living or dead so much as he resembles one of our French encyclopedists
of the eighteenth century. I know no one in contemporary France who
can, to the same degree, be compared with him. Diderot and Dalembert
would have opened their arms to this man of science, who humanises
science, who boldly limns a picture instinct with life, a brilliant
synthesis of the human mind, of its evolution, of its manifold
activities, and of the results it has achieved; who throws wide the
doors of his laboratory to intelligent men of the world; and who
deliberately wishes to make of science an instrument of struggle and
emancipation in the war of the nations on behalf of liberty. Like
Dalembert and Diderot, he is "in the thick of the fight." He marches in
the vanguard of modern thought, but he does not go further ahead than
the due distance between a leader and his followers; he is never
isolated, as were those great forerunners who remained throughout life
cloistered in prophetic visions, centuries away from realisation; his
ideals are no more than a day in advance of those cherished by his
contemporaries.
A German republican, he looks no higher for the moment than the
political ideals of Young America, the America of 1917, in which
(according to Nicolai) "we can see, not merely what this new, so to
speak, cosmopolitan, patriotism means, but also the limits which must
still be imposed on it.... The day for the brotherhood of man has not
yet come [we quote Nicolai, remember]; the time is not yet ripe. There
is still too profound a cleavage between White, Yellow, and Black. It is
in America that European patriotism has awakened, the sentiment which
will undoubtedly be the patriotism of the near future, and whose heralds
we would fain be.... The new Europe is already born, though not in
Europe."[72]
In these lines we discern Nicolai's limitations, which any eighteenth
century cosmopolitan would have over-stepped. In the practical domain,
our author is essentially, uniquely, but absolutely, a European. It was
to Europeans that he addressed his Manifesto of October, 1914, and his
book of 1915.
"It seems to us necessary before everything else," he writes, "that
there should be a union of all who are in any way attached to European
civilisation, that is to say, who are what Goethe once almost
prophetically called 'good Europeans.'" And in a note he adds: "By
European civilisation I mean every endeavour, in the broadest sense of
the word, throughout the world, the origin of which can ultimately be
traced back to Europe."
Much might be said concerning this curtailment. For my own part, I
consider it neither right nor useful that humanity should draw a line of
demarcation between civilisation of European origin and the lofty
civilisations of Asia. In my view, the harmonious realisation of
humanity can be secured in no other way than by the union of these great
complementary forces. Nay more; I believe that the European soul,
unaided, impoverished and scorched by centuries of spendthrift
existence, would be likely to flicker and even to go out, unless
regenerated by an influx of the thought of other races.--But to each day
its own task. Nicolai, at once thinker and man of action, turns to the
most immediate duty. Concentrating all his energies upon a single aim,
he accelerates the moment of attainment. "Just as certain of our
forefathers, in advance of their time, enthusiastically advocated a
united Germany, even so do we mean to fight for a united Europe. That is
the hope inspiring this book."[73]--Nor does he merely hope for the
victory of this cause. He already enjoys the victory, by anticipation.
Immured in Graudenz fortress, near the room where Fritz Reuter, the
German patriot, spent years in captivity because he believed in Germany,
Nicolai notes that the Reuter room has been converted into a sanctuary
by his erstwhile gaolers, "which is a living instance of the fact that
reaction cannot endure for ever." His mind reverting to his own case, he
declares: "We may be quite sure that the very same persons who to-day
still continue to decry as high treason Goethe's conception of the
citizen of Europe, will in a few years' time themselves subscribe to
it."
This confidence radiates from every page of the book. It is Nicolai's
faith in the future which influences us even more than the writer's
ideas. That faith is a stimulant and a moral tonic. It awakens us and
sets us free. Those of kindred spirit group themselves round him
because, in the dark places of the earth where they wander chilled and
with faltering steps, he is a focus of joy and fervid optimism. This
prisoner, this man under sentence, smiles as he contemplates the force
which thinks it has conquered him, the force of reaction let loose, and
of unreason, overthrowing that which he knows to be right and true.
Precisely because his faith is violated, he desires to proclaim it.
"Precisely because war is in progress, I wish to write a book of peace."
Thinking of his brothers in the faith, weaker and more broken, he
dedicates to them this book "to assure them that the war is but a
passing phase; that we must be careful not to attach too much importance
to it." He speaks, he tells us, "to inspire fair-minded and
right-thinking men with my own triumphant assurance."[74]
May he be a model to us! May the small and persecuted band of those who
refuse to share the general hatred, and whom therefore hate persecutes,
be ever warmed by this inward joy! Nothing can deprive them of it.
Nothing can harm them. For, amid the horror and the shames of the
present, they are the contemporaries of the future.
_October 15, 1917._
"demain," Geneva, November, 1917.
XXI
REFLECTIONS ON READING AUGUSTE FOREL
The name of Auguste Forel is renowned in the world of European science,
but within the confines of his own land his writings are perhaps less
well known than they should be. Every one is familiar with the social
activities of this splendid personality, of this man whose indefatigable
energies and ardent convictions have not been affected either by his age
or by ill-health. But Latin Switzerland, which justly admires the
writings of the naturalist J. H. Fabre, hardly seems to realise that in
Forel it is fortunate enough to possess an observer of nature whose
insight is no less keen than that of Fabre, and whose scientific
endowments are perchance even richer and more unerring. I have recently
been reading some of Auguste Forel's studies of ant life, and I have
been profoundly impressed by the wide scope of his experimental
researches, carried on for a whole lifetime.[75] While patiently
observing and faithfully describing the life of these insects, day by
day, hour by hour, and year after year, his thoughts have been
simultaneously directed towards the ultimate recesses of nature, so
that he has been able from time to time to raise for a moment a corner
of that veil of mystery which covers our own instincts.
Here is a strange fact. J. H. Fabre believes in providence, "le bon
Dieu"; Auguste Forel is a monist, a psycho-physicist. Nevertheless,
Forel's observations suggest to the reader a conception of nature which
is far less crushing than that suggested by the observations of Fabre.
The latter, untroubled by anxieties concerning the human soul, sees in
the little insects he is studying nothing more than marvellous machines.
But Forel discerns here and there sparks of reflective consciousness,
germs of individual will. These are no more than widely separated
luminous points, piercing the darkness. But the phenomenon is all the
more impressive for its rarity. I have amused myself by selecting from
out this wealth of observations a group of facts wherein are displayed
the secular instincts, the "anagke," of the species--oppugned,
shattered, vanquished. Wherefore should a combat of this sort be less
dramatic when waged by these humble ants than when it is waged by the
Atrides in _Orestes_? In all cases alike, we have the same waves of
force, blind or conscious; the same interplay of light and shade. And
the analogy of certain social phenomena, as we observe them among these
myriads of tiny beings, and as we observe them among ourselves, may help
us to understand ourselves--and perhaps to achieve self-command.
I shall be content, here, to cull from the vast experimental repertory
of Auguste Forel, those of his observations which bear upon certain
psychopathological collective states, and those which bear upon the
formidable problem which faces us to-day, the problem of war.
* * * * *
Ants, says Forel, are to other insects what man is to other mammals.
Their brain surpasses that of all other insects in its relative size and
in the complexity of its structure. Even if they fail to attain the
level of individual intelligence characteristic of the higher mammals,
nevertheless they excel all animals without exception in the development
of their social instincts. It is not surprising therefore, that in many
respects their social life should resemble that of the human species.
Like the most advanced human communities, the ant societies are
democracies, fighting democracies. Let us contemplate them at work.
The Ant State is not restricted to the single ant-hill; it has its
territory, its domain, its colonies. Like our colonising powers, it has
its ports of call, its revictualling stations. The territory is a single
meadow, a few trees, or a hedge. The domain of exploitation consists of
the ground and the subsoil, together with the aphis-bearing trees whence
the ants take the aphides they keep under domestication. Their colonies
are detached nests more or less distant from the metropolis and more or
less numerous (there may be as many as two hundred), communicating with
the primary nest by open roads or by underground passages. The depots
are small nests or dug-outs for the use of ants on long expeditions,
ants that require a rest or those that are overtaken by bad weather.
Naturally these communities tend to grow, and they thus come into
conflict one with another. "Territorial disputes, along the frontier
between two great ant communities, are the usual cause of embittered
struggles. The aphis-bearing shrubs are the most fiercely contested.
But, in the case of certain species, subterranean domains (the roots of
plants) are likewise the region of savage warfare." Some species live
solely by war and plunder. Polyergus rufescens (Huber's "amazon")
disdains work, and has indeed lost the power. The members of this
species live as slave-owners, served, tended, fed, by troops of slaves,
the latter being recruited (in the larval or pupal stage) by slave raids
upon neighbouring ant-hills.
Thus war is endemic, and every citizen of these democracies, every
worker ant, has to take part in the fighting. In certain species
(Pheidole pallidula), the military caste is distinct from the working
caste. The soldier takes no part in domestic work, but idles away the
days in barracks, with nothing to do save at the times when life has to
be staked for the defence of the community.[76] There are no leaders, or
at any rate no permanent leaders. We see neither kings nor generals. The
expeditionary armies of Polyergus rufescens, which may vary from one
hundred thousand to two hundred thousand ants, act in obedience to
streams of influence which appear to emanate from small and scattered
groups, sometimes in the van and sometimes in the rear. When the army is
on the march, the entire column will suddenly halt, remaining indecisive
and motionless, as if paralysed. Of a sudden, the initiative will be
taken by some small group of ants whose members rush about among the
others, striking these on the head; then the temporary leaders start
off, and the whole army is in motion once more.
Formica sanguinea is an able tactician. Forel follows Huber in his
description of the fighting methods of this species. The insects do not
advance in close formation, à la Hindenburg, but in platoons,
communicating one with another by orderlies. They do not make a frontal
attack; but, after watching the enemy's movements, attempt to take him
by surprise on the flank. Their aim, like that of Napoleon, is to
concentrate upon a given point at a particular time, to secure there and
then the advantage of numbers. Like Napoleon, too, they know how to
lower the adversary's morale. Seizing the psychological moment when the
enemy's courage or confidence flags, they hurl themselves upon him with
irresistible fury, now recking nought of numbers, for they know that at
such a time one fighter on their own side is worth a hundred on the
other, where panic is rife. Moreover, like good soldiers, their aim is
not to kill, so much as to gain the victory and to harvest its fruits.
When the battle is won they post a guard at each exit of the conquered
nest. The members of this guard allow the enemy ants to escape, provided
these carry nothing away. The victors pillage to the uttermost, but do
as little killing as possible.
Between species of equal strength, fighting for frontiers, war is not
perennial. After many days of battle and glorious hecatombs, the rival
states would appear to recognise that their respective ambitions are
unattainable. As if by common consent, the armies withdraw within either
side of a frontier, which is accepted by both parties with or without
treaty. This frontier is respected much more perfectly than among men,
bound merely by "scraps of paper." The citizen ants of the two
communities always keep strictly within their borders.
* * * * *
A matter of even greater interest is to note how this war-making
instinct originates among our brothers the insects; to study how it
develops; and to ascertain whether it is fixed or modifiable. Here
Forel's observations and experiments lead to the most remarkable
deductions.
J. H. Fabre, in a famous passage of _Insect Life_,[77] tells us that
"brigandage is the law in the struggle among living beings.... In
nature, murder is universal. Everywhere we encounter a hook, a dagger, a
spear, a tooth, nippers, pincers, a saw, horrible clamps, ..." But he
exaggerates. He has a keen eye for the facts of mutual slaughter and
mutual devouring, but he fails to see the facts of mutual aid and
associated effort. Kropotkin has devoted an admirable book to the study
of phenomena of the latter class, as manifested throughout nature.[78]
Furthermore, the careful observations of Forel show that in ants the
instincts of war and plunder may be modified or overcome by instincts of
a contrary character.
First of all, Forel proves that the war-making instinct is not
fundamental. This instinct does not exist in the early stages of ant
life. Putting together newly hatched ants belonging to three different
species, Forel obtained a mixed ant community whose members lived in
perfect harmony. The only primitive instinct of newly hatched ants is
that for domestic work and the care of larvae. "Not until later do ants
learn to distinguish between friend and foe; not until later do they
realise that they are members of a single ant community on behalf of
which they have to fight."[79]
Forel next presents the fact, even more surprising, that the intensity
of the warrior instinct is directly proportional to the size of the
collectivity. Two ants of enemy species meeting at a distance from their
respective nests or from their own folk, will avoid one another and run
away in opposite directions. Even if you come across the armies in full
combat, and you remove from the ranks an ant belonging to either side
and shut the two by themselves in a small box, they will do one another
no harm. If, instead of taking merely two, you shut up a moderate number
from either side within a narrow space, they will fight half-heartedly
for a while, but soon cease to struggle, and often end by making
friends. In such circumstances, says Forel, they will never resume the
struggle. But put these same ants back among the fighting forces of
their respective sides, and separate them by a reasonable distance, so
that they might live at peace, and you will see them return to the
attack; the individuals which a moment before were avoiding one another
with repugnance or fear, will now furiously engage in mutual
slaughter.[80] It thus appears that the combative instinct is a
collective contagion.
Sometimes this epidemic assumes unmistakably morbid attributes.[81] In
proportion as it extends and in proportion as the struggle is prolonged,
the fighting rage becomes a positive frenzy. The very same ant, which at
the outset was timid, will now be affected with a paroxysm of furious
madness. She no longer knows what she is about. She throws herself upon
her own companions, kills the slaves that are endeavouring to calm her,
bites everything she touches, bites fragments of wood, can no longer
find her way. Other members of the community, slaves as a rule, have to
surround such a frenzied worker by twos and threes; they seize her by
the legs and caress her with their antennae until she comes to herself,
has recovered as I might say "her reason." Why not? Had she not lost it?
We have hitherto been dealing exclusively with general phenomena, those
which obey fairly rigid laws. Now we are faced with special phenomena
wherein initiative conflicts in the most peculiar way with the instinct
of the species, and, which is yet more curious, in the end causes
instinct to stray from its appointed path, and even to die out
altogether.
Forel places in a jar some ants of enemy species, the sanguinea and the
pratensis. After a few days of warfare, followed by a sullen armistice,
he introduces a newly hatched pratensis which is very hungry. She runs
to those of her own species begging them to feed her. The pratenses fob
her off. Then the poor innocent appeals to the enemies of her species,
the sanguineae, and, after the manner of ants, she licks the mouth of
two among them. The two sanguineae are so touched by this gesture, which
turns their instinct topsy-turvy, that they disgorge their honeyed store
and feed the young enemy. Thenceforward all is well. An offensive and
defensive alliance is formed between the little pratensis and the
sanguineae against the ants of the young one's own species. The alliance
becomes irrevocable.
Let me adduce another example; the results of a common danger. Forel
places in a bag a nest of sanguineae and another of pratenses. He shakes
them together, and leaves them in the bag for an hour. Thereafter he
opens the bag and places it in direct contact with an artificial nest.
At first we witness a general state of confusion, a delirium of fear.
The ants cannot recognise one another apart; they show their mandibles,
and then sidle away in a panic. But by degrees calm is restored. The
sanguineae begin by removing the pupae, taking indifferently those of
both species. Some of the pratenses follow their example. From time to
time fights take place, but these are merely single combats, and they
grow less and less fierce. From the next day onwards, all work
together. In four days the pact is sealed; the pratenses disgorge food
to the sanguineae. At the end of a week, Forel transports them to the
neighbourhood of an abandoned ant-hill. They settle in, helping one
another in the house-moving, carrying one another, and so forth. No more
than a few isolated individuals of the respective species,
irreconcilable nationalists no doubt, keep up their sacred enmity, and
end by killing one another. A fortnight later, the mixed community is
flourishing; perfect concord prevails. The summit of the ant-hill, which
at ordinary times is covered with pratenses for the most part, reddens
with the martial sanguineae directly danger threatens the common state.
Next month, Forel, carrying the experiment a stage further, went to the
old nest for a number of the pratenses and put them down just outside
the hill of the mixed community. The newcomers promptly fell upon the
sanguineae. But these latter defended themselves without animosity,
merely knocking the aggressors head over heels, and then letting them
alone. The pratenses could not make it out. As for the other pratenses,
those belonging to the mixed community, they avoided their sometime
sisters, would not fight with them, but carried the pupae into the nest.
The hostility was all on the side of the newcomers. Next day some of
them had been admitted as members of the mixed community, and ere long
relations were permanently established on a peace footing. Not in a
single instance did the pratenses of the mixed community join with the
newcomers to attack the sanguineae. The alliance between pratenses and
sanguineae was stronger than the racial brotherhood of the pratenses;
the enmity between the two hostile species had been permanently
overcome.[82]
* * * * *
Such examples suffice to show how grave is the mistake of those who
believe that instincts are quasi-sacred, and who, after they have
included the fighting instinct in this category, regard it as imposed
by fate upon all living animals from the lowest to the highest. For, in
the first place, instinct varies greatly in its cogency. We find it to
be non-modifiable or modifiable, absolute or relative, permanent or
transient, not merely as we pass from one genus to another, but within
the same genus as we pass from species to species,[83] and within the
same species as we pass from group to group. Instinct is not a starting
point, but is itself a product of evolution. Like evolution in general,
it is progressive. The most ingrained instinct is merely an instinct of
great antiquity. The observations quoted above suffice to show that the
war-making instinct is less ingrained, less primitive, than people are
apt to suppose, for even among the most combative species of ants, it
can be resisted, modified, and restrained. If these humble insects are
able to react against it, if they can modify their natures, if they can
replace wars of conquest by peaceful cooperation, if they can substitute
allied states (or, yet more remarkable, mixed and united states) for
enemy states--should man be willing to avow himself more enslaved than
they by his worst instincts, and less able than they to master these
instincts? It is sometimes said that war lowers us to the level of
beasts. War reduces us below that level, if we show ourselves less
capable of freeing ourselves from the fighting spirit than are certain
animal societies. It would be rather humiliating to be compelled to
admit their superiority. Chi lo sa?... For my part I am far from certain
that man is, as he is said to be, the lord of creation; more often, man
is the destructive tyrant. I am sure that in many things he could learn
wisdom from these animal societies, older than his own and infinitely
diversified.
I do not propose to prophesy whether humanity will succeed (any more
than the ant communities) in gaining the mastery over blind instinct.
But what strikes me, as I read Auguste Forel, is the conviction that no
more in man than in the ants is such a victory radically impossible. To
recognize that a particular advance is not impracticable even though we
should fail to realise that advance, seems to me more encouraging than
the belief that, whatever we attempt, we shall run our heads against a
stone wall. The window is closed. It is thick with grime. Perhaps we
shall never be able to open it. But between us and the sunlit air there
is nothing but a pane of glass, which we can break if we will.[84]
_June 1, 1918._
"Revue Mensuelle," Geneva, August, 1918.
XXII
ON BEHALF OF THE INTERNATIONAL OF THE MIND
This chapter relates to the plan for an Institute of the Nations,
suggested by Gerhard Gran, professor at the University of
Christiania, writing in the "Revue Politique Internationale" of
Lausanne. My reply was first published in the same periodical,
under the title "Pour une culture universelle" (On behalf of a
universal civilisation).
Gerhard Gran's broad-minded appeal cannot fail to arouse echoes. I have
read it with lively sympathy. He displays the virtue of modesty, so rare
in our day. At a time when all the nations are making an arrogant parade
of a superior mission of order or justice, organisation or liberty, a
mission which authorises them to impose on other nations their own
hallowed individuality (for each looks upon itself as the chosen
people), we draw a breath of relief when we hear one of them, by the
voice of Gerhard Gran, speaking not of its rights, but of its "debts."
How noble, too, are his tones of frankness and gratitude!