judgment of those writers who maintain that
of all the differences between man and the lower animals, the
moral sense, or conscience, is by far the most important."5
"This great question has been discussed by many writers of
consummate ability; and my sole excuse for touching on it, is
the impossibility of here passing it over; and because, as far
as I know, no one has approached it exclusively from the side
of natural history."6 This is a clear enunciation of Darwin's
position, yet I think we shall find that he is not so consistent
in handling his material in the moral sphere as in the intel-

KXC. p. 39.
2Ibid.

3/"v *~* f*Vi O

4"The Descent of Man ", 2nd English ed. 1874. Ch. 3.
6"The Descent of Man", 1871. Vol. I, p. 70.
6O.C. p. 71.

30

lectual sphere discussed in chapters two and three. From the
standpoint of natural history, then, Darwin proceeds to
examine the ethical problem.

"The following proposition seems to me, in a high degree
probable, — namely, that any animal whatever, endowed with
well-marked social instincts, the parental and filial affections
being here included, would inevitably acquire a moral sense
or conscience as soon as its intellectual powers had become
as well, or nearly as well developed as in man."1

Now what Darwin means by instinct, although not always
clear, seems fundamentally to be based upon some modifica-
tion of the physical organism, in particular the brain and
nervous system, under the control of Natural Selection, such
modification being "gained, step by step through the varia-
bility of the mental organs and Natural Selection, without
any conscious intelligence on the part of the animal during
each successive generation."2 Darwin confirms this view of
instinct elsewhere, by stating that "the very essence of an
instinct is that it is followed independently of reason."3

Darwin's use of the terms 'conscious intelligence' and
'reason' in this connection, does not appear to imply that
instinct is without consciousness. Although his explanation
of the term is generally in the negative sense just indicated,
i.e., maintaining that instinct is not characterized by the
higher functions of human consciousness, for example, reason,
yet it would seem that consciousness of some kind is under-
stood in connection with instinct. An analogous type of con-
sciousness to that which Darwin most probably implies in
the case of instinct may be seen if one recalls the historical
meaning of the term 'moral sense', which Darwin uses so
frequently. As this doctrine was set forth by Hutcheson, man
has a 'sense' which informs him of the Tightness or wrongness
of conduct in much the same way as the visual sense makes
him aware of colours. There is no comparative activity im-
plied in such a consciousness, — merely a direct awareness.
The fact that Darwin excludes intelligence and reason from
his definition of instinct, evidently bears out this exposition
of his use of such a term.

We may see the significance of this 'moral sense' theory
in the following extract from a criticism of Hutcheson's position
by Richard Price: "In other words, our ideas of morality, if
this account is right, have the same origin with our ideas of the

M^.C. pp. 71-2.
'O.C. p. 39.
3O.C. p. 100.

31

sensible qualities of bodies, the harmony of sounds, or the
beauties of painting or sculpture; that is, the mere good plea-
sure of our Maker adapting the mind and its organs in a
particular manner to certain objects, * * *. Moral right and
wrong * * are particular modifications of our minds, or im-
pressions which they are made to receive from the contem-
plation of certain actions, which the contrary actions might
have occasioned, had the Author of nature so pleased; * * V1

The so-to-say accidental character of right and wrong in
the foregoing is paralleled by Darwin's account of the means
by which one desire rather than another is followed. "Why
should a man feel that he ought to obey one instinctive desire
rather than another?"2 Darwin asks. The answer is that
"the more enduring Social Instincts conquer the less Per-
sistent Instincts."3 So far it is merely a battle of instincts, but
Darwin now says that "Man, from the activity of his mental
faculties, cannot avoid reflection ; past impressions and images
are incessantly passing through his mind with distinctness."4
"Thus, as man cannot prevent old impressions continually
repassing through his mind, he will be compelled to compare
the weaker impressions of, for instance, past hunger, or of
vengeance satisfied or danger avoided at the cost of other men,
with the instinct of sympathy and goodwill of his fellows,
which is still present, and ever in some degree active in his
mind."5 There is now, therefore, more than the conquering
of one set of instincts by another set; there is the activity of
man's mental faculties judging and comparing the instincts;
such comparison being other than instinctive, namely, re-
flective. That is, in the process of evolution there arises the
power to compare the present with the past, and to profit by
experience. But the force of this seems to be somewhat
weakened by a further statement that "Thus, at last, man
comes to feel, through acquired, and perhaps through in-
herited habit, that it is best for him to obey his more persistent
impulses."6

Nevertheless, it is difficult to get from Darwin a consistent
view as to the origin of morality. As is evident in the above
quotations, Darwin seems to be unable to give any definite
account of instinct without introducing peculiarly mental

Richard Price, quoted from text as in Selby-Bigge "British Moralists",
pp. 106-7.
2O.C. p. 87.
3O.C. p. 89.

'O.C. p. 90.
"O.C. p. 92.

32

quality, such as reflection or reason. Of such a quality he has
already declared himself to be incapable of suggesting an
origin.1 Instinct, however, is the product of Natural Selection,
and in the main, the course of the development of conscience
is, according to Darwin, under the control of this factor. By
Natural Selection is here understood the meaning which
Darwin himself has given to the term, namely, the blind,
unconscious selection by Nature, as contrasted with the pur-
posive selection by man.2

Following the course of this development we pass from
the individual to the tribe. Those tribes which have the social
instinct most strongly developed survive where others perish,
because 'in unity there is strength'.3 In connection with the
individual the standard of moral excellence is maintained
because of the fact that primeval man, at a very remote period,
was influenced by the praise and blame of his fellows. Where
did this praise and blame originate? we might ask. "In the
first place," says Darwin, "as the reasoning powers and fore-
sight of the members became improved, each man would soon
learn that if he aided his fellowmen, he would commonly re-
ceive aid in return." From this 'low motive' sympathy
would result through habit, and in consequence, praise and
blame.4 Thus conscience takes its rise in those acts which tend
most to the preservation of the individual and the tribe ; those
acts which serve best to adapt the organism to its environ-
ment, for "It may be well first to premise that I do not wish
to maintain that any strictly social animal, if its intellectual
faculties were to become as active and as highly developed as
in man, would acquire exactly the same moral sense as ours",5
in justification of which Darwin cites his famous illustration
of the possible rearing of men under precisely the same con-
ditions as hive-bees, under which circumstances the feeling of
right or wrong, or conscience, would be quite different to what
we understand it under present conditions.

(2) Criticism.

But let us test the force of Darwin's position in regard to
Natural Selection, in the ethical field. In doing so, however, it
is necessary to state that such a test will be made on the basis

p. 28.

2See pp. 25-6. Also note confirmation of this in the statement of Vernon
Kellogg, who describes Natural Selection as "causo-mechanical (hence non-
teleologic) ".

3O.C. p. 162.

4O.C. pp. 163-5.

6O.C. p. 73.

33

of Darwin's own terminology; but, on the other hand, that
it is not at all necessary that the distinctions which he makes,
and which in some cases cause him difficulty, should be held
by us as valid distinctions.

Darwin claims to approach the moral question from the
standpoint of natural history, by which manifestly is meant
the standpoint of biological history — governed according to
the principle of Natural Selection. It is in accordance with
this standpoint that Darwin makes the claim that our morality
would have been quite different had men been reared under
precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, that is, that under
such conditions "there can hardly be a doubt" but that a
system of wholesale murder would be considered morally right
in connection with the solution of the population question.
Darwin's statement in this connection has proved distinctly
objectionable to many ethical writers. For example, in a foot-
note, Darwin quotes Mr. H. Sidgwick in reply to his (that is,
Darwin's) position on this matter: "Mr. Sidgwick remarks in
an able discussion on this subject (The Academy, June 15,
1872, p. 231), 'a superior bee, we may feel sure, would aspire
to a milder solution of the population question'." "Judging,
however," Darwin replies, "from the habits of many or most
savages, man solves the problem by female infanticide,
polyandry and promiscuous intercourse; therefore, it may well
be doubted whether it would be a milder method."1

It appears evident, from Darwin's contention in this
matter, that his tendency is to lose sight of the "intellectual
faculties * * * as active and as highly developed as in man",
and to place the emphasis upon the side of Natural Selection,
that is, biological selection. Sidgwick, less dominated by the
idea of Natural Selection, maintains, as observed, a somewhat
different view of the situation. Darwin 's tendency is to bring
man down to the level of the bee, while that of Sidgwick is to
bring the bee up to the level of man, or at least to show that
Darwin's "levelling down " process cannot be achieved. This
is evident from the fact that Darwin, in using the term 'man'
goes to the savage for his illustration, while Sidgwick speaks
only of "a superior bee". In discussing such a subject as the
moral in relation to man — whose intellectual faculties are
active and highly developed — Darwin is not justified in using
as his type of man the savage, who can claim but a minimum
of such active and highly developed intellectual faculties, but
who is rather to a great extent still under the control of Natural

'O.C. p. 73, footnote.

34

Selection. The 'man' of active and highly developed intel-
lectual faculties to whom Darwin refers is not the savage, but
the man who is characterized by reason, and whose reason has
led him in the past, and is leading him more and more with
the passing years, to adopt, in relation to the population
question, an attitude of an altogether different character from
that of the hive-bees, or even that of the savages whom Darwin
quotes. True, the conditions are not the same between bees
and man, but evidently there is some similarity, as Darwin
has implied in his reference to the practice of savage races.

Thus, although Darwin frequently includes the ' intellectual
faculties' as operative in the rise of the 'moral sense', yet it
is apparent that the general effect of his explanation of such
origin, is to discount the influence of intellect in favour of that
of Natural Selection, — from which intellect is excluded1—
relegating the former to a very secondary place.

It would be well, however, to examine precisely what
bearing this factor of Natural Selection has in the sphere of
morals, since Darwin gave it so dominating a r61e.

First of all, it should be borne in mind that Natural
Selection is a purely biological term with a somewhat definite
meaning, the laws governing its operation, according to Darwin,
being 'Growth with Reproduction', 'Inheritance', 'Varia-
bility', "a Ratio of Increase so high as to lead to a Struggle for
Life, and as a consequence to Natural Selection, entailing
divergence of character and the extinction of less-improved
forms."2 Further, we have seen what Darwin evidently means
by instinct,3 and we may infer from this that Natural Selection,
still operating as a biological factor, is the process by which
some instincts are made more enduring and social than others,
in somewhat the same manner as that in which some variations
of the physical organism survive rather than others. But,
that ideas of morality, that is, the "moral sense, or con-
science", are the result of such an "unconscious" natural
process, and that this process should afford us an explanation
of the facts of the moral consciousness, is not only incon-
ceivable, but is a length to which Darwin himself will not go.
Darwin, we have seen, found it impossible to maintain, in his
attempt to explain the moral consciousness, the pure stand-
point of natural history with which he set out, for the facts
would not bear statement exclusively in biological termin-

1See p. 30.
'See p. 26.
'See p. 30.

35

ology; so we are told that a man "cannot avoid reflection"
and is therefore "compelled to compare the weaker impres-
sions1 with the instinct of sympathy" which is always present.
In this word 'reflection* there is contained, then, something
which Darwin admits to be other than Natural Selection,
which is exactly the claim of the moralist. In this word is
involved ostensibly the intellectual appreciation of a situation,
not instinct driven on by a blind Natural Selection. Here the
situation is reversed. Instead of moral actions being the
result of a blind struggle2 among instincts in which, according
to the working of Natural Selection, the strongest and most
abiding instinct wins out, man, as the 'reflecting being',
weighs, appreciates, "selects", apparently on his own account,
and consequently we find that the position which Darwin is
really expounding here, though apparently not altogether
aware of the fact, is similar to that of the 'domestic breeder',
whose method of conscious, purposive selection, Darwin, in
his ' Origin of Species ', contrasts with that of Natural Selection.3

Darwin's followers, however, have not always been as
generous as he in their acknowledgment of other factors than
that of Natural Selection as operative within the sphere of the
intellectual and moral. The principle of Natural Selection
has been vastly extended in its scope, and the tendency of
many later writers is to seek for an explanation of all the facts
of life, whether physical or mental, in its operation. But here
a number of difficult and interesting questions arise. Is it
true that Natural Selection is the factor to whose operation
we owe the existence of the morality to which we have attained?
— a morality to which Darwin refers when speaking of actions
prompted by the instinct of sympathy. "Nor could we check
our sympathy," he says, "even at the urging of hard reason,
without deterioration in the noblest part of our nature. The
surgeon may harden himself while performing an operation,
for he knows that he is acting for the good of his patient; but
if we were intentionally to neglect the weak and helpless, it
could only be for a contingent benefit, with an overwhelming
evil." With reference to such a morality, are we justified in
stating that those in our society whom we believe to be the
morally fittest, are favoured above those who are not so morally
fit by the "unconscious", " non-teleologic " power of
Natural Selection?

^hat is, past hunger, etc. See p. 31.

'That is, void of "conscious intelligence", and "independent of reason.1
See p. 30.
3See p. 25.

36

With reference to the first question, it is at all events clear
that Darwin did not give an unqualified affirmative. In dis-
cussing this issue Thomas Huxley draws a clearer line even
than Darwin between the operation of Natural Selection and
that of conscious or purposive selection, at the same time con-
fessing his inability to foresee any other outcome than an irre-
concilable opposition between these two factors. The con-
scious selection of man must strive against the ' cosmic process'.
And he concludes: "Fragile reed, as he may be, man, as Pascal
says, is a thinking reed; there lies within him a fund of energy,
operating intelligently and so far akin to that which pervades
the universe that it is competent to influence and modify the
cosmic process. In virtue of his intelligence, the dwarf bends
the Titan to his will."1 From this standpoint, then, it will be
clear that Natural Selection, and 'survival of the fittest'
(morally considered) are antagonistic processes, and that con-
scious selection is the fact according to which man's life is
governed.

Nietzsche, on the other hand, appears to favour the
dominance of the biological principle of Natural Selection,
as applied within the realm of morals, maintaining the view,
according to Sorley, "that the principles of biological develop-
ment (variation, that is to say, and Natural Selection) should
be allowed free play, so that in the future, as in the past, suc-
cessful variations may be struck out by triumphant egoism".2
Although Darwin contended that we could not check the
sympathy which has given rise to the 'accepted morality',
"even at the urging of hard reason, without deterioration in
the noblest part of our nature,"3 yet it seems otherwise with
Neitzsche, who looks upon such morality (for example, the
Christian morality, emphasizing as it does, benevolence,
humility, etc.) in consequence of its departure from the 'sur-
vival of the fittest' method of Natural Selection, as a develop-
ment in the wrong direction4 — a development of the 'servile'
as contrasted with the ' noble ' morality.

However, in whatever direction the development of our
morality may have been, whether according to Huxley it was
by opposing the cosmic process, or according to Nietzsche, by
giving Natural Selection free play, it is evident that such
development has been the result of conscious selection.

'Thos. H. Huxley, "Romanes Lecture", 1893, "Evolution and Ethics"
Macmillan & Co., p. 35.
2W.R. Sorley, "Recer
)04, p. 51.

'"The Descent of Mai. , ,„*. ., KK. iw-.,.
4Fr. Nietzsche, " Morgenrothe ", Leipzig, 1900, p.

2W. R. Sorley, "Recent Tendencies in Ethics", Wm. Blackwood & Sons
1904, p. 51.

'"The Descent of Man", Vol. I, pp. 168-9.

37

If now, in conclusion, we may carry our argument against
the universal sway claimed for the principle of Natural
Selection, a little beyond the sphere of the moral principles
with which we have been dealing, we may perhaps see that
even within the spheres of life in which that sway has been
acknowledged in the past, it is not always possible to apply it.

Darwin himself has shown us that the more primitive
moral ideas, such as prudence, courage, and obedience, are
products, not of natural, but of purposive selection, where, in
discussing the influence of praise and blame on primeval man,
he says that "as the reasoning powers and foresight of the
members became improved, each man would soon learn that
if he aided his fellowmen he would commonly receive aid in
return." But, going further back in the history of the race,
we may still see, in the capability of that vast number of
animals below the human, of profiting by experience, the
operation of this principle of conscious or purposive selection.
In the introduction of such purposive selection, is there not
already, in the words of Sorley, "the beginning of the end of
the reign of Natural Selection,1 because in it for the purely
objective or external factor there is substituted an internal
subjective factor; instead of the process of cutting off unsuit-
able individuals among chance varieties there appears the
process of selecting that variety which pleases or attracts."2

V. ASSOCIATION PSYCHOLOGY— POST-DARWINIAN.

Now let us turn our attention to one of Darwin's con-
temporaries, Herbert Spencer, one of the few out-and-out
evolutionists prior to the publication of the works we have
just been considering.

1. HERBERT SPENCER.

Spencer first published 'The Principles of Psychology' in
1855, four years before the publication of Darwin's 'Origin of
Species'. This first edition, however, appears to have met
with very little success. Spencer, in his 'Autobiography'
makes reference to it in speaking of his 'Social Statics': "As
I have been for many years deterred by the consciousness of
its3 defects from issuing new editions of the work, it is difficult
of access. Similarly with 'The Principles of Psychology'.
Save in a few public libraries, no one can now find a copy of
the first edition."4 At the end of the year 1867 Spencer began

xThat is, as described by Darwin. See p. 26.
2\V. R. Sorley, "Recent Tendencies in Ethics", p. 66.
3i.e., the "Social Statics".

4Herbert Spencer, "An Autobiography", Williams and Norgate, London,
1904, Vol. 11, p. 74.

38

to revise this first edition, and after working at it until De-
cember, 1870, published the first volume. The second volume
appeared in October, 1872. Speaking later of its reception, he
says: "An evolutionary view of mind was foreign to the ideas
of the time, and voted absurd: the result of setting it1 forth
being pecuniary loss, and a good deal of reprobation. Natur-
ally, therefore, after the publication of 'The Origin of Species'
had caused the current of public opinion to set the other way,
a more sympathetic reception was to be counted upon for the
doctrine of Mental evolution in its elaborated form."2

As may be anticipated, then, in Spencer we find our-
selves once more in the familiar sphere of Association psy-
chology, to which he has brought a thorough-going exposition
of the evolution theory. That these are the facts, may be
shown by an examination of those of Spencer's works which
bear on this subject, namely, his 'First Principles', the
'Principles of Psychology', and the 'Principles of Ethics'.

(1) Formula of Evolution.

For Spencer, evolution is, so to say, the centre around
which everything turns. He defines it as follows: "Evolution
is an integration of matter and concomitant dissipation of
motion; during which the matter passes from an indefinite,
incoherent homogeneity to a definite, coherent heterogeneity,
and during which the retained motion undergoes a parallel
transformation."3 Spencer seeks to show in the argument
which he advances in his 'First Principles', that all orders of
phenomena may be included within the scope of the one
formula. This will be evident from a survey of the following
quotations. In a local summary he states: "We next saw
that phenomena being cognizable by us only as products
of Force, manifested under the twofold form of attrac-
tion and repulsion, there results the general law that all
motion must occur in the direction of least resistance, or
in the direction of greatest attraction, or in the direction
of their resultant. It was pointed out that this law is every
instant illustrated in the movements of the celestial bodies.
The innumerable transpositions of matter, gaseous, liquid,
and solid, going on over the earth's surface, were shown to
conform to it. Evidence was given that this same ultimate
principle of motion underlies the structural and functional
changes of organisms. Throughout the succession of those

ai.e., the first edition.

2"An Autobiography", p. 220.

'Herbert Spencer, "First Principles", 3rd ed., 1875, p. 396.

39

nervous actions which constitute thought and feeling, as also
the discharge of feeling into action, we no less found this
principle conspicuous. Nor did we discover any exception
to it in the movements, temporary and permanent, that go on
in societies."1 Another instance of the operation of this
universal principle is given by Spencer in the following: "That
continual division and subdivision of forces, which is instru-
mental in changing the uniform into the multiform, we saw to
be at the same time a process by which force is perpetually
dissipated; and that dissipation, continuing as long as there
remains any force unbalanced by an opposing force, must end
in rest. This general principle, like the preceding ones, proved
to be traceable throughout all forms of evolution — astronomic,
geologic, biologic, mental and social."2

Having adopted the position of the universal applicability
of his formula of evolution, Spencer proceeds, in his ' Principles
of Psychology', to show in what way mental phenomena may
be interpreted "in terms of the redistribution of matter and
motion." "Specifically stated," he says, "the problem is to
interpret mental evolution in terms of the redistribution of
matter and motion. Though under its subjective aspect mind
is known only as an aggregate of states of consciousness,
which cannot be conceived as forms of matter and motion? and
which do not therefore necessarily conform to the same laws
of redistribution ; yet under its objective aspect, mind is known
as an aggregate of activities manifested by an organism — as
the correlative therefore of certain material transformations
which must come within the general process of material evolu-
tion, if that process is to be universal."4 That is to say, mental
evolution is to be interpreted in terms of the redistribution of
matter and motion. As, subjectively, mind cannot be thus
conceived, and therefore does not necessarily conform to these
laws of redistribution, the difficulty is to be solved by
interpreting mind by means of the activities of the physical
organism.

(2) Problem of the External World.

The main trend of Spencer's thought may be indicated in
his own words as far as possible, in what apparently is an
attempt to lay a physiological foundation for the science of
psychology — according to the standpoint referred to by
M. Ribot. That Spencer attempts to do exactly this, which

'O.C Sec. 140.

2Ibid.

3Italics mine.

4Herbert Spencer, " Principles of Psychology", 3rd edition, § 221.

40

we have found true of the Associationist, may perhaps be
doubted, but from the great amount of time and space which
he devotes to expounding all the intricacies of the nervous
system, and the relation which these are said to bear to
mental facts, it is extremely difficult to reach any other con-
clusion. For Association Psychology has always taken for
granted, either explicitly or implicitly, an independent world
from which consciousness is derived. This is particularly so in
the physiological aspect which is supposed to supply an im-
mediate foundation upon which to base a psychology. Spencer,
in this respect, appears to be no exception to the rule of the
Associationists, but he proceeds to deal with the problem of
the external world as the manifestation of the 'Unknowable'.
His position will be evident from the following quotations.

"To speak specifically," he says, "it has been shown that
though we can never learn the nature of that which is mani-
fested to us, we are daily learning more completely the order
of its manifestations. We are conscious of effects produced in
us by something separate from ourselves. The facts of which
we are conscious — the changes of consciousness which make
up our mental life, we ascribe to the forces of an external world.
The intrinsic character of these forces — of this external world
— of that which underlies all appearances, we find inscrutable;
as is also the internal something whose changes constitute
consciousness. But at the same time we find among the
changes of consciousness thus produced, there exist various
constant relations; and we have no choice but to ascribe con-
stancy to the relations which subsist among the inscrutable
causes of these changes."1 But Spencer is not satisfied with
the mere inscrutability of the external world, for he advances to
a proof of the existence of such a world. "The facts of con-
sciousness, supposed to be interpretable only on the Kantian
hypothesis, are interpretable on the experience hypothesis
when it is adequately expounded. If in pursuance of the
doctrine of evolution, we suppose modifications produced by
experience to be inheritable, it must happen that if there
are any universal forms of the non-ego, these must establish
corresponding universal forms in the ego. These forms, being
embodied in the organization, will impress themselves on the
first intuitions of the individual; and will thus appear to ante-
cede all experience."2 This quotation states clearly Spencer's
position in relation to Association psychology, on the one hand,
and to the Evolution theory which gave it so extensive support,

l" First Principles", § 35.
'"Principles of Psychology", § 399.

41

on the other. Spencer begins by postulating "The impression
we call Resistance" as "the primordial, the universal, the
ever-present constituent of consciousness. * * * We are led
inevitably to posit the existence of this external world through
the sensation of resistance. * * Hence along with the segre-
gation of our states of consciousness into vivid and faint, the
consciousness of something which resists comes to be the
general symbol for that independent existence implied by the
vivid aggregate. We have just seen that mutual exploration
of our limbs, excited by ideas and emotions, establishes an
indissoluble cohesion in thought between active energy as it
wells up from the depths of our consciousness, and the equiva-
lent resistance opposed to it; as well as between this resistance
opposed to it and an equivalent pressure in the part of the
body which resists. Hence the root conception of existence
beyond consciousness becomes that of resistance plus some
force which the resistance measures. * * * We shall see clearly
that this unknown correlative of the vivid state we call pres-
sure, symbolized in the known terms of our own efforts, con-
stitutes what we call material substance. That which to our
thought constitutes a body is that which permanently binds
together those infinitely-varied vivid states the body gives us,
as we change our relations to it, and as it changes its relations
to us."1

"The general conception thus formed of an independent
source of activity beyond consciousness," for example, from
muscular tension, resistance, and pressure (illustrated by
Spencer in a footnote in the case of the pulling of a finger of
one hand by the other hand), "develops into a more special
conception when we examine the particular clusters of vivid
states aroused in us. For we find that each cluster, distin-
guished by us as an object, is a separate seat of the power with
which the objective world as a whole impresses us. We find
that while it is this power which gives unity to the cluster, it is
also this power which opposes our energies. And we also find
that this power, holding together the elements of the cluster,
notwithstanding the endlessly-varied changes they undergo
in consciousness, is therefore thought of by us as persisting, or
continuing to exist in the midst of all those manifestations
which do not continue to exist."

"So that these several sets of experiences unite to form a
conception of something beyond consciousness which is abso-
lutely independent of consciousness; which possesses power, if
not like that in consciousness, yet equivalent to it; and which

'O.C. §§ 466, 467.

42

remains fixed in the midst of changing appearances. And this
conception, uniting independence, and force, and permanence,
is the conception we have of matter."1

(3) Relation between Nervous System and Mental States.

Passing from Spencer's treatment of external 'matter',
we may now consider his treatment of the relation said to
exist between the nervous system and the mental states.

In the early pages of his ' Principles of Psychology ', Spencer
makes his standpoint clear in connection with this matter.
He says: "We are primarily concerned with psychological
phenomena as phenomena of evolution, and, under their
objective aspect, these, reduced to their lowest terms, are inci-
dents in the continuous redistribution of matter and motion."2
As already indicated, Spencer introduces his psychology by
an analysis of the nervous system. "The nervous system is
the initiator of motion."3 "Nervous stimulations and dis-
charges consist of waves of molecular change that chase one
another rapidly through nerve-fibres."4 After a very minute
exposition of the development of the nervous system, Spencer
states: "Throughout the foregoing argument, functions when
referred to, have been expressed in physiological language.
It remains to translate these into psychological language.
What have been considered as increasingly complex nervous
actions, we have now to consider as increasingly complex
mental states."5 Returning to an earlier part of the work a
similar 'translation' is found. Spencer there says: "In the
last chapter,6 we saw that what is objectively a wave of molec-
ular change propagated through a nerve centre, is subjec-
tively a unit of feeling, akin in nature to what we call a nervous
shock. In one case we found a conclusive proof that when a
rapid succession of such waves yields a rapid succession of
such units of feeling, there results the continuous feeling
known as a sensation; and that the quality of the feeling
changes when these waves and corresponding units of feeling
recur with a different rapidity. Further, it was shown that
by unions among simultaneous series of such units recurring

K).C. § 468.

*O.C. § 7.

3O.C. § 4.

<O.C. § 40.

*O.C. § 243. This, of course, is one of Mr. Spencer's numerous incon-
sistencies, since he has already said that mental states cannot be conceived
as forms of matter and motion, and do not therefore necessarily conform to
the same laws of redistribution.

'That is, Ch. I of Pt. II "Substance of Mind".

43

at unlike rates, countless other seemingly-simple sensations
are produced."1 And in another instance, following a state-
ment that "with each muscular contraction there goes a sen-
sation more or less definite", we are told that "This sensation
* * * is directly produced either by the discharge itself or by
the state of the muscle or muscles excited."2 To make this
more clear, Spencer continues thus: "Between a perception
physiologically considered, and a perception psychologically
considered, the relation now becomes manifest. We see that
a perception can have in a nerve centre no definite localization,
but only a diffused localization. No one excited fibre or cell
produces consciousness of such external object; the con-
sciousness of such external object implies excitement of a
plexus of fibres and cells. And not only does this plexus of
fibres and cells differ with every other object, but it differs
with every different position of the same object." He illus-
trates this by drawing a comparison between a perception and
a musical chord sounded on a piano. "As by striking a certain
set of keys there is brought out a particular combination of
tones, simple or complex, concordant or discordant, so when a
special object seen strikes by its image a special cluster of
retinal elements, and through them sends waves to the fibres
and cells of a corresponding central plexus, there results the
special aggregate of feelings constituting perception of the
object. Without further detail the reader will see how it thus
becomes possible for a limited number of fibres and cells to
become the seat of a relatively unlimited number of percep-
tions." But a piano, he adds, is a dead mechanism. How-
ever, "if our piano were so constituted that after any two
chords had been repeatedly sounded in succession, there re-
sulted some structural change such that when the first of these
chords was again evoked by the performer's hands, a faint
echo of the second chord followed without aid from the per-
former's hands, the parallel would be nearer."

"We may now pass from perceptions to ideas. Though
every true perception along with its presentative feelings
necessarily contains certain representative feelings, these do
not at first become what we usually understand by ideas.
They have not the detachableness which distinguishes ideas
that are fully developed. They can be called into existence
only by the sense-impressions with which they are directly
connected in experience; and they can continue to exist only
so long as these continue to exist. To return to our illustra-
tion— a creature so constructed as to be capable of nothing

>O.C. § 74.
2O.C. § 46.

44

beyond the compound co-ordination just described, resembles
a piano that is silent until touched by the hands of the per-
former. Its nervous system is played upon by external
objects, the clustered properties of which draw out answering
chords of feelings, followed by faintly reverberating chords of
further feelings; but it is otherwise passive — it cannot evolve
a consciousness that is independent of the immediate environ-
ment. How does such independent consciousness become
possible? When do ideas, rightly so-called, arise? They arise
when compound co-ordination passes into doubly-compound
co-ordination. They grow distinct in proportion as the
correspondence exists in space and time. They acquire a
separateness from direct impressions as fast as there increase
those series of clustered sensations which unite the visual
sensations received from objects out of reach with the tactual
sensations afterwards yielded by such objects. * * * They are
the necessary concomitants of that process by which, through
intercalated psychical states, there is established a mediate
relation between psychical states that cannot be brought into
immediate relation. And they have for their seats those in-
tercalated plexuses which co-ordinate the co-ordinating
plexuses previously existing. That is to say, ideas form a
larger and larger portion of consciousness as fast as there
develop these two great pedunculated nerve-centres which
distinguish the superior animals; ideas become more multi-
tudinous and more separable from direct sense impressions
as these centres increase in size and structure; and eventually
when these centres are highly evolved, ideas admit of com-
bination into trains of thought that are quite independent of
present external perceptions."

"By carrying a step further the illustration used in the
last section, we may now get a better notion of the parts which
the cerebrum and cerebellum play in mental processes. For
just as, by the actions of appropriate mechanisms joined to
them, musical instruments of certain kinds are made to yield
musical combinations without the hands of the performer; so,
through the workings of these great appended nerve-centres,
there are called out from the centres below them trains of
consciousness independent of, or additional to, those aroused
by impressions on the senses. * * * We see, in short, that the
medulla oblongata (with its subordinate structures) while
played upon through the senses by external objects, is simul-
taneously played upon by the cerebrum and cerebellum; so
producing the thought consciousness that accompanies sense
consciousness." Respecting emotions, "it has only to be
added that they, like ideas, result from the co-ordinating

45

actions of the cerebrum and cerebellum upon the medulla
oblongata and structures it presides over."1

In a word, psychical phenomena come within the scope of
Spencer's formula of evolution enunciated at the beginning of
our exposition. "Nerve being supposed to have the molecular
structure and properties which, at the beginning of this work
we found such numerous reasons for assigning to it, we have
inferred from established laws of motion that the molecular
change wrought in it by every discharge it conveys leaves it
in a state for conveying a subsequent like discharge with less
resistance. This being the universal law of nervous action,
explains the universal law of intelligence."2

It is thus seen how closely dependent, according to Spencer,
are the phenomena of consciousness upon physiological states
of the brain and nervous system. In the following it will be
seen how this works out in Spencer's system. In these state-
ments it would appear that the foundation for psychological
association is laid in physiological conditions. As we have
already seen, such a situation has been suggested by J. S. Mill
in the words: "When one thought seems to call up another by
association, it is not really a thought which recalls a thought;
the association did not exist between the two thoughts, but
between the two states of the brain or nerves which preceded
the thoughts; one of those states recalls the other, each being
attended, in its passage, by the particular mental state which
is consequent upon it."3 Although Mill was not altogether
prepared to accept such a theory on account of the scant "data
as physiology at present affords",4 still, it is apparent that he
leaves room in his definition of psychology for its inclusion, in
case further physiological data were forthcoming. It does not
appear, however, that Spencer has proceeded as cautiously
as did Mill, which may be seen in the following. Supplementing
his description of the rise of sensations,5 Spencer informs us
that "the method by which simple sensations, and the re-
lations among them, are compounded into states of definite
consciousness, is essentially analogous to the method by which
primitive units of feeling are compounded into sensations. *
The next higher stage of mental composition shows us this

1O.C. §§ 245-6-7.

2O.C. § 268, — which, we should like to point out again, is inconsistent
with Spencer's statement that mental states cannot be conceived as forms
of matter and motion, and do not, therefore, necessarily conform to the same
laws of redistribution; that is, if they do, it is mere coincidence, and one
does not explain the other.

3J. S. Mill, "Logic", VI, 4 §2.

4Ibid.

That is, as a result of physical molecular change, as above indicated.

46

process repeating itself."1 And so on. The same standpoint
is very explicitly stated in another quotation taken from a
later section of the work: "For, as shown in earlier parts of
this work, an idea is the psychical side of what on its physical
side is an involved set of molecular changes propagated through
an involved set of nervous plexuses. That which makes
possible this idea is the pre-existence of these plexuses, so
organized that a wave of molecular motion diffused through
them will produce, as its psychical correlative, the components
of the conception in due order and degree. This idea lasts
while the waves of molecular motion last, ceasing when they
cease; but that which remains is the set of plexuses."2

Thus it is abundantly evident that Spencer also is an
advocate of the physiological theory of Association. As in
the case of J. S. Mill, so in Spencer, "the most abstruse phe-
nomena of consciousness" are explainable on the basis of
association, by means of physiological processes. It is by
means of the process of association as physiologically con-
ditioned, and thus conjoined with the factor of heredity,
that we get the ideas of space and time. The following indi-
cates the origin of the idea of space: "On bearing in mind this
inheritance of latent experiences * * * it will become possible
to conceive how we acquire that consolidated idea of space in
its totality, which at first seems so inexplicable."3 Also in
his 'First Principles' Spencer speaks of the origin of "the
experience from which consciousness of space arises" as being
"experiences of force".4 Similarly as regards time.5 In his
'Principles of Psychology' Spencer further states: "The
doctrine that time is knowable only by the succession of
our mental states calls for little exposition: it is so well
established a doctrine."6 The principles of mathematics are
likewise shown to be capable of explanation by means of the
formula of association, an association which has, in addition
to the data of the old school, all the time at the disposal of the
evolutionist. For, in dealing with such an axiom as that "two
straight lines cannot enclose a space" Spencer states in his
'Principles of Ethics': "Unquestionably, on the Evolution-
hypothesis, this fixed intuition must have been established by
that intercourse with things which throughout an enormous
past, has, directly or indirectly, determined the organization

K).C. § 74.

2O.C. § 469.

3O.C. § 331.

4" First Principles" § 62.

'Ibid.

•"Principles of Psychology" § 337.

47

of the nervous system and certain resulting necessities of
thought; and the a priori beliefs determined by these necessi-
ties differ from a posteriori beliefs simply in this, that they are
products of the experiences of innumerable successive indi-
viduals instead of the experiences of a single individual." The
bearing of this latter quotation on ethics is apparent in the
sequel: "If then, from the evolution point of view, this is
undoubtedly so with these simple cognitions which concern
space, time and number, must we not infer that it is so in large
measure with those more complex cognitions which concern
human relations?" — that is, ethical intuitions.

(4) Problems of the Ego, and the Will.

All this is ample evidence that, according to Spencer, the
aim is to explain psychological phenomena by physiological
processes. The significance of this relation between these two
series of phenomena becomes manifest when Spencer discusses
the Ego, and its closely related problem of Freedom. Not
only are nervous states responsible for psychical states, but the
whole physical organism is the real factor in what is commonly
known as the Ego.

As we have seen, by an evolution from the physiological,
the stage of reflex action is reached.1 From thence develop
instinct, memory, reason.2 "Memory, reason and feeling
simultaneously arise as the automatic actions become com-
plex, infrequent, and hesitating; and will, arising at the same
time, is necessitated by the same conditions."3 On the ques-
tion of the freedom of the will, which has thus arisen, Spencer
speaks as follows: "That every one is at liberty to do what he
desires to do (supposing there are no external hindrances) all
admit. * * * But that every one is at liberty to desire or not to
desire, which is the real proposition involved in the dogma of
free will, is negatived as much by the analysis of consciousness
as by the contents of the preceding chapters."4 "Will is
nothing but the general name given to the special feeling that
gains supremacy and determines action"5 — which feeling is
determined by physiological conditions.

Such a conclusion is, of course, based on the relation in
which each organism is said to stand to its predecessors. This
relation is set forth in the following: "Corresponding to

^O.C. § 191.

*O.C. §§ 194, 199, 203.

3O.C. § 217.

*O.C. § 219.

6O.C. § 220.

48

absolute external relations there are established in the struc-
ture of the nervous system absolute internal relations — re-
lations that are potentially present before birth in the shape of
definite nervous connections; that are antecedent to and inde-
pendent of individual experiences, and that are automatically
disclosed along with the first cognitions. * * * The human
brain is an organized register of infinitely numerous experi-
ences received during the evolution of life, or during the evolu-
tion of that series of organisms through which the human
organism has been reached."1

From the foregoing excerpts one is prepared to understand
what Spencer means by the Ego, for he says: "That the ego
is something more than the passing groups of feelings and
ideas, is true or untrue, according to the degree of compre-
hension we give to the word. It is true if we include the body,
and its functions; but it is untrue if we include only what is
given in consciousness."

"Physically considered the ego is the entire organism,
including its nervous system; and the nature of this ego is pre-
determined; the infant had no more to do with the structure
of its brain than with the colour of its eyes. Further, the ego,
considered physically, includes all the functions carried on by
these structures when supplied with the requisite materials.
These functions have for their net result to liberate from the
food, etc., certain latent forces. And that distribution of these
forces shown by the activities of the organism, is from moment
to moment caused partly by the existing arrangement of its
parts and partly by the environing conditions."

"The physical structure thus pervaded by the force thus
obtained, constitutes that substantial ego which lies behind
and determines those ever-changing states of consciousness
we call mind. And while this substantial ego, unknowable in
ultimate nature, is phenomenally known to us under its
statical form as the organism, it is fundamentally known to
us under its dynamical form as the energy diffusing itself
through the organism, and among other parts, through the
nervous system. Given the external stimuli, and the nervous
changes with their correlative mental states, depend partly
on the nervous structures and partly on the amount of this
diffused energy; each of which factors is determined by causes
not in consciousness, but beneath consciousness. The aggre-
gate of feelings and ideas constituting the mental 'I' which
continually survives as the subject of these changing states, is
that portion of the Unknowable Power wrhich is statically

KXC. § 208.

49

conditioned in special nervous structures pervaded by a
dynamically-conditioned portion of the Unknowable Power
called energy."1

In the latter part of his 'Autobiography', Spencer adds a
last word on this subject, again indicating the all-importance
of physiological conditions as the basis of the psychological
and consequently of the ethical, which latter remains to be
considered. Spencer says: "The amount and kinds of mental
actions constituting consciousness vary, other things equal,
according to the rapidity, the quantity, the quality of the
blood supply, and all these vary according to the sizes and
proportions of the sundry organs which unite in preparing
blood from food and organs which circulate it, and the organs
which purify it from waste products."2 Again, we are told
that "Men's characters must be determined in part by their
visceral structures."3 "Not the quantity of mind only, but
the quality of mind also is in part determined by these psycho-
physical connections."4 "Difference of disposition is caused
both directly and indirectly. Directly, the effect of imperfect
supply of blood to the brain is shown in reluctance to do many
things which require energy, and in consequent failure of duty
towards self and others. Indirectly there are qualitative
differences arising as well — differences of disposition seemingly
consequent on inherited differences of brain, but really con-
sequent on differences between the blood supplies to the
brain."5 "Even the recognized differences between irrita-
bility before dinner, and equanimity (sometimes joined with
generosity) after dinner suffice to show that, when flagging
pulsation and impoverished blood are exchanged for vigorous
pulsation and enriched blood, there results that change in the
balance of the emotions which constitutes a moral change.
It becomes clear that in this respect, as in other respects, the
mind is as deep as the viscera."6

(5) Pleasure and Pain.

With the mind thus intimately dependent, according to
Spencer, upon the changes which take place in the physical
organism, it is apparently the most natural thing possible to
understand the development of the body and mind, together,
through the action of pleasure and pain. Following Alexander

'O.C. § 220.
2Vol. II, p. 420.
8O.C. p. 421.
4Ibid.

*O.C. p. 424.
«O.C. p. 426.

50

Bain, Spencer also maintains that "pains are the correlatives
of actions injurious to the organism, while pleasures are the
correlatives of actions conducive to its welfare. It is an inevi-
table deduction from the hypothesis of evolution, that races
of sentient creatures could have come into existence under
no other conditions."1

(6) Ethics.

In the foregoing has been laid a foundation upon which
Spencer erects his system of ethics. The psychological and
the physiological have come within the scope of the one law
of evolution. Still under the same law, the moral conscious-
ness is but another stage in the development, a higher adapta-
tion to environment, for the preservation of the physical
organism through pleasure and pain factors. This affords us
a transition to a consideration of Spencer's 'Principles of
Ethics' and particularly Part I of that work known as 'The
Data of Ethics.' The latter was published in separate form
in 1879, but it was not until 1893 that the complete work was
issued.

Spencer's statement in his 'Principles of Psychology' as
to the function of pleasure and pain in the sphere of morality
is given full expression in his ethics. For example, it is claimed
that "If we glance afresh at the cases before indicated, in
which there is a self-sacrifice of parent for the benefit of off-
spring, we observe that throughout, this self-sacrifice is made
in gratification of a powerful instinct,2 and is a source of plea-
sure, and the negation of it an extreme pain."3 And after
citing other instances of a like nature, Spencer concludes:
"In all which illustrations the one truth to be observed
and carried with us, is that there gradually evolves with the
evolution of a higher life, an organic altruism, which in relation
to a certain limited class of other beings, works to the effect of
making what we call self-sacrifice not a sacrifice in the ordi-
nary sense of the word, but an act which brings more pleasure
than pain."4 In fact— "The final justification for maintaining
life can only be the reception from it of a surplus of pleasurable
feeling over painful feeling, and that goodness or badness can
be ascribed to acts which subserve life or hinder life only on
this supposition."6

Although, according to this view, our criteria for moral
conduct are ultimately pleasure and pain, yet it may be

^'Principles of Psychology" § 124.

'Instincts arise out of reflex action. See Prin. of Psy. §§ 191, 194

'"Principles of Ethics", Appendix to Pt. I.

4Ibid.

•o.c. § 10.

51

objected that pleasure and pain are not always in evidence
in our moral actions. This absence is explained by Spencer
as follows: "Originally, ethics has no existence apart from
religion, which holds it in solution. Religion itself, in its
earliest form, is undistinguished from ancestor- worship. And
the propitiation of ancestral ghosts, made for the purpose of
avoiding the evils they may inflict and gaining the benefits
they may confer, are promoted by prudential considerations
like those which guide the ordinary actions of life."1 Now
"the essential trait in the moral consciousness is the control
of some feeling or feelings by some other feeling or feelings —
the simpler to the more complex. In this we have the genesis
of the moral consciousness."2 "Each later and higher order
of means takes precedence in time and authoritativeness of
each earlier and lower order of means", — a law "traceable
throughout the evolution of conduct in general."3 "Hence
it follows that as guides, the feelings have authorities pro-
portionate to the degrees in which they are removed by their
complexity and their ideality from simple sensations and
appetites."4 "Preferences and aversions are rendered organic
by the inheritance of the effects of pleasurable and painful
experiences in progenitors."5 In brief, the tribal chief, who
during life was incapable of inspiring fear among his followers,
after his death continues to exercise an influence, owing to the
belief in ghosts. Through dread of the ghost there developed
the political, religious, and social restraints, each becoming
more authoritative the further it is removed by its complexity
and ideality from simple sensations and appetites.6

Another point in Spencer's theory is that which has refer-
ence to the province of ethics. We are told that as conduct
has to do with the whole field of human actions, morality must
consequently be included within its scope. Morality, however,
is concerned only with a definite portion of the area covered
by this term. "Conduct is excluded from the totality of
actions by excluding purposeless actions. But during evolu-
tion this distinction arises by degrees."7

In thus distinguishing that part of conduct to which we
apply the term moral, we must have some criterion for the use
of the terms ' good ' and ' bad '. ' Good ' means good for some-

1O.C. § 112.
2O.C. § 44.
3O.C. § 60.
4O.C. § 42.
6O.C. § 45.
6O.C. § 44.
7O.C. § 4.

52

thing. For example, In which cases do we distinguish as
good, a knife, a gun, a house? and what trait leads us to speak
of a bad umbrella, or a bad pair of boots? Apart from human
wants or purposes, such things are neither good nor bad.1
So in ethical conduct. Observation shows that we apply these
terms 'good* and 'bad' according as the adjustment of acts
to ends are or are not efficient. In the case of lions and tigers,
for example "death by starvation from inability to catch prey
(as in old age) shows a falling short of conduct from its ideal."2
"Always then, acts are called 'good* or 'bad' according as
they are well or ill adjusted to ends."3

In conclusion, the situation may be summed up by quoting
a few sentences from Spencer's 'Principles of Ethics'. In his
chapter on 'The Sentiment of Justice', he makes the following
statement: "Acceptance of the doctrine of organic evolution
determines certain ethical conceptions. The doctrine implies
that the numerous organs in each of the innumerable species
of animals have been either directly or indirectly moulded into
fitness for the requirements of life by constant converse with
these requirements. Simultaneously, through nervous modifi-
cations, there have been developments of the sensations, in-
stincts, emotions and intellectual aptitudes, needed for the
appropriate uses of these organs. * * * Here we shall assume
it to be an inevitable inference from the doctrine of organic
evolution that the highest type of living being, no less than of
lower types, must go on moulding itself to those requirements
which circumstances impose.4 And we shall, by implication,
assume that moral changes are among the changes thus
wrought out."5

And consequently we may infer, as Spencer also states,
that "the evidence set forth in the foregoing chapters must
dissipate once for all the belief in a moral sense as commonly
entertained."6 "There needs but a continuance of absolute
peace externally and a rigorous insistance on non-aggression
internally, to ensure the moulding of men into a form naturally
characterized by all the virtues.7 * * * We have to deal with
Man as a product of Evolution, with Society as a product of

KXC. § 8.

2O.C. § 6.

aO.C. § 8.

4That is, human beings "Have their feelings and ideas progressively ad-
justed to the modes of life imposed on them by the social state into which
they have grown".

•O.C. § 261.

•O.C. § 191.

'Ibid. Compare with Hartley "Observations on Man", p. 500.

53

evolution, and with Moral Phenomena as products of
evolution."1

Manifestly, then, Spencer's object in the works we have
considered, has been to explain psychological phenomena by
the processes of the nervous system, and he has done this in
accordance with the method employed by the British Associa-
tion psychologists, by attempting to show that "true con-
clusions respecting psychical phenomena must be based on
the facts exhibited throughout organic nature."2 That is to
say, we have found that there is a very intimate dependence
of psychological upon physiological processes, and that for
every mental state there is a corresponding antecedent nervous
state, which latter acts, as it were, as a permanent substratum
for the former. We have found that the development from
lower to higher forms consists in the increasing adaptation of
an organism to its environment. Throughout this develop-
ment, pleasure is the concomitant of life-conserving acts, and
pain of life-destroying acts, and upon this has depended our
development as physiological, psychological, and moral
'products'.

From what has been seen of Spencer's psychology it would
appear that a world outside of consciousness produces states
in consciousness; that is to say, that conscious events result
from nervous and organic conditions. Such conditions, for
any individual, are determined, on the one hand, through
heredity, and on the other, through contact with environ-
ment. The media through which this determination is accom-
plished are the factors of pleasure and pain. Consequently
it would seem that in the sphere of psychology, and of ethics,
what we need primarily is a knowledge of physiological science,
because such knowledge would apparently place us in posses-
sion of the key to the mental sciences.

2. GEORGE J. ROMANES.

Since the publication of the works which have been under
consideration above, a good deal has been written along the
lines laid down by the Associationists and Spencer. Spencer
seems to have been successful in directing the course of many
later writers from whose writings it would seem that all phenom-
ena without exception are to be brought within the scope of the
formula of biological evolution. Following upon the work of
Spencer, a rapid development may be noticed along the line
of comparative psychology, and closely affiliated with it is
genetic psychology.

MD.C. § 193.

2" Principles of Psychology", § 7.

54

In 1879 George John Romanes issued a work on "Animal
Intelligence,"1 prefacing the same with the remark that "with
the exception of Mr. Darwin's admirable chapters on the
mental powers and moral sense, and Mr. Spencer's great work
on the Principles of Psychology, there has hitherto been no
earnest attempt at tracing the principles which have been
probably concerned in the genesis of mind."2 The author's
expressed object is to "pass the animal kingdom in review in
order to give a trustworthy account of the grade of psycho-
logical development which is presented by each group."3
For in his view the phenomena of comparative psychology
"have as great a claim to accurate classification as those
phenomena of structure which constitute the subject-matter
of comparative anatomy."4 By comparative psychology is
understood to be the delineation of what are the psychological
phenomena on the basis of the physical and physiological data
furnished by organic structures. The second task which
Romanes sets himself is that of "considering the facts of animal
intelligence in their further relation to the theory of descent."5

The plan which Romanes adopts in this work is hardly any
more than a classification of numerous narratives of the actions
of animals, for the purpose of illustrating — according to the
criterion of the ability to learn by experience — the existence
of mind, variously manifested at the different stages of the
evolutionary process. 'Evolution' justifies him in this pro-
cedure, it is affirmed, for, according to the evolutionist there
must be a psychological, no less than a physiological continuity
extending throughout the length and breadth of the animal
kingdom.6

One instance will suffice to indicate the character of
Romanes' treatment of his subject. In dealing with fish he
states: "Although we here pass into the sub-kingdom of ani-
mals, the intelligence of which immeasurably surpasses that
of the other sub-kingdoms, it is remarkable that these lowest
representatives of the highest group are psychologically in-
ferior to some of the higher members of the lower groups."
"Fish display," he tells us, "emotions of fear, pugnacity;
social, sexual and parental feelings; anger, jealousy, play and
curiosity. So far the class of emotions is the same as that

*D. Appleton & Co., New York, 1890.

*€>.€. Preface, p. vi.

3Ibid.

4Ibid.

8Ibid. This second task, however, Romanes does not take up until he
writes the sequel to the present work, namely, "Mental Evolution in
Animals", 1884.

•O.C. p. 10.

55

with which we have met in ants, and corresponds with that
which is distinctive of the psychology of a child about four
months old. I have not, however, any evidence of sympathy,
which would be required to make the list of emotions identical ;
but sympathy may, nevertheless, be present."1

From these few sentences may be gained an idea of what,
for Romanes, constitutes the data of comparative psychology.
But how are such data obtainable? By the employment of
the historical method,2 which Romanes adopts specifically in
his " Mental Evolution in Animals".3 This historical method
applies, of course, to the observation of observable phenomena.
As psychological phenomena (except in the sphere of one's
own consciousness) cannot be observed, physical and physio-
logical phenomena must be used as substitutes, as it were.
The standpoint may be defined in a few words by reference to
a statement of C. Lloyd Morgan's: "If we accept the theory
of organic evolution, and accept also the view that mental or
psychical products are the inseparable concomitants of certain
organic or physiological processes, then we have a basis from
which to start."4 It is to these "organic or physiological pro-
cesses" that Romanes, like Spencer, devotes the first several
chapters of his work,5 with the object of making secure a
physiological, and therefore scientific basis for the deductions
of comparative psychology. In accordance with this, it is
stated that the physical basis of the mind rests in the functions
of the nervous system,6 and that the "directing or centralizing
function of the ganglia has probably in all cases been due to
the principle of use combined with that of natural selection."7
This physical basis under the control of physical laws, may be
seen to be operative in all our mental experiences, and the
implication throughout is that the latter, dependent as they
are upon their physical basis, are from moment to moment
determined thereby. In support of this, Romanes, in his treat-
ment of the question of the rise of consciousness, uses a quota-
tion from Herbert Spencer: "The quick succession of changes
in a ganglion, implying as it does, perpetual experience of
differences and likenesses, constitutes the raw material of con-

2" Mental Evolution in Animals", D. Appleton & Co., New York, 1884,
p. 11.

4C. Lloyd Morgan, "Animal Life and Intelligence", E. Arnold, London,
1891, p. 336.

6O.C. Chs. 2, 3, and 4.

*O.C. p. 34.

7Ibid.

56

sciousness."1 "Thus we see," Romanes concludes, "so far as
we can ever hope to see, how conscious action gradually arises
out of reflex."2 And in a later portion of the work, conscious-
ness is spoken of as being "but an adjunct which arises when
the physical processes — owing to the infrequency of repetition,
complexity of operation, or other causes, — involve what I have
before called ganglionic friction."3

In the cases of memory and association, the relation would
be as follows: "Memory on its physiological side can only
mean that a nervous discharge, having once taken place along
a certain route, leaves behind it a molecular change, more or
less permanent, such that when another discharge afterwards
proceeds along the same route, it finds, as it were, the foot-
prints of its predecessor. * * * In all but the absence of a
mental constituent the nerve centre concerned remembers the
previous occurrence of its own discharges; these discharges
have left behind them an impress upon the structure of the
ganglion just the same in kind as that which, when it has
taken place in the structure of the cerebral hemispheres, we
recognize on its obverse side as an impress of memory."4

The same argument is applied on the physiological side of
the 'association of ideas'. "In the complex structures of the
cerebral hemispheres one nervous arc (fibres, cells, fibres) is
connected with another nervous arc, and this with another,
almost ad infinitum. * * * The more frequently a nervous dis-
charge takes place through a given group of nervous arcs, the
more easy will it be for subsequent discharges to take place
along the same routes — these routes having been rendered
more permeable to the passage of subsequent discharges. And
now a very little reflection will show that in this physiological
principle we no doubt have the objective side of the psycho-
logical principle of the association of ideas. For it may be
granted that a series of discharges taking place through the
same group of nervous arcs will always be attended with the
occurrence of ideas. * * * The tendency of ideas to recur in
the same order as that in which they have previously occurred,
is purely a psychological expression of the physiological fact
that lines of discharge become more and more permeable by
use."5

We may finally illustrate the operation of this principle
by reference to the phenomena of choice and purpose. The

»O.C. p. 74.
'Ibid.

3O.C. p. 113.
4O.C. p. 35.
6O.C p. 37.

57

genesis of these mental qualities which have always been con-
sidered characteristically human, is found to reside in the
mechanism by means of which an organism becomes better
adapted to its environment, and the qualities themselves are
but an advanced form of such adaptation. The development
is explained in the following way: "Among the earliest organ-
isms we find two principles: the power of discriminating be-
tween different kinds of stimuli, coupled with the power of
performing adaptive movements suited to the results of such
discrimination."1

This would seem to be a statement of conscious or purposive
selection, ^even "among the protoplasmic and unicellular
organisms", but it will be seen below that this "power of dis-
criminating" and the "power of performing adaptive move-
ments" are but "functions of highly wrought nervous struc-
tures." "These two powers or faculties we saw to occur in
germ even among the protoplasmic and unicellular organisms.
* * * From them upwards, all organization may be said to
consist in supplying the structures necessary to an ever-
increasing development of both these faculties, which always
advance, and must necessarily advance together. When their
elaboration has proceeded to a certain extent, they begin
gradually to become associated with feeling, and when they
are fully so associated the terms Choice and Purpose become
to them respectively appropriate. Continuing in their
upward course of evolution, they next become consciously
deliberative and eventually rational. But although when
viewed from the subjective or ejective side they thus appear,
during the upward course of their development, to become
transformed from one entity to another, such is not the case
when they are viewed from their objective side. For, when
viewed from their objective side, the most elaborate process
of reasoning, or the most comprehensive of judgments, is seen
to be nothing more than a case of exceedingly refined dis-
crimination, by highly-wrought nervous structures, between
stimuli of an enormously complex character; while the most
far-sighted of actions, adapted to meet the most remote con-
tingencies of stimulation, is nothing more than a neuro-
muscular adjustment to the circumstances presented by the
environment."2

The factors which have been instrumental in this gradual
development are, as in Herbert Spencer, those of pleasure and
pain. "On this topic, " Romanes states, " I have little to add

'O.C. p. 62.
2Ibid.

58

to the treatment which it has received at the hands of Mr.
Herbert Spencer."1 "Pleasures and pains must have been
evolved as the subjective accompaniments of processes which
are respectively beneficial or injurious to the organism, and
so evolved for the purpose or to the end that the organism
should seek the one and shun the other."2

In dealing with the relation of the physical to the psychical
Romanes does not, of course, as may be seen from the above
quotations, claim that psychological phenomena are caused
by physical and physiological processes, although words
which imply the same thing are used. The dependence, how-
ever, is so intimate and exact, that one is not surprised when
he reads: "Throughout, I take it for granted that the associa-
tion of neurosis and psychosis is as invariable and precise as
it would be were it proved to be due to a relation of causality."3
But for all practical purposes it is difficult to see what differ-
ence it would have made if that terminology had been adopted
by Romanes, for the significance of his standpoint all through
appears to be the "precise" dependence of the psychical upon
the physical, the latter being the factor of primary importance
— that with which the process of evolution has to do. Other-
wise it were a waste of time to compile such extensive treatises
on the nervous system when one wishes to deal with mental
phenomena. When, then, we find that the development of
the nervous system has been due to the working of the prin-
ciple of natural selection, the corollary is evident: evolution
as applied genetically to mental phenomena means nothing
more or less than the application of a biological law to psycho-
logical facts, and this, for Romanes, is so simple and evident,
as to be capable of graphical representation. "I have
thought it a good plan," he says, "to draw a diagram or map
of the probable development of mind from its first beginnings
in protoplasmic life up to its culmination in the brain of
civilized man.."4

Throughout 'Animal Intelligence', and more particularly
in 'Mental Evolution in Animals', the development of mental
phenomena from their first beginnings in the lowest organisms
has been outlined. In the final work5 evidence is adduced
from the sphere of child psychology in addition to the basis of
animal psychology already established.

*O.C. p. 105.
'O.C. p. 108.
8O.C. p. 39.
KXC. p. 63.

^George J. Romanes, "Mental Evolution in Man", D. Appleton & Co.,
1889.

59

In the animals are found all the emotions which character-
ize man, with the exception of those which refer to religion,
moral sense, and perception of the sublime.1 So with instinct :
"In many — especially during the periods of infancy and
youth — wTell-marked instincts are presented, which have
reference chiefly to nutrition, self-preservation, reproduction
and the rearing of progeny."2

In regard to Volition, — "no one has seriously questioned
the identity of kind between the animal and the human will,
up to the point at which so-called freedom is supposed by
some dissentients to supervene and characterize the latter."3

"Lastly, the same remark applies to the faculties of Intel-
lect. Enormous as the difference undoubtedly is between
these faculties in the twro cases, the difference is conceded not
to be one of kind ab initio. On the contrary, it is conceded
that up to a certain point — namely, as far as the highest
degree of intelligence to which an animal attains — there is
not merely a similarity of kind, but an identity of correspond-
ence. In other words, the parallel between animal and human
intelligence which is presented in my Diagram, and to which
allusion has already been made, is not disputed."4

In his chapter on Ideas, Romanes states: "I now pass on
to consider the only distinction which in my opinion can be
properly drawn between human and brute psychology."8
That distinction Romanes defines in the words of Locke,
namely, "the power of abstracting", "the having of general
ideas-".6 Ideas for Romanes are analyzable into percepts,
'recepts', and concepts, in an ascending order of importance.
Recepts he divides into lower and higher. Animals do not
advance beyond the stage of lower recepts; the child advances
from lower to higher recepts, or "pre-concepts" as Romanes
also calls them, and in the child the transition is traceable
from thence to concepts.7 "Therefore, the facts of compara-
tive psychology are strongly suggestive of the superadded
powers of the human intellect having been due to a process of
evolution."8

>O.C. p. 7.
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.

6O.C. p. 20.
•Ibid.

7O.C, particularly Chs. 3, 9, 10, and 11.
p. 7.

60

3. C. LLOYD MORGAN.

C. Lloyd Morgan, in his work on 'Animal Life and In-
telligence'1 adheres closely to the line which has been followed
by the previous writers. "In the following pages I have
endeavoured to contribute something to our deeper know-
ledge of those mental processes which we may fairly infer from
the activities of dumb animals."2 In harmony with his pre-
decessors Lloyd Morgan introduces his work by an exhaustive
explanation of the mechanism of the nervous system, for "The
subject of intelligence is inexplicably intertwined with the sub-
ject of life, the subject of organic evolution with the subject of
mental evolution,"3 — though it is advisable to remember,
Morgan tells us later on, that "even if the two are mentioned
in a breath, the physiological and the psychological belong to
distinct orders of being".4 He continues: " We must picture
the central nervous system co-ordinating and organizing the
stimuli brought into it by different nerves from the organs of
special sense, and handing over the resultants by efferent
nerves to the organs of special activities. * * * How this is
effected is one of the many wonders of the animal organism.
We believe that the connection and co-ordinations have gradu-
ally been established during a long process of development and
evolution reaching far back into the past. But when we turn
from the physiological to the psychological aspect of the ques-
tion, we enter a new world, the world of consciousness wherein
the impressions received by the recipient organs (no longer
regarded as mere stimuli but as elements of consciousness) are
co-ordinated and organized, and are built up into those sensa-
tions and perceptions through which the objects of the external
world take origin and shape."5 "We may say, then, that im-
pressions (resulting from stimuli) and their revival in memory
(shadows or after-images) are the bricks of the house of know-
ledge. * * The sense impression of external origin gives rise
to an impression of similarity or dissimilarity, which is part
of the internal reaction to the external stimulus. These im-
pressions are raised to the level of sensations."6 But it must
be borne in mind that "Sensation has nothing to do with the
objects around us as such; it is by perception that we are
aware of their existence * * * giving rise to constructs. For

1C. Lloyd Morgan, "Animal Life and Intelligence," 1890. Edward
Arnold, 2nd ed. 1891.
2O.C. preface.
3Ibid.

4O.C. p. 350.
5O.C. pp. 303-4.
6O.C. p. 305.

61

example, I see an orange. That is to say, certain cones of the
retina of my eye are stimulated by light waves of a yellow
quality, and at the bidding of these stimuli I construct the
object, which I call an orange. That object is distant, round-
ish, yellow, resisting and yet somewhat soft, with a peculiar
smell, and possessed of a taste of its own. * * * But what has
led me to construct an object with these qualities? Experi-
ence has taught me that these qualities are grouped together
in special ways in an orange. I constructed that particular
object through what is termed the principle of association.
The object is a 'construct'."1

Apparently this is not the passive process of physiological
association which has been presented by previous writers,
and yet if we examine the data of such association, it will be
seen that they are derived from the same source, for in speak-
ing of sensations only a few pages further on, it is stated that
"they all arose in stimulations of the end-organs of special
sense. Thence the explosive waves of change passed inwards
to the brain and somewhere therein gave rise to mental pro-
ducts. These mental products, the accompaniments of nerve-
changes, can in no sense be like the outside something which
gave rise to them. They are symbols of that outside some-
thing. And it is these symbols that we build up into objects."2
"The sensations which thus originate are mental effects, in
no sense resembling their causes, but representing them in
mental symbolism."3 Consequently as the progress is from
the "outside something" through the "nerves changes", to
the "mental products", the accompaniments of such "nerve
changes", it would seem that Lloyd Morgan's theory of
association is not in the least different from that already
considered.

Following his treatment of the mental processes in man,
Morgan deals with the mental processes in animals, — their
powers of perception and intelligence, their appetences and
emotions, habit and instinct.4 Without going into this side
of the question, which is very similar to the treatment given
by Romanes, a quotation or two to indicate the standpoint
will be sufficient. We may here repeat the statement quoted
in our examination of Romanes' position: "If we accept the
theory of organic evolution, and accept also the view that

MD.C. p. 311.
2O.C. p. 314.
3O.C. p. 319.
4O.C. Ch. 10.

62

mental or psychical products are the inseparable concomi-
tants of certain organic or physiological processes, then we
have a basis from which to start. That basis I adopt."1 It is,
therefore, the evolution of the physiological processes which we
observe, and we take for granted that psychological evolution
follows as a necessary consequence.

As has already been indicated, physiological evolution is
accounted for by the operation of pleasure and pain factors.
In this respect, also, Morgan is in harmony with previous
writers, which may be observed in his account of the feelings :
"Accepting now the theory of evolution, we may say, further-
more, that during the long process of the moulding of life to
its environment, there has been a constant tendency to associ-
ate pleasure with such actions as contribute towards the pre-
servation and conservation of the individual and the race;
and to associate pain with such actions as tend to the destruc-
tion or detriment of the individual or the race. For there can
be little doubt that pleasure and pain are the primary incen-
tives to action."2

4. J. MARK BALDWIN.

Five years after the publication of Lloyd Morgan's work
on 'Animal Life and Intelligence', Baldwin issued his 'Mental
Development in the Child and the Race ',3 wherein he continued
this line of investigation in the sphere of child psychology,
by endeavouring to trace the development of the child mind
through its expression — "facial, lingual, vocal, muscular".4

"Observation of an infant," he says, "for the first month
or six weeks of its life, leads to the conviction that its life is
mainly physiological."5 "The child shows contracting move-
ments, growing movements, starting and jumping move-
ments, shortly after birth, and so plainly that we need not
hesitate to say that these pain responses are provided for in
his nervous system."6 At a little later period there is a transi-
tion from this physiological stage. Various sleep suggestions
illustrate "as conclusively as could be desired, the passage of
purely physiological over into sensory suggestion."7

KXC. p. 336.
2O.C. p. 380.

3James Mark Baldwin, "Mental Development in the Child and the
Race", 1895, The Macmillan Co., 1906.
4O.C. p. 37.
6O.C. p. 105.
6O.C. p. 136.
7O.C. p. 111.

63

The order, according to Baldwin's method, in which this
transition from the "purely physiological" takes place is
indicated in the acquisition of the elements of speech and
hand-writing: "In the stage of adjustive reaction before the
rise of conscious imitation,1 we find hearing of sounds with
some very simple associations, also suggestive adaptation of
movements of the tongue, hands, etc., under the direct stimulus
of associations, pleasures, and pains, etc. Second, in the stage
of simple imitation, we find full recognition of objects and
musical tunes, some slight power of song in individual children,
imperfect articulation, increasing co-ordination of movements,
though still without effort, or volition. Third, in the epoch of
persistent imitation, we find full understanding of speech, the
rapid acquisition of co-ordinated movements in speaking and
writing, and also visual sign interpretation which leads on to
the ability to read."2

In like manner Baldwin deals with the genesis of volition.
Its rise may be summarized as follows: "Now just as in the
child the phenomena of suggestion become more and more
complex from the physiological reflex type to the ideo-motor,
deliberative, and to the final, the persistent type, which is
volition ; so, in the animal series, there is a corresponding
development. Volition is found only in animals having idea-
tion, memory, desires."3 In favour of this view Baldwin cites
"the facts of brain development, as comparative embryology
and early brain anatomy supply them."4 "The rise of voli-
tion," he says, "is but another illustration of the one law of
motor development."5 Again, from experiments which
Baldwin performed in connection with hand movements, he
concluded that "right-handedness in the child is due to the
differences in the two half-brains",6 and that "this inherited
brain one-sidedness also accounts for the association of speech,
and the musical faculty".7 These statements are further
verified by a quotation from Baldwin's 'Social and Ethical
Intrepretations in Mental Development' wherein he says:
"The reflex, automatic, and instinctive activities are regu-
lated by the spinal and lower cerebral plexuses; while the
higher and more complex activities involving conscious super-
vision, volition, and all that is involved in the process of the

'The rise of conscious imitation in the child is said to occur during the
sixth or seventh month. O.C. p. 279.
2O.C. p. 388.
3O.C. p. 366.
4O.C. p. 399.
*O.C. p. 408.
6O.C. p. 71.
7Ibid.

64

learning of new lines of action, go out from the gray matter of
the cortex of the brain."1

"The physical basis of memory and association," Baldwin
says, "is accomplished in the organism by an arrangement
whereby a group of processes, corresponding to what we call
in consciousness 'copies for imitation', some of them external
as things, some internal as memories, conspire, so to speak, to
'ring up' one another. When an external stimulus starts one
of them, that starts up others in the centres, and all the re-
actions which wait upon these several processes tend to realize
themselves. So, many reactions which, but for this, would
never get stimulated except when the actual material stimulus
is there, are started by and with others whose stimuli are there.
And with the multiplying of these secondary or remote ways
of stimulation, the more varied and complex habits of the
organism come to be less dependent upon the particular ex-
ternal events of the world, and more capable of remote stimu-
lation through senses which originally did not constitute their
stimulus, but which by this organic conspiracy called — I may
as well anticipate — association, come to do so; while the in-
creasing variety of conspiring elements — constantly recruited
from the new experiences of the world, and all represented by
certain nervous processes — make up a large and ever larger
mass of connected centres, which vibrate in delicate counter-
poise together."2

"The neurological function already described as 'The
Physical Basis of Memory' and the manner of its rise, will at
once suggest the psychological doctrine as well. * * * Such a
process thus started gives to consciousness the picture or
image of the object which we call a 'memory'." "We have
found the organism developing a system of centres and nerve
connections for the purpose of being relieved of its dependence
upon direct sense stimulation. On the side of consciousness
we have a parallel. The question on the side of consciousness
as to how different 'copies' get to ring one another up, in such
a system, is the question of association."3 "Association by
contiguity is simply the progress from external togetherness
into internal togetherness, from fact to memory." "Your
spoken word brings up my written word copy. Why? Because
sound and written copy existed together when I learned to
write, and so on with all instances."4 "Presentations are
associated by contiguity because they unite in a single motor

^'Social and Ethical Interpretations"; The Macmillan Co., 1897, p. 63.
'"Mental Development in the Child and the Race", p. 266.
»O.C. p. 286.
*O.C. p. 288.

65

discharge; by similarity, because both of them, through their
association with a third, have come to unite in a common
discharge."1

One more example may be cited, in connection with the
phenomena of attention. ''The infant, and the animal which
has not that highest engine of accommodation — attention-
have the reflex, habit-born, organic thing called, it is true,
emotion; but its quality is 'rank', unreasonable, urgent, a
matter of nerves and instinct. And that is all the infant has
except the pleasures and pains which are also sensations, or
quales of sensation."2 Baldwin further states that "attention
is simply a form which the 'excess' process, found in our
earlier discussions to be the means of all organic accommoda-
tion, has taken on in habitual connection with memory,
imagination, and thought. The attention process is a motor re-
action, involving all the elements of such reactions to a mental
content, as those reactions have become, by habit, crystallized
in certain fixed forms of vaso-motor change, muscular con-
traction, etc."3 "The attention is essentially an accumulation
due to continued selection in racial evolution. In attention
we have, undoubtedly, the one selective function of con-
sciousness. Now it only gives further strength both to the
theory of biological selections of the lower organisms, and
to that of the conscious selections of the higher, if we find
that one psycho-physical principle — such as 'selection from
over-produced movements' — runs through the entire develop-
ment."4 "To put the whole matter in a nutshell — just in so
far as the motor ingredient of a mental content of any kind
is much, that is, in so far as the sensory ingredient is intense,
just to this degree will the direction of attention be secured,
and to this degree also will both the ingredients be intensified
by this act of attention. The two facts, therefore, that in-
tensity draws attention, and attention increases intensity,
may be stated in terms of a single principle which I venture to
call, in view of the doctrine of association already explained,
the 'law of motor association', that is, every mental state is
a fusion of sensory and motor elements, and any influence
which strengthens the one tends to strengthen the other also."5
And finally, the whole of the process, as in all the previous
writers, is governed primarily by the factors of pleasure and
pain. "The life history of organisms involves from the start

'O.C. p. 294.
'O.C. p. 224.
»O.C. p. 221.
<O.C. p. 433.
'O.C. p. 439.

66

the presence of the organic analogue of the hedonic or pleasure-
pain consciousness,"1 and "the analogue of pleasure," it is
stated, "is a central excess process which discharges itself in
movement."2

In Baldwin's 'Development and Evolution',3 published in
1902, the opening chapter deals with ' Psychophysical Evolu-
tion', which Baldwin explains to mean the evolution of mind
and body together. This is the basis adopted for the classifi-
cation of the phenomena of genetic psychology. That the
basis is a physiological one is evident in Baldwin's statement
that the method to be adopted "on account of the broadening
out of the range of discussion is now Biogenetic rather than
Psychogenetic."4 That this leads to considerable confusion,
the following selections, dealing with the matter of termin-
ology, will show.

The term psychological is distinguished from the term
psychic. The psychic is defined as having to do with individual
psychology which deals only with those facts which are facts
!to the consciousness in which they occur.5 "By the psycho-
logical, " on the other hand, Baldwin says, " I mean the mental
of any grade, viewed from the outside; that is, viewed as a
definite set or series of phenomena in consciousness, recognized
as facts, and as 'worth while' as any other facts in nature."6
"The flow of the psychic, we find, however,* * * is conditioned
upon physiological processes and functions — those of the brain
and other organs."7 "But now, and this is the essential point
to remark in our present connection, so soon as we ask the
psychophysical question of genesis — that of the development
and evolution of mind and body taken together — pursuing the
biogenetic method, this limitation no longer rises to trouble
us.^ We include all psychophysical facts as such in the defi-
nition of our science. Changes in mind and body go on
together, and together they constitute the phenomena. Both
organic and mental states and functions may be appealed to
in our endeavour to trace the psychophysical series of events
as such, since both are objective to the spectator, the scientific
observer."8

KXC. p. 167.
2O.C. p. 186.
JJ. M. Baldwin, "Development and Evolution", The Macmillan Co.

5O'.C pp. 4-5.
6O.C. p. 4.
7O.C. p. 8.
8Ibid.

67

Thus the principle of psychophysical parallelism is estab-
lished. This principle states the general fact that "certain
changes in the organic, in those nerve and brain processes with
which consciousness is associated, are always accompanied by
changes in consciousness, and also that this last is a statement
which can be converted — so that it is also true that all changes
in consciousness are accompanied by organic changes in the
brain and nerves."1 There is what Baldwin calls an 'equal
continuity' in the two series, when the principle of psycho-
physical parallelism is applied in Evolution.2 "Our theory
must explain the inheritance of both physical and mental
characters to the same degree."3 "This principle of parallel-
ism assumed, we claim once for all the right to include the re-
lation of the two terms, mental and physical, in all circum-
stances whatever. * * * On this way of conceiving the scientific
enquiry, we may proceed unhampered by the problems which
trouble the philosopher. * * * We do not have one series of
genetic forms, the mental, evolving under shorthand formulae
of its own; and another series, the organic, doing the same
thing under different formulae. On the contrary, the two sets
of facts really go together in one set of formulae. This is what
I am arguing for. * * * When we recognize in places the absence
of the facts we should expect — apparent breaks in either one
of the lines — we may resort to the resource of using the
corresponding facts from the parallel line at the same level."4

The principle of psychophysical parallelism as above
stated, taken in itself, would not, however, imply the depend-
ence of the mental upon organic phenomena in the same
way that the theory of the Associationists implied, for in
Baldwin's view, the physical and the psychical are terms of
the same formulae. In Baldwin, the significance of the
principle of psychophysical parallelism for evolution seems to
be that psychological phenomena (as in the case of Spencer)
no longer remain beyond the pale of the evolutionistic for-
mula, that is, the formula of biological evolution.

As the organic and nervous structures are rendered ever
more and more complex through the operation of the law of
natural selection; are determined, that is, by heredity and
environment, so the concomitant psychological phenomena
must likewise be determined, as both series of phenomena
come under the operation of the one law. Both are 'pro-

'O.C. p. 10.
2Ibid.

3O.C. p. 14.
4O.C. p. 15.

68

ducts', that is, as Spencer would say. This statement of
genetic psychology finds expression in Baldwin's latest work,
under the title 'Darwin and the Humanities'.1 "There are
not two evolutions," he says, "one organic, and the other
mental, but mind and body have evolved by one process,
and in one series of gradual changes; evolution, that is, has
been psychophysical."2 "If mind be natural, and also use-
ful, then we are still within the Darwinian circle of ideas.
Why are not mental faculties and functions to be considered
characters which have been evolved by selection, for their
utility?"3 "Mind is correlated with plasticity; its evolution
with that of brain and nerves. The history of the evolution
of these organs is also that of the evolution of mind."4

VI. GENERAL CRITICISM.

In the foregoing pages we have sought to set forth what
is, in the main, the fundamental standpoint, although variously
expressed, of those theories which claim to 'explain ' conscious-
ness. This includes a brief exposition of the 'Associationist'
psychology prior to the time of Darwin, an outline of Darwin's
theory, in so far as it deals with the origin of mental and moral
phenomena, and finally, a sketch of the theory of the origin
of conscious phenomena as found in the works of Herbert
Spencer, Romanes, Lloyd Morgan, and Baldwin.

The relation between the physiological and psychological
processes is assumed to be so intimate that the above writers
have, in general, come to the conclusion that all our mental
states find their explanation in physiological processes. The
question which now confronts us, therefore, is that with which
the thesis was introduced, namely, Can the standpoint which
aims at accounting for mental phenomena in this way be
scientifically maintained? Can it be shown, for example, as
Spencer so often asserts, that the visceral and nervous struc-
tures, blood supply, etc., account for all that takes place in
human nature and action?

Our criticism of this standpoint will follow, in the main,
the exposition which has been given of Herbert Spencer's
work, for, as intimated, fundamentally the one standpoint,
with minor variations, is common to all the writers.

The examination of Spencer showed that something other
than consciousness is postulated as that from which conscious-

aj. M. Baldwin, "Darwin and the Humanities", Review Pub. Co.,
Baltimore, 1909.
2O.C. p. 8.
8O.C. p. 22.
'Ibid.

69

ness is to be derived. This is the great problem of the external
world, to prove the existence of which Spencer makes an ex-
haustive attempt. This problem will later receive some con-
sideration, but in the meantime the significance of the doctrine
of such an external world may be seen in the way in which
Spencer uses it in connection with the problem of the associa-
tion of ideas. In concluding his lengthy proof , he states that
"the general conception thus formed of an independent source
of activity beyond consciousness develops into a more special
conception when we examine the particular clusters of vivid
states aroused in us. For we find that each cluster, distin-
guished by us as an object, is a separate seat of the power with
which the objective world as a whole impresses us. We find
that while it is this power which gives unity to the cluster, it
is also this power which opposes our energies". This power
holds together the elements of the cluster "notwithstanding
the endlessly- varied changes they undergo in consciousness"
and "is therefore thought of by us as persisting, or continuing
to exist, in the midst of all those manifestations which do not
continue to exist".1

In this way Spencer develops the immediately given facts
— muscular sensations, sensations of resistance, vivid states
of pressure — into a doctrine of an external world, which has,
for him, a profound significance for the phenomena of con-
sciousness. Although here Spencer speaks of this power as
"thought of by us as persisting", later in the same section he
speaks of it definitely as remaining "fixed in the midst of
changing appearances", and concludes with the words that
"this conception, uniting independence, and force, and per-
manence, is the conception we have of matter".

"Matter", then, is that which possesses "independence",
"force", and "permanence". "Matter" it is which con-
tinues to exist "in the midst of all those manifestations which
do not continue to exist". "Matter" is external to con-
sciousness; the "manifestations" are in consciousness. This
is the doctrine, and it is this outlook which so completely
colours Spencer's whole system of psychology. This is the
order of his thought, that is, from the independent, the active,
the permanent, to those "manifestations" which are not
permanent, and which are dependent and passive because
manifestations only.

It will therefore be evident, according to the Spencerian
standpoint, in what relation the science of psychology should
stand to the so-called 'external world'. This external world,

1See p. 41.

70

as far as his psychology is concerned, consists of the organism
(in particular the brain and nervous system) and the environ-
ment of the organism. The modifications of the brain and
nervous system are the result of the moulding process of the
environment. The nervous system, thus modified, forms the
"objective aspect" of what in their "subjective aspect" are
"known only as states of consciousness".1 For example, in
speaking of the functions which have heretofore been expressed
in physiological language, Spencer informs us that we are to
"translate these into psychological language", for "what have
been considered as increasingly-complex nervous actions we
have now to consider as increasingly-complex mental states".2

1. ASSOCIATION.

In view, therefore, of his doctrine of an external world,
Spencer is prepared to develop his theory of the association of
ideas. If independence, force, and permanence are seen to
apply to the brain and nervous system, which belong to
Spencer's external world, the basis for this theory of associa-
tion will be apparent. This, as has been indicated, is funda-
mentally the same standpoint as that adopted by the earlier
Association School.

John Locke, as is well known, propounded the simple
idea theory, adopted the historical plain method, and hinted
at association, though with a different purpose than Gay and
Hartley after him, who seized upon the association of ideas as
the fundamental law of consciousness; a law, however, which
was dependent upon physiological conditions. That is to say,
nothing ever exists in consciousness that is not traceable to
an experience which is dependent upon the processes operating
in the nervous system — vibrations, according to Hartley, who
based his theory on Newton's ether hypothesis: the same
standpoint has practically been maintained ever since. Fol-
lowing Hartley, James Mill, John Stuart Mill, Alexander Bain,
and Herbert Spencer have been the great exponents of the
Association School. It might be well, before proceeding to an
examination of the main standpoint of the Associationists, to
again indicate, very briefly, the fundamental unity of the three
later writers discussed, with the above-mentioned representa-
tives of the Association School.

By Romanes it is claimed that the functioning of the
nervous system, "due to the principles of use combined with
that of natural selection, " forms the physical basis of the mind ;

JSee p. 39.

2" Principles of Psychology" § 243.

71

that "conscious action gradually arises out of reflex"; that,
in fact, consciousness is "but an adjunct" resulting from the
occurrence of "ganglionic friction". This relegating of con-
sciousness to the position of an epiphenomenon or by-product
was illustrated further by reference to the psychological
phenomena of choice and purpose, memory, and association
of ideas. Romanes maintained in connection with the latter,
that "it may be granted that a series of discharges taking
place through the same group of nervous arcs will always be
attended with the occurrence of the same series of ideas", and
"that the tendency of ideas to recur in the same order as that
in which they have previously occurred, is merely a psycho-
logical expression of the physiological fact that lines of dis-
charge become more and more permeable by use".

Lloyd Morgan asserts the complete distinctness of the phy-
siological ajid psychological orders. He speaks of the "im-
pressions received by the recipient organs " as being "no longer
regarded as mere stimuli but as elements of consciousness",
which impressions, he states, are "co-ordinated and organized "
and "built up into those sensations and perceptions through
which the objects of the external world take origin and shape".
It is apparent that the order of Lloyd Morgan's thought
is from the physiological to the psychological — or better,
from the physical to the physiological, from the physiological
to the psychological, and from the psychological to the phy-
sical. It is significant in this connection that he speaks of
the "elements of consciousness" as being "co-ordinated and
organized " and "built up into sensations and perceptions" — a
passive process; whereas, earlier, he treats of the nervous
system as an active agency, stating that "we must picture the
central nervous system co-ordinating and organizing the
stimuli brought into it". Likewise, sensations are produced;
they arise in stimulations of the end-organs of special sense,
an "outside something" giving rise to them; they are mental
effects, in no sense resembling their causes.

And Baldwin follows in the same strain. "The neuro-
logical function already described as the physical basis of
memory," he affirms, "will at once suggest the psychological
doctrine as well." The physical basis of memory and asso-
ciation "is accomplished in the organism by an arrangement
whereby a group of processes * * * conspire, so to speak, to ' ring
up' one another". Passing over to the psychological side of
this process, Baldwin states that "the question on the side of
consciousness, as to how different 'copies' get to ring one an-
other up, in such a system, is the question of association".

72

"Presentations are associated by contiguity," he claims, "be-
cause they unite in a single motor discharge; by similarity,
because both of them, through their association with a third,
have come to unite in a common discharge."

It will be evident, then, that we have fundamentally one
standpoint in the earlier Association School, and in Spencer,
Romanes, Lloyd Morgan, and Baldwin. The tendency, how-
ever, to derive psychological from physical and physiological
processes has not been so explicit among later writers as
among the earlier, many of the later writers (for example,
Lloyd Morgan) insisting on the recognition of physiological
and psychological processes as belonging to distinct orders of
being.

Reverting now to Spencer, the question may be asked,
Are "the established laws of association"1 as understood by
the Association School, established as Spencer maintains?
These laws have been variously stated, but their fundamental
meaning has been set forth in the exposition given above.
That is to say, the ' laws ' of contiguity and similarity govern
the order of revival among ideas (i.e. the order of association)
by means of the physiological functioning of the organism.
The association of ideas, on this showing, is an order in con-
sciousness determined by physical and physiological processes
extraneous to consciousness. In other words, the process is
the result of the mechanics of matter and motion.

Such a position, however, it will be found exceedingly dif-
ficult to maintain. It has been seen that the above writers,
more particularly since Spencer's time, have gone to consider-
able trouble in giving a detailed analysis of physiological pro-
cesses upon which to base their psychology; maintaining at
the same time, in the words of Lloyd Morgan, that "even if
the two are mentioned in a breath, the physiological and the
psychological belong to distinct orders of being. "

Now, if we grant such a standpoint, is there any justifi-
cation for drawing the conclusion which these men have drawn ?
—that is,, that a psychical process must occur in a certain order
because of a supposed particular order of physiological func-
tioning. It is claimed that vibrations take place in the gray
matter of the brain, and in the nervous system along certain
regular routes, and that these are necessarily the basis for
certain regular processes of thought. Ideas follow in memory
the order in which the original physiological processes oc-
curred, because it is supposed that the order of their acquisition

.C. §250.

73

was impressed upon this same gray matter by the action of
the objects on the sense organs in that same definite order.

But, it may be asked, has such a connection ever been
shown to exist between these so-called 'orders of being'? If
the statement that physiological processes determine the psy-
chological process of association, is a fact, such fact ought to
be capable of verification. Not only is such verification not
forthcoming, however, but we are told that the physiological
and the psychological belong to distinct orders of being. On
the other hand, it is a fact of the science of psychology that
psychical processes are themselves being investigated to-day
without being prejudged because of a certain knowledge of
the physiological processes of the brain and nervous system.
Among the processes which have been thus investigated are
those of association. Knowledge of the association process
has been obtained first-hand, and although, as yet, not all is
known about its operation, experiment within recent years
has made it plain that the facts of association may be inves-
tigated irrespective of any physical or physiological as-
sumption. This may be seen in a particular case by reference
to experiments in connection with association, conducted
by Henry J. Watt, at Wiirzburg, in 1904. 1

For these experiments "several hundred nouns of common
occurrence were printed in big type on cards and were shown
to the observing subject one at a time by means of an
automatic card-changer (Dr. Ach's). A metal plate, which
covered the card, sprang up, when a string was pulled, and by
so doing closed an electric current, which flowed through a
Hipp chronoscope and a speaking tube (Cattell's). The chron-
oscope therefore marked the time which passed from the
appearance of the printed word until the first vibrations from
the subject's voice broke the current in the speaking tube.
This constituted the measure of the duration of the reaction,
and formed, with a full account of all the reproducible ex-
periences of the observing subject, which were at once written
down in full, and any other remarks he had to make, the ex-
perimental data of the thesis."

"In contrast to previous experiments, on association,
definite tasks (Aufgaben) were given, which the subject had to
accomplish in the reaction. These referred to what the printed
word on the card signified, and were as follows: to classify

144 Experimentelle Beitrage zu einer Theorie des Denkens", Leipzig,
Engelmann, 1904. A brief summary- of these experiments is' also given by
Watt in the Journal of Anatomy and Physiology, Vol.XL— "Experimental
Contribution to a Theory of Thinking". The quotations are from this
journal.

74

it, to name an example of it, to name a whole to which it
belonged, to name a part, to name another of the same class
or another part of the same whole."

Over three thousand experiments were made in all. "In
almost every case the subject is able to accomplish his task
correctly. His description of his experiences shows that there
are in the main three kinds of complexes of experiences. Most
frequently the subject follows one line right through the ex-
periment, which then leads to the spoken word. In the other
cases, he may seek a word which he does not find, and which
he even afterwards cannot name, or he may have intended
to say a certain word, but for some reason or other, wittingly
or unwittingly, have said another. In general the first class,
the simple reproductions, takes place in a good deal less time
than the other two classes, the complex reproductions, of
which two the second named usually and naturally last longer. "

"How does any one particular reaction come about and
not another?" Watt asks. "The first influence at work on
the subject is the given task. This he hears spoken by the
experimenter, and generally repeats to himself in words,
e.g. 'find a part!' 'name an example!' or he may exemplify
the experiment to himself, e.g. 'animal — dog', and so on.
The scanty description of the preparation for the experiment
given in the subject's account of it does not help us to form a
very clear idea of what the process itself is. It was found , how-
ever, as a series of detailed curves show, that of all the simple
reproductions the percentage of occurrence of each of the three
above-named classes changes regularly and similarly with
each subject from one task to another. This leads to the
assertion that the task has a regular influence on the nature
of the experiences of each subject, which becomes particularly
evident between the two larger groups of simple reproductions,
those containing visual representations and those containing
nothing at all." In both simple ajid complex reproductions,
it is found that the duration of the reaction is on the average
dependent on the nature of the task.

Further, Watt's results are confirmatory of experiments
conducted by Kiilpe in Wiirzburg in the same year.1 We
may here, in a few words, sum up the results of these latter
experiments. In the first place, answers were given in ac-
cordance with the task set. Further, it was found to be more
agreeable for the observer to work with a task than without
one. To work without any task at all proved to be very dif-

^'Versuche iiber Abstraktion", Bericht des I. Kongr. f. exp. Psych.
Gieben, 1904.

75

ficult. This latter finding is corroborated by the fact brought
out in Watt's experiments, that reaction time when a task is
set is shorter than when without a task.

It may be of interest also, in the present connection, to
note some facts in the training of memory as given by Watt
in his book "The Economy and Training of Memory".1
One of the factors which has greatest influence on the memory,
Watt says, is the will to remember, or, in the language of the
context, the setting oneself the task to remember. He speaks
as follows: "It has often been noticed that things may be
read or repeated an indefinite number of times without being
committed to memory, if only the attention is directed at
each repetition to some other end than that of learning. One
experimenter on memory, for instance, had occasion, in the
course of his work, to make those persons on whom he was
experimenting learn series of words or meaningless syllables
by reading these aloud from his note-book, till they could
repeat "them by heart. Even after accomplishing this with
a number of persons, he found that he himself was unable to
repeat any of the series by heart, although he had read them
aloud so often. His attention had, of course, been directed
towards careful, even, and correct reading, and not towards
memorizing."

Psychologists are not alone in maintaining the above
facts, as may be seen in the following quotations taken from
a treatise on the diseases of the nervous system, by Dr. L. F.
Barker." In dealing with 'Anomalies of Attention' he states:
"The importance of disorders of attention in psychiatry is
coming to be very generally recognized. The power of di-
recting thought toward a definite task (Aufgabe) (vigility),
and of maintaining this task despite intercurrent stimuli
(tenacity}, are essential in all intellectual operations."3 In
another section Dr. Barker refers to the importance attaching
to "the examination of the processes of ideation; that is, to
the formation and association of ideas", and in speaking of
the velocity of such association, he says: "In normal man the
kind of reproduction of ideas and the duration depend not
only upon the reproduction tendency present in the individual,
but also upon the effect of concentration upon the task set.
Consciousness is, in a way, set, determined, or prepared in the
sense of a specific task."4

Published by Edward Arnold, London, p. 76.

2L. F. Barker, "Introduction to Diseases of the Nervous System from
Osier's Modern Medicine, Vol. VII, pp. 17-82.
5O.C. p. 46.
4O.C. pp. 47-8.

76

Such facts as the above clearly indicate that the conten-
tion of the British Psychologists and their successors, that the
determining factor of association lies in physical and physio-
logical processes, has not been shown to be true, for mani-
festly nothing is directly known of any 'outside something'
by means of which conscious association may be explained.
The Associationists, instead of ascertaining, by direct in-
vestigation, what the nature of this conscious process is, have
constantly prejudged its nature; they have attempted to
go beyond consciousness to find its source, and from their sup-
posed findings in this outside realm, to affirm what such pro-
cesses must be, because of that something predicated as beyond.
In other words, the whole account of association has been in
terms of speculation, and one fundamental defect of this
method is the attempt to derive psychical processes from pro-
cesses non-psychical, which are too often matters of specula-
tion or of definition.

2. MATHEMATICAL NECESSITY.

In the preceding pages it has been seen that the psycho-
logical problem of association is capable of direct investigation
from a psychological standpoint, and that, in consequence, it
is not necessary, as Ribot claimed, that, "every study of ex-
perimental psychology, whose object is the exact description
of facts, and research into their laws, must henceforth set out
with a physiological exposition, that of the nervous system".
The above-mentioned problem is being investigated to-day as
a psychological problem without postulating any physiological
hypothesis.

It would be quite appropriate just here, however, to ofTer
a brief critical examination of such physiological associative
hypothesis, as a means of accounting for the complexity and
characteristics of conscious processes. As a typical case, may
be considered the account which Spencer gives of how the
operation of this physiological associative substratum has
produced the fixed intuitions with which mathematics deals.
Spencer himself intimates that the process for the production
of such fixed intuitions in the race has been as f ollowrs :

In the beginning, the two great subsequent divisions of
life, physiological and psychological, were one, that is, physio-
logical. As a result of differentiation and disintegration, the
psychical life was somehow evolved, and rendered more and
more distinct from the physical life by its changes being
brought more and more into serial order. 'Internal' actions
are initiated by 'external' ones, to which the senses are sub-

77

ject. It is not meant, Spencer states, "that material actions
thus become mental actions. As we said, 'No effort enables
us to assimilate Mind and Motion'."1

"A succession of such changes being thus the subject-
matter of psychology, it is the business of psychology to
determine the law of their succession."2 In accordance with
this, Spencer defines "all life, whether physical or psychical"
as "the combination of changes in correspondence with ex-
ternal co-existences and sequences", and that , consequently,
"if the changes constituting psychical life occur in succession,
the law of their succession must be the law of their correspond-
ence"— that is, with external co-existences and sequences.
This is evident, he intimates, because of the fact that "the
inner relations must correspond with the outer ones; and there-
fore the order of states of consciousness must be in some way
expressible in terms of the external order."3 The persistence
of the connection between the states of consciousness "is
proportionate to the persistence of the connection between the
agencies to which they answer. The relations between ex-
ternal objects, attributes, acts, are of all grades, from the
necessary to the fortuitous. The relation between the answer-
ing states of consciousness must similarly be of all grades,
from the necessary to the fortuitous."4

The law of intelligence, then, is "that the strength of the
tendency which the antecedent of any psychical change has
to be followed by its consequent, is proportionate to the per-
sistence of the union between the external things they sym-
bolize".5

The significance which the above quotations have for
mathematical relations and other fixed intuitions, is no doubt
obvious. Spencer makes this definite in the statement that
"relations which are absolute in the environment are absolute
in us".6 And further, "where a relation has been perpetually
repeated in our experience with absolute conformity, we are
entirely disabled from conceiving the negation of it". "An
infinity of experiences will produce a psychical relation that
is indissoluble."7

Spencer's use of the term 'experience', of course, is of some
psychical entity definitely related to some portion of the ner-

1" Principles of Psychology" §§ 177-179.

2O.C. § 181.

8O.C. §§181-2.

4O.C. § 183.

5O.C. § 187.

•Ibid.

7O.C. § 189.

78

vous system. This is evident in the statement that "the
ability to co-ordinate impressions, and to perform the appro-
priate actions, always implies the pre-existence of certain
nerves arranged in a certain way". "What is the meaning
of the human brain?" he asks. "It is that the many estab-
lished relations among its parts stand for so many established
relations among the psychical changes." "In the sense, then,
that there exist in the nervous system certain pre-established
relations answering to relations in the environment, there is
truth in the doctrine of 'forms of intuition'."1

This relation of the nervous system to the 'forms of in-
tuition' is more definitely brought out in his section on the
Physical Synthesis, where he asks, "By what process is the
organization of experiences achieved?" This leads Spencer
into four long chapters on the genesis of nerves, simple and
compound nervous systems, etc., and it is seen that "from
beginning to end, the development of nerve results from the
passage of motion along the line of least resistance, and the
reduction of it to a line of less and less resistance continually".2
With this basis Spencer goes on to deal with the ' functions as
related to these structures', stating that "what have been
considered as increasingly-complex nervous actions, we have
now to consider as increasingly-complex mental states".3 On
this basis, that is, psychical laws are to be interpreted. In a
brief summary we read: "It was pointed out in Sec. 222, that
the a priori law of intelligence wrould be fulfilled, and the
growth of intelligence would be explained, if it could be shown
' that when a wave of molecular transformation passes through
a nervous structure, there is wrought in the structure a modifi-
cation such that, other things equal, a subsequent like wave
passes through this structure with greater facility than its
predecessor." It was thereafter inferred from established
mechanical principles, that a structural change of this kind
will occur. And we have since occupied ourselves in tracing
up nervous evolution as an accumulated result of such
changes."4

Having now laid the foundation, Spencer proceeds to
build the superstructure. "Its most finished form will be
given to this interpretation, " he says, "by going on to consider
how it enables us to understand the origin of the space in-
tuitions which we recognize as necessary. The general theory
of these, the reader will at once see, is that they are the fixed

'O.C. § 208.
2O.C. § 225.
»O.C. § 243.
*O.C. § 249.

79

functions of fixed structures that have become moulded into
correspondence with fixed outer relations." "Certain primary
space relations are presented to consciousness under the form
of necessary relations." "The truth that a straight line is the
shortest line between two points, lies latent in the structures
of the eyes and the nervous centres which receive and co-
ordinate visual impressions, We cannot think otherwise,
because, during the adjustment between the organism and the
environment which evolution has established, the inner re-
lations have been so moulded upon the outer relations that
they cannot, by any effort, be made not to fit them." In fact,
"just as it has become impossible for the hand to grasp by
bending the fingers outwards instead of inwards, so it has be-
come impossible for those nervous actions by which we appre-
hend primary space relations, to be reversed so as to enable
us to think of those relations otherwise than we do."1

Our experience, as it has been seen, is a register of objective
facts; and the inconceivableness of a thing implies that it is
wholly at variance with the register. While many of the facts
impressed upon us are occasional, and while others are more
general, some are universal and unchanging. These universal
and unchanging facts are certain to establish beliefs of which
the negations are inconceivable. "Subjective inconceivable-
ness corresponds to objective impossibility. Throughout the
great body of our consciousness, consisting as it does of things
presented from moment to moment under definite relations
of space, time, and number, the test of inconceivableness is
valid. Perpetually-repeated experiences have generated in us
cognitions of logical relations, mathematical relations, and
some simple physical relations, for the necessity of which the
inconceivableness of their negations is a guarantee unhesi-
tatingly accepted."2 "Reasoning itself can be trusted only on
the assumption that absolute uniformities of Thought corre-
spond to absolute uniformities of Things."3

To conclude this short synopsis of Spencer's doctrine of the
necessary relations upon which mathematics is founded, the
following statement from his 'Principles of Ethics' will afford
us a brief expression of his whole standpoint on this subject.
In dealing with the axiom that "two straight lines cannot
enclose a space" Spencer states: "Unquestionably on the
Evolution-hypothesis this fixed intuition must have been
established by that intercourse with things which, throughout
an enormous past, has, directly or indirectly, determined the

K).C. § 332.
2O.C. § 430.
3O.C. § 433.

80

organization of the nervous system and certain resulting ne-
cessities of thought; and the a priori beliefs determined by
these necessities differ from a posteriori beliefs simply in this,
that they are products of the experiences of innumerable
successive individuals instead of the experiences of a single
individual."3

Clearly, Spencer is not concerned so much with "fixed
intuitions" or "necessities of thought" as present facts in
human experience, as he is with a theory of the origin of such
intuition — which, in fact, he definitely states. He speaks of
such "necessities of thought" as having been established as
a product of influences operative "throughout an enormous
past". Were he contending for the intuitions as present
facts, then he would simply have to show the characteristics
of these intuitions, whereby they are designated as 'fixed',
that is, unchanging data in human knowledge, and thus
differentiated from all other changing, transient facts of con-
sciousness. As Spencer, however, is dealing with the origin
of "fixed intuitions", it is to be observed that in this, there
is an entirely different question from the question of fact.

The foregoing exposition has briefly traced Spencer's
account of the origin of "fixed intuitions". The essentials in
this origination are: (1) "The inner relations must correspond
with the outer ones; and therefore the order of states of con-
sciousness must be in some way expressible in terms of the
external order;" or, as he elsewhere states, "Relations which
are absolute in the environment are absolute in us." (2) " Per-
petually-repeated experiences have generated in us cognitions
of logical and mathematical relations" which are characterized
by necessity because of the inconceivableness of their nega-
tions.

In order to test the validity of this process, an example
from the sphere of mathematics may be taken. The proposi-
tion that two plus two equals four, is a familiar one. "We
cannot think otherwise, " says Spencer, "because, during the
adjustment between the organism and the environment which
evolution has established, the inner relations have been so
moulded upon the outer relations that they cannot, by any
effort, be made not to fit them."

Since we are dealing with outer relations, according to the
Spencerian theory, they must be relations of things. This
must mean that two things plus two things equal four things.
But the obvious question is, How did Spencer ever come to
know this equation as an outer relation? The relation, two

"Principles of Ethics" 1893, § 278.

81

plus two equals four, we know. That is not in question. The
problem is to account for the origin of its necessary character,
and in order to do this, Spencer gives as the reason that this
necessary relation exists beyond consciousness.

Manifestly, Spencer's contention is a clear case of petitio
principii. The relation is one "which we recognize as neces-
sary" within ^ consciousness, and because of this, Spencer
claims that if it is necessary within, it must be because of some-
thing necessary without. In other words, the whole argument
is based upon definition . Being conversant with the ' ' necessity
of thought", that necessity is projected, as it were, into some
region beyond consciousness, and is there made to bear the
burden of causing the very necessity in consciousness from
which it derives its existence. Or, to change the argument,
Spencer, by first assuming necessity in the outer relation, can
obviously derive necessity for the inner on the second assump-
tion that all the inner is derived from the outer. Since Spencer
has defined the relations existing in the environment as abso-
lute, it of course follows, that the inner relations, which are
said to be derived from the outer, are also "absolute in us".
Such a procedure is possible with any definition, however,
whether the definition be true or false with regard to fact, and
one can always get out of the definition everything he has put
into it; but what he gets out has no greater claim to truth
than the definition from which it is derived, and that definition
for Spencer, is a free assumption.

The inadequacy of Spencer's position may be further seen
in his attempt to distinguish between an inconceivable and an
unbelievable proposition.

"An inconceivable proposition," he states, "is one of which
the terms cannot, by any effort, be brought before conscious-
ness in that relation which the proposition asserts between
them — a proposition of which the subject and the predicate
offer an insurmountable resistance to union in thought. An
unbelievable proposition is one which admits of being framed
in thought, but is so much at variance with experience, in
which its terms have habitually been otherwise united, that
its terms cannot be put in the alleged relation without effort.
Thus, it is unbelievable that a cannon-ball fired from England
should reach America ; but it is not inconceivable. Conversely,
it is inconceivable that one side of a triangle is equal to the sum
of the two other sides — not simply unbelievable. The two
sides cannot be represented in consciousness as becoming
equal in their joint length to the third side, without the repre-
sentation of a triangle being destroyed ; and the concept of a

82

triangle cannot be framed without the simultaneous destruc-
tion of a concept in which these magnitudes are represented as
equal. That is to say, the subject and predicate cannot be
united in the same intuition — the proposition is unthinkable."1

The above is a rather interesting statement, after having
been told that the "space intuitions which we recognize as
necessary * * * are the fixed functions of fixed structures that
have become moulded into correspondence with fixed outer
relations." Now Spencer has told us that "the inner relations
must correspond with the outer ones; and therefore that the
order of states of consciousness must be in some way expres-
sible in terms of the external order." Yet here he states that
an unbelievable proposition is one which admits of being
framed in thought, although the thing predicated has never
happened, and we should reach the position that propositions,
and therefore relations, occur in thought which have no coun-
terpart in outer relations: as to how such proposition came
into consciousness at all is inexplicable.

In regard to the inconceivable proposition, Spencer states
that "the concept of a triangle cannot be framed without
simultaneous destruction of a concept" in which one side
of such triangle is represented as being equal to the other two.
But this is simply the logical proposition that 'A cannot be
both A, and not-A, at the same time'. Since Spencer under-
stands by a triangle, that in which two sides must be together
greater than the third side, it is of course, as he says, "un-
thinkable" that it should be anything else. But the unthink-
ableness of the contrary is merely a result of definition, not
of any "absolute relation in the environment".

It might be contended, however, that "perpetually-re-
peated experiences" account for our attribution of necessity
to logical and mathematical relations. But will this furnish
the required necessity, either in connection with the so-called
external absolute relations or for inner fixed intuitions?

For example, that one has always experienced the arc of
the segment of a circle as longer than the chord, is no guar-
antee in the least that such a proposition will hold for the next
case in which the arc and the chord are experienced together —
that is, there is no empirical reason for postulating the re-
lation as 'universal and unchanging'. Or again, that two
sides of a triangle have always been experienced as greater
than the remaining side does not imply, from the mere enu-
meration of particulars, any 'objective impossibility' in con-

1" Principles of Psychology" § 427.

83

nection with future cases. Simple enumeration of cases can
have reference only to the past; they never necessarily refer
to the future. As far as ' objective impossibility ' is concerned,
on the 'experience hypothesis', the expression is valueless,
for it is just as possible that a variation may occur the ten
millionth time as the second time, though, to be sure, not more
probable. In fact, on the basis of mere enumerationem
simplicem, there is no warrant whatever for positing 'neces-
sities of thought', but only expectations of thought. Past
experience, no matter how long, does not imply any necessity
whatever. In short, experiences which do not all possess
necessary relations cannot produce such relations.

Let it be supposed, for example, that in one thousand
experiences an intuition is not "fixed", but that in the thou-
sand and first it is. On the 'experience hypothesis', there is
no way to account for this, for that which has made a necessary
relation out of the thousand and first case must be some
peculiar characteristic of that particular case which is absent
from all the rest. It is not the result of the previous one
thousand cases, for in the thousandth case, and in all previous
cases, there was no necessity.

How many times, one might ask, is it necessary to ex-
perience a certain relation before it becomes a " fixed intuition"?
Suppose it were possible, from Spencer's standpoint, to name
a certain number of experiences which would be required to
produce a 'necessity of thought'. If this number were one
thousand and one repetitions, then on the thousand and
first repetition we should have a necessary relation. But
that only means, on Spencer's basis, that the gray matter of
the brain has been impressed in a certain way for one thousand
and one times. Past experience may be said to be a good
guarantee that what has happened has happened, but, in
the matter of necessity, the past has no word for the future.
Now, it may be that on the thousand and second occurrence
of this relation, the whole thing may be changed, and the order
of occurrence of the relation in question be different. Ne-
cessity will then have disappeared until one thousand and one
cases of the new relation have been experienced. And so
on. In other words, necessity itself on the 'experience hy-
pothesis' becomes contingent.

Not only is Spencer's hypothesis untenable on the above
basis, but such a position is directly contrary to numerous
facts of every-day experience. For example, through countless
ages, night and day have followed one another unceasingly;
the sun, moon, and stars have shone; the seasons have

84

changed ; and the earth has supplied the food which has kept
the race alive. In all these cases, if we are concerned only
with the simple enumeration of particulars, why has necessity
not been predicated of these relations as well as of the relation
of two and two to four? On Spencer's theory, they are just
as much entitled to it as are the mathematical relations.

It is necessary to conclude, therefore, that the necessity
which Spencer speaks of as characterizing the relations in the
environment, is derived, not from empirical enumeration
but from definition. It is further evident, in consequence,
that such a physiological theory of the origin of the 'neces-
sities of thought', upon which are based the truths of mathe-
matics, fails to account for such origin.

3. INTERDEPENDENCE OF PSYCHICAL AND PHYSICAL
PHENOMENA.

The state of dependence and subordinance of the mental,
according to the Associationists' theory, in relation to the
substratum of physical and physiological phenomena, is also
claimed in the ethical sphere. Mental and moral phenomena
are depicted as being produced and controlled by inherited
nerve and brain structures, the blood supply, the viscera, etc.

Let it be granted, for argument's sake, that varying
organic facts have an influence on conscious data, morally
considered; but Spencer equally admits that conscious data
may likewise be credited with a certain amount of influence
on organic phenomena. As evidence of the fact of dependence
of the physiological upon psychological phenomena, we do
not need to go further than Spencer's own account of the
functioning of the pleasure-pain factors in the development
of man.

" Pains, " Spencer states, "are correlatives of actions in-
jurious to the organism, while pleasures are the correlatives
of actions conducive to its welfare. It is an inevitable de-
duction from the hypothesis of evolution that races of sentient
creatures could have come into existence under no other con-
ditions. MI Romanes states that he has little to add to the
treatment which this subject has had at the hands of Spencer;
and Lloyd Morgan and Baldwin take up similar positions.

Now this is a surprising situation, in view of the standpoint
which it has just been seen Spencer maintains in connection
with the relation of the physiological to the moral. There,
he was attempting, in accordance with his main standpoint,
to vindicate the view that the order of progress was from the

1Seep. 50.

85

physiological to the psychological: here, however, he has re-
versed his position; probably owing to the influence of the
Utilitarian School which was so influential at that time; and
now, physiological development is placed under the modifying
influence of the psychical factors of pleasure and pain, unless,
indeed, Spencer would make pleasure and pain merely in-
cidental to a process which would have taken place equally
well without consciousness.

4. THE WILL.

From the same physiological standpoint, Spencer treats
the problem of the Will. The general nature of the process
in which Will is manifested may be put briefly in Spencer's
words, as follows:

"When the automatic actions become so involved, so
varied in kind, and severally so infrequent, as no longer to be
performed with unhesitating precision — when, after the re-
ception of one of the more complex impressions, the appro-
priate motor changes become nascent, but are prevented from
passing into immediate action by the antagonism of certain
other nascent motor changes appropriate to some nearly
allied impression ; there is constituted a state of consciousness
which, when it finally issues in action, displays what we term
volition. Each set of nascent motor changes arising in the
course of this conflict, is a weak revival of the state of con-
sciousness which accompanies such motor changes when act-
ually performed — is a representation of such motor changes
as were before executed under like circumstances — is an idea
of such motor changes. We have, therefore, a conflict be-
tween two sets of ideal1 motor changes which severally tend
to become real, and one of which eventually does become real;
a rl this passing of an ideal motor change into a real one, we
distinguish as Will."2

In other words, in its simplest form, the order is from action
in the environment to sensory change, to impression, to its
accompanying conscious state (feeling of pleasure or pain) —
and from thence to motor change, and finally again to action.
In its more complex state, the external impression gives rise
to different conflicting sets of motor changes which revive
the feelings connected with the original impressions. In
addition, an immense number of other psychical states are
partially aroused, "some of which unite with the original
impression in exciting the action, while the rest combine as

Italics mine.

2" Principles of Psychology" § 218.

86

exciters of an opposite action; and when, eventually, from
their greater number or intensity, the first outbalance the
others, the interpretation is that, as an accumulated stimulus,
they become sufficiently strong to make the nascent motor
changes pass into actual motor changes".1

As to precisely how this is brought about, Spencer adds:
"From the universal law that, other things equal, the co-
hesion of psychical states is proportionate to the frequency
with which they have followed one another in experience, it
is an inevitable corollary that all actions whatever must be
determined by those psychical connections which experience
has generated — either in the life of the individual, or in that
general antecedent life of which the accumulated results are
organized in his constitution."2

Although, therefore, there may be a "seeming indeter-
minateness in the mental succession", this is not real, but "is
consequent on the extreme complication of the forces in action.
The composition of causes is so intricate, and from moment to
moment so varied, that the effects are not calculable. These
effects are, however, as conformable to law as the simplest
reflex actions".3

From this standpoint, Spencer examines the "current
illusion" in the matter of free will. "When, after a certain
composite mass of emotion and thought has arisen in him, a
man performs an action, he commonly asserts that he deter-
mined to perform the action ; and by speaking as though there
were a mental self, present to his consciousness, yet not in-
cluded in this composite mass of emotion and thought, he is
led into the error of supposing that it was not this composite
mass of emotion and thought which determined action. But
while it is true that he determined the action, it is also true
that the aggregate of his feelings and ideas determined it;
since, during its existence, this aggregate constituted his en-
tire consciousness — that is, constituted his mental self.
Either the ego which is supposed to determine or will the
action, is present in consciousness or it is not. If it is not
present in consciousness, it is something of which we are un-
conscious— something, therefore, of whose existence we neither
have nor can have any evidence. If it is present in conscious-
ness, then, as it is ever present, it can be at each moment
nothing else than the total consciousness, simple or compound,
passing at that moment. It follows inevitably, that when
an impression received from without, makes nascent certain

111 Principles* of Psychology" § 218.

•O.C. § 219.

3Ibid.

87

appropriate motor changes, and various of the feelings and
ideas which must accompany and succeed them; and when,
under the stimulus of this composite psychical state, the
nascent motor changes pass into actual motor changes; this
composite psychical state which excites the action , is at the same
time the ego which is said to will the action. Naturally
enough, then, the subject of such psychical changes says
that he wills the action; since, psychically considered, he is
at that moment nothing more than the composite state of
consciousness by which the action is excited. But to say
that the performance of the action is, therefore, the result of
free will, is to say that he determines the cohesions of the
psychical states which arouse the action; and as these psy-
chical states constitute himself at that moment, this is to say
that these psychical states determine their own cohesions,
which is absurd. Their cohesions have been determined by
experiences — the greater part of them, constituting what we
call his natural character, by the experiences of antecedent
organisms; and the rest by his own experiences. The changes
which at each moment take place in his consciousness, and
among others those he is said to will, are produced by this
infinitude of previous experiences registered in his nervous
structure, co-operating with the immediate impressions on
his senses: the effects of these combined factors being in every
case qualified by the physical state, general or local, of his
organism."1

And, in concluding, Spencer says: "We speak of Will
as something apart from the feeling or feelings which, for the
moment, prevail over others; whereas it is nothing but the
general name given to the special feeling that gains supremacy
and determines action."2

In looking over Spencer's argument in connection with the
Will, as briefly stated above, it may be seen that such argu-
ment is only saved from a complete circle by the sequence in
time of the different actions in experience. Obviously, on
this theory, actions in the environment cause impressions on
the sense organs, and accompanying changes in the organism.
These in turn give rise to feelings. The feelings, coupled with
the aggregate of other feelings and ideas which fuse with them,
again influence the organism and determine action — mani-
festly through motor changes.

Now if this "aggregate of feelings and ideas" or "the men-
tal self" determine the action, then we cannot say that free

1U Principles of Psychology" § 219.
2O.C. § 220.

88

will determines it. For if by this free will is meant a spiritual
ego other than the states of consciousness, we are compelled
to finally admit that this ego, psychically considered, is just
these selfsame psychical states, which leads again to the
statement that the psychical states determine themselves,
that is, their own cohesions; which is, to be sure, tautologous,
or, as Spencer says, 'absurd'.

But, to say that the Will is but the general name given to
the special feeling that gains supremacy and determines
action, in view of Spencer's physiological basis, is not to deny
the existence of Will altogether, but simply to give a defi-
nition of it. But the feeling here designated Will must not
be supposed to be something purely psychical, and thus in-
definite and undetermined, for all the psychical states in-
cluding this one specialized as Will, "are produced by experi-
ences registered in the nervous structure". "The human
brain," it is said, "is an organized register of experiences
received during the evolution of life, or during the evolution
of that series of organisms through which the human organism
has been reached."1 "Experiences", being dependent, as we
have seen, upon the action of 'outer' physical and physio-
logical processes, it naturally follows that the Will is deter-
mined by such processes, processes which in their turn are,
according to Spencer, determined by the laws of matter and
motion. Therefore, the psychical antecedent of action — the
feeling that gains supremacy, is not free, but depends upon
"the implied, but unknown, substratum which can never be
present" in consciousness;2 that is, the physiological organ-
ism, which, being subject to the laws of matter and motion,
is therefore necessarily determined. The "seeming indeter-
minateness in the mental succession is consequent upon the
extreme complication of the forces in action"; — but the in-
determinateness is only seeming; in reality there is no such
thing.

But what is the significance of the theory which Spencer
has outlined above?

Manifestly, for Spencer, it lies in the fact that he considers
he has brought the so-called ' free will ' within the scope of the
laws of matter and motion which do not admit of freedom,
and that thus has been achieved the purpose with which he
set out, namely, "to interpret mental evolution in terms of
the redistribution of matter and motion", that is, to bring it
within the scope of his formula of evolution. For Spencer,

1See p. 48.
2O.C. § 219.

89

Will is conceived to be, in the last analysis, nothing more
than a process of physiological functioning — that is, he con-
siders the Will to be reduced to a physiological determinism.

In consonance with the position of physiological deter-
minism for which Spencer contends, he states in his * Principles
of Ethics': "Acceptance of the doctrine of organic evolution
determines certain ethical conceptions" — though, to be sure,
how ethical conceptions can be obtained clearly and logically
from a completely locked and determined system of antecedent
and consequent, cause and effect, is at least an interesting
enquiry. Again, we are told that circumstances have moulded
the organism into fitness for the requirements of life. Through
nervous modifications there have been developed psychological
phenomena needed "for the appropriate use of the bodily
organs". He further states that "we shall assume it to be an
inevitable inference from the doctrine of organic evolution
that the highest type of living being, no less than of lower
types, must go on moulding itself to those requirements which
circumstances impose". And, "we shall by implication
assume that moral changes are among the changes thus
wrought out", — that is, are completely determined. In
fact, Spencer states in concluding, "there needs but a contin-
uance of absolute peace externally, and a rigorous insistence
on non-aggression internally, to ensure the moulding of men
into a form naturally characterized by all .the virtues", for,
he says, "we have to deal with Man as a product of evolu-
tion, with Society as a product of evolution, and with Moral
Phenomena as products of evolution"1 — though it must be
borne in mind that the "absolute peace" and "rigorous in-
sistence" are alike inevitable.

On such a physiological basis, however, there is no pos-
sibility of maintaining the position of the responsibility of
the individual in the state, and Spencer is thereby precluded
from any consistent advocacy of social ethical theory. Where-
in, on such a theory, would man differ, morally, from the
plant? or from any body or organism determined in toto by
mechanical antecedents? And if in no respect, of what value
is it to prescribe for him ethical rules?

The general outcome of this elaboration of a definition of
Evolution is that Spencer can only formulate an ethical
theory by the logical sacrifice of his whole preceding argument.

But, it must not be forgotten that the foregoing calamity
to Spencer's argument is only one way of considering the
evolution of man— not the only way. In Darwin's advocacy

'See p. 53.

90

of the principle of Natural Selection he would not go as far
as Spencer in the rigid application of a mechanical definition,
but definitely accepted the psychological facts of comparison
and reflection as necessary for moral conduct.1 Spencer,
however, only admits these factors as "incidents of the cor-
respondence between the organism and its environment".
Further, Darwin claimed to approach the question from the
standpoint of natural history, and by the utilisation of an
immense body of fact. Spencer, on the other hand, begins
with a metaphysical definition, in accordance with which
even natural history must be constructed. A remark of
Darwin's with reference to Spencer' s work seems to be very
apposite in this connection: "I find that my mind is so fixed
by the inductive method that I cannot appreciate deductive
reasoning: I must begin with a good body of facts and not
from a principle (in which I always suspect some fallacy) and
then as much deduction as you please. This may be narrow-
minded, but the result is that such parts of Herbert Spencer
as I have read with care impress my mind with the idea of his
inexhaustible wealth of suggestion but never convince me,
and so I find it with some others."2

5. EXTERNAL WORLD, AND CAUSALITY.

Throughout the Association School and its modern rep-
resentatives, there has been followed, in the main, the fun-
damental attitude of regarding the psychological and the
physical (the latter including the physiological), as two sep-
arate orders of existence. The psychological phenomena
have been declared to be produced by the processes of the
physical (physiological). Consciousness has invariably been
relegated to the position of a product, whether explicitly or
implicitly, from the time of Hartley down. We shall, then,
at this point, very briefly consider, first, this 'extra-conscious'
world, and second, the causal relation which is assumed to
exist between this world and consciousness.

What is the character (that is, the properties) of such a
physical world? Spencer, in common with all the Associa-
tionists, finding it necessary to meet objections from a theory-
of-knowledge standpoint, attempts, in the latter part of his
work, to show that this external world is a product of infer-
ence from psychological processes — which, after all the pre-
ceding discussion, is somewhat surprising, since at first the

lSee pp. 32-35.

2Francis Darwin, "The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin", D. Appleton
&Co., 1887, Vol. II, p. 371.

91

psychical processes were supposed by Spencer to be produced,
and so explained, by the physical, concerning which there
was no doubt expressed, but he now finds it necessary to ex-
plain the physical by the psychical, inasmuch as the former
is inferred from the latter.

"We are," Spencer says, ''conscious of effects produced
in us by something separate from ourselves," although, he
also tells us, "we can never learn the nature of that which is
manifested to us". "Each cluster, distinguished by us as
an object, is a separate seat of the power with which the ob-
jective world as a whole impresses us. " "This power, holding
together the elements of the cluster * * * is thought
of by us as persisting, or continuing to exist, in the midst of all
those manifestations which do not continue to exist. " " These
several sets of experiences unite to form a conception of some-
ting beyond consciousness which is absolutely independent
of consciousness; which possesses power, if not like that in con-
sciousness, yet equivalent to it; and which remains fixed in
the midst of changing appearances. And this conception,
uniting independence, and force, and permanence, is the con-
ception we have of matter", — in a word, the physical world.1

On the above showing, the external world, or material
substance, is not only 'unknown', but "we can never learn
the nature" of it. This, one would think, ought to be suffi-
cient to negative all discussion of it, yet Spencer proceeds, in
the face of this, to state the supposed characteristics of this
unknown and unknowable material substance. These are:
(1) It is absolutely independent of consciousness; (2) It
possesses power, if not like that in consciousness, yet equi-
valent to it; (3) It remains fixed in the midst of changing
appearances.

As to how we can predicate that which is absolutely in-
dependent of anything that we know, may be, to be sure, a
difficult enough question; but one way out is afforded,
though rather loosely, by Spencer's use of the terms "mani-
festations", "changing appearances", etc., which allows the
reader to imply something other than the "manifestations .
Thus Spencer ascribes to what he asserts to be an unknown
and unknowable cause, the characteristics of independence,
force, and permanence; and at the same time denies these
characteristics to what are, for him, the known effects. We
are, " he says, "conscious of effects produced in us by something
separate from ourselves", though, when reduced to the final
stage, this 'something' is declared unknown and unknowable;

'See pp. 39-42.

92

sufficient being known of it, however, to predicate the "chang-
ing appearances" of consciousness, as the unknown's effects.

How, then, do we come to posit the existence of such an
unknown? Spencer states that "we are led inevitably to
posit the existence of this external world through the sensation
of resistance, the root conception of existence beyond con-
sciousness" being "that of resistance plus some force which
the resistance measures". "This unknown correlative of
the vivid state we call pressure, symbolized in the known
terms of our own efforts, constitutes what we call
material substance."1 But, — pressure we know; effort we
know; this material substance also, we know, but alas! only
as 'symbol', — a mysterious x. The root fact is the sensation
of resistance, which the x symbolises. The external world
is thus a matter of mere speculation, that is, a psychical con-
struction. Spencer, however, having introduced 'force' as
something external to consciousness, attempts to make the
existence of an external 'body' more tangible by attributing
to it the function of "permanently binding together those
infinitely- varied vivid states the body gives us". "These
multitudinous vivid states of my consciousness," he says,
"had none of them any permanence; and the one thing which
had permanence was that which never became a vivid state of
my consciousness — the something which kept together these
vivid states, or bound them into a group. " In other words, as
already quoted, "that which, to our thought, constitutes a
body, is that which permanently binds together those infinitely-
varied vivid states the body gives us"/ And, in the last
analysis, this metaphysical circle is the foundation for Spencer's
superstructure of association.

It may be said, however, that the question of the external
world, as the cause of consciousness, is directly bound up
with the scientific conception of matter. What support,
then, can such conception lend to the causal nexus affirmed
above? "Recent science, " says Verworn, "has succeeded in
showing in gross outline how natural phenomena may be de-
rived from definite motions of atoms. We know that in all
bodies the atoms are moving, in gaseous bodies very actively,
in liquids more slowly, in solids very little. We know that
light, heat, and electricity depend upon regular, excessively
rapid vibrations of atoms; that sound is caused by definite
modes of atomic vibration, and that chemical changes of
bodies are conditioned likewise by characteristic movements

^ee p. 41.

2" Principles of Psychology" § 467.

93

and rearrangements of atoms."1 Verworn supplements this
by quoting from duBois Reymond : " A stage in the knowledge
of nature can be conceived in which the whole world-process
would be represented by one mathematical formula, by one
immeasurable system of simultaneous differential equations
from which could be deduced the place, direction of movement,
and velocity of every atom of the universe at every moment."2
Continuing, he says: "If again, we possessed 'astronomic
knowledge' of the physical world, as duBois Reymond ex-
presses it, 'wre would, then, indeed, understand all phenomena
of the physical wrorld, but we would not understand how con-
sciousness arises, how in general a psychical phenomenon, even
the very simplest, comes to be'. If we had, for example, as-
tronomical knowledge of our brain, we should know the po-
sition and motion of every atom at every moment; we could
also follow definitely the specific physical changes, the re-
arrangements, and motions of atoms inseparably associated
with specific psychical phenomena, and 'it would be,' as
duBoisjReymond says, 'of undoubted interest, if with our men-
tal eye turned inward we could observe the cerebral mechanics
of a calculating machine; or if we could know of the dance of
the atoms of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus
and other elements, which corresponds to the delight of musical
sensation, of the whirl of such atoms to the acme of sense-
enjoyment, of the molecular storm to the frantic pain resulting
from maltreatment of the nervous trigeminus'. We could
know all these if we possessed 'astronomic knowledge' of the
brain. We could thus convince ourselves by self-observation
that consciousness is inseparably associated with atomic
motion. But with all this it would remain forever concealed
from us how consciousness arises, how the simplest psychical
phenomenon comes to be. However carefully we might follow
the motions of individual atoms in the brain, we could see
only motions, collisions, and again motion. Thus, it is evident
that a mechanical explanation of consciousness, of psychical
phenomena, from the motions of atoms, is an impossibility
for us."3

Alfred Russell Wallace appears to have reached the same
conclusion in his 'Contributions to the Theory of Natural
Selection'. He states: " If a material element or a combina-
tion of a thousand material elements in a molecule are
alike unconscious, it is impossible for us to believe that the

Wax Verworn, "General Physiology" (translated), Macmillan & Co.,
1899, p. 32.
2Ibid.
3O.C. pp. 33-34.

94

mere addition of one, two, or a thousand other material
elements to form a more complex molecule, could in any way
tend to produce a self-conscious existence."1 Wallace is
even led to conclude that matter does not exist, as popularly
understood: it is nothing but force, and that force is, in the
last analysis, 'will-force'.2

It may be argued, however, that this view of matter and
motion is not at all that adopted by the Associationists in
general, and Spencer in particular; since here these repre-
sentatives of physical science are talking of a matter declared
to be known, while Spencer is dealing with the unknown
substrata of consciousness. If a 'psychical phenomenon'
is defined as belonging to an order of existence distinct from
the 'physical world', the conclusion is that the one can never
be derived from the other, except by way of definition, which
adds nothing to the solution of the question. And this
fatal definition brings any one, as it brought Spencer, to the
inevitable but forever insuperable task of obtaining the con-
scious from the non-conscious.

This whole question of the material world in relation to
psychical phenomena has been, by the Associationists,
closely connected with the problem of Causality. The
psychologist, it is often affirmed, can only be scientifically
consistent, when he is prepared to seek for the cause of sen-
sations; and Spencer, having assumed at the start that the
physiological and the psychological are distinct orders, and
yet being desirous of including all phenomena within the
scope of one formula of evolution, seeks for the cause of one
order of existence in the other. "A perception," he says,
"can have in a nerve centre no definite localization. No one
excited fibre or cell produces consciousness of an external
object: the consciousness of such external object implies
excitement of a plexus of fibres and cells. " Besides sensations
(which come from external objects) we have faint copies of
these, known as ideas. In describing the production of these
ideas, Spencer has recourse to the similarity of function which
he attempts to show to exist between the functions of the
medulla-oblongata, the cerebrum and cerebellum, and those of
a musical instrument mechanically operated, as, for example,
a pianola. "We see, in short," he concludes, "that the me-
dulla-oblongata (with its subordinate structures), while
played upon through the senses by external objects, is simul-
taneously played upon by the cerebrum and cerebellum; so

»O.C. p. 365.
'O.C. p. 62.

95

producing the thought consciousness that accompanies sense
consciousness." Emotions, he says, are produced in like
manner.1

But these external objects which play upon the medulla-
oblongata, the cerebrum, the cerebellum, and even the me-
dulla-oblongata itself, all belong, for Spencer, to an existence
"beyond consciousness". As external they act as the causal
substrata of sense consciousness and thought consciousness.
It is claimed, for example, as already indicated, that the cause
of a particular conscious experience is to be looked for in a
certain nerve disturbance external to consciousness. This
leads one to conclude, however, that if it were possible for him
to witness this nerve disturbance, the conditions laid down
by Spencer would not be fulfilled, for such observed nerve
stimulation would not then be an unknown substratum to
consciousness at all, but a known experience, which would
again require an unknown substratum, and so on ad infinitum.
That the cause of a conscious experience must always remain
in the unknown, has already been maintained by Spencer in
the statement that "we can never learn the nature of that
which is manifested to us". Causality would then seem to be,
on such an hypothesis, some 'mysterious' relation standing
between consciousness and something not consciousness. But
here, again, a relation between the known and the unknown
can itself be only verbally posited, not known. To apply this
causal relation, therefore, as the Associationists continually do,
to the connection between data predicated beyond conscious-
ness, and the data within consciousness, is quite unwarranted
in terms of fact; and is admissable, if at all, only on grounds of
speculative theory — a theory, however, which stands or falls
according to its scientific evidence, or lack of it, and its in-
herent logical or illogical relations.

6. METHOD.

It will now be apparent wherein lies the source of the
difficulties which have been seen to attend the physiological
theories of association which have been under examination.
This source lies in the purely speculative method which the
above writers have followed. A better method, however, of
approaching the question, would have been, before attempting
to discover how brain processes produce consciousness, to
examine the distinction which is made between these processes
and consciousness, to see if such distinction is itself a valid
one, from the standpoint on which it is adopted.

^ee pp. 43-45.

96

The whole question, then, resolves itself into one method;
and a genuinely scientific method should not begin with mere
speculation and definition, but rather should be to ascertain
and to understand facts first, and upon the basis of such facts
to construct theory. The failure to do this has been, in the
main, the source of the vitiating errors of all the Association-
ists, who have sought, not only for the physical causes of asso-
ciation, but also for the causes of the sensations associated.
The whole procedure, therefore, of seeking the cause of sen-
sations and ideas, and their connections, by reference to some-
thing— by definition non-psychical — has been at fault.

In this view, as applied in the present connection, we find
support among some outstanding representatives of the
physical sciences. "The question, What produces this sen-
sation or idea, contains an error," says Verworn. "The
cause of my sensation of the physical is another sensation or
idea. Our conception of causality has arisen out of a com-
bination of separate experiences which our mind has obtained
by observation of the regular sequence of its own elements,
its sensations, and ideas." "In other words, causality itself,
like all other sensations, ideas, conceptions, or whatever we
may term it, exists only in our mind. If, therefore, the cause
of my idea of the physical is located within, the supposition
of a reality without is wholly unjustified." "The attempt
to reduce to the motions of atoms all psychical phenomena,
not only ideas of the physical world but others, such as simple
sensations, is precisely as absurd as the endeavour to reduce
all numbers in the numerical series to two instead of to the
numerical unit, for the complex notion of the atom is not a
unit, not a psychical element. Herein lies the fallacy of the
problem, and hence, as the history of human thought has
shown so strikingly, all attempts to explain the psychical by
the physical must fail."

" The actual problem is precisely the reverse. It consists not
in explaining psychical by physical phenomena, but rather in
reducing to its psychical elements physical, like all other psychical
I phenomena."1

As significant of this different point of view laid down by
Verworn, may be noted the tendency among many physio-
logists, more particularly neurologists, to realize more and
more the necessity of working from another standpoint than
that of nerves and brain, in the treatment of nervous disorders.
In connection with the general investigation of neuroses,
dreams, and allied phenomena, by Professor Sigmund Freud ,

1U General Physiology", pp. 35-39.

97

Dr. Morton Prince, and others, through the employment of
what is termed the psycho-analytic method, phenomena for
which heretofore physiological explanations had been sought,
are now receiving psychological explanations at the hands of
the physiologists themselves.

Professor Freud, in applying the psycho-analytic method
to the treatment of hysterical patients and other neurotics,
says: "Our hysterical patients suffer from reminiscences.
Their symptoms are the remnants and the memory symbols
of certain (traumatic) experiences";1 and further, that "the
interpretation of dreams is the via regia to the interpretation
of the unconscious,2 the surest ground of psycho-analysis, and
a field in which every worker must win his convictions and
gain his education."3

Dr. Morton Prince, in dealing with like phenomena, states:
"My observations confirm those of Freud, so far as to show
that running through each dream there is an intelligent
motive; so that the dream can be interpreted as expressing
some idea or ideas which the dreamer previously has enter-
tained."1 In describing certain physiological effects following
dreams, he further states: "Now the first thing to be noted
in these physiological phenomena — the aphonia, the blind-
ness, the paralysis, the headache, the hallucination, the tics,
the depression and fatigue — is that in the dream they were
primarily due to psychical causes, certain ideas, and were
elements in a process of which the dream consciousness was
also a part."5

Thus, from various sides, there come supports for the con-
tention of Verworn that in their elements all the sciences are
psychical, and therefore that their different fields of labour
are but a matter of convention — necessitated by the immensity
of the task of science.

luThe Origin and Development of Psycho-Analysis", The American
Journal of Psychology, April, 1910, p. 187.

2That is, Freud explains, the underlying dream thoughts which, in the
adult, receive symbolic representation in the 'manifest' content of dreams.

SO.C. p. 200. , , A,

4"The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams", The Journal of Abnor-
mal Psychology, Vol. V, No. 4, Oct.-Nov. 1910, p. 151.

6O.C. p. 191.

PART II.

THE APPLICATION OF THE EVOLUTIONARY
METHOD TO AN ETHICAL CONTENT.

I. INTRODUCTION.

Up to the present we have been considering two aspects
of the particular question under discussion, namely: first, the
psychological assumptions derived from the Association
School, which were adopted by those who tried to explain
mental facts on the basis of a development which was assumed
to begin with the physical and physiological orders; second,
we have outlined the contribution of some of the prominent
evolutionistic writers to a theory of conscious facts.

We have been content to discuss this method of approach-
ing the problem, from a somewhat abstract point of view,
dealing but little with any particular psychological or ethical
content. This is possible so long as the mere question of
method is under discussion. It is, however, not equally con-
vincing when one wishes to discuss the applicability of such a
method to a somewhat specific content, as, foi example, the
ethical. While we have found it possible to decide that such
a method cannot deal with psychical facts, because it seeks
to explain such facts by means of physiological processes,
which are admitted by evolutionists to belong to a different
order of being, we have not gone into the question of any
specific failure to deal with an ethical content, and this, accord-
ing to the title given to the investigation, was accepted as the
peculiar task to be solved. Before, however, one can discuss
the applicability of such a method to an ethical content, it is
necessary to ascertain somewhat exactly what ethical writers
have understood by an ethical content; and it is further
necessary to decide what we can accept after a careful in-
vestigation of these ethical theories as a reasonable character-
istic for such a content. We purpose, then, to discuss this
question of a specific ethical content by setting forth in put-
line some of the outstanding points in the history of British
ethics.

100

In British ethical history, there have been two main lines
of contention as to the origin of those things valued as funda-
mental for ethics, namely, that maintained by the Intellec-
tualists, otherwise known as Intuitionists; and that maintained
by the earlier and later Utilitarians, partly allied to the Moral
Sense school. The facts themselves have been very little in
question: that justice, veracity, benevolence, etc., possess a
supreme value, no moralist of either school has denied. The
question, however, has been as to the origin and nature of
these virtues. We purpose, therefore, to trace, briefly, the
development of these two lines of thought.

II. HISTORICAL SURVEY.

"The main stream of English ethics, so far as it flows in-
dependently of revelational theology, begins with Hobbes and
the replies that Hobbes provoked."1

Following from the many changes consequent upon the
Reformation, political relations had been greatly disturbed.
Questions dealing with the subject of international relations
were in the air. In England the civil war had disturbed men's
minds in a marked degree on the whole problem of government,
and the individual's relation to it. "In the resulting chaotic
condition of public law, several writers — both Catholic and
Protestant — attempted to supply the void of regulative
principles by developing that conception of the Law of Nature
which the Schoolmen had formed, partly by tradition from
Cicero through Augustine, and partly from the recently re-
vived study of Roman Jurisprudence." According to Grotius2
and contemporary writers, Natural Law was considered to
be a part of Divine Law, and was essentially inherent in the
nature of man. Such Natural Law, therefore, is as unalterable,
even by God himself, as the truths of mathematics.

1. HOBBES.

There had developed at this time the conception of a ' state
of nature', partly social, but scarcely political, in which, in
primitive times, individuals or single families had lived
peaceably side by side under none other than 'natural' laws.
But this involved the whole question of the origin and de-
velopment of moral and civil laws and produced a critical con-
troversy. It was at such a time, when the fundamental bases

Sidgwick, "History of Ethics", 5th ed., Macmillan & Co.,
p. 158.
21583-1645.

101

of law and order in general were matters of wide speculation,
that Hobbes wrote.1 His attempt is to give a clear and concise
statement of the basis upon which society rests, and therefore
of the history and nature of morality. In order to do this, he
seeks to avoid the metaphysical and theological speculations
of his predecessors, and to investigate moral phenomena from
an independent point of view. Men now live together more
or less peaceably in societies. How may this be accounted for,
and upon what is the obligation to peace founded?

According to Hobbes, man in his natural state has a right
to everything. "The right of nature' or jus naturale" for
Hobbes, "is the liberty each man hath to use his own power,
as he will himself, for the preservation of his own nature, that
is to say, of his own life." This is, however, not identically the
meaning which was given above to the term 'natural'. Fur-
ther, each man's appetites or desires are 'naturally' directed
either to the preservation of his life, or to that heightening of
it which he feels as pleasure. But in the event of another man
coming upon the scene, the same rights belong to him also.
There would, then, necessarily result a state of war, if two or
more individuals desire that which only one or a few can
possess. But the conflict then arising imperils the life which
each man actually desires to preserve. At this point, as a
solution of the difficulty, man exercises his reason. Reason
suggests articles of peace by which men may reach an agree-
ment. These articles are the Laws of Nature. The first Law
of Nature is the law of self-preservation, a law "by which a
man is forbidden to do that which is destructive of his life, or
taketh away the means of preserving the same". From this
fundamental law of nature, by which men are commanded to
endeavour to obtain peace, is derived this second law, "that
a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth, as for
peace, and defence of himself, he shall think it necessary, to
lay down his right to all things ; and to be contented with so
much liberty against other men, as he would allow other men
against himself". And in the chapter following, seventeen
such 'natural laws' are enumerated by Hobbes — the laws of
justice, gratitude, modesty, equity, mercy, etc.2

These laws of nature, or what is here thesame thing, the laws
of Reason, are the covenants men make with each other in the
interests of peace. Yet, although men make covenants, their
'natural' desires remain just the same as they were before;
and the "laws of nature"— "of themselves, without the terror

^Thomas Hobbes, 1588-1679. ltr . , „ T ,

'The English Works of Thomas Hobbes, Vol. Ill, "Leviathan , John
Bohn, London, 1889. Chs. 13, 14, and 15.

*!;":JSj 102

of some power, to cause them to be observed " will not guaran-
tee that such desires will not sometimes 'break out' against
the laws, and the individual seek his satisfaction, if he can, at
the expense of his fellows. Therefore, "there must be some
coercive power to compel men equally to the performance of
their covenants, by the terror of some punishment".1

"The only way to erect such a common power, as may be
able to defend them from the invasion of foreigners, and the
injuries of one another, is, to confer all their power and
strength upon one man, or upon one assembly of men, that
may reduce all their wills by plurality of voices into one wilt-
that is, to bear their person * * *. This is more than consent, or
concord: it is a real unity of them all, in one and the same
person." Hence a commonwealth, or state, may be denned
as "one person, of whose acts a great multitude, by mutual
covenants one with another, have made themselves every one,
the author, to the end he may use the strength and means of
them all, as he shall think expedient, for their peace and
common defence".2

In the choice between commonwealth and king, Hobbes
decides, after some argument, in favour of the absolute rule
of a king3 — and the king, as the sovereign of such a state, has
complete authority. According to the covenant, whatever he
does is an act of the commonwealth as a whole, for all the
citizens have transferred their "power and strength" to him.
He is the head of the great Leviathan, as it were, and the whole
body moves with one accord for the peace and unity of all the
members.

This sovereign power is not bound in any way by contract
with his subjects. Only the subjects are bound by their agree-
ments with each other. Yet, although not bound by any
agreement or law, the sovereign has some duties, for, the
sovereign power was erected "to the end he may use the
strength and means of them all, as he shall think expedient,
for their peace and common defence". This is to be done by
enforcement of the civil law.

"The law of nature, and the civil law," it is said, " contain
each other, and are of equal extent. For the laws of nature
* * * are not properly laws, but qualities that dispose men to
peace and obedience. When a commonwealth is once settled,
then are they actual laws, and not before; as being then the
commands of the commonwealth; and therefore also civil

'O.C. p. 153.
2O.C. pp. 157-8.
3O.C. Ch. 19.

103

laws; for it is the sovereign power that obliges men to obey
them."1 Such laws are the rules according to which we judge
an action as just or unjust; nothing being reputed unjust, that
is not contrary to some law. In the natural state, the notions
of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have no common
power. Till rights have been transferred and covenants made,
there is no justice nor injustice.

The laws of nature, although of equal extent with the civil
laws, are not always in writing. Yet they are all contained
within the one formula: " Do not that to another, which thou
thinkest unreasonable to be done by another to thyself."2
These laws of nature are "immutable and eternal". "All
men agree on this, that peace is good, and therefore also the
way, or means of peace, which as I havel showed before, are
justice, gratitude, modesty, equity, mercy, and the rest of the
laws of nature, are good ; that is to say, moral virtues; and their
contrary vices evil."3 The civil law is thus supreme within
the state, and the only criterion of right and wrong, or of just
and unjust, and is therefore immutable and eternal as the
'laws of nature'. "For though a wrong sentence given by
authority of the sovereign, if he know and allow it, in such
laws as are mutable, be a constitution of a new law, in cases
in which every little circumstance is the same; yet in laws
which are immutable, such as are the laws of nature, they are
no laws to the same or other judges, in the like cases for ever
after. Princes succeed one another; and one judge passeth,
another cometh; nay, heaven and earth shall pass; but
not one tittle of the law of nature shall pass; for it is the
eternal law of God. Therefore all the sentences of precedent
judges that have ever been, cannot altogether make a law-
contrary to natural equity. * For example, it is
against the law of nature, to punish the innocent.
I say, therefore, that there is no place in the world, where
this can be an interpretation of a law of nature, or be made
a law by the sentence of precedent judges that had done the
same. For he that judged it first, judged unjustly; and no
injustice can be a pattern of judgment to succeeding judges.

God's laws cannot be abrogated either by man or common-
wealth. Whether men will or not, they must always be sub-
ject to the divine power. These "divine laws, or dictates of
natural reason concern either the natural duties of one man
to another" (namely, equity, justice, mercy, etc.) "or honour

'O.C. p. 253.
2O.C. p. 258.
3O.C. p. 146.
<O;C. p. 264.

104

naturally due to our divine sovereign". For Hobbes, the laws
of nature are illustrated on every hand, as being of such a
nature that their violation is followed necessarily by natural
punishments. "There is no action of man in this life, that is
not the beginning of so long a chain of consequences, as no
human providence is high enough to give a man a prospect
to the end. And in this chain there are linked together both
pleasing and unpleasing events; in such manner as he that
will do anything for his pleasure, must engage himself to
suffer all the pains annexed to it; and these pains are the
natural punishments of those actions, which are the beginning
of more harm than good. And hereby it comes to pass, that
intemperance is naturally punished with diseases; rashness
with mischances; injustice with the violence of enemies;
pride, with ruin; cowardice, with oppression; negligent
government of princes, with rebellion; and rebellion with
slaughter. For, seeing punishments are consequent to the
breach of laws, natural punishments must be naturally con-
sequent to the breach of the laws of nature; and therefore
follow them as their natural, not arbitrary effects."1

The laws of the commonwealth are thus seen to be neces-
sarily supreme in all that concerns men's relations to one
another. But this position is not accepted without objection.
It is urged that "every private man is judge of good and evil
actions". This is only true, however, in a state of nature,
is Hobbes' reply. On such a basis no commonwealth could
exist.2 It is objected further, that "whatsoever a man does
against his conscience is sin", but this objection is based upon
the first. A man's conscience is the same thing as his judg-
ment, and may be erroneous. In a commonwealth the law
is the public conscience, and the individual has already under-
taken to be guided by this law.3 Otherwise "the common-
wealth must needs be distracted", because no one would
obey the sovereign power "further than it shall seem good in
his own eyes".4

"Concerning the offices of one sovereign to another, which
are comprehended in that law, which is commonly called the
law of nature, " Hobbes says, " I need not say anything in this
place; because the law of nations and the law of nature is
the same thing. And every sovereign hath the same right, in
procuring the safety of his people, that any particular man can
have in procuring the safety of his own body. And the same

KXC. pp. 356-7.
2O.C. p. 310.
3O.C. p. 311.
4Ibid.

105

law that dictateth to men that have no civil government,
what they ought to do, and what to avoid in regard of one an-
other, dictateth the same to commonwealths, that is, to the
consciences of sovereign princes and sovereign assemblies;
there being no court of natural justice, but in the conscience
only; where not man, but God reigneth; whose laws, such of
them as oblige all mankind, in respect of the same God, as he
is King of kings, are laws."1

It will have been noticed that Hobbes is mainly concerned
with the nature of the commonwealth, and the morality
which is the natural outcome of the relations between citi-
zens and sovereign therein involved. A condition of mere
nature in which no commonwealth exists is a condition of
anarchy. Men are saved from this condition, however, by
the use of the laws of nature, which are made by reason, and
constitute the moral virtues. But, as Hobbes points out,
when men desire to live together in an organized society, it
is imperative that "the immutable and eternal laws of nature"
should not be left to the chance interpretation of every indi-
vidual. Such interpretation and the consequent rules of
conduct must be left solely to the civil authority.

The state, or commonwealth, however, for Hobbes, is a
purely artificial, though rational, construction. " It is true, "
he says, "that certain living creatures, as bees and ants, live
sociably one with another, which are therefore, by Aristotle,
numbered amongst political creatures; and yet have no
other direction than their particular judgments and appe-
tites; nor speech, whereby one of them can signify to another
what he thinks expedient for the common benefit: and there-
fore some man may desire to know why mankind cannot do
the same." With man, however, the case is different. "The
agreement of these creatures is natural; that of men, is by
covenant only, which is artificial : and therefore it is no wonder
if there be somewhat else required, besides covenant, to make
their agreement constant and lasting; which is a common
power, to keep men in awe, and to direct their minds to the
common benefit."2

Hobbes' work made a strong impression upon the men of
his day, so much so that for the next half century efforts in
the direction of moral construction were more or less in answer
to the theory which he had advanced. On account of the
artificial or rational foundation upon which society is based, it
was charged by the opponents of Hobbes that the individual

'O.C. p. 342.
>O.C. pp. 156-7.

106

appears more or less in the light of a selfish egoist. On the
other hand, it was further objected that social morality would
be entirely dependent on positive law and institution.

2. CUDWORTH.

Among the opponents of Hobbes' views of man and society
were the orthodox theologians of the time, particularly a small
group of men known as the Cambridge Platonists, who, under
the name Intellectualism, charged Hobbes with taking away
the essential and eternal discrimination of moral good and
evil, of just and unjust. Ralph Cudworth,1 the most dis-
tinguished of this group of scholars, was among the first to
make the attack, although his work was not published until
more than forty years after his death in 1688. Cudworth 's
main contention in reply to Hobbes is that the "essential
and eternal distinctions of good and evil" are independent of
mere arbitrary will, whether human or divine — Cudworth
here objecting not only to the doctrine of Hobbes, but also to
the doctrine of Duns Scotus and Occam and certain later
theologians, the latter regarding all morality as dependent upon
the mere will and positive appointment of God.2

Cudworth speaks as follows: "Wherefore in the first
Place, it is a Thing which we shall very easily demonstrate,
That Moral Good and Evil, Just and Unjust, Honest and Dis-
honest, (if they be not mere Names without any Signification,
or Names for Nothing else, but Willed and Commanded, but
have a Reality in Respect of the Persons obliged to do and
avoid them) cannot possibly be Arbitrary things, made by
Will without Nature; because it is Universally True, that
things are what they are, not by Will, but by Nature." As
it is the nature of a triangle to have three angles equal to two
right angles, so it is the nature of 'good things' to have the
nature of goodness, and things just, the nature of justice.3

Apparently classing Hobbes with the Protagorean phil-
osophers on account of his psychology, Cudworth treats at
great length the Greek doctrine, and makes a summary state-
ment of his treatment in the following words: "Wre have
now abundantly confuted the Protagorean Philosophy, which,
that it might be sure to destroy the Immutable Nature of Just
and Unjust, would destroy all Science or Knowledge, and make
it Relative and Phantastical. Having showed that this

4617-1688.

2H. Sidgwick, "History of Ethics", p. 170.

3L. A. Selby Bigge, "British Moralists", Clarendon Press, 1897, § 813.
Following quotations taken from this work will be indicated by "S.B."

107

Tenet is not only most absurd and contradictious in itself,
but also manifestly repugnant to that very Atomic Physiology
on which Protagoras endeavoured to found it, and, than
which nothing can more effectually confute and destroy it:
and, also largely demonstrated, that though Sense be indeed
a mere Relative and Phantastical Perception, as Protagoras
thus far rightly supposed; yet notwithstanding there is a
Superior Power of Intellection and Knowledge of a different
Nature from Sense, which is not terminated in mere Seeming
and Appearance only, but in the Truth and Reality of things,
and reaches to the Comprehension of that which Really and
Absolutely is, whose Objects are the Eternal and Immutable
Essences and Natures of Things, and their Unchangeable
Relations to one another."

"To prevent all mistake, I shall again remember, what I
have before intimated, that where it is affirmed that the Es-
sences of all Things are Eternal and Immutable, which Doc-
trine the Theological Schools have constantly avouched, this
is only to be understood of the Intelligible Essences and Ra-
tiones of Things, as they are the Objects of the Mind: And
that there neither is nor can be any other Meaning of it, than
this, that there is an Eternal Knowledge and Wisdom, or an
Eternal Mind or Intellect, which comprehends within itself
the Steady and Immutable Rationes of all Things and their
Verities, from which all Particular Intellects are derived, and
on which they do depend."1

Moral ideas are thus not dependent upon civil law, but are
innate principles of reason. For Hobbes also, however,
moral ideas presuppose reason. Reason, he says, "suggesteth
convenient articles of peace, upon which men may be drawn
to agreement. These articles are they which otherwise are
called the Laws of Nature", namely, the usually accepted
virtues of justice, gratitude, equity, mercy, etc. Thus, when
Cudworth speaks of "a Superior Power of Intellection reach-
ing to the comprehension of that which Really and Abso-
lutely is",2 he is not saying anything very different from that
which Hobbes has already said ; and can be considered really
as corroborating Hobbes' position as to the 'immutable and
eternal ' nature of the moral virtues.

There is a difference, however, between these two stand-
points. That difference is in regard to the origin of moral
laws. For Cudworth such laws are derived from the
nal Mind or Intellect", while for Hobbes they are of empirical

^S.B. §§ 831-2.
2Ibid.

108

origin, obtained by reason from experience. It might also
be added that, as a matter of theory, Cudworth differed from
Hobbes in his conception of reason, the latter maintaining its
essential nature, whereas Hobbes did not insist on this.

In Hobbes' system, the bond of union between the different
citizens of the state resulted at first from the use of reason on
the part of each, which enabled each to see that the Common-
wealth mode of life was the only sensible way to live ; other-
wise no one could ever feel secure. Hobbes' method for
reaching a moral basis was thus, so to say, an inductive pro-
cess; and yet this was not, for him, opposed to religion or
revelation, for he believed in revelation through nature.
But Cudworth, adhering strictly to the idealistic theological
point of view, dispensed with the activity of the mind which
might make the Moral Law capricious or arbitrary, and held
to the divine imparting of these laws. Hence he was not
prepared to accept Hobbes' inductive basis. Progressive
morality on such a basis seemed to him contradictory, as
morality could only be a matter of clear convictions from which
one starts a priori. The principle of morals could not be
progressively obtained, and therefore Cudworth, and Clarke
following him, maintained that absolute certainty in morals
cannot be relative to merely existing circumstances. For
Cudworth, the ultimate term is not the established condi-
tion, but the will of God — not merely as such, however, but as
involving the eternal and immutable distinctions between
right and wrong. An external law, such as the civil, cannot
be the source of moral obligation, but an internal obligation
must be the source of civil law.

3. CLARKE AND WOLLASTON.

At a later period Samuel Clarke1 and William Wollaston2
continued the attempt to place ethics upon a basis as indis-
putable as that of mathematics.

Clarke made the claim, in answer to the selfish hypo-
thesis assumed as put forward by Hobbes as a basis of morals,
that the cognition of self-evident practical propositions is, in
itself, independently of any selfish interest, a sufficient motive
to a rational being as such for acting in accordance with them.
"It might," he says, "seem altogether a needless under-
taking to attempt to prove and establish the eternal difference
of Good and Evil, had there not appeared certain Men, as
Mr. Hobbes and some few others, who have presumed, con-

11675-1729.
21659-1724.

109

trary to the plainest and most obvious reason of mankind, to
assert, and not without some Subtilty endeavoured to prove
that there is no such real difference originally, necessarily,
and absolutely in the Nature of Things, but that air obli-
gation of Duty to God, arises merely from his absolute ir-
resistible Power, and all duty towards Men, merely from posi-
tive Compact: And have founded their whole Scheme of
Politicks upon that Opinion."1

It is maintained that moral norms possess as great objective
reality as mathematical and physical laws; in fact, to break
a moral law is similar to a change in the properties of bodies
which break the laws of nature in the physical world. Just
as the laws of nature are invariable, so, on Clarke's theory,
there is a certain invariable fitness in the relations of all
things to each other, in which their moral nature consists.
For example, "As the Addition of certain Numbers neces-
sarily produces a certain Sum, and certain Geometrical or
Mechanical Operations give a constant and unalterable
Solution of certain Problems or Propositions, so in Moral
Matters, there are certain necessary and unalterable Respects
or Relations of Things, which have not their Original from
arbitrary and positive Constitution, but are of eternal ne-
cessity of their own Nature."2

"Thus it appears in general," Clarke states, "that the
mind of Man cannot avoid giving its Assent to the eternal law
of Righteousness, that is, cannot but acknowledge the rea-
sonableness and fitness of Men's governing all their Actions
by the Rule of Right or Equity: And also that this Assent is
a formal Obligation upon every Man, actually and constantly
to conform himself to that Rule."5

A similar position is taken up by Wollaston in which he
maintains that a bad action is one which contains the denial of
a true proposition.

Moral wrong, therefore, is seen to be nothing less than a
violation of the laws of nature, which are as absolute as the
laws of mathematics. But, although it may be admitted
that there is a resemblance between moral maxims and
mathematical axioms, if the two are taken to be identical,
and it is claimed that there is as much intellectual absurdity
in acting unjustly as in denying a mathematical proposition,
it remains true also, that in the large majority of cases, if
a man is obliged to choose between absurdity and happiness,
he will naturally prefer the latter.

iS.B. § 484.
«S.B. § 507.
'S.B. § 498.

110

What the Intellectualists are interested in asserting is
that there are certain principles upon which moral acts are
based, and that these principles are the determinations of
what is virtuous or vicious in all relations and circumstances.
But as soon as they come to define the nature of any particular
act, they are, of course, obliged to limit their statement to
the state of mind or will of a reasonable being, as distinguished
from the overt act.

Clarke first throws out external authority and fear of
punishment, and bases man's conduct on the eternal fitness of
things; but he later brings in these as necessary to frail human
beings, thus adopting in such cases the position of Hobbes, so
far as the individual's advantage and his relation to the civil
law are concerned. « The only difference is that Hobbes
stated his case from the side of human legislation, while
Clarke really developed a religious idealism, which had, how-
ever, some of the features of later utilitarianism. This double
aspect of the case made possible, even yet, a dispute as to
what motive the individual has to conform to any social
principle when it conflicts with his natural desires and private
interest.

Practically speaking, none of the Intellectualists has really
destroyed Hobbes' position. The emphasis which has been
laid upon reason, and the arguments advanced in defence of
the immutability and eternity of the moral virtues had all
been well considered by Hobbes, as we have seen. Hobbes'
essential standpoint was in relation to the conditions necessary
for the establishment of a commonwealth, and this point
was overlooked by his opponents.

4. CUMBERLAND.

We come now to an attack from a different standpoint.
Hobbes is criticised because of the naturally selfish nature
which, it is charged, he ascribes to man as a citizen of the state.
The motive for the establishment of the commonwealth is
declared to be a purely egoistic one, calculation of the advan-
tages and disadvantages of the individual being the primary
consideration. And Cumberland (1672) states in opposition
to such a supposed egoism, that the community is itself worthy
as a community, as well as the individual, from the standpoint
that the interests of the individual are not necessarily the
same as those of society. The common good of all, he affirms,
is the supreme end, the standard of human action, in subor-
dination to which all other rules and virtues are to be deter-
mined. "The greatest possible benevolence of every rational

Ill

agent towards all the rest constitutes the happiest state of
all, so far as depends on their own power, and is necessarily
required for their happiness. Accordingly Common Good
will be the Supreme Law. "J And morality is thus transferred,
in part, from the Reason to the feelings, namely, Benevolence.

Cumberland, in consequence of this natural benevolence,
rejects Hobbes' hypothesis as to the 'nature 'of man, both
prior to and during his citizenship in the commonwealth.
The natural and original state of man is peace, and mankind
is urged by the most powerful motives to preserve peace and
avert war, since the former is associated with the pleasurable
feelings, and the latter with the painful feelings of envy and
hatred. Far more importance is therefore attached to emo-
tion, in the domain of morality, in opposition to Hobbes and
the Intellectualists. Rational insight, however, still holds its
place in the choice of special means, and in the performance of
particular actions.

Cumberland thus opposes benevolence to natural egoism,
and in so doing prepares the way for the later social ethics.
In identifying the moral end with the welfare of the whole, he
represents a tendency which we find fairly permanently
established throughout British ethical theory; but, so far as
Cumberland is concerned, the nature of this 'social welfare' as
distinguished from the welfare of the individual, is not very
adequately explained, and consequently the question is still
open as to whether the welfare of the whole has an independent
existence, or whether it does not ultimately consist, as Hobbes
maintained, in the welfare of individuals.

5. LOCKE.

Locke enlarges the view of the Intellectualists by maintain-
ing that the mere apprehension by the reason of the obli-
gatoriness of certain rules is not a sufficient motive to their
performance, apart from the consideration of consequences.
In this respect he takes up a position similar to that of Hobbes,
and interprets "good and evil" as "nothing but pleasure or
pain, or that which occasions or procures pleasure or pain to
us ". The case is the same with moral good and evil, which he
defines as "only the conformity or disagreement of our volun-
tary actions to some law, whereby good and evil (that is,
pleasure and pain), is drawn on us from the will and power of
the law-maker".2

*H. Sidgwick, "History of Ethics", p. 174. „

»Tohn Locke, "An Essay Concerning Human Understanding , 1 90,
Bk. II, Ch. 28, § 5; Ch. 7, § 3; Ch. 20, § 2; Ch. 21, §§ 17, 35.

112

Yet Locke maintains against Hobbes that ethical rules are
actually obligatory, independent of the sanction of the com-
monwealth or society, and that they are even capable of being
scientifically constructed on principles intuitively known,
though such principles are not held by him to be innate.
He avoids Hobbes' hypothesis of a pre-social state, and pre-
fers to make the tacit assumption that the same psychological
motives have always governed the human race. Locke postu-
lates three laws according to which human action has been
governed, namely, "First, The law of God; Secondly, The law
of politic societies; Thirdly, The law of fashion or private
censure." These laws "are those to which men variously
compare their actions: and it is by conformity to one of these
laws that they take their measure, when they would judge of
their moral rectitude, and denominate their actions good or
bad".1

Although, for Locke, these laws have all been obtained
through sensation and reflection, his position would seem to
be based on a recognition of the idea that the "law of God"
has more than a merely subjective existence. The law of the
Law-maker, that is, really exists. Although Locke had com-
pletely severed his connection with those who maintained the
innateness of moral ideas by pointing out the individual
differences and the uncertainty which always attaches to these
ideas, yet he regards moral knowledge as capable of as real
certainty as mathematics. "Our knowledge," he says, "is
real only so far as there is a conformity betwreen our ideas
and the reality of things." Locke says of 'things' that we
have copies in our minds, but in the case of mathematics and
morals the "reality of things" or the "archetype" is in the
mind itself.2

With reference to the motive of moral action, Locke's
doctrine of pleasure and pain would indicate that these factors
constitute the sole source of such action. But in his doctrine
of freedom, it may be seen that there are other factors which
must be considered. The decision as to the content of action
always proceeds from reflection. Man should not, Locke
contends, be determined by the first 'uneasiness', but has
power to pause and deliberate. The action of the will thus
follows the judgment of the understanding. Intelligence in
this way comes to play the leading r61e, and judgments or
moral value are the result mainly of rational insight and

'O.C. II, 28, §§ 13, 14.

'O.C. Ill, 11, §16; IV, 4, §§7,3.

113

deliberation, operating upon the data gathered in experience
as to the connection of pleasure and pain with certain actions.

6. SHAFTESBURY.

The next step to be taken toward a solution of the problem
of social morality was that taken by the Moral Sense school.
Instead of presenting the principle of social duty as abstract
reason, with which natural self-love is liable to conflict, it is
possible that man is endowed by nature with social affections,
and that there may be a normal harmony between these and
his natural self-love. This line of thought Shaftesbury1
may be said to have begun. Although there were those who,
before Shaftesbury, spoke of natural affections binding men to
their fellows, yet he is the first to make this the central point
in his system. No one before him had definitely transferred
the centre of ethical interest from the Reason, conceived as
apprehending abstract moral distinctions, to the emotional
impulses that prompt to social duty.

Shaftesbury, "surpassing all his predecessors in the acute-
ness of his aesthetic sense, is the first to prove the primary
character of the moral feeling, and the consequent impossi-
bility of deriving it from any consideration of the useful
or harmful consequences of an action".2 For him, the prim-
ary and immediate character of moral feeling proves that mor-
ality is based on emotions which are natural to man, and which
can be objects of deliberation only secondarily, in which case
they give rise to moral judgments.

"We have found," Shaftesbury states, "that to deserve
the name good or virtuous a Creature must have all his In-
clinations and Affections, his Dispositions of Mind, suitable
and agreeing with the Good of his Kind, or of that System in
which he is included, and of which he constitutes a Part."3

We do not know the good by reference to pleasure or pain,
nor yet from reason, but by a faculty or sense which tells us
what is right or wrong, in much the same way, for example, as
our sense of beauty distinguishes the beautiful from that which-
is not beautiful. This faculty or sense, Shaftesbury calls
the moral sense. "Let us suppose a Creature," he says
"who wanting reason, and being unable to reflect, has, not-
withstanding, many good Qualitys and Affections; as Love
to his Kind, Courage, Gratitude, or Pity. Tis certain that

*W. Wundt, "Ethical Systems", translated by M. F. Washburn, Swan
Sonnenschein & Co., 1897, p. 67.
'S.B. § 26.

114

if you give to this Creature a reflecting Faculty, it will at the

same instant approve of Gratitude, Kindness, and Pity; be

taken with any shew or representation of the social Passion,

and think nothing more amiable than this, or more odious

than the contrary. And this is to be capable of Virtue, and

to have a Sense of Right and Wrong."1 Shaftesbury further

states that a man may "by licentiousness of Practice, favour'd

i by Atheism, come in time to lose much of his natural moral

; Sense".2

The main function of the moral sense is that of approving
the benevolent affections. By such approval an additional
pleasure is added to that which such affections already possess,
and the combination is thus able to counteract the influence
of the selfish affections. The tendency of Shaftesbury here
is to make benevolence and virtue identical, and at the same
time to impair the disinterested character of benevolence.

The moral judgment, for Shaftesbury, is not reducible,
as was supposed by his predecessors, to reflection and
the balancing of advantages, but may be said to follow
rather than precede the ideas of good and bad. Since then the
natural moral law is independent of reflection , its content
must consist in an emotion, or a relation between emotions,
and since moral action concerns either ourselves or our fellow-
men, this relation is seen to be that of harmony between the
egoistic and the social affections. The same balancing and
blending of private and social affections which tends naturally
to public good, is also conducive to the happiness of the indi-
vidual in whom it exists.

Locke had not been able to dispense with rewards and pun-
ishments annexed to the moral law. Shaftesbury, however,
maintains that morality is its own reward; it involves the
highest internal satisfaction, and does not therefore need to
be measured by any external standard. When we speak of
a man as good, we mean that his dispositions or affections are
such as tend of themselves, without external constraint, to
promote the good or happiness of human society. Man is
not originally fierce and malignantly disposed towards his
fellows, but peaceable and benevolent.

The work of Shaftesbury constitutes a turning point in
British ethics. WTith moralists immediately following, the
consideration of abstract rational principles falls into the
background, and its place is taken by empirical study of the
human mind.

^.B. § 25.
*S.B. § 24.

115

7. BUTLER.

Butler l follows Shaftesbury in maintaining that the social
affections are as natural as the appetites and desires which
tend more directly to self-preservation. He goes further,
however, in contending that pleasure is not the primary aim
even of the impulses which Shaftesbury allowed to be 'self-
affections '; but rather that it is a result which follows upon
their attaining their natural ends.

The notion of natural, unregulated egoism, according to
Butler, is a psychological chimera, for man's primary impulses
do not aim immediately at his own pleasure. Rather, it is
evident that the tendencies of some are as clearly towards
social well-being as those of others are towards self-preser-
vation.

Thus benevolence is as much a natural principle in man as
self-love. It may be natural to be selfish, but it is also natural
to be benevolent. This is further borne out "from observing
that the several passions and affections, which are distinct
both from benevolence and self-love, do in general contribute
and lead us to Public good as really as to private".2

In addition to the two principles of self-love and benevo-
lence indicated above, "there is a principle of reflection in
man". "This principle in man, by which he approves or
disapproves his heart, temper, and actions, is conscience."3
This principle "plainly tends as much to private good as to
public", although, Butler says, "it is commonly thought to
tend chiefly to the latter". Conscience, when compared with
the other principles of man's constitution, "as they all stand
together in the nature of man, plainly bears upon it marks of
authority over all the rest, and claims the absolute direction
of them all, to allow or forbid their gratification". Conse-
quently, if the interests of self-love and benevolence should ever
clash, conscience would be the final court of appeal. The
deliverances of conscience stand on a different level from those
of other faculties. It has regard to all the capacities of human
nature, and by no means confines its interest to benevolence,
—Butler affirming that "benevolence and the want of it,
singly considered, are in no sort the whole of virtue and vice ,
for "we are so constituted as to condemn falsehood, unpro-
voked violence, injustice, and to approve of benevolence^ to
some preferably to others, abstracted from all consideration

4 692- 1752.
2S.B. § 205.
3S.B. § 206.
4S.B. § 194.

116

which conduct is likeliest to produce an overbalance of happi-
ness or misery. And therefore, were the Author of nature
to propose nothing to himself, as end, but the production of
happiness, were his moral character merely that of benevo-
lence; yet ours is not so".1 Butler feared the danger of giving
pleasure too high a place, and consequently he brought in
conscience as an authority in order to show that certain goods
were higher than pleasure.

On the other hand, is there a possibility that conscience
and self-love should ever come into conflict? "Reasonable
self-love and conscience, " according to Butler, "are the chief
or superior principles in the nature of man : because an action
may be suitable to this nature, though all other principles be
violated; but becomes unsuitable if either of those are. Con-
science and self-love, as we understand our true happiness,
always lead us the same way."2 However, if there ever
should be any connection between the two, which Butler con-
tends is impossible, conscience would have to give way; since
"our ideas of happiness and misery are of all our ideas the
nearest and most important to us." Such ideas "ought to
prevail", for, "when we sit down in a cool hour, we can
neither justify to ourselves this or any other pursuit till we
are convinced that it will be for our happiness, or at least not
contrary to it".

Ultimately, then, it would seem that self-love is the
fundamental principle of moral action. Butler, however,
would not admit this, but treats the two principles of self-love
and conscience as so far co-ordinate in authority that it is not
"according to nature" that either should be over-ruled; and
therefore, he contends that it is impossible such a conflict
should ever take place.

It is interesting to note that when Butler comes to the dis-
cussion of the judgments of conscience — as given in the
"Dissertation upon virtue" appended to the Analogy, and
published ten years after the 'Sermons' — that he takes up a
position just the opposite to that in which it is maintained
that happiness takes precedence over conscience in case of a
possible conflict. The dictates of conscience, it is urged, are
quite clear and certain, while the calculations of self-interest
lead to merely probable conclusions. These dictates of con-
science make it certain that duty is always superior to worldly
interest, and in such a case of conflict "the more certain obliga-
tion must entirely supersede and destroy the less certain".

iS.B. § 249.
2S.B. S 226.

117

But it is not possible that such a conflict should ever occur.
Unless proof to the contrary should be shown, we must believe
them to be harmonious.

8. HUTCHESON.

The next writer, Francis Hutcheson,1 follows more directly
from Shaftesbury. Shaftesbury had sought to prove that
morality is a balance between the selfish and the social affec-
tions. Hutcheson, however, states that morality cannot con-
sist in a mere harmony of egoistic and social impulses; such a
view is contradicted by the unconditional preference which
our judgment always give to sympathy above all selfish in-
clinations. Our approval is won, not by a harmony among
different affections, but by the predominance of purely disin-
terested love over all other impulses.

Acts of the will are selfish or benevolent according as one's
own good, or the good of others, is pursued. There are two
calm natural determinations of the will; the first, a constant
impulse towards one's own highest perfection and happiness;
the second, towards the universal happiness of others. There
are also turbulent passions and appetites, whose end is their
simple gratification.

Hutcheson rebuts the idea that generous affections are
selfish, because, according to a "Publick Sense" we are
"pleased with the Happiness of others," and are "uneasy at
their Misery". Having thus accepted the existence of purely
disinterested affections, and divided them into calm and turbu-
lent, Hutcheson puts the question, Whether the selfish or
benevolent principle should yield in case of opposition? And
though it seems that the universal is preferred to the individual
happiness by the Deity, in the order of the world, this is not
sufficient unless by some determination of the soul we are made
to comply with the Divine intentions. This leads on to the
consideration of the Moral Faculty.

The victory of the altruistic impulses can occur only with
the aid of a peculiar emotion of approbation, which associates
itself with every benevolent instinct. This emotion is the
Moral Sense, and is described by Hutcheson as follows: "The
Author of Nature has determin'd us to receive, by our ex-
ternal Senses, pleasant or disagreeable Ideas of Objects,
according as they are useful or hurtful to our Bodys; and to
receive from uniform Objects the Pleasures of Beauty and
Harmony to excite us to the Pursuit of Knowledge, and to
reward us for it ; or to be an argument to us of his Goodness,

11694-1747.

118

as the Uniformity itself proves his Existence, whether he had
a Sense of Beauty in Uniformity or not: in the same manner he
has given us a Moral Sense, to direct our actions, and to give
us still nobler Pleasures; so that while we are only intending
the Good of others, we undesignedly promote our own greatest
private Good."1

Such a moral sense is not referred to any other quality
observable by our other senses, or by reasoning. It is not
dependent upon bodily organs, but is a settled determination
of the soul.

Thus "Every Action, which we apprehend as either
morally good or evil, is always suppos'd to flow from some
Affection toward rational Agents; and whatever we call
Virtue or Vice, is either some such Affection, or some action
consequent upon it".-

Reason has not, then, as the Intellectual ethics supposes,
any primary significance for morals. Its influence is secondary
only, teaching us how to discriminate between what is ethically
valuable, and what is worthless.

Before proceeding to Hume, it might be well to sum up
the main position of the Moral Sense School. The important
fact to note is that the moral sense theory is a theory of motive
rather than of criterion. "Approbation," Hufccheson states,
"is founded on Benevolence because of some real or apparent
Tendency to the Public Good. For we are not to imagine that
this Sense should give us, without Observation, Ideas of com-
plex Actions, or of their natural Tendencies to Good or Evil:
It only determines us to approve Benevolence, whenever it
appears in any Action, and to hate the contrary."3 The
theory does not, therefore, aim at assisting us to distinguish
right from wrong, but it is really a countertheory to the
selfish hypothesis, which is essentially a theory of motives.
Virtue is natural, on this theory, because there is in every man
a sufficient motive to it. There is some degree of benevolence
in all human beings, but purely natural benevolence is weak
or partial. It is strengthened and corrected by the moral
sense, which adds a novel and exquisite pleasure to that which
accompanies the gratification of any natural impulse. Hut-
cheson insists on this as against the selfish theory, maintaining
that virtue, or benevolence, is made our greatest happiness,
apart from any external consequences, by the action of the
moral sense.

^.B. § 87.
2S.B. § 89.
3S.B. § 136.

119

It is noteworthy that Hutcheson in limiting the function
of the moral sense to the production of a peculiar pleasure,
opens the way to such an assimilation of this pleasure to
other pleasure as Hume carried out through the medium of
sympathy. It is further evident in Hutcheson that there is
no direct road between 'individualistic' and ' universalistic '
hedonism. Unless we have public affections, he says, "this
Truth, 'that an hundred Felicities is a greater Sum than one
Felicity', will no more excite to study the Happiness of the
Hundred, than this truth, 'a hundred Stones are greater than
one', will excite a Man, who has no desire of Heaps, to cast
them together".1

9. HUME.

The moral problem remaining for Hume is thus seen to
refer to the foundation of the moral judgment, whether to
class it as reason or sentiment. Cudw^orth, Clarke, and others
had postulated reason as the basis of the moral judgment. Ac-
cording to Hume, however, although reason discovers relations
and makes judgments thereon, no discovered relation of agree-
ment, difference, or 'contrariety' affords any ground for our
moral approval or disapproval. What then is this ground?
It is a feeling or sentiment of approval or disapproval, which
arises when we contemplate all the circumstances of a case/
This feeling, Hume maintains, is not that of self-love, but is
the feeling of sympathy — a " fellowT-feeling with others".

Against the theory that the virtue of an act is nothing but
the pleasure it gives us, Hume contends that men can enter
into the feelings of others by sympathy, and that as a con-
sequence wre often approve of actions which are decidedly
hurtful to us and advantageous to our enemies. He depre-
cates the attempts of philosophers to trace moral judgments to
self-love. "We must, " he says, "renounce a theory which
accounts for every moral sentiment by the principle of self-
love." No doubt self-love explains much, but an appeal to
experience shows its defects. We praise the moral greatness of
persons who lived in a time long past where our interests have
no part. "We must adopt a more public affection, and allow
that the interests of society are not, even on their own account,
entirely indifferent to us." There exists a fellow-feeling with
the happiness and misery of others, which must be admitted as
"a principle in human nature * * * beyond which we cannot
hope to find any principle more general". And Hume further
states that "it is not probable that these principles can be
resolved into principles more simple and universal, whatever

'S.B. § 453.

120

attempts have been made to that purpose".1 It is, thus, on a
principle of disinterested action, belonging to our nature,
that Hume founds the chief part of our sentiments of moral
approbation.

But that our actions may be disinterested in this sense,
does not mean that they are immediately approved without
regard to consequences, and herein lies the essential difference
between Hutcheson's ethical doctrine and Hume's. The
factor of utility is present in all our moral determinations.
"It appears to be a matter of fact, that the circumstance of
utility in all subjects is a source of praise and approbation:
that it is constantly appealed to in all moral decisions con-
cerning the merit and dement of actions: that it is the sole
source of that high regard paid to justice, fidelity, honour,
allegiance, and chastity: that it is inseparable from all the
other social virtues, humanity, generosity, charity, affability,
lenity, mercy, and moderation: and, in a word, it is a founda-
tion of the chief part of morals, which has reference to man-
kind and our fellow-creatures."2

The factor of utility in morals has a special significance for
the virtue of justice, as above indicated. Justice is more com-
pletely bound up with society than any of the other virtues.
For example, Hume contrasts humanity and benevolence with
justice and fidelity, the former referring more to the individual,
and the latter to society. "The social virtues of humanity and
benevolence exert their influence immediately by direct
tendency or instinct which chiefly keeps in view the simple
object, moving the affections, and comprehends not any
scheme or system, nor the consequence resulting from the
concurrence, imitation, or examples of others. The case is
not the same with the social virtues of justice and fidelity.
They are highly useful, or indeed, absolutely necessary to the
well-being of mankind: but the benefit resulting from them
is not the consequence of every single act, but arises from the
whole scheme or system concurred in by the whole or the
greater part of society."3

It is thus seen that Hume, on the one hand, maintains a
principle of disinterested action in his treatment of the his-
toric self-regarding and other-regarding virtues, that is "the
social virtues of humanity and benevolence". Self-love and
benevolence have really been fused into one class of actions.
These virtues belong to our nature, and "exert their influence

xDavid Hume, "An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals'
Reprinted fr. ed. of 1777. Open Court Pub. Co., Chicago, p. 54, footnote.
2O.C. p. 66.
3O.C. pp. 146-7.

121

immediately". There are, however, certain virtues that do
not, in this way, belong to our nature, namely, "the social vir-
tues of justice and fidelity." These latter virtues have refer-
ence to "the whole scheme or system concurred in by the
whole, or the greater part of society". This may be seen in
the following: "Men's inclinations, their necessities, lead them
to combine ; their understanding and their experience tell them
that this combination is impossible where each governs him-
self by no rules, and pays no regard to the possessions of
others, and from these passions and reflections, conjoined, as
soon as are observed like passions and reflections in others,
the sentiment of justice, throughout all ages, has infallibly
and certainly had place to some degree or other in every
individual of the human species."1

Justice is not, then, an original virtue. If every man were
animated by benevolence toward all, or if nature had provided
bountifully for all needs, the virtue of justice would be super-
fluous. "The rules of equity and justice," Hume states,
"depend entirely on the particular state and condition in
which men are placed, and owe their origin and existence to
that utility which results to the public from their strict and
regular observance."2 In fact "the necessity of justice to the
support of societies is the sole foundation of that virtue."3

The observance of justice, however, is not referred by
Hume to an express compact, as was done by Hobbes, but to
a gradually attained convention similar in kind to that by
which Language and Currency must be conceived to have
come into existence, or, to the silent agreement between the
various rowers in a boat. Yet it is evident that Hume main-
tains Hobbes' view of the artificiality of the state. "Examine
the writers," he says, "on the laws of nature, and you will
always find that whatever principles they set out with ^ they
are sure to terminate here at last, and to assign as the ultimate
reason for every rule which they establish, the convenience
and necessities of mankind. What other reason, indeed, could
writers ever give, why this must be mine, and that yours,
since uninstructed nature surely never gave any such distinc-
tions?"4

In Hobbes the whole system of social relations was seen
to be derived from individual calculation, as is the case with
justice in Hume's system. Hobbes' justification for the state
was the benefit which it afforded the individual. It was natural

KXC. p. 150.
2O.C. p. 20.
'O.C. p. 37.
4O.C. pp. 28-9.

122

that the individual should seek his own preservation, and the
commonwealth was the best, indeed the only, means to that
end. The individual's concern about the welfare of others
is not given any place, except in so far as he observes the civil
laws which are in the interest of all. As a result of the analysis
of the Moral Sense theorists, however, the welfare of others—
so far as this is contained within the scope of benevolence —
came to be recognized as an object which it was as natural
for the individual to seek as his own personal welfare. With
this position, it has been seen, Hume is in fundamental agree-
ment, that is, as far as benevolence is concerned. But for
Hume, justice still remains an 'artificial' virtue. It cannot be
reckoned with the natural virtues; it is no original attribute
of man; it does not spring from spontaneous feeling, but pre-
supposes reason and deliberation.

The Intellectualists or Intuitionists, in their contentions
against the Moral Sense school, have always enjoyed in 'jus-
tice' a virtue which has served well as a support for their
theory. The Sentimentalists have not been able to account
for it. Hume attempts to explain it on practically the same
basis as Hobbes. But it may be, that instead of relegating any
moral virtue to the realm of the 'artificial', all such virtues
may be seen to be natural, even that of justice. That is to
say, it may be that a still further analysis of human nature
may show that the individual in society is, in all respects,
naturally a social individual.

10. ADAM SMITH.

Adam Smith supplements Hume at this point, by postu-
lating 'sympathy' as the foundation of all moral virtues,
justice included. Hume indeed had contended for this sym-
pathetic factor, as has been seen. "No man," he states, "is
absolutely indifferent to the happiness and misery of others.
The first has a natural tendency to give pleasure ; the second
pain. This, every one may find in himself."1 But, although
such a position is evident in Hume, for Adam Smith, the social
nature of the individual is the burden of his whole system.

Adam Smith bases his whole theory on the feelings. Re-
turning to the views of Hutcheson, his former teacher, he
extends these views, and at the same time connects them with
the investigations of Hume. The moral faculty is set forth
as practically identical with the power of sympathy. Man is
a moral being in proportion as he can enter into, and realize
the feelings, sentiments, and opinions of others.

XD.C. p. 54, footnote.

123

Sympathy, he says, "does not arise so much from the view
of the passion, as from that of the situation which excites it.
We sometimes feel for another a passion of which he himself
seems to be altogether incapable; because, when we put our-
selves in his case that passion arises in our breast from the
imagination, though it does not in his from the reality." We
feel for the insane what they do not feel; we sympathize even
with the dead.1

What significance this factor of sympathy has for social
relations may be seen in the following:

"When those authors, on the other hand, deduce from
self-love the interest which we take in the welfare of society,
and the esteem which we upon that account bestow upon
virtue, they do not mean, that when we in this age applaud
the virtue of Cato, and detest the villany of Catiline, our
sentiments are influenced by the notion of any benefit we
receive from the one, or of any detriment we suffer from the
other. * * * The idea, in short, which those authors were
groping about, which they were never able to unfold distinctly,
was that indirect sympathy which we feel with the gratitude
or resentment of those who received the benefit or suffered the
damage resulting from such opposite characters: and it was
this which they were distinctly pointing at, when they said,
that it was not the thought of what we had gained or suffered
which prompted our applause or indignation, but the concep-
tion or imagination of what we might gain or suffer if we were
to act in society with such associates."2

"Sympathy, however, cannot, in any sense, be regarded
as a selfish principle. WThen I sympathize with your sorrow or
your indignation, it may be pretended indeed, that my emo-
tion is founded in self-love, because it arises from bringing
your case home to myself, from putting myself in your situ-
ation, and thence conceiving what I should feel in the like
circumstances. But though sympathy is very properly said
to arise from an imaginary change of situations with the
person principally concerned, yet this imaginary change is not
supposed to happen to me in my own person and character,
but in that of the person with whom I sympathize. When I
condole with you for the loss of your only son, in order to
enter into your grief, I do not consider what I, a person of such
a character and profession, should suffer, if I had a son, and
if that son was unfortunately to die: but I consider what I
should suffer if I was really you, and I not only change circum-

'S.B. §§ 256-7.
2S.B. § 338.

124

stances with you, but I change persons and characters. My
grief, therefore, is entirely upon your account, and not in the
least, upon my own. It is not, therefore, in the least selfish."1

It is thus a 'social self which enables us to effect, not only
an imaginary change of situation with the person chiefly con-
cerned, but a complete identification of our own person and
character with that of another person. Moral action engages
our sympathy, not only because we imagine ourselves in the
place of the person concerned, but because we enter into the
spirit of the agent.

As indicated, Adam Smith's theory supplies us with the
complement of that put forward by Hume. The estimate of
the merit of an act, for Hume, rests on its external effect,2 its
advantage to others, but Adam Smith places the emphasis
upon the disposition. For the latter, the moral character of
an act is determined, not only by its external consequences,
but by the motives which give rise to it. The moral senti-
ments do not arise originally and essentially from any per-
ception of utility, though no doubt such perception enhances
and enlivens them; for, "it seems impossible that the appro-
bation of virtue should be a sentiment of the same kind with
that by which we approve of a convenient and well-contrived
building; or that we should have no other reason for praising
a man than that for which we commend a chest of drawers".
"The usefulness of any disposition of mind is seldom the first
ground of our approbation." "The sentiment of approbation
always involves in it a sense of propriety quite distinct from
the perception of utility."3 Hence, while the maxims of utility
ido not lose all significance, they play a subordinate part.

Adam Smith, as already stated, explains justice, as well as
all other virtues, on the basis of sympathy. The acts of others
arouse in us an emotion of gratitude when we feel ourselves
benefited by them, and an impulse of revenge when we feel
ourselves injured. Such sympathy may be described as a
retributive impulse, if the term is understood to include both
gratitude and revenge.4 It is from this standpoint that Smith
deals with the ethical motive of justice. Hume had failed to
derive 'justice' from the natural moral feelings, and had
ascribed it to reflection. Smith, however, finds the emotional
root of justice in the retributive impulse. Justice is only this

iS.B. § 339.

*Seep. 120.

3S.B. §§327-8. See also §357.

4This retributive impulse is used by Westermarck in his "Origin and
Development of Moral Ideas", 1906, as supplying an emotional origin for
all moral judgments. See especially Vol. I, Ch. 2, of his work.

125

impulse universalized, and consequently, this virtue, which
had hitherto been considered 'artificial' is at last included
within the scope of the so-called natural virtues. Only on the
supposition that justice, too, takes its rise in feeling, can we
explain the difference in importance which obtains between
the moral and those other departments of human interest
which are so often confused with it, for example, the useful,
the suitable, the rational. Hume had not given any clear
explanation for this distinction, but had identified morality
with the natural as regards its emotional origin, and with the
prudent and useful as regards its completion by means of justice.
Adam Smith observes that even the retributive sentiments, if
they were limited like sensuous emotion and other feelings, to
the individual, could never have reached their dominant
position. The point of difference lies in the social aspect of
these sentiments, in the possibility of their sympathetic trans-
ference to other persons, a transference of which every one is
conscious.

The conception of sympathy put forward by Adam Smith
had a very wide influence upon the way in which moral facts
were regarded. It has been seen that we approve of another's
passions when we observe that we entirely sympathize with
them, and we approve of our own passions when we are able
to think that an impartial spectator can sympathize with them.
The effect of this sympathy is that every member of society
tries to lower or raise his passions to that pitch at which the
ordinary spectator can sympathize with them. For example,
as certain spectators "are constantly considering what they
themselves would feel, if they were actually the sufferers, so
he is constantly led to imagine in what manner he would be
affected if he was only one of the spectators of his own situ-
ation". In this way a certain 'concord' is produced.1

A closer investigation of the doctrine of sympathy reveals
the view of the organic unity of social feeling based on common
circumstances and conditions of life and well-being. This view
is distinctly in advance of the theories propounded by Smith's
predecessors, either 'benevolent' or 'utilitarian'. The age
was individualistic, and in framing moral theories men enter-
tained the atomic view of society as built up of individuals
equipped each with a complete moral faculty. Adam Smith,
on the contrary, derives the individual conscience from the
fact of society — a society of which the individual forms a part.
"Were it possible", he says, "that a human creature could
grow up to manhood in some solitary place, without any

iS.B. § 274.

126

communication with his own species, he could no more think of
his own character, of the propriety or demerit of his own senti-
ments and conduct, of the beauty or deformity of his own
mind, than of the beauty or deformity of his own face. * * *
Our first ideas of personal beauty or deformity are drawn
from the shape and appearance of others, not from our own.
We soon become sensible, however, that others exercise the
same criticism upon us. * * * In the same manner our first
moral criticisms are exercised upon the characters and conduct
of other people ; and we are very forward to observe how each
of these affects us. But we soon learn that other people are
equally frank with regard to our own. We become anxious to
know how far we deserve their censure or applause, and
whether to them we must necessarily appear those agreeable
or disagreeable creatures which they represent us. * * * When
I endeavour to examine my own conduct, when I endeavour to
pass sentence upon it, and either to approve or condemn it, it
is evident that in all such cases, I divide myself, as it were,
into two persons; and that I, the examiner and judge, repre-
sent a different character from that other I, the person whose
conduct is examined into, and judged of."1

In Adam Smith we have the culmination of the British
ethics of feeling. His psychological analysis of moral motives
in connection with the subjective feeling of sympathy con-
stitutes a distinct advance. Yet the introduction of this
factor reveals a defect which was not so manifest in Hume's
theory because of the latter's attempt to derive justice from
reflection. In other words, though Smith's discovery is of
immense value in connection with the motives or sanctions of
morality, he fails to consider the standard of morality, wThich
is really the chief ground of distinction between moral and
other judgments.

11. J. S. MILL.

Adam Smith, it was seen, although maintaining as his
fundamental standpoint the social factor of sympathy, still
leaves a place, though a subordinate one, for the factor of
utility. J. S. Mill, on the other hand, maintains a more even
balance between these two factors. For him, while utility
constitutes the standard of morality, the ' sympathetic ' factor
represents "the ultimate sanction".

The term 'utility' as used by Mill, has a far wider signi-
ficance than as used by Hume or Adam Smith. "The creed,"
Mill states, "which accepts as the foundation of morals,

.B. §§307-10.

127

Utility, or the Greatest Happiness Principle, holds that actions
are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness,
wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By
happiness is intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by
unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure."1

But in accepting pleasure as the criterion of moral action,
Mill emphasises the different values of different kinds of
pleasures, and the great superiority of intellectual pleasures
over the sensuous. As to what is involved in this qualita-
tive distinction between pleasures, will be considered later.
As to its existence, Mill contends that "human beings have
faculties more elevated than the animal appetites, and, when
once made conscious of them, do not regard anything as hap-
piness which does not include their gratification".2 "It
must be admitted," he proceeds, "that utilitarian writers in
general have placed the superiority of mental over bodily
pleasures chiefly in the greater permanency, safety, uncostli-
ness, etc., of the former — that ist in their circumstantial ad-
vantages rather than in their intrinsic nature. And on all
these points utilitarians have fully proved their case; but
they might have taken the other, and, as it might be called,
higher ground, with entire consistency. It is quite compat-
ible with the principle of utility to recognize the fact that some
kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than
others. * * * Of two pleasures, if there be one to which
all, or almost all who have experience of both give a decided
preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to
prefer it, this is the more desirable pleasure. If one of the
two is, by those who are competently acquainted with both,
placed so far above the other that they prefer it, even though
knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent,
and would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasure
of which their nature is capable, we are justified in ascribing
to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality so far out-
weighing quantity as to render it, in comparison, of small
account. " "We may give what explanation we please of this
unwillingness," Mill concludes, "but its most appropriate
appellation is a sense of dignity, which all human beings possess
in one form or another."3

But a difficulty arises as to how the ethically higher is to
be distinguished from the ethically lower. Mill's answer is an
appeal to those best qualified to judge — "the test of quality,

1J. S. Mill, "Utilitarianism" 4th edition, p. 9.
«O.C. p. 11.
»O.C. pp. 11-13.

128

and the rule for measuring it against quantity, being the pre-
ference felt by those who in their opportunities of experience,
to which must be added their habits of self-consciousness and
self -observation, are best furnished with the means of com-
parison".1

Mill thus starts in the sphere of feeling. And if society
is to be understood to be but an aggregate of individuals, the
' good ' can only be that which is good in somebody's experience.
The individual, as the subject of the good, has ultimate value.
From the standpoint of society, the 'goods' of the sum of
individuals have ultimate value. In this sense, Utilitarian-
ism is inductive and empiric.

But although this is Mill's starting-point, he does not
long remain on this level. He saw that there was a good
which is other than the 'good 'of any particular individual, or
the several 'goods' of a number of individuals. From the
side of the feelings this transcendence of the individual was
found in the subjective feeling of sympathy by Adam Smith,
according to which the individual became, not an absolute
unit in society, but a social individual. For Mill, as already
indicated, this sympathetic factor, known as the 'social feeling'
supplies the 'ultimate sanction of the principle of utility'.2

"There is, " he says, "a natural basis of sentiment for Util-
itarian morality; * * * and this it is which, when once
the general happiness is recognized as the ethical standard,
will constitute the strength of the Utilitarian morality. This
firm foundation is that of the social feelings of mankind ; the
desire to be in unity with our fellow creatures, which is al-
ready a powerful principle in human nature, and happily one
of those which tend to become stronger, even without express
inculcation, from the influences of advancing civilization.
The social state is at once so natural, so necessary, and so
habitual to man, that, except in some unusual circumstances
or by an effort of voluntary abstraction, he never conceives
himself otherwise than as a member of a body; and this as-
sociation is riveted more and more, as mankind are further
removed from the state of savage independence."3

"In this way," Mill proceeds, "people grow up unable to
conceive as possible to them a state of total disregard of other
people's interests. Not only does all strengthening

of social ties, and all healthy growth of society, give to each
individual a stronger personal interest in practically consulting
the welfare of others; it also leads him to identify his feelings

'O.C. p. 17.
20.0. p. 50.
3O.C. pp. 46-7.

129

more and more with their good, or at least with an ever greater
degree of practical consideration for it. He comes, as though
instinctively, to be conscious of himself as a being who of
course pays regard to others. The good of others becomes to
him a thing naturally and necessarily to be attended to, like
any of the physical conditions of our existence." In fact
"the deeply rooted conception which every individual even
now has of himself as a social being tends to make him feel it
one of his natural wants that there should be a harmony
between his feelings and aims and those of his fellow creatures.
This feeling in most individuals is much inferior
in strength to their selfish feelings, and is often wanting al-
together. But to those who have it, it possesses all the char-
acteristics of a natural feeling. It does not present itself to
their minds as a superstition of education, or a law despoti-
cally imposed by the power of society, but as an attribute
which it would not be well for them to be without. This
conviction is the ultimate sanction of the greatest happiness
morality."1

The conception of the individual as thus related to the
other members of society through the feeling of sympathy,
marks the limit of Adam Smith's contribution. As already
observed, however, this standpoint, although supplying the
sanctions for moral action, does not furnish us with a standard
by which an action may be judged as right or wrong. To
supply this defect, Mill advances still another step — making
a transition from the subjective to the objective aspect of the
social relation. As noted above, there is a good which is
other than that of the individual or the separate goods of a
number of individuals, and it is this atmosphere in which
Mill's whole doctrine is propounded. In order to indicate
just what the nature of this advance is, it will be necessary to
revert to Mill's qualitative distinction between pleasures.
Certain pleasures are to be preferred to others, no matter how
great the quantity of those others. "What is there," Mill
asks, "to decide whether a particular pleasure is worth pur-
chasing at the cost of a particular pain, except the feelings and
judgment of the experienced? When, therefore, those feelings
and judgment declare the pleasures derived from the higher
faculties to be preferable in kind, apart from the question of
intensity, to those of which the animal nature, disjoined from
the higher faculties, is susceptible, they are entitled on this
subject to the same regard."2

'O.C. pp. 47-50.
*O.C. p. 16.

130

Whence then is the origin of the qualitative distinction be-
tween pleasures? Apparently the pleasures "preferable in
kind" are those derived from the higher faculties. But in
what way are we able to distingush one faculty as higher and
another as lower? Evidently "the feelings and judgment of
the experienced" — "those best furnished with the means of
comparison", are to be our guides. Now it would seem that
in introducing "judgment" as well as feeling, in the estimation
of pleasures, Mill has in mind, not so much the difference be-
tween pleasures, as the point of view from which such pleasures
are to be regarded. That point of view is represented by
society. The individual must be interpreted socially, not only
in the matter of feeling, but also as regards his status as a
member of society. In the above quotation it is evident that
the reason why one pleasure is chosen as higher than, or differ-
ent in kind from another, is not simply because it is subjectively
felt as higher, but also because it is objectively judged higher.
Not only the feelings but the judgment of the experienced are
necessary. As a member of society, the individual's actions
are of the utmost importance to society, for such actions affect
the whole body of society, of which the individual is a part.
The consequences of an action, as bearing upon the other mem-
bers of society, must be considered. As an injury to one part
of the body will, more or less, throw the entire body out of
gear, so society is affected by the actions of its component
parts. An action expanded into its consequences forces one
beyond the limits of immediate feeling. Something more than
such feeling is needed for the estimation of action, namely,
'judgment', or rational insight.

Because of the great emphasis which Mill lays upon the
consequences of an action, in determining its moral worth, he
has been attacked as advocating a doctrine of mere expediency.
In replying to such objectors, however, Mill says: " It would
often be expedient, for the purpose of getting over some mo-
mentary embarrassment, or attaining some object immediately
useful to ourselves or others, to tell a lie. But inasmuch as
the cultivation within ourselves of a sensitive feeling on the
subject of veracity is one of the most useful, and the enfeeble-
ment of that feeling one of the most hurtful, things to which
our conduct can be instrumental ; and inasmuch as any, even
unintentional, deviation from truth does that much towards
weakening the trustworthiness of human assertion, which
is not only the principal support of all present social well-being
but the insufficiency of which does more than any one thing
that can be named to keep back civilization, virtue, every-

131

thing on which human happiness on the largest scale depends;
we feel that the violation, for a present advantage, of a rule
of such transcendent expediency, is not expedient, and that
he who, for the sake of a convenience to himself or to some
other individual, does what depends on him to deprive man-
kind of the good, and inflict upon them the evil, involved in
the greater or less reliance which they can place in each other's
word, acts the part of one of their worst enemies."1

Mill insists "that the happiness which forms the utilitarian
standard of what is right in conduct is not the agent's own
happiness, but that of all concerned. As between his own
happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be
as strictly impartial as a disinterested spectator. In the
golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth we read the complete spirit
of the ethics of utility. To do as you would be done by, and
to love your neighbour as yourself, constitute the ideal per-
fection of utilitarian morality. As the means of making the
nearest approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin first, that
laws and social arrangements should place the happiness, or
(as speaking practically it may be called) the interest, of every
individual, as nearly as possible in harmony with the interest
of the whole. "2

Evidently in the above, Mill has in view the members of
society as the component parts of an organic state, and also
the consequences of the actions of each, as to whether they are
consistent with the happiness of the whole. All members of
the social organism are to act together for the good of the whole.
Laws and social arrangements, education and opinion, are the
embodiments of judgments, not of feelings, in the interests of
the general welfare. Such 'judgments' are made in view
of the fact that human beings live together in society, and
hence there is implied an element of control which is wanting
in immediate feelings. The individual member of society
does not, or at least should not, act merely from feeling. He
may feel angry with his neighbour, but he restrains that feeling
and its possible action, in the interest of a higher good, namely,
the general welfare.

It is objected to the latter position that "there is not time
previous to action for calculating and weighing the effects of
any line of conduct on the general happiness".3 But, Mill
replies, "the answer to the objection is, that there has been
ample time, namely, the whole past duration of the human

iQ.C. p. 33.
2O.C. pp. 24-5.
3O.C. p. 34.

132

species. During all that time mankind have been learning
by experience the tendencies of actions; on which experience
all the prudence as well as all the morality of life are depend-
ent".1 History is accumulated experience. Some actions
which represent judgment are not expressive of character, it
is often said, meaning thereby that individual feeling gives way
to the control, that is, the judgment, of reason. " It is truly
a whimsical supposition, " Mill remarks, "that if mankind were
agreed in considering utility to be the test of morality, they
would remain without any agreement as to what is useful, and
would take no measures for having their notions on the sub-
ject taught to the young, and enforced by law and opinion.
There is no difficulty in proving any ethical standard whatever
to work ill, if we suppose universal idiocy to be conjoined with
it; but on any hypothesis short of that mankind must by
this time have acquired positive beliefs as to the effects of seme
actions on their happiness; and the beliefs which have thus
come down are the rules of morality for the multitude, and
for the philosopher until he has succeeded in finding better."1
In the above discussion Mill seems to be in close agreement
with the position of Immanuel Kant. In referring to the
"Metaphysics of Ethics by Kant", Mill says: "This remark-
able man, whose system of thought will long remain one of
the land-marks in the history of philosophical speculation,
does, in the treatise in question, lay down a universal first
principle as the origin and ground of moral obligation; it is
this: 'So act that the rule on which thou actest would admit
of being adopted as a law by all rational beings'.3 But when
he begins to deduce from this precept any of the actual duties
of morality, he fails to show that there would be any contra-
diction, any logical (not to say physical) impossibility, in the
adoption by all rational beings of the most outrageously
immoral rules of conduct. All he shows is that the conse-
quences of their universal adoption would be such as no one
would choose to incur."4

Kant also draws a distinction between feeling and judgment,
but in his case, feeling has no place in the determination of
moral rules. This distinction is between subjective ends as
based upon natural inclination and objective ends, which
spring from motives that hold for all rational beings.5 The

1O.C. p. 34.
«O.C. pp. 34-5.

8See "Kant's Theory of Ethics", translated by T. K. Abbott, 4th ed.,
1889, p. 39.

4" Utilitarianism " p. 5.

*" Kant's Theory of Ethics" pp. 45-6.

133

latter is the factor which, in Mill, serves as the basis for the
principle of utility, namely, judgment, or rational insight.
Different men have different feelings in connection with a
certain action, but as social beings — members of an organic
whole, such feelings must be restrained in the interests of such
whole. There results, therefore, a joint judgment, that is, one
judgment instead of several, which takes the form of a law,
or social arrangement, education, or opinion.

If every individual acts from the social point of view —
the universal law, in Kantian terminology — then society, as
it were, acts in him. For this, it is necessary that every
member of society be considered as a person. And in view of
this, Kant states his second maxim: "So act as to treat hu-
manity, whether in thine own person or in that of any other,
in every case as an end withal, never as means only."1 If
one treats all the others as means, this would practically imply,
from the social standpoint, that society would be represented
in its totality in the one individual. But, if a man considers
himself to be a member of society, there must then be other
members in the same sense that he himself is a member.
On this basis, aristocracy, monopoly, slavery, or any other in-
stitution which sacrifices some persons to others, is open to
condemnation.

Kant's "third practical principle of the will", namely,
"the idea of the will of every rational being as a universally
legislative will",2 definitely sets forth the idea of the state.
"The conception of every rational being as one which must
consider itself as giving in all the maxims of its will universal
laws, so as to judge itself and its actions from this point of
view — this conception leads to another which depends on it,
and is very fruitful, namely, that of a kindgom of ends."3

"By a kingdom, I understand the union of different
rational beings in a system by common laws. Now, since it
is by law that ends are determined as regards their universal
validity, hence if we abstract from the personal differences of
rational beings, and likewise from all the content of their
private ends, we shall be able to conceive all ends combined in
a systematic whole."4

Man is, therefore, at once a subject and a sovereign in
the kingdom of ends; a subject because he must submit to
the universal laws binding upon all ; a sovereign because these
laws are imposed upon him by his own reason. In other

»O.C. p. 47.
20.C. p. 49.
'O.C. p. 51.
4Ibid..

134

words, every man's will should so legislate as to make a perfect
moral and social order possible. Each will, in its decisions,
should legislate in accordance with the idea of a social system,
a kingdom of ends, in which each individual is an end in
himself.

This standpoint of the organic view of society may be seen
to be the source of a great deal that is common to both Kant
and Mill. In Mill's theory this may be illustrated by refer-
ence to his treatment of Justice. In consonance with the
distinction previously drawn between what may be termed
the subjective and objective in the social relations of men, Mill
distinguishes here between the idea, and the feeling which ac-
companies the idea, of justice.1 The idea of justice is em-
bodied in the following: "Justice implies something which it is
not only right to do and wrong not to do, but which some in-
dividual person can claim from us as his moral right. *
Wherever there is a right, the case is one of justice, and not
of the virtue of beneficence."2

" By virtue of his superior intelligence, even apart from his
superior range of sympathy, a human being is capable of ap-
prehending a community of interest between himself and the
human society of which he forms a part, such that any con-
duct which threatens the security of the society generally is
threatening to his own, and calls forth his instinct (if instinct
it be) of self-defence. The same superiority of intelligence,
joined to the power of sympathizing with human beings gen-
erally, enables him to attach himself to the collective idea of
his tribe, his country, or mankind, in such a manner that any
act hurtful to them raises his instinct of sympathy, and urges
him to resistance. "3

"The sentiment of justice in that one of its elements which
consists of the desire to punish, is thus, I conceive, the natural
feeling of retaliation or vengeance, rendered by intellect and
sympathy, applicable to those injuries, that is, to those
hurts which wound us through, or in common with, society at
large. This sentiment in itself, has nothing moral in it;
what is moral is the exclusive subordination of it to the social
sympathies, so as to wait on and obey their call. For the
natural feeling would make us resent indiscriminately what-
ever any one does that is disagreeable to us; but when moral-
ized by the social feeling it only acts in the directions conform-
able to the general good. "4

^'Utilitarianism" p. 75.

2Ibid.

3O.C. p. 77.

135

If one makes allowance for difference in terminology, the
similarity of Kant's position with the statement just quoted
from Mill may readily be seen. Sentiment, or feeling, in
itself — Kant's 'desire' — has nothing moral in it. But what is
moral is the fact that one member of society realizes himself
as a member, and therefore exclusively subordinates his own
particular feeling to the 'social sympathies 'so as to wait upon
and obey their call — or, in Kant's terminology, acting so that
the law of one's action may be law universal. Natural
feeling — one's own personal desires — "would make us resent
indiscriminately whatever any one does that is disagreeable to
us; but when moralized by the social feeling", that is to say,
when one's particular feelings are subjected to control in view
of the fact that there are other members of society, "it only
acts in the directions conformable to the general good".
That the result of this action in conformity to the general
good is closely parallel to Kant's universal formula, may be
seen in the instances which Kant uses to illustrate his formula
— a man in despair asking his reason if it would be contrary
to reason if he took his own life; and again, a man wanting to
borrow money, knowing that he will not be able to repay it.
If such actions were universalized, the possibility of a moral
life would cease.

It will thus have been seen that Mill has in view, in treating
of both the ultimate sanction and the standard of morality,
the organic nature of society. On the one hand, the ulti-
mate sanction is found to inhere in the "social feelings" of
mankind, and to a large extent is made to serve the same pur-
pose as the factor of "sympathy" in Adam Smith's theory.
The standard of morality, on the other hand, — utility — in-
volves the bringing in of a distinction in kind between different
pleasures, and this was seen to depend ultimately upon ra-
tional insight — "the test of quality, and the rule for measur-
ing it against quantity being the preference felt by those who
in their opportunities of experience, to which must be added
their habits of self-consciousness and self -observation, are
best furnished with the means of comparison". On such a
basis the way seems open for a reconciliation of the fundamen-
tal truth both of Intuitionism and of Utilitarian Empiricism.

III. CRITICAL ESTIMATION OF FOREGOING.

Having now traced these two lines of ethical theory from
Hobbes to the present day, it will be well to see if the truth
from each cannot be gleaned, and brought into reconcili-
ation with a possible ethical theory which endeavours to ad-

136

here as closely as possible to the facts of life. Among such
facts, there stands out clearly and distinctly the fact of prefer-
ence, which individuals in all walks of life make regarding
this or that matter. This, according to the best analysis we
can make of the facts, has been the basic principle which,
through all its intricate forms, has been the strength of the
historical theories reviewed. The main dispute has really
been regarding what is, or 'should be' preferred.

In the foregoing history, just reviewed, the moral judgment,
which, fundamentally, has rested on the above-mentioned
basic principle, has been variously ascribed to Reason, to
Conscience, to Moral Sense, and to Utility, and these, while
appearing to be entirely discordant, yet in the last analysis
present a common element. By whatever name these his-
torical theories have been known, each has in some way en-
deavoured to express that 'immediacy' or clearness if insight
which characterizes the majority of our moral j udgments ; such
a judgment, for example, as one makes when, under specific
circumstances, he prefers truth, or untruth, as the case may be.
Doubtless Intuitionism has often been over-zealous in its
method of postulating infallible laws, evidently unconnected
in their origin with the environment in which man lives; but,
on the other hand, the reason why this theory, in one form or
another, has for so long stood the test of time is that it rested
ultimately upon the claim that the principles or rules which
were evident in moral conduct, were not merely capricious
or accidental. On the other hand, the Utilitarian theory has
often gone to an extreme the direct opposite of that of the
Intuitionist, yet it has always rightly insisted on the necessity
of connecting moral principles in a vital sense with experience.
If the Intuitionist has been insistent on the dependence of
the empirical on the rational, the Utilitarian has emphasized
the vindication of the rational in the empirical.

The claim of the Intuitionists to be in possession of certain
laws which were regarded as universally applicable without
being simple generalizations derived from particular circum-
stances, has always tended to create a gulf between the in-
tuitions of the individual and the empirical experience in
which such intuitions were to find expression. Consequently,
the individual in society has been conceived as being more or
less isolated, that is, as a particular unit among other parti-
cular units, the relation of each to the society in which he lives
being, to that extent, atomic.

Such a theory, however, is, as theory, disregarded at the
present day, though practically it is too often operative.
But a study of the history of mankind supplies ample evidence

137

of the reciprocal relation which holds between the gradual
growth of the social life and the development of the individual.
It is obvious, from such a study, that man, at any stage of
his development, is closely bound up with the community or
society of which he is a member. As a member of such society,
he inherits the language, the 'institutions' — the customs, tradi-
tions, etc., which have been created and bequeathed to him by
those who have preceded him, although he, in turn, helps to
change and develop these institutions. These, in large part,
may be said to constitute his environment. This inheritance
of the race, or social atmosphere, is that into which the in-
dividual is born, and constitutes the major portion of his life.
On this understanding it is manifest that the life of the indi-
vidual is dependent upon that of society. And yet, at the
same time, it is upon the individual that society depends, for
society, manifestly, would not exist were it not for the indi-
vidual members composing it, and working through its or-
ganized channels. On the atomic view of society, each indi-
vidual is regarded as complete in himself, and consequently,
between him and the society of which he forms a part, there can
be no basis for the establishment, much less the development,
of those social institutions which constitute human progress.
This, of course, has often been expressed by the familiar saying
that the welfare of the whole is also the welfare of the part.

In view of this interdependence of the individual and so-
ciety, there arise values in the life of the individual which have
arisen only by reason of this social life. Certain conditions,
or modes of living, have been preferred by social groups, and
these things have, in the course of history, become incorpor-
ated into the life of society, in the form of institutions, cus-
toms, and laws. If it be asked how these institutions have
come to be adopted in human society, the answer must be
found in an examination of human progress; but, in the last
analysis, this progress depends on the simple, undeniable fact
that individuals preferred one way of doing things to that of
another. And these preferences were not mere caprices, but
abiding, relatively-constant factors in human life.

To bring out more clearly the statement of the preceding
paragraph, reference may be had to the institution in ancient
Israel of the so-called cities of refuge. In the state of society
prior to this time, if one man took the life of another, he must
be slain by the dead man's nearest of kin. This was the
generally acknowledged mode of the administration of justice.
It was seen, however, that the carrying out of this law, in
many cases, meant death to men who were really innocent.
Hence a trial must be had, and meantime asylums provided

138

where alleged criminals would be safe until their case could
be properly adjudged. These cities of refuge were so distri-
buted as to best accommodate the entire country. They were
placed in pairs nearly opposite each other on the east and on
the west of the Jordan. For greater convenience there seems
to have been a provision that the principal roads to these
cities should be kept open. The distance to be travelled
could hardly have been in excess of thirty miles at most, and so,
easily passed over in a day.1 This privilege of asylum was
evidently designed for the man who had taken life uninten-
tionally— "that the manslayer that killeth any person un-
wittingly and unawares may flee thither: and they shall be
unto you for a refuge from the avenger of blood. And he
shall flee unto one of those cities, and shall stand at the en-
trance of the gate of the city and declare his cause in the
ears of the elders of that city; and they shall take him into
the city unto them, and give him a place, that he may dwell
among them. And if the avenger of blood pursue after him,
then shall they not deliver up the manslayer into his hand,
because he smote his neighbour unawares, and hated him not
beforetime. "2 On the other hand, if the manslayer be found
guilty of intentional killing, the elders are to hand him over
to the avenger of blood, — "And the cities shall be unto you
for refuge from the avenger, that the manslayer die not
until he stand before the congregation for judgment."3

In the foregoing, two methods of dealing with the 'man-
slayer' are clearly shown, and the method which provided for
the establishment of cities of refuge, obviously, constitutes a
moral advance upon the earlier method of avenging blood
without regard for the intention of the manslayer. To what
was such moral advance due? Manifestly to the preference
on the part of the leading men of the nation for a state of
society in which the man who kills his neighbour unwittingly,
should not be at the mercy of the avenger of blood. They
preferred greater equality of consideration, that is, that the
murderer should be treated as such, and that the unintentional
manslayer should not be identified with the murderer.

Recognizing, then, the ultimate nature of preference which
lies at the root of all morality, and constitutes the essence of
value, we may here briefly indicate what such preference, as
exercised in connection with the social relations of men, really
means in regard to the actual facts of moral development in

JHastings "Dictionary of the Bible", Article by S. Merrill, "Cities of
Refuge".

2Joshua 20: 3-5, Am. Ver.
'Num. 35: 12.

139

the race, for, in this way, the moral virtues of justice, honesty,
purity, etc. ,havearisen. From this point of view we may regard
the whole of moral progress, as the slow — perhaps too slow —
but gradual attribution of value, supreme value, to those
things which can be shared by all human beings, and not so
much to those things which may be obtained by some at the
expense of others; and wherever and whenever this moral pro-
gress takes place, it is, and always has been, in relation to
things valuable for agents. When, therefore, we speak of
absolute values, it should be borne in mind that they are at
the same time relative; that is, relative to agents for whom
alone these values are predicable, and yet absolute in the sense
that they are not competed for, so that some may gain and
others lose.

The principle just stated may easily be illustrated by
reference to any stage of moral progress in the history of man-
kind. The liberation of the slave, for example, is a case in
point. At a certain period of the Greek state, every citizen
stood on a basis of equality with his fellow citizen, yet below
these citizens there existed a great slave class who shared not
at all the privileges of their masters. In Europe, in the Middle
Ages, in accordance with the system of feudalism, the serf was
bound to the land, and obliged to render service to the lord,
who regarded the serf simply as his chattel. And again, at a
later period, there grew up the negro slave trade, carried on by
.both Europeans and Americans. Reference in this connection
may also be had to the institution of the cities of refuge in
Israel, before mentioned.

In all of the above cases, it will be manifest, moral progress
has consisted in a step in the direction of bringing within the
reach of all, as human beings, the right to equal consideration.
This is justice in its broadest sense, and is the foundation of all
moral progress. The value of justice is supreme and absolute,
and moral progress is made with the taking of every new step
toward the complete adoption in the life of society of such a
view.

The principle above stated has, in fact, been applicable to
such an extent in human progress, that it has been carried
beyond man, and applied, to a certain degree at least, to man's
relations to animals, though, to be sure, applied therein to
agents with whom he has not the power of communication by
speech.

Under such conditions as these, then, we must regard
society as having developed, and on this basis acts of the
individual have been classified as acts tending to conserve or
to destroy the whole. In this way there arises a classification

140

of right and wrong acts under certain heads; for example, theft,
murder, adultery, justice, honesty, etc. Should it be objected
that all the members of a given society do not prefer the same
things, the answer lies in two directions, both of which may
operate to determine the moral standing of any particular
society: first, the majority may rule; second, certain members
of such society may, because of position, or recognized author-
ity, largely determine the matter; that is, as J. S. Mill says,
"the preference felt by those who, in their opportunities of
experience, to which must be added their habits of self-con-
sciousness and self-observation, are best furnished with the
means of comparison". It is obvious that in many cases the
latter method has been more frequently operative than the
former; as, for example, in the giving of the moral law to
Israel, Moses was recognized, according to the traditional
view, as having a right to deliver the law, apparently no
thought of majority or minority being taken into account.
Some similar process has, no doubt, taken place in every tribal
or state organization in which anything like an absolute head
is recognized. In our own day, and in democratic communi-
ties, any change in the moral standing of the community has
to proceed by way of so-called public opinion, which, in the
last analysis, is often made by men of that particular type
stated by Mill.

The moral rules which result from such a process are not,
and indeed cannot well be elementary. And we conceive that
it is the business of a science of ethics, not merely to register
and write an apologetic for some or all of such moral rules, but
rather to analyze the fundamental conditions in the state and
ultimately in human nature, upon the basis of which acts are
done, and to examine the relation of these elementary facts
to the individual and social life of the community. As sug-
gestive of such a procedure, may be instanced the account
given above of the transition from a state of society in which
the law of avenging of blood prevailed, and where the innocent
suffered with the guilty, to a state in which cities of refuge
were established, in order to secure for every manslayer a fair
trial before being handed over to the avenger of blood.

That which must be emphasized continuously, then, is,
that the recognized moral laws are formulations made from
the standpoint of society, and not distinctly from the stand-
point of the individual members as isolated individuals, and
yet to insist that such formulations must have their final basis
in the nature of individual human beings living in some sort of
organized community. While this basis actually is the idea
of the welfare of society as a whole, yet it is not implied that

141

every single individual is fully conscious of such an idea, for,
as Mill has stated, "the great majority of good actions are
intended, not for the benefit of the world, but for that of in-
dividuals, of which the good of the world is made up; and the
thoughts of the most virtuous man need not on these occasions
travel beyond the particular persons concerned, except so far
as to assure himself that in benefiting them he is not violating
the rights, that is, the legitimate and authorized expectations,
of any one else."

SUMMARY.

In the second section of the thesis the ethical problem has
been traced through the main schools of British ethics, and a
critical estimate given regarding it. We believe that our
analysis is sufficiently exhaustive and accurate to prove: First,
that the fact of preference must be recognized as the basis
upon which all ethical theories must build. At the same time
we believe that it is just the investigation of the conditions
under which this preference occurs which should form the
foundation for ethical theory. That is, it is not satisfactory to
accept, on mere statement, any conclusion as to what is pre-
ferred. Among the theories which hold that pleasure, utility,
preservation of life, etc., are the only conditions preferred, it
is not necessary to make a choice, until, through an analysis
which we believe has yet to be made, it has been determined
that one or more of these is actually preferred. Second,
that moral progress consists in proceeding from a moral
judgment in which a comparatively small number is in-
volved, to a judgment which comprehends in the well-being
of society, the well-being also of each member of society.
This well-being of society, as a characteristic of developed
moral judgment, is, we take it, of prime concern for our present
discussion, for the question which arises is, since as a matter
of fact moral progress has been a development away from a
mere individual well-being to a social welfare, can the method
which we have discussed as an evolutionary method, deal with
the fact of such progress? Is it not, by its very nature, com-
pelled to restrict itself to those processes which take place in
the individual as an organism, and which, at last, centre in the
welfare of the individual as such? Can such an individual as
is described by either Darwin or Spencer ever develop to the
point where his judgment could be dominated by the consider-
ation of the welfare of society as a whole? So far as we can see,
the method which we are examining, begins with an individual,
and can only include anything outside of that individual in so
far as that something is bound up in the individual's immediate

142

sense of well-being. It cannot proceed from such an individual
sense of well-being to the welfare of society, unless it be ad-
mitted from the outset that the individual's sense of well-
being coincides with the welfare of society as a whole; or,
otherwise expressed, unless it be admitted that the opposition
between an individual and society, in a moral sense at least, is
invalid. And third, we have seen that morality and society
must exist together. In the state of nature, as discussed by
Hobbes, there could be nothing that we could call morality.
Such judgments can only occur in a society, if our view be
correct that morality is, by its very nature, concerned with the
welfare of society as a whole.

This conclusion carries with it the view that, morally
speaking, there is no mere individual. The moral man is, per-
force, a social being. The question, then, with regard to the
relation of the natural state to the moral or social state, is
really a question about this social nature of man. Our con-
tention is, no matter how such a social nature has come to be,
that is, no matter what its history may have been, it demands,
when it exists, that we recognize that it cannot be dealt with
completely, or even essentially, through the physiological
organism alone, that is, for such conceptions, the spacial re-
lation of an organism and its environment is not even a good
analogy by which to elucidate the relation of the individual
and society.

We find, then, in the consideration of a specific ethical
content, added difficulty for an evolutionary method, such as
we have been discussing. If it is difficult, even impossible, for
such a method to deal with facts of consciousness at all, it is
obviously doubly difficult for it to deal with such facts as those
which the history of ethics discloses as the specific moral facts.

PART III.
GENERAL CONCLUSIONS.

Having set out to examine the applicability of the method
used in the theory of evolution to the problems of ethics, and
having reached the conclusion in the examination of the appli-
cation of such a method to a psychical content, that it is not
satisfactory, one might be disposed to regard the conclusion
reached as wholly negative, and, so far as the form goes, this
would be quite correct. But, the investigation of such a par-
ticular question must inevitably lead to a discussion of many
questions which are not explicitly identical with our main pro-
position, however fundamental they may be in the investi-
gation of it. Hence we regard our conclusion as strongly
positive in content, though negative in form, when the real
basis upon which the conclusion is reached is considered.

We regard the main result of the first part of this discussion
as being the conclusion that psychology as the science which
investigates the facts of conscious experience must, in its
method of procedure, determine what the facts of conscious-
ness actually are, before it can logically utilize the facts of
physiology either to construct a theory of parallelism, or, in
fact, any other theory by means of them. Closely related to
this result is another, involving broader considerations from
the standpoint of mere method. That is, a scientific explana-
tion can only be found in the analysis of facts into the elements,
or ultimate conceptions, accepted by the science concerned.
From this point of view, it is quite clear that physiology could
express, and so explain, the facts of consciousness in terms of
physiological elements, provided that it, at the same time,
holds that, as a matter of fact, it is never going outside the
explicit realm of physiology. But it can neither express nor
explain the facts of consciousness if it be admitted, that while
the facts of physiology belong to the material order, the facts
of consciousness belong to a mental or spiritual, in any event
another, order of being.

A third conclusion follows these two very closely, namely,
when the existence of psychology as a science independent of
physiology is granted, and when the results of such a psy-
chology are considered (for we regard such a science as already

144

in existence), instead of leading to the views held by the evo-
lutionists as the foundation for their psychology, these results
lead, in the facts of sensation, of feeling, of space, of association,
etc., in a very different direction. From this standpoint it is
quite as possible to think of psychology as having a strong
influence upon the speculations of physiologists, as it is to
think of the results of physiology being the essential deter-
minants in a psychological theory. That is, it is quite as
proper to speak of a psychological physiology as of a physio-
logical psychology.

This last conclusion leads us one step further. If one thinks
of an ideal for science as a conception in which all the investiga-
tions of man are expressed in terms of the same elements, why
is it not more reasonable to look for these ultimates in psy-
chology, which at least tries to recognize all the facts of human
experience at their face value, than to look for them in the
physical sciences which began their modern history in the
seventeenth century by explicitly leaving certain facts of
human experience (namely, sensations, feelings, volitions, etc.)
out of account, and which, so far as their ultimates are con-
cerned, have continued to do so to the present time? Without
seeking, in the least, to suggest a criticism of the methods or
results of physical science within the sphere which it has so
evidently made its own, one may protest very directly against
a procedure all too common in the speculations of physical
scientists, namely, that which leads to an explicit or veiled
materialism which is built upon the assumption that the
ultimates accepted by the physical sciences are the only
possible ultimates in which to express any fact accurately,
that is, scientifically. While it is granted that physical science
had made enormo'us strides before a scientific psychology
came into existence, we cannot admit that this fact gives these
sciences any right of priority whatever from a logical point of
view, and that is just what modern materialism in any form
has always tacitly assumed. While we do not contend that
the considerations which we have advanced have, of necessity,
either disproved materialism or even attempted to establish
any other theory, we do contend that our conclusions are of
such a nature that they might well lead any one to seriously
examine the basis upon which materialism, as a conception of
the universe, is founded.

In the second part of our thesis we were concerned with
purely ethical questions which, as in the first part, have led to
a negative result so far as our main problem is concerned;
namely, we believe we have shown that the method used by
evolutionists in dealing with the problems of ethics is not

145

adequate. But here again our reasoning is strongly affirmative
in content, even if the form of the conclusion be negative.

We believe that we have shown, in the first place, that
behind pleasure, or utility, or preservation of life, or any other
ethical motive, or criterion, there lies the great fact of prefer-
ence. It could only be through an exhaustive analysis of
preference that we might claim the right to assume that any
particular fact is the one always preferred. Such an investiga-
tion is demanded as the ground-work of an ethical theory.

In the second place we have concluded that morality and
the welfare of society as a whole are bound up together.
Merely individual ethics cannot begin to deal with the ques-
tions with which an ethics must concern itself. Whether we
regard truth-telling, honesty, or justice, or their opposites, as
being the subject of our consideration, it is clear that these
facts have no meaning at all apart from some kind of society.
Ethics must, therefore, be an investigation of society rather
than of a mere individual. But such a social ethics must con-
cern itself, not with superficial questions of social happenings,
but rather with the fundamental principles upon which alone
an organized society can exist. And yet in the consciousness of
the social individuals which compose such a society must be
found both the beginning and the end of the ethical problem.
If it be clear that the highest development possible for man
can only be found in the ideal society, it is doubly true that an
ideal society is a pure fiction apart from the individuals who
compose it. In the experience of the individual with which an
ethical theory can concern itself, there is already included an
experience of a society. However much man may have been
disposed to ignore that experienced society in his preferences
in any particular stage of his development, it is quite clear that
his development, from a moral point of view, has been coin-
cident with the recognition of the fact that his immediate sense
of well-being is a " will-o'-the-wisp", unless in such sense of
well-being there is involved the well-being of that society
which he actually experiences. In other words, moral progress
has been a process of learning that the struggle for moral
existence at least depends for its success, not upon the con-
quest and death of the other man, but rather upon bringing
him also to that point of "fitness" in which he is a helper, at
least in so far as his preferences make it easier for those associ-
ated with him to live a moral life. Such a view could only be
unsatisfactory because we have become so accustomed to
dealing with values in connection with which competition is
possible that we have overlooked the fact that there may be,
and, we believe, undoubtedly are, values concerning which

146

competition is an absolute impossibility. If an independent
psychological or ethical investigation were to establish the
existence of such facts, it would be at once evident that such
phrases as "the struggle for existence" and "the survival of
the fittest" have no place at all in the sphere of ethical fact.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

I, Joseph Roy Sanderson, was born in Toronto, Canada,
on the second of August, 1882, being the son of Joseph Sander-
son, manufacturer, and Caroline, his wife.

After a training of eight years in the primary school, I took
a course in a Toronto business college, and then entered busi-
ness, to which I devoted the next four years. During the
latter part of this period I prepared myself, by means of private
instruction, for entrance into the University of Toronto,
where I registered as a non-matriculant in the fall of 1902.
After two months I was obliged to give up the year owing to
tailing health, and spent several months abroad. In October,
1903, I again registered, and in 1904 received the Senior Ma-
triculation standing. I then entered the course of instruction
in philosophy, and three years later graduated. In October,
1907, I enrolled as a theological student at Knox College,
Toronto, registering at the same time as a candidate for the
degree of Master of Arts at the University. My work for this
degree was carried on in the psychological laboratory, in con-
nection with the problem of 'The Relation of Accent and Pitch
to Musical Rhythm'. In April, 1910, I graduated from Knox
College, and a few months later received the degree of M.A,
from the University. Early in 1910 I began work, under the
direction of Professor A. H. Abbott, upon the present thesis,
for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, my registration dating
from October, 1909. This work has been continued steadily
from that time until the present. During this time I received
valuable assistance in Psychology from Mr. W. G. Smith, and
in Ethics from Mr. G. S. Brett, while Professor J. G. Hume has,
during my undergraduate years, and since, supervised my
work in General Philosophy.

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