Section 7.)

Is not this good-humoured? Is it not a piece of pleasant bantering, to

be equalled only by certain French philosophers? The real conclusion,

however, winds up his First Book and runs as follows:--"A true

sceptic will be diffident of his philosophical doubts, as well as

of his philosophical conviction; and will never refuse any innocent

satisfaction, which offers itself, upon account of either of them.

"Nor is it only proper we should in general indulge our inclination

in the most elaborate philosophical researches, notwithstanding our

sceptical principles, but also that we should yield (sic) to that

propensity, which inclines us to be positive and certain in _particular

points_, according to the light, in which we survey them in any

_particular instant_. 'Tis easier to forbear all examination and

inquiry, than to check ourselves in so natural a propensity, and guard

against that assurance, which always arises from an exact and full

survey of an object. On such an occasion we are apt not only to forget

our scepticism, but even our modesty too; and make use of such terms

as these, _'tis evident_, _'tis certain_, _'tis undeniable_; which a

due deference to the public ought, perhaps, to prevent. I may have

fallen into this fault after the example of others; but I here enter

a _caveat_ against any objections, which may be offered on that head;

and declare that such expressions were extorted from me by the present

view of the object, and imply no dogmatical spirit, nor conceited idea

of my own judgment, which are sentiments that I am sensible can become

nobody, and a sceptic still less than any other.[121]

* * * * *

It is obvious to remark that no amount of easiness would maintain

most minds in this balanced position of the pleasant know-nothing

man. The general tendency would be to acknowledge the negative side

alone. And it would be well if an absence of serious convictions,

seriously asserted, and acted on, did not gradually weaken the sense of

Responsibility by making Truth appear indifferent because unattainable.

We, however, are just now more concerned with two other equally

obvious comments. One, that Hume appears to take for granted the

point at issue. Suppose it for argument's sake to be true that

impressions and ideas (as described by him) make up our whole ordinary

consciousness; does this shew that no latent power or entity exists by

which we _become_ conscious of those passing trains? When impressed by

colours, are we conscious of an optic nerve, retina, crystalline lens

and other instrumental powers of vision? Can we, if we try, perceive by

sense the nerve-currents brainwards, or the sensory which receives and

compares them? In both cases (eye and inward eye) pathology affords an

evidence of consciousness which happy health refuses us. The brainsick

sense sees colours and phantoms which are not--the disordered mind

dwells on impressions and ideas absolutely unreal, and acts on them as

stern realities. And thus our own purely subjective states reveal to us

our own subjectivity. 'Tis so in fevers, in lunacies, in vices--'tis so

to the drowning or the desperate man. These mournful changes which pass

over ourselves issue from an interior activity of self-ness and form

one of its commonest verifications.

This first comment admits of extension. If we endeavour to introduce

experiment (as well as experience) into Mental Science, must we not ask

a previous question:--Shall this or that experiment be tried? In other

words, by what inner law shall we shape our inquiries so as to gain

useful facts for our intended induction?--Nay, we may further ask: What

inner Being is to settle the questions, criticize them, and judge the

final issue? And if we seem to see our way on these topics, we may feel

pretty sure that whenever our psychology comes to practical trial, we

proceed as being sure of a Self, more or less _self-conscious of Self_,

and are quite confident that its self-ness will continue during the

whole time of our investigations.

Our second comment may be simply summed, but the consideration given

to it ought to be minute and careful. Suppose instead of successive

perceptions, impressions, or ideas, we substitute a succession of

phenomena, and then apply to them Hume's line of thought, we have an

acute statement of the modern teachings which relegate the noblest

part of our Nature, our reasonings and our beliefs to the territory of

the Unknowable. In a word, all knowledge thus seems to be gained by

"looking on," none by "looking in." Truth within ourselves especially

if it manifests a Truth above ourselves is made to appear hopeless. And

so far does the process of Elimination extend, that principles involved

even in our "looking on" must not be drawn out of their latency, for

fear they should become accepted parts of knowledge. Let any thinker

repeat with this substitution the Personal Identity argument in his

own mind, and he will soon see what a shadow is cast over an infinitely

wider world of thought.[122]

The same process of repetition ought in fairness to produce another

effect. Are not these philosophic _argutiæ_, these Pyrrhonic subtilties

closely akin to the difficulties raised against _all_ first principles;

and more particularly all Theistic principles? But does anybody on

their account doubt his own Self-ness or Identity? Or does any one

refuse to act on the supposition of _other-ness_, and _outer-ness_, or

ignore his world of fellow-men and hard objectivities which press upon

him from every side? Why then should anybody ignore on their account

the great First-Cause?

In the text of Chapter III. the elements of our reasonable belief

in our own Personal self-ness and sameness have been shortly

mentioned;--of such work-day belief, that is to say, as suffices

for actual life, and gains from it, and throughout it, a perpetual

verification. If any one wishes to go deeper than this, he must inquire

upon what evidence first principles are accepted by reasoning men; what

difficulties attach to such principles; and under what conditions these

difficulties are held to be nugatory. This inquiry is troublesome but

promises real satisfaction. We have not, therefore, declined it, as may

be seen in the ensuing Chapter. One fact is manifest beforehand--that

whatever evidence is presupposed valid by those first principles of

every-day knowledge, may be safely presupposed, accepted, and reasoned

upon, in the ground-work of Natural Theology.

It was Hume's object to push his scepticism to its most extreme verge.

Thus pushed, it "so wrought upon" him that he was "ready to reject

all belief and reasoning" till a return to every-day life made his

speculations appear in his own eyes "cold and strained and ridiculous."

What then was the inference Hume himself intended? Which was really

groundless--every-day belief or scepticism? Will his useful dilemma

induce the reader to receive Kant's excuse for the celebrated doubter,

when he bids us let the man alone because he is but trying the strength

of human reason? At all events, Hume's way of stating his case seems to

justify the old remark, that, while Superstition is refuted by Reason,

Nature itself refutes the Sceptic.

B.--EXTRACTS FROM POPULAR LECTURES, BY PROFESSOR HELMHOLTZ, ON THE

RECENT PROGRESS OF THE THEORY OF VISION.

"If now we compare the eye with other optical instruments, we observe

the advantage it has over them in its very large field of vision. This

for each eye separately is 160° (nearly two right angles) laterally,

and 120° vertically, and for both together somewhat more than two right

angles from right to left. The field of view of instruments made by art

is usually very small, and becomes smaller with the increased size of

the image.

"But we must also admit, that we are accustomed to expect in these

instruments complete precision of the image in its entire extent, while

it is only necessary for the image on the retina to be exact over a

very small surface, namely, that of the yellow spot. The diameter

of the central pit corresponds in the field of vision to an angular

magnitude which can be covered by the nail of one's forefinger when the

hand is stretched out as far as possible. In this small part of the

field our power of vision is so accurate that it can distinguish the

distance between two points, of only _one minute_ angular magnitude,

_i.e._ a distance equal to the sixtieth part of the diameter of the

finger-nail. This distance corresponds to the width of one of the

cones of the retina. All the other parts of the retinal image are seen

imperfectly, and the more so the nearer to the limit of the retina they

fall. So that the image which we receive by the eye is like a picture,

minutely and elaborately finished in the centre, but only roughly

sketched in at the borders. But although at each instant we only see

a very small part of the field of vision accurately, we see this in

combination with what surrounds it, and enough of this outer and larger

part of the field, to notice any striking object, and particularly

any change that takes place in it. All of this is unattainable in a

telescope.

"But if the objects are too small, we cannot discern them at all with

the greater part of the retina.

'When, lost in boundless blue on high,

The lark pours forth his thrilling song,'

the 'ethereal minstrel' is lost until we can bring her image to a focus

upon the central pit of our retina. Then only are we able to _see_ her.

"To _look_ at anything means to place the eye in such a position that

the image of the object falls on the small region of perfectly clear

vision. This we may call _direct_ vision, applying the term _indirect_

to that exercised with the lateral parts of the retina--indeed with all

except the yellow spot.

"The defects which result from the inexactness of vision and the

smaller number of cones in the greater part of the retina are

compensated by the rapidity with which we can turn the eye to one

point after another of the field of vision, and it is this rapidity of

movement which really constitutes the chief advantage of the eye over

other optical instruments....

"A great part of the importance of the eye as an organ of expression

depends on the same fact; for the movements of the eyeball--its

glances--are among the most direct signs of the movement of the

attention, of the movements of the mind, of the person who is looking

at us." _Popular Lectures on Scientific Subjects_, pp. 212-214.

The great German next proceeds to catalogue some principal defects of

the Eye. 1. Chromatic aberration connected with 2. spherical aberration

and defective centering of the cornea and lens, together producing the

imperfection known as astigmatism, and 3. irregular radiation round

the images of illuminated points. "Now," adds Helmholtz, "it is not

too much to say that if an optician wanted to sell me an instrument

which had all these defects, I should think myself quite justified in

blaming his carelessness in the strongest terms, and giving him back

his instrument. Of course, I shall not do this with my eyes, and shall

be only too glad to keep them as long as I can--defects and all. Still,

the fact that, however bad they may be, I can get no others, does not

at all diminish their defects, so long as I maintain the narrow but

indisputable position of a critic on purely optical grounds." (p. 219.)

He then goes on to other faults. 4. Defective transparency. 5. Floating

corpuscules (Muscæ Volitantes). 6. The "blind spot" with other gaps

in the field of vision. "So much," he concludes, "for the physical

properties of the Eye. If I am asked why I have spent so much time

in explaining its imperfection to my readers, I answer, as I said at

first, that I have not done so in order to depreciate the performances

of this wonderful organ, or to diminish our admiration of its

construction. It was my object to make the reader understand, at the

first step of our inquiry, that it is not any mechanical perfection of

the organs of our senses which secures for us such wonderfully true

and exact impressions of the outer world. The next section of this

inquiry will introduce much bolder and more paradoxical conclusions

than any I have yet stated. We have now seen that the eye in itself is

not by any means so complete an optical instrument as it first appears:

its extraordinary value depends upon the way in which we use it: its

perfection is practical, not absolute.... Wherever we scrutinise the

construction of physiological organs, we find the same character of

practical adaptation to the wants of the organism; although, perhaps,

there is no instance which we can follow out so minutely as that of the

eye.

"For the eye has every possible defect that can be found in an optical

instrument, and even some which are peculiar to itself; but they are

all so counteracted, that the inexactness of the image which results

from their presence very little exceeds, under ordinary conditions of

illumination, the limits which are set to the delicacy of sensation by

the dimensions of the retinal cones....

"The adaptation of the eye to its function is, therefore, most

complete, and is seen in the very limits which are set to its defects.

Here the result which may be reached by innumerable generations

working under the Darwinian law of inheritance, coincides with what

the wisest Wisdom may have devised beforehand. A sensible man will not

cut firewood with a razor, and so we may assume that each step in the

elaboration of the eye must have made the organ more vulnerable and

more slow in its development. We must also bear in mind that soft,

watery animal textures must always be unfavourable and difficult

material for an instrument of the mind....

"But, apparently, we are not yet come much nearer to understanding

sight. We have only made one step: we have learnt how the optical

arrangement of the eye renders it possible to separate the rays of

light which come in from all parts of the field of vision, and to bring

together again all those that have proceeded from a single point, so

that they may produce their effect upon a single fibre of the optic

nerve.

"Let us see, therefore, how much we know of the sensations of the eye,

and how far this will bring us towards the solution of the problem." P.

226, seq.

From the Professor's mention of "much bolder and more paradoxical

conclusions," the final result of his next inquiry may be anticipated.

Sensation is so far from making evident the truth of our visual

knowledge that it increases our perplexities tenfold. "The

inaccuracies," he tells us, "and imperfections of the eye as an optical

instrument, and those which belong to the image on the retina, now

appear insignificant in comparison with the incongruities which we

have met with in the field of sensation. One might almost believe that

Nature had here contradicted herself on purpose, in order to destroy

any dream of a pre-existing harmony between the outer and the inner

world.

"And what progress have we made in our task of explaining Sight? It

might seem that we are farther off than ever; the riddle only more

complicated, and less hope than ever of finding out the answer. The

reader may perhaps feel inclined to reproach Science with only knowing

how to break up with fruitless criticism the fair world presented to us

by our senses, in order to annihilate the fragments." (p. 269.)

How triumphant does Idealism now appear! How little trustworthy that

boasted sense of which mankind have constantly said, "seeing is

believing," although an apostle and philosophers innumerable have put

the two in opposition!

Perhaps, however, instead of leading to a "triumph of Idealism," the

paradoxes and incongruities--in a word, the vast accumulation of the

Unknowable--belonging to eyesight _considered as a Sensation_, must

be allowed to land us on the shore of a far-stretching Scepticism

illimitable to the mind's eye. And this seems to be the eminent

writer's own final opinion.[123] So, too, it will always appear when

the case is fairly argued out; and that for the reasons adduced in

our text. The course of argument there pursued was adopted before the

Professor's book came to hand; but we have now added some extracts from

his pages in the shape of footnotes, and have given references to other

interesting topics touched upon by him.

For our purpose, however, it is necessary in some degree to disregard

the variety of those topics, and fix our attention upon the conclusive

issue. It is plain, that respecting our senses, as well as our other

primary sources of information, the limits of what we can completely

explain are very narrow. Yet each for himself and all of us for

our race must needs every day accept and act upon this limited and

imperfect kind of knowledge about what most essentially concerns our

actions as well as our speculations.

Several strong examples of such incompleteness are given by

Helmholtz in his scientific inquiry into the rationale of the

visual sense-impressions. We observe, for instance, in his chapter

on Sensation (p. 236 seq.) that all light-waves are the same in

kind of movement, but differ in size as widely as the ripples on a

sea-beach (round which happy children play) differ from the vast

Atlantic ship-engulfing billows sixty or a hundred feet apart. All

these undulations are similar in respect of reflection, refraction,

interference, diffraction, and polarisation, as well as in their

production of heat.[124] Now, it is the interpretation of such

movements into its own language by which our eye gives us the sensation

of colour. Yet this power of interpretation is curiously limited--it

does not appreciate the gentler ripples of the light-waves--it does

not reach to their mightier undulations. Consequently, there may be

tender colour-delicacies adorning the Universe, completely incognisable

by us, and there may be also glows and intensities of light-beams

magnificently resplendent, and unspeakably grand in tone, of which we

can through our visual apparatus form no possible conception. Thus, our

eye translates some waves into a language which we call colour, but

its scholarship is limited. A certain number of signs it catches and

interprets, the rest lie altogether outside its ken. The Sun's softer

light-harmonies, and his most awful emanations of beauty remain equally

unknown.

And another limitation has been imposed upon our optical apparatus. For

a perception of heating powers belonging to colour-waves the eye refers

us to the skin;--and as to their chemical powers we are only just now

discovering the instruments fitted for their true appreciation.

Skilful, too, and yet at the same time very skill-less, is the

divination into sunlight given us by our human eyes;--sunlight, that

is to say, as a general resultant in its whiteness. For, if our eyes,

keen and susceptible to us perfect clearness, attempt to analyze white

light into its factors and elements, their resolving faculty manifests

still more blank inabilities. And they fail also in examining certain

colours:--

"The most striking difference," writes Helmholtz, "between the mixture

of pigments and that of coloured light is, that while painters make

green by mixing blue and yellow pigments, the union of blue and yellow

rays of light, produces white.... In general, then, light, which

consists of undulations of different wave-lengths, produces different

impressions upon our eye, namely, those of different colours. But the

number of hues which we can recognise is much smaller than that of

the various possible combinations of rays with different wave-lengths

which external objects can convey to our eyes. The retina cannot

distinguish between the white which is produced by the union of scarlet

and bluish-green light, and that which is composed of yellowish-green

and violet, or of yellow and ultramarine blue, or of red, green,

and violet, or of all the colours of the spectrum united. All these

combinations appear identically as white; and yet, from a physical

point of view, they are very different. In fact, the only resemblance

between the several combinations just mentioned is, that they are

indistinguishable to the human eye. For instance, a surface illuminated

with red and bluish-green light would come out black in a photograph;

while another lighted with yellowish-green and violet would appear

very bright, although both surfaces alike seem to the eye to be simply

white. Again, if we successively illuminate coloured objects with white

beams of light of various composition, they will appear differently

coloured. And whenever we decompose two such beams by a prism, or look

at them through a coloured glass, the difference between them at once

becomes evident.

"Other colours, also, especially when they are not strongly pronounced,

may, like pure white light, be composed of very different mixtures, and

yet appear indistinguishable to the eye, while in every other property,

physical or chemical, they are entirely distinct." (pp. 239-241.)

We may speak of visual Sensation, then, as a _limited_ power of

_translating_ light. And what relation does visual _Perception_ bear to

this Power? Probably the simplest way of expressing it, is to say that

it is neither more nor less than the _translation of a translation_.

The mind thus construes to itself what the visual sense is every moment

busied with expressing in its own special language--the interpretation

of movement, into colour, light and shadow. And from these data--these

colours, lights and shadows, the mind draws its own inferences.

Now these inferences thus drawn from preceding Sense

inferences,--limited in range, as we have seen, and defective in

analytic power;--these inferences, such as they are, constitute the

boasted certainty of eyesight; and of all things apprehended by its

means,--all

--quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus et quæ

Ipse sibi _tradit_ spectator.

It needs but a statement of the mode in which our final

mind-interpretations are constructed,--of these translated

translations,--obscure in grammar and imperfect in vocabulary--to

prove how very difficult is the position of the Realist. In view of

this Empire of the Unknowable proclaimed by Science over the surest

of our perceiving powers, the firmest foundations of our experimental

knowledge, Helmholtz suggests that his reader "may feel determined to

stick fast to the 'sound common sense' of mankind, and believe his own

senses more than physiology." (p. 270.)

And such, no doubt, is the conclusion of the matter to the greater part

of mankind. But we will in the first place prefer hearing the last word

of the physiologist. From page 270 to page 313 of his work, he argues

out the great question of _how_ we perceive under the full impression

of its vast importance to psychology, metaphysics, and the first

principles upon which all science and all reasonings repose. "We have,"

he says (p. 281), "already learned enough to see that the questions

which have here to be decided are of fundamental importance, not only

for the physiology of sight, but for a correct understanding of the

true nature and limits of human knowledge generally."

The Physiologist's last word is this--Sense impressions are signs, the

meaning of which we learn inductively by a process of self education.

"Illusions obviously depend upon mental processes which may be

described as false inductions.... There appears to me to be in reality

only a superficial difference between the 'conclusions' of logicians

and those inductive conclusions of which we recognise the result in

the conceptions we gain of the outer world through our sensations. The

difference chiefly depends upon the former conclusions being capable

of expression in words, while the latter are not; because, instead of

words, they only deal with sensations and the memory of sensations.

Indeed, it is just the impossibility of describing sensations, whether

actual or remembered, in words, which makes it so difficult to discuss

this department of psychology at all." (pp. 307, 8.) And again (p.

314), "There is a most striking analogy between the entire range of

processes which we have been discussing, and another System of Signs,

which is not given by nature but arbitrarily chosen, and which must

undoubtedly be learned before it is understood. I mean the words of our

mother tongue.

"Learning how to speak is obviously a much more difficult task than

acquiring a foreign language in after-life. First, the child has

to guess that the sounds it hears are intended to be signs at all;

next, the meaning of each separate sound must be found out, by the

same kind of induction as the meaning of the sensations of sight or

touch; and yet we see children by the end of their first year already

understanding certain words and phrases, even if they are not yet able

to repeat them. We may sometimes observe the same in dogs.

"Now this connection between Names and Objects, which demonstrably

must be _learnt_, becomes just as firm and indestructible as that

between Sensations and the Objects which produce them. We cannot help

thinking of the usual signification of a word, even when it is used

exceptionally in some other sense; we cannot help feeling the mental

emotions which a fictitious narrative calls forth, even when we know

that it is not true; just in the same way as we cannot get rid of the

normal signification of the sensations produced by any illusion of the

senses, even when we know that they are not real.

"There is one other point of comparison which is worth notice. The

elementary signs of language are only twenty-six letters, and yet what

wonderfully varied meanings can we express and communicate by their

combination! Consider, in comparison with this, the enormous number of

elementary signs with which the machinery of sight is provided. We may

take the number of fibres in the optic nerves as two hundred and fifty

thousand. Each of these is capable of innumerable different degrees of

sensation of one, two, or three primary colours. It follows that it is

possible to construct an immeasurably greater number of combinations

here than with the few letters which build up our words. Nor must we

forget the extremely rapid changes of which the images of sight are

capable. No wonder, then, if our senses speak to us in language which

can express far more delicate distinctions and richer varieties than

can be conveyed by words."

Finally (pp. 315, 16), "The correspondence, therefore, between the

external world and the Perceptions of Sight rests, either in whole or

in part, upon the same foundation as all our knowledge of the actual

world,--on _experience_, and on constant _verification_ of its accuracy

by experiments which we perform with every movement of our body. It

follows, of course, that we are only warranted in accepting the reality

of this correspondence so far as these means of verification extend,

which is really as far as for practical purposes we need.

"Beyond these limits, as, for example, in the region of Qualities,

we are in some instances able to prove conclusively that there is no

correspondence at all between sensations and their objects.

"Only the relations of time, of space, of equality, and those which

are derived from them, of number, size, regularity of co-existence and

of sequence--'mathematical relations' in short, are common to the

outer and the inner world, and here we may indeed look for a complete

correspondence between our conceptions and the objects which excite

them.

"But it seems to me that we should not quarrel with the bounty of

nature because the greatness, and also the emptiness, of these abstract

relations have been concealed from us by the manifold brilliance of a

system of signs; since thus they can be the more easily surveyed and

used for practical ends, while yet traces enough remain visible to

guide the philosophical spirit aright, in its search after the meaning

of sensible Images and Signs."

Let therefore this account of visual Perception be accepted by us,

as it will probably be by three-fourths of scientific men throughout

Europe. And, next, let us ask, as every real thinker will proceed to

ask, on _what_ grounds of _certitude_ rests our assurance as regards

the daily and hourly information received through this avenue of

perception, reasoned and acted upon with unswerving confidence by us

all?

For an examination of the ground principle of Induction, the reader

must be referred to our next chapter. But it is at once clear that no

human _experience_ can possess the attribute of universality, otherwise

it would cease to be human. We have then in this present appeal to the

veracity of Experience, no _absolute_ knowledge to deal with, only

knowledge as relative to mankind. Nay, we must go a little further

still in our limitation, and say to the _generality_ of mankind. For

our eyes do not all see perfectly alike--a North-American Indian sees

what a Cockney cannot discover; the trained eye discerns differently

from the untrained. On the differences of power in eye and ear rest the

differences in many kinds of theorising--amongst which art-perceptions

yield an obvious and familiar set of examples. And if we try for a

more precise estimate of the value of our limited human relativity,

and proceed by way of comparison between _our own_ diverse endowments,

who shall venture to say that the eye of our body interpreted by our

understanding, tells our inmost self more truly than the eye of our

human soul, informing us directly of the facts of its intuitive vision?

So far as our actual means of valuing these two modes of beholding can

go, there is no knowledge so perfect as the product of pure intuition,

the glorious fabric of Mathematical Science. And to pure Science it

matters not whether the requisite Schematism is drawn upon a sheet

of white paper or on the clear tablet of the imagining faculty of a

philosopher. The purely inward view is in truth generally the farthest

reaching, and the most unclouded. When, therefore, it is, and has been

for centuries, apparent to the inmost eye of the generality of our race

that there _really_ exists a spiritual world within themselves--above

them, and in the far distant future beyond us all, permanent while

we change, and the evidence of our own ultimate permanency,--such

knowledge may undeniably be human, the very flower and distinction of

our human nature; and it may on that account be received by us as true.

If, again, our ordinary human soul is so far a Christian as to exclaim

with Tertullian, "O good God," by what logical process shall we confute

its utterance, while we maintain the utterance of our commonest

sense-perceptions?

That we all see in frames, that we all think in frames, no rational

thinker or perceiver will deny. If, however, any of us chooses to be

an Idealist or Nihilist, let him at least be consistent;--if he will

assert the necessity of Doubt, let him maintain its empire by doubting

his own assertion. But let no man think that Doubt leads him any

whither except to an abnegation of thought, a mistrust alike of Sense

and Soul, and an abdication of every human prerogative:--

"Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall,

And universal Darkness buries all."

So sang the witty rhymer, but we may add in prose that Doubt if

thoroughly real, invariably commits suicide, and becomes first

doubtful, after that, a non-entity at last.

C.--HELMHOLTZ ON SPECIALTIES OF SENSIBILITY.

The following passages from this interesting writer will be found in

his Chapter "on the Sensations of Sight," between pp. 232 and 236. They

will, it is hoped, be thoroughly intelligible if read in connection

with the part of our last Chapter (pp. 158, 9) where a reference to

this note was made.

"The nerve-fibres have been often compared with telegraphic wires

traversing a country, and the comparison is well fitted to illustrate

this striking and important peculiarity of their mode of action. In

the network of telegraphs we find everywhere the same copper or iron

wires carrying the same kind of movement, a stream of electricity,

but producing the most different results in the various stations

according to the auxiliary apparatus with which they are connected. At

one station the effect is the ringing of a bell, at another a signal

is moved, and at a third a recording instrument is set to work....

Nerve-fibres and telegraphic wires are equally striking examples to

illustrate the doctrine that the same causes may, under different

conditions, produce different results.... As motor nerves, when

irritated, produce movement, because they are connected with muscles,

and glandular nerves secretion, because they lead to glands, so do

sensitive nerves, when they are irritated, produce sensation, because

they are connected with sensitive organs.... Whether by the irritation

of a nerve we produce a muscular movement, a secretion or a sensation

depends upon whether we are handling a motor, a glandular, or a

sensitive nerve, and not at all upon what means of irritation we may

use. It may be an electrical shock, or tearing the nerve, or cutting

it through, or moistening it with a solution of salt, or touching it

with a hot wire. In the same way (and this great step in advance was

due to Johannes Müller) the _kind_ of sensation which will ensue when

we irritate a sensitive nerve, whether an impression of light, or of

sound, or of feeling, or of smell, or of taste, will be produced,

depends entirely upon which sense the excited nerve subserves, and not

at all upon the method of excitation we adopt.

"Let us now apply this to the optic nerve, which is the object of

our present enquiry. In the first place, we know that no kind of

action upon any part of the body except the eye and the nerve which

belongs to it, can ever produce the sensation of light. The stories

of somnambulists, which are the only arguments that can be adduced

against this belief, we may be allowed to disbelieve. But, on the other

hand, it is not light alone which can produce the sensation of light

upon the eye, but also any other power which can excite the optic

nerve. If the weakest electrical currents are passed through the eye

they produce flashes of light. A blow, or even a slight pressure made

upon the side of the eyeball with the finger, makes an impression of

light in the darkest room, and, under favourable circumstances, this

may become intense. In these cases it is important to remember that

there is no objective light produced in the retina, as some of the

older physiologists assumed, for the sensation of light may be so

strong that a second observer could not fail to see through the pupil

the illumination of the retina which would follow, if the sensation

were really produced by an actual development of light within the eye.

But nothing of the sort has ever been seen. Pressure or the electric

current excites the optic nerve, and therefore, according to Müller's

law, a sensation of light results, but under these circumstances, at

least, there is not the smallest spark of actual light.

"In the same way, increased pressure of blood, its abnormal

constitution in fevers, or its contamination with intoxicating or

narcotic drugs, can produce sensations of light to which no actual

light corresponds. Even in cases in which an eye is entirely lost by

accident or by an operation, the irritation of the stump of the optic

nerve while it is healing is capable of producing similar subjective

effects. It follows from these facts that the peculiarity in kind

which distinguishes the sensation of light from all others, does not

depend upon any peculiar qualities of light itself. Every action which

is capable of exciting the optic nerve is capable of producing the

impression of light; and the purely subjective sensation thus produced

is so precisely similar to that caused by external light, that persons

unacquainted with these phenomena readily suppose that the rays they

see are real objective beams.

"Thus we see that external light produces no other effects in the optic

nerve than other agents of an entirely different nature. In one respect

only does light differ from the other causes which are capable of

exciting this nerve: namely, that the retina, being placed at the back

of the firm globe of the eye, and further protected by the bony orbit,

is almost entirely withdrawn from other exciting agents, and is thus

only exceptionally affected by them, while it is continually receiving

the rays of light which stream in upon it through the transparent media

of the eye.

"On the other hand, the optic nerve, by reason of the peculiar

structures in connection with the ends of its fibres, the rods and

cones of the retina, is incomparably more sensitive to rays of light

than any other nervous apparatus of the body, since the rest can only

be affected by rays which are concentrated enough to produce noticeable

elevation of temperature.

"This explains why the sensations of the optic nerve are for us the

ordinary sensible sign of the presence of light in the field of vision,

and why we always connect the sensation of light with light itself,

even where they are really unconnected. But we must never forget that

a survey of all the facts in their natural connection puts it beyond

doubt that external light is only _one_ of the exciting causes capable

of bringing the optic nerve into functional activity, and therefore

that there is no exclusive relation between the sensation of light and

light itself."

Some of the quotations just made direct attention to illusions of

Sight which (as we have seen in our last note) Helmholtz elsewhere

calls "false inductions." Now one curious fact relative to these

impressions is that in many instances the objective consequent is due

to a subjective antecedent. Some readers may like to peruse a short

account of five variously caused sight-illusions taken from an Oration

on _Positivism_ delivered by the present writer at St. George's Hall in

May 1871. The particulars here given of the fifth illusion should be

compared with the foot-note on page 158 _ante_.

"I will mention five instances in which people believe they see

something, and do not see it; in other words, the objective antecedent

is wanting, and the impression is produced partly by the sensory

apparatus, partly by the mind itself. As I describe these instances

one by one, let my hearers ask themselves, How does this illusion come

about? Is it produced by our optic instrument or by our mental activity?

"First, then, Take a lighted stick, and whirl it rapidly round and

round. You believe you see a circle of sparks--in reality it is no more

than a simple train, and on a like illusion the Catherine-wheel is

constructed. Again, put yourself in the hands of an optically inclined

friend, and let him operate upon you thus. He shall place a cardboard

down the middle axis of your face, quite close against your nose--one

side of his board, say the right, coloured a brilliant red, the left

a vivid green. After an instant or two let him suddenly substitute

another board, white on both sides. Do my young friends guess what will

follow? Your right eye will see green, your left red--the reverse of

what they saw before; yet neither will see correctly, for both eyes are

looking at uncoloured surfaces.

"Thirdly, Watch the full moon rising--how large and round she looks,

resting as it were upon that eastern hill, and seen amidst the tops of

its forest trees! How much larger and broader than when she hangs aloft

in upper sky! Has every one here learned the true reason why? If not,

look at her through a slit in a card, and her diameter will be the same.

"Fourthly, A schoolboy is crossing his bedroom in the deep dark night,

anxiously hoping that his head may not come into collision with the

bed-post. Though carefully and successfully avoiding it, he imagines of

a sudden that the blow is imminent. Quick as thought he stops to save

his head, and, behold, the room is as quickly filled with sparks or

flames of fire. Another moment, and all becomes dark once more. I have

heard many a schoolboy exclaim over this phenomenon, but never knew

one who could explain it. Finally, did you ever, on opening your eyes

in a morning, close them quickly again, and keep them shut, directing

them as if to look straight forwards? Most persons of active nervous

power, after a few trials--say a dozen, or a score--are surprised to

see colours appear and flit before the sight. Some years ago, Germany's

greatest poet tried, at the suggestion of her greatest physiologist,

a series of experiments on these coloured images. He found that

by an effort of will he could cause them to come and go, govern

their movement, march, and succession. And this took place under no

conditions of impaired sensation, nor any hallucination of a diseased

mind. A thoroughly healthy will succeeded in impressing itself upon

physical instruments, controlling their law, and creating at its own

pleasure an unfailingly bright phantasmagoria.

"Some here may, others may not, have apprehended the distinctions

between our five cases. The first two are due to the sensory apparatus,

its optical laws of continued impression and complementary colour.

In the latter three, mind intervenes. The enlarged size of the moon

occurs through rapid comparison, the fiery lights in a dark room

through instinctive apprehension, both influences of mind on the

sensory system. The fifth and most interesting of all is no bad

example of interference between moral and material law. The will truly

causative (you may remark) overrules the natural process of physical

impression, alters it, and creates a designed effect. I wish I could

induce my young friends to devise a number of experiments on similar

mixed cases, and, having tried them, to dissect out their real laws.

These sharpenings of the critical faculty are exceedingly useful--they

cultivate clearness; and most people know that two-thirds among our

mistakes in life are caused by confusion of thought.

"Besides all other uses, such lessons teach at once the necessity, as

we said before, of observing your own observations. And as, first, the

real witness of every observation is our mind; every fact which comes

through our bodily senses being to us a mental impression, it seems

but common sense to hear above all things what mind has to say for and

about itself. Then, secondly, where would be the benefit derived from

our observations, if we could not reason upon them, or could place no

confidence in our own reasonings? Yet the art of reasoning is so purely

a mental process, that it can be represented by symbols as abstract

and free from material meaning as if they were bare algebraic signs.

Thirdly, in the most accurate of sciences mind extends our knowledge

far beyond the circle of observation, and gives us axiomatic assurance

of its own accuracy. Who ever saw, or ever can see, all straight lines

in all conceivable positions, yet who doubts that throughout the whole

universe no two straight lines ever did inclose or can inclose a space?

And, fourthly, can it be a matter of indifference to any of us what

evidence the mind offers concerning its own moral nature, and what is

the value of that evidence, and the laws deducible therefrom? How true

it thus appears that 'know thyself' lies at the root of all knowledge,

and that the man who receives no witness from within can know nothing

as he ought to know it!"

D.--POPULAR ACCOUNT OF PURE IDEALISM WITH CRITICAL REMARKS.

"A classification of systems of philosophy according to the

cosmological conceptions governing them has actually been made. It is

founded on a consideration of the differences among philosophers as to

what that totality of existence is which is to be accepted as really

vouched for by Mind. All agree, as we have said, that Mind is the sole

voucher for anything; but philosophers are divisible into schools

according to the various views they have taken of the constitution of

that phenomenal Universe, that Cosmos, that total round of things,

of which we have a recurring assurance in every act of perception,

and which is orbed forth more or less fully for each man in his wider

contemplations.

"The popular or habitual conception of mankind in general is that there

are two distinct worlds mixed up in the phenomenal Cosmos--a world

of Mind, consisting of multitudes of individual minds, and a world

of Matter, consisting of all the extended immensity and variety of

material objects. Neither of these worlds is thought of as begotten of

the other, but each of them as existing independently in its own proper

nature and within its own definite bounds, though they traffic with

each other at present. Sweep away all existing minds, and the deserted

Earth would continue to spin round all the same, still whirling its

rocks, trees, clouds, and all the rest of its material pomp and

garniture, alternately in the sunshine and in the depths of the starry

stillness. Though no eye should behold, and no ear should hear, there

would be evenings of silver moonlight on the ocean-marge, and the waves

would roar as they broke and retired. On the other hand, suppose the

entire fabric of the material Universe abolished and dissolved, and

the dishoused population of spirits would still somehow survive in the

imaginable vacancy. If this second notion is not so easy or common as

the first, it still virtually belongs to the popular conception of the

contents or constitution of the Cosmos. The conception is that of a

Natural Dualism, or of the contact in every act of perception of two

distinct spheres, one an internal perceiving mind, and the other an

external world composed of the actual and identical objects which this

mind perceives.

"On the first exercise of philosophic thought, however, this conception

is blurred. An immense quantity of what we all instinctively think of

as really existing out of ourselves turns out, on investigation, not to

exist at all as we fancy it existing, but to consist only of affections

of the perceiving mind. The redness of the rose is not a real external

thing, immutably the same in itself; it is only a certain peculiar

action on my physiology which the presence of an external cause or

object seems to determine. Were my physiology different, the action

would be different, though the cause or object remained the same.

Indeed, there _are_ persons in whom the presence of a rose occasions

no sensation of redness such as is known to me, but a much vaguer

sensation, not distinguishable from what I should at once distinguish

as greenness. And, as colour is thus at once detected as no external

independently-existing reality, but only a recurring physiological

affection of myself and other sentient beings like myself, so with

a thousand other things which, by habit or instinct, I suppose as

externally and independently existing. When I imagine the depopulated

Earth still wheeling its inanimate rotundity through the daily sunshine

and the nocturnal shadow, or one of its bays still resonant in moonlit

evenings with the roar of the breaking waves, it is because, in spite

of myself, I intrude into the fancy the supposition of a listening

ear, and a beholding eye analogous to my own. It is only by a strong

effort that I can realize that a great deal at least of what I thus

think of as the goings-on of things by themselves is not and cannot be

their goings-on by themselves, but consists at the utmost of effects

interbred between them and a particular sentiency in the midst of them.

But the effort may be made; and, when it is made repeatedly, in a great

many directions, and with reference to a great many of the so-called

properties of matter, the inevitable result for the philosophic mind is

that the popularly-imagined substance of a real external world finds

itself eaten away or corroded, at least to a certain depth. So far

philosophers are agreed. It is when they proceed to consider to _what_

depth the popularly-imagined substance of the real external world is

thus eaten away, or accounted for, that they begin to differ.

"Some philosophers, departing as little as may be from the popular

judgment, suppose that, however much of the apparent external world may

be resolved into affections of the subjective sentiency, there still

remains an objective residue of such primary qualities as extension,

figure, divisibility, mobility, etc., belonging to external matter

itself, and by the direct and immediate cognizance of which the mind is

brought face to face with external substance, and knows something of

its real goings-on. Philosophers of this school are known generally as

REALISTS. More numerous, however, are those who, not allowing

an objective and independent reality even to the so-called primary

qualities of matter, but believing them as well as colour, odour, or

savour, to be only affections of the sentiency, deny that the mind is

in any sense brought face to face with real external things such as

they seem in the act of perception. To thinkers of this school there

has been given the general name of IDEALISTS. This broad

distinction of Philosophers cosmologically into REALISTS and

IDEALISTS is so far convenient enough. Cosmologically, or in

respect of this present Universe of ours, with its dualism of Mind

and Matter, every man must declare himself either a REALIST

or an IDEALIST, if he understands the meanings attached to

these terms. The distinction has reference solely to his notion of the

so-called external or material world in its relations to the perceiving

mind. If he abides, though only in part, by the popular conception,

and regards the material world as a substantial reality independent

of the perceiving mind, and which the mind, according to its powers,

presses against and directly apprehends in every act of perception,

then he is a REALIST. If, on the other hand, he cannot see

that there need be asserted any external material world with such

characters as we attribute to it, but supposes that our unanimous

agreement in the imagination of such an external world is merely a

habit of our own sentiency, projecting its own ideas or affections

outwards, and giving them a body, then he is an IDEALIST."

Masson, "_Recent British Philosophy_," pp. 58-64. Again p. 69, seq.,

"There is the system of _Constructive Idealism_. It may be so called to

distinguish it from the more developed and extreme Idealism presently

to be spoken of. According to this system, we do not perceive the

real external world immediately, but only mediately--that is, the

objects which we take as the things actually perceived are not the

real objects at all, but only vicarious assurances, representatives,

or nuntii of real unknown objects. The hills, the rocks, the trees,

the stars, all the choir of heaven and earth, are not, in any of

their qualities, primary, secondary, or whatever we choose to call

them, the actual existences out of us, but only the addresses of a

'something' to our physiology, or eductions by our physiology out of a

'something.' They are all Thoughts or Ideas, with only this peculiarity

involved in them, that they will not rest in themselves, but compel

a reference to objects out of self, with which, by some arrangement

or other, they stand in relation. Difficult as this system may be to

understand, and violently as it wrenches the popular common sense, it

is yet the system into which the great majority of philosophers in

all ages and countries hitherto are seen, more or less distinctly,

to have been carried by their speculations. While the Natural

Realists among philosophers have been very few, and even these have

been Realists in a sense unintelligible to the popular mind, quite a

host of philosophers have been Constructive Idealists. These might be

farther subdivided according to particular variations in the form of

their Idealism. Thus, there have been many Constructive Idealists who

have regarded the objects rising to the mind in external perception,

and taken to be representative of real unknown objects, as something

more than modifications of the mind itself--as having their origin

without. Among these have been reckoned Malebranche, Berkeley, Clarke,

Sir Isaac Newton, Tucker, and possibly Locke. But there have been

other Constructive Idealists, who have supposed the objects rising

in the mind in external perception to be only modifications of the

mind itself, but yet, by some arrangement, vicarious of real unknown

objects, and intimating their existence. Among such have been reckoned

Descartes, Leibnitz, Condillac, Kant, and most Platonists. The general

name 'Idealists' it will be seen properly enough includes both the

classes as distinct from the Natural Realists, inasmuch as both classes

hold that what the mind is directly cognizant of in external perception

is only ideas. But, inasmuch as these ideas are held by both classes,

though under divers hypotheses, to refer to real existences beyond

themselves, and distinct from the perceiving mind, the thinkers in

question may also properly enough be called Realists or Dualists,

though not 'Natural' Realists or Dualists. They occupy a midway place

between the Natural Realists and the philosophers next to be mentioned.

"There is the system of _Pure Idealism_, which abolishes matter as

a distinct or independent existence in any sense, and resolves it

completely into mind. Though this system is named in the scheme, for

the sake of symmetry, and as the exact antithesis to Materialism, it is

difficult to cite representatives that could be certainly discriminated

from the merely Constructive Idealists just mentioned on the one hand,

and from the school of philosophers next following on the other. Fichte

is, perhaps, the purest example." _Ibid._ pp. 69-72.

For perfect clearness we must put together two other passages from

Professor Masson's interesting volume:--

"There is the system of _Nihilism_, or, as it may be better called,

_Non-Substantialism_. According to this system, the Phænomenal Cosmos,

whether regarded as consisting of two parallel successions of phænomena

(Mind and Matter), or of only one (Mind or Matter), resolves itself,

on analysis, into an absolute Nothingness,--mere appearances with

no credible substratum of Reality; a play of phantasms in a void.

If there have been no positive or dogmatic Nihilists, yet both Hume

for one purpose, and Fichte for another, have propounded Nihilism as

the ultimate issue of all reasoning that does not start with some _à

priori_ postulate." Masson, "_Recent British Philosophy_," p. 66....

If any one could assert "There is no Absolute," surely it might be the

Nihilist, who has analysed away both Matter and Thought, and attenuated

the Cosmos into vapour and non-significance. Yet, from the abyss of a

speculatively reasoned Nihilism more void than Hume's, Fichte returned,

by a convulsive act of soul,--which he termed _faith_--an intense, a

burning, a blazing Ontologist. _Ibid._ p. 81."[125]

This is certainly an eloquent account of philosophic Idealism as it may

in its various phases be represented to the world of general readers.

It turns, as every such speculation must turn, on the great principle,

that our Sensations are so many series of signs and symbols.[126] They

may be preordained, and our apprehension of them innate;--they may be

arbitrary, and their interpretation the work of man's intelligence. To

decide this question, is to decide something as to the extent of their

_relativity_; but will any one pronounce their information absolutely

true?

At this point occurs a wide divergence between two great schools of

Idealism--the Psychological, and the Theological thinkers. These

schools inosculate in respect of some of their arguments, and of their

objections against ordinary modes of thought. They disagree, however,

in their aims--the ports at which they land themselves and their

disciples.

Psychological Idealism is best known to most readers through Mr. J.

S. Mill. The Theological view, so far as this country goes, seems

to have made scant progress beyond Berkeley and a few of his clever

followers. For ordinary Englishmen, a reference to continental writers

on this question seems useless;--Theology being discussed by them in

so _ab extrâ_ a manner as to put them out of court with even the most

metaphysical of our theologians.

Regarding the subject in a psychological light, Mr. O'Hanlon made

the following common-sense remarks amongst others of a more abstract

nature:[127]--

"To come now to Mr. Mill's Idealism. He, as all the world of thinkers

knows, following the steps of Berkeley and Hume, claims, by means of

his power of analysis, and by the aid of the formidable psychological

instrument furnished him by the doctrine of the Association of Ideas,

to have got rid of all other existences save and except states of

consciousness, actual and possible.... I propose to try and answer his

arguments" (_i.e._ within certain expressed limitations)--

"Let A = all my sensations.

" B = the group of sensations and of permanent possibilities of

sensation I call my body.

" C = the group of permanent possibilities of sensation I call my

friend Smith.

"Now I find B always related to A in a very peculiar manner. B has

in perpetual conjunction with it a long series of manifold states of

consciousness, A. C resembles B in very many particulars, but it is

not so related to A. I hence conclude, if I follow Mr. Mill, that C is

so related to some other A, that is, to some other consciousness. In

drawing this conclusion, in extending to C, which so closely resembles

B, my experience of B, I, according to Mr. Mill, do but extend the

principles of inductive evidence, which experience shews hold good of

my states of consciousness, to _a sphere without my consciousness_."

The italicized words sound simple enough to the ordinary reader, but

argument upon them involves (as Mr. O'Hanlon observes) two serious

postulates. "(a) That there is a sphere beyond my consciousness;

the very thing to be proved, (b) That the laws, which obtain in my

consciousness, also obtain in the sphere beyond it." But;--

"'Such an inference'" he goes on to quote from Mill "'would only

be warrantable if we could know _à priori_ that we must have been

created capable of conceiving whatever is capable of existing: that

the universe of thought and that of reality, the microcosm and the

macrocosm (as they once were called) must have been framed in complete

correspondence with one another. That this is really the case has been

laid down expressly by some systems of philosophy, by implication in

more, and is the foundation (among others) of the systems of Schelling

and Hegel; but _an assumption_ more destitute of evidence could

scarcely be made, nor can one easily imagine any evidence that could

prove it unless it were revealed from above.'" Mill on Hamilton, chap.

VI. p. 65.

The reader will probably see at once where the abstract difficulty

lies, and how it runs up into the higher metaphysics.

Now, as Mr. O'Hanlon puts the case, taking all this for granted;

"A boy cuts his finger and screams.... Yet if I was not by, the boy,

the knife, the blood, the scream, would only exist potentially."

Or on the other hand if I sacrifice consistency and substitute

'actually' for 'potentially,' "I thereby reject the validity of the

Psychological method" which asserts "that the belief in an external

cause of our sensations" is not original but "generated 'so early as to

have become inseparable from our consciousness before the time at which

memory commences.'... Nevertheless, it afterwards admits that the

belief in the case of persons, has an external cause. Hereby the method

commits suicide, falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus."

Finally, he remarks, "the psychological method professes very little

regard for our natural beliefs. Now I can, by a vigorous effort, regard

matter as mere states or possible states of my consciousness (at least

I can do so for the moment), but I can also look on other persons in

the same light. Why should one natural belief be treated more tenderly

than another?... In short, if I refuse to postulate a _non ego_, and if

I hold that, supposing the states of consciousness I call the _ego_ can

be shewn capable of producing the notion of the _non ego_, then they

did produce it, and if I hold that they can be shewn to be so capable,

such a theory is equally applicable to external consciousnesses as to

external matter. In both cases, I cannot get out of the sphere of my

own feelings; there may be something beyond or there may not, but if

there is, it is at all events incognisable by me, and to all intents

and purposes I am alone in the universe."[128]

In drift and true meaning Bishop Berkeley's Idealism differed _toto

cælo_ from Mill's, as well as from Hume's idealistic Scepticism. His

belief in a world outside us all was as firm as that of the firmest

Realist, and by a world outside us he meant a world which neither

we nor our conceptions can alter. His reasoning was also of the most

common-sense description. Sensation is (as before said) a _sign_

between us and things outside. But the sign tells us nothing of any

_substratum_ on which the things signified depend for their sign-giving

powers. Matter (as commonly understood[129]) is a figment devised by

certain philosophers;--the true subsistence of the outward world is in

and for mind, and apart from thought it does not subsist at all. But

my mind, nay the human mind, is limited. There is One whose thoughts

are not as our thoughts;--in Him the world subsists, and in Him we

also have our Being continually. The world is what it is to us, in and

through Him, and it appeals not to our so-called material frames but to

our minds.

Berkeley's argument was simply this. Take away gross matter--and the

world is still perfectly Real. It is real because God is real. Real for

us, real in Him; and by this we _know_ His Reality.[130]

By comparing this phase of Idealism with the modern doctrine of what is

called the "Conditioned," its Theological interest becomes still more

obvious. Suppose we naturally know only what is conditioned (_i.e._

dependent on some Absolute reality to us unknown), what ought, asks Dr.

Mansel, to be the inference? The right inference is that the Divine

Absolute did not leave our world in ignorance, but did really reveal

Himself to Man.

The fate of arguments framed in special interests, however noble those

interests may be, is usually the same. Some clever antagonist allows

their destructive force, but refuses their affirmative conclusions.

Berkeley's denial of the unknown substratum called matter was approved

by sceptics, who scoffed at his unknown God. His idealism was

pronounced unanswerable, his divinity needed no answer. Therefore,

the Reason remained without satisfaction of any kind, "Most of the

writings" says Hume "of that very ingenious author form the best

lessons of scepticism which are to be found either among the ancient

or modern philosophers, Bayle not excepted. He professes, however, in

his title-page (and undoubtedly with great truth,) to have composed

his book against the sceptics as well as against the atheists and

freethinkers. But that all his arguments, though otherwise intended,

are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears from this, _that they

admit of no answer, and produce no conviction_." (_Inquiry concerning

the Human Understanding._ Section XII.) And be it remarked that this

final clause forms a skilled definition of Scepticism--its essential

notion--given by an expert. Dean Mansel himself who left at his death

an unfinished article upon Berkeley, suffered under a charge of

promoting what he desired to discourage. So dangerous is it to deal

with wide questions by narrowing their sweep to a point; yet on the

other hand how few students are prepared to read and think widely?

Shall we attribute to a growing width of Thought, the increased breadth

of view under which Idealism has of late years been represented? The

German Philosopher, with whom Schwegler closes his philosophic history

writes "This ideality or non-substantiality of the finite is the

chief maxim of philosophy; and for that reason every true philosophy

is idealistic" (Idealismus).[131] In England Mr. Green of Balliol

signalises Berkeley's "true proposition--there is nothing real apart

from thought--" and carefully distinguishes it from the one so often

substituted for it--the fatal flaw of the Berkeleian argument.[132]

Another influential thinker, Mr. Herbert Spencer,--who, like Professor

Huxley, uses materialistic symbols treating them as symbols only,--has

been for some time labouring after a "reconciliation of Realism and

Idealism," which again is considered by an able critic, Mr. Henry

Sidgwick, "an impossible compromise."--Mr. Spencer's answer to Mr.

Sidgwick, on this particular point, will be found in his recently

published volume of "Essays" (III. 282 seq.). A very instructive

sentence occurs on p. 290. "Should it be said that this regarding of

everything constituting experience and thought as symbolic, has a very

shadowy aspect; I reply that these which I speak of as symbols, are

real relatively to our consciousness; and are symbolic only in their

relation to the Ultimate Reality."

So much then for a question which in a variety of shapes has exercised

the human intellect throughout countless generations, and in all

countries from India to the United States. It has also pervaded

all spheres of Thought from physical science, (on which compare

further, Additional Note I., and our next chapter), to the great

philosophico-theological domain as we have already seen in certain

specimens of Western thought. It would be easy to illustrate its empire

far more extensively from those wonderful Eastern systems brought

home to English readers thirty-six years ago by the translation of

Ritters' Ancient Philosophy, but very imperfectly comprehended even

now, notwithstanding the agreeable reception which Professor Max Müller

has provided for them. To his writings we will gladly refer the curious

student.

E.--ON THE RELATIONS OF FACT AND THEORY.

"The distinction between Theory (that is, true Theory) and Fact is

this: that in Theory the Ideas are considered as distinct from the

Facts: in Facts, though Ideas may be involved, they are not, in our

apprehension, separated from the sensations. In a Fact, the Ideas are

applied so readily and familiarly, and incorporated with the sensations

so entirely, that we do not see _them_, we see _through them_. A person

who carefully notes the motion of a star all night, sees the circle

which it describes as he sees the star, though the circle is, in fact a

result of his own Ideas. A person who has in his mind the measures of

different lines and countries on the earth's surface, and who can put

them together into one conception, finds that they can make no figure

but a globular one: to him, the earth's globular form is a Fact, as

much as the square form of his chamber. A person to whom the grounds

of believing the earth to travel round the sun are as familiar as

the grounds for believing the movements of the mail coaches in this

country, looks upon the former event as a Fact, just as he looks

upon the latter events as Facts. And a person who, knowing the Fact

of the earth's annual motion, refers it distinctly to its mechanical

cause, conceives the sun's attraction as a Fact, just as he conceives

as a Fact, the action of the wind which turns the sails of a mill. He

cannot _see_ the force in either case; he supplies it out of his own

Ideas. And thus, a true Theory is a Fact; a Fact is a familiar Theory.

That which is a Fact under one aspect, is a Theory under another.

The most recondite Theories when firmly established are Facts; the

simplest Facts involve something of the nature of Theory. Theory and

Fact correspond, in a certain degree, with Ideas and Sensations, as to

the nature of their opposition. But the Facts are Facts, so far as the

Ideas have been combined with the Sensations and absorbed in them: the

Theories are Theories, so far as the Ideas are kept distinct from the

Sensations, and so far as it is considered still a question whether

those can be made to agree with these.

"We may, as I have said, illustrate this matter by considering man as

_interpreting_ the phenomena which he sees. He often interprets without

being aware that he does so. Thus when we see the needle move towards

the magnet, we assert that the magnet exercises an attractive force on

the needle. But it is only by an interpretative act of our own minds

that we ascribe this motion to attraction. That, in this case, a force

is exerted--something of the nature of the pull which we could apply by

our own volition--is our interpretation of the phenomena; although we

may be conscious of the act of interpretation, and may then regard the

attraction as a Fact.

"Nor is it in such cases only that we interpret phenomena in our

own way, without being conscious of what we do. We see a tree at a

distance, and judge it to be a chestnut or a lime; yet this is only an

inference from the colour or form of the mass according to preconceived

classifications of our own. Our lives are full of such unconscious

interpretations. The farmer recognizes a good or a bad soil; the

artist a picture of a favourite master; the geologist a rock of a

known locality, as we recognize the faces and voices of our friends;

that is, by judgments formed on what we see and hear; but judgments in

which we do not analyze the steps, or distinguish the inference from

the appearance. And in these mixtures of observation and inference, we

speak of the judgment thus formed, as a Fact directly observed.

"Even in the case in which our perceptions appear to be most direct,

and least to involve any interpretations of our own,--in the simple

process of seeing,--who does not know how much we, by an act of the

mind, add to that which our senses receive? Does any one fancy that

he sees a solid cube? It is easy to show that the solidity of the

figure, the relative position of its faces and edges to each other,

are inferences of the spectator; no more conveyed to his conviction

by the eye alone, than they would be if he were looking at a painted

representation of a cube. The scene of nature is a picture without

depth of substance, no less than the scene of art; and in the one

case as in the other, it is the mind which, by an act of its own,

discovers that colour and shape denote distance and solidity. Most men

are unconscious of this perpetual habit of reading the language of the

external world, and translating as they read. The draughtsman, indeed,

is compelled, for his purposes, to return back in thought from the

solid bodies which he has inferred, to the shapes of surface which he

really sees. He knows that there is a mask of theory over the whole

face of nature, if it be _theory_ to infer more than we _see_. But

other men, unaware of this masquerade, hold it to be a fact that they

see cubes and spheres, spacious apartments and winding avenues. And

these things are facts to them, because they are unconscious of the

mental operation by which they have penetrated nature's disguise.

"And thus, we still have an intelligible distinction of Fact and

Theory, if we consider Theory as a conscious, and Fact as an

unconscious inference, from the phenomena which are presented to our

senses."--Whewell, _Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_, B. I. Chap.

ii. Sect. 10.

F.--ON THE "UNKNOWABLE."

If the word which heads this note could be accepted in the sense

understood by Mr. Spencer's American critic, as a truthful and in all

respects complete description of the First Ground of all things, there

must of course be an end of all Theology, natural, and supernatural;

Theism, Pantheism, and Atheism, would together become what Comte

thought them,--equally unfounded, equally unmeaning, and therefore

equally to be opposed, condemned, and ostracized. Between Humanity and

all that is Superhuman the gulf would appear hopelessly impassable.

"To be consistent," says the Editor of the American _Index_,

"Empiricism must utterly sink the soul in its material

surroundings...." Mr. Spencer makes his election in Empiricism, but

shrinks from the acceptance of its necessary implications, and thereby

forfeits his title to rank among the great leaders of philosophy.

Teaching that every faculty of the mind is the effect of impressions

made by the Environment upon the Organism, he should also teach that

the mind is nothing distinct from the organism, and that the mind's

faculties will perish at the disintegration of the organism; that, as

fire is a mere phenomenon of chemical combination, ceasing with it, so

life is a mere phenomenon of organic "re-arrangement of parts," and

will cease when the Dissolution which is the converse and sequel of

Evolution has become complete; and that the "theory of a 'soul' is as

completely exploded as the theory of 'phlogiston.'"

Such is the opinion of an unsympathising reviewer, who calls himself

a Positivist of the latest development. He despises Comte, praises

Hamilton, and preaches the truth of Dualism. "If," he writes, "physical

science sneeringly objects that mental science proceeds on a sheer

assumption of mind, the retort is crushing and cogent that physical

science proceeds on the sheer assumption of matter. Who ever yet

demonstrated the existence of either?... Only by admitting what

can neither be demonstrated without a begging of the question, nor

doubted without a _reductio ad absurdam_ of all intelligence,--namely,

the natural veracity of the intuitive and cognitive powers,--is a

truly positive science possible." From this dualistic Positivism he

predicts the rise of a new Theology. "We believe that Theism must

be re-theologized on the basis of pure Positivism, as the absolute

condition of its future growth." From the same point of view, Mr.

Spencer's "reconciliation of Science and Religion" is "pretended"; and

his "philosophy is chiefly valuable as indicating the rapid spread of

the true spirit of Positivism," but, "like Comtism, it possesses little

or no value as an exposition of Positivism in the highest departments

of science."

This censure of Spencer was combated in a subsequent number of the

_Index_, by a writer signing himself "Evolutionist." The Editor

prints his letter, and replies to it briefly:--"1. The 'unknowable'

must be an absolute blank to every intelligence. It surely cannot

be held legitimate to make _any predicate_ of it whatever, as Mr.

Spencer himself admits. Yet he does make predicates of it which are

'derived from our own natures' and thus violates his own principle.

'Omnipresence' is simply _presence throughout all space_; and what do

we know of 'presence' at all but by our own experience? Mr. Spencer

does the very thing he forbids us to do, in making this predication.

"2. The difference between him and us is briefly this. He denies that

we know anything of Force; we affirm that we know it just so far as it

perceptibly acts. The Cause of Nature we maintain to be known _in its

effects_. Hence Force is not to us the 'Unknowable,' but is rather the

'God of Science,' known just so far as Nature is known."

Here follow some stringent criticisms of the distinction between

phenomena and noumena accepted by Mill as well as Spencer, which we

pass over as being somewhat unintelligible without a longer discussion

than can here be given to them.

On the subject of our first quotation--Empiricism--many readers may

like to peruse the opinion of a writer far removed from Mr. Abbott in

philosophy. The following is Hegel's dictum:--

"In Empiricism lies the great principle that whatever is true must

be in the actual world and present to sensation.... Touching this

principle it has been justly observed that, in what we call Experience,

as distinct from the individual sensation of individual facts, there

are two elements. First, there is the infinitely complex matter, which

so far as itself is concerned is individualised: secondly, there is the

form, as seen in the characteristics of universality and necessity.

Empiricism no doubt can point to many, almost innumerable, similar

perceptions: but, after all, no multitude, however great, can be the

same thing as universality. Similarly, Empiricism reaches so far as the

perception of changes in succession and of objects in juxtaposition or

co-existence; but it presents no necessary connexion. If sensation,

therefore, is to maintain its claim to be the sole basis of what men

hold for truth, universality and necessity can have no right to exist:

they become an accident of our minds, a mere custom, the content of

which might be otherwise constituted than it is.

"It is an important corollary of this theory, that in the empirical

mode of treatment the truths and rules of justice and morality, as

well as the body of religion, are exhibited as the work of chance, and

stripped of their objective character and inner truth."[133]

Considering how far Hegel confirms the American Positivist's opinion

respecting the inevitable conclusions of consistent Empiricism,

Mr. Spencer may with reason be congratulated on his very happy

inconsistency.

The subject of quotation No. 2--Spencer's position in regard of the

Unknowable--contains a censure which unites in alliance many widely

differing authorities on this side the Atlantic. Some of these assail

it from an extremely hostile point of view; but the criticism of others

is conceived in a half-friendly, half-indifferent spirit. Mr. Spencer

has very lately published a third volume of "Essays," and devotes

Articles X. and XI. to his reviewers.[134] It need hardly be said that

these pages will repay perusal. We shall here venture on giving a brief

account of his defence as it presents itself to our own understanding.

The most salient difference between him and his critics _generally_,

seems to lie in this circumstance;--they begin by taking the word

"Unknowable" in its strict (_i.e._ its proper) signification. Hence

they appear to assume that by "Absolute" he means--or _ought_ to

mean even when seeming to say the contrary--"_absolutely_ abstract."

Now of a mere, that is, a pure and complete abstraction, nothing can

be predicated, because the idea is perfectly empty. It is in fact a

Nothingness.

But suppose we say of this Absolute, (as Spencer does), it exists;--we

_have_ predicated something already;--something which destroys its

complete emptiness. And again, if we are asked or, (what is better),

ask ourselves how we _know_ that an Absolute does exist, and proceed

to reply, as Spencer himself replies, because it _must_ exist; we

shall have made respecting our Absolute this highest of all possible

predications. It is not only Being, but necessary Being, or, in

other words, it is a Self-Existent. Still more, since it is so in

contradistinction from the universe of relativities, it is The

Self-Existent, a totally different idea from that which the American

editor dissects.

But now comes the question, who or what is answerable for the

Reviewer's misconception,--Spencer or his critics? Is it the poverty

of language, or the law of controversial sequency,--a law under

which every thought arises as antagonistic to some other thought,

and afterwards, when arisen and firmly established so as to become

the subject of analysis, is found to yield more than was at first

conceived. Then, of course, another antithesis arises respecting it,

and we have to decide how much and what is truly meant, a question

which often comes before us in this shape:--Is our thought merely the

_not_ so and so, or is it a real _substantive_ idea? In the former

case it is one-sided and negative; in the latter it is many-sided and

affirmative.

At the first blush, it seems natural to blame Mr. Herbert Spencer.

Every one must feel astonished to find how much he himself knows

of the Unknowable. The following sentences, however, contain a

good account of one amongst his principal explanations of this

apparent incongruity. Speaking of Mr. Martineau's conception of the

Creator,[135] he writes (_Essays_, Vol. III. p. 299):--

"Finding, as just shewn, that it leaves the essential mystery unsolved;

I do not see that it has an advantage over the doctrine of the

Unknowable in its unqualified shape. There cannot, I think, be more

than temporary rest in a proximate solution which takes for its basis

the ultimately insoluble. Just as thought cannot be prevented from

passing beyond Appearance, and trying to conceive the Cause behind;

so, following out the interpretation Mr. Martineau offers, thought

cannot be prevented from asking what Cause it is which restricts the

Cause he assigns. And if we must admit that the question under this

eventual form cannot be answered, may we not as well confess that the

question under its immediate form cannot be answered? Is it not better

candidly to acknowledge the incompetence of our intelligence, rather

than to persist in calling that an explanation which does but disguise

the inexplicable? Whatever answer each may give to this question, he

cannot rightly blame those who, finding in themselves an indestructible

consciousness of an ultimate Cause, whence proceed alike what we call

the Material Universe and what we call Mind, refrain from affirming

anything respecting it; because they find it as inscrutable in nature,

as it is inconceivable in extent and duration."

There will be to many people much force in this plea for leaving

inscrutables amidst their primary obscurities. But it is open to a

rejoinder suggested by Mr. Spencer himself,--you cannot prevent the

Mind from inquiring; and, in point of fact, Spencer in person leads the

way. He places before us the ultimate idea of a self-existent First

Cause. Now surely he might reflect that such an Idea not only permits

but invites analysis;--it is no empty abstraction, but a substantive

thought and a full one. But he bars analysis to his own satisfaction,

by saying that the Idea is in its own Nature inscrutable. Respecting

this position two questions arise. First, if inscrutable as to its

ultimate nature--its highest essence, and deepest thought,--is it so

in its attributes? Next, if Spencer's special walk in philosophy ends

with the bare positing of this Idea, must _all_ Philosophy do the

same? Suppose the Physicist says--"Here I learn to know the Fact of a

self-existent universal First Cause," may not the investigator of our

Practical human Reason try to discover whether an Ethical view ought

or ought not to be taken of this Self-Existent? To answer "No," is

either to make physical philosophy the _sole_ philosophy; or it is to

dismember and disjoint the universal Body of Truth into departmental

carcase-fragments;--a process which never can begin till all Life

has been effectually crushed out of the Whole.[136] For every one

who takes wide views of Philosophy;--for every inquirer into First

Principles;--above all, if Mr. Spencer will permit us to say so, for

every Encyclopædic writer like himself, a question must arise the

answer to which it is incumbent on all and each to ascertain, "Can we

have any conscious idea whatever of a First Cause without including

that very fact of Personality from which Spencer appears to shrink?"

Nay we may rather put the point thus: "Is not our idea and definition

of _Causality_ derived from Personal existence, and apart from this

source of derivation, does not the derived idea perish?"--If so, to

speak of a non-personal First Cause both of the outside world and

of mind itself is to use words to which no thinker can consciously

attach any real meaning. There must, says Mr. Spencer, be Power behind

Appearance;--in other words, Phenomena imply a Cause behind them,--but

to add that this Power or Cause is conceivably impersonal, seems

nothing better than to imagine (Hibernicè) at the beginning of the

phenomenal chain, a _prior_ phenomenon which in its own nature and _ex

vi verborum_ cannot account for a Beginning[137] at all;--cannot, to

use Mr. Spencer's expression, be "ultimate"; and, in short, requires to

be accounted for, itself.

The truth is, that such ideas as First, Ultimate, Power accounting

for appearance, or Cause underlying phenomena, cannot be spoken of as

altogether Unknowable; because they imply and contain within themselves

certain knowable and strongly defined characteristics. Pressed by his

critics, Mr. Spencer becomes painfully aware of this truth; and is

fearful of being driven by logic and philosophical consistency to plead

guilty of believing in a Personal Author of the Universe, and of making

Theism the ultimate word of Science. We see on pp. 292 and 302 of Vol.

III. how he manifests a preference for the phrase non-relative, _vice_

Absolute; meaning thereby (if he means anything new) to replace an

affirmative idea by a negational abstract, empty enough to land him at

once in American Positivism. For, _if_ the non-relative means _more_

than to say that he is unable to predicate _relativity_ of the _whole_

Universe of things--if it means _more_ than an avowal of Positivist

ignorance--it really does mean a true Absolute after all; and very few

students of Mr. Spencer will doubt that in the sense of an Absolute

(not necessarily Hegelian), this ground idea of his must be accepted.

As courteous antagonists, we will endeavour to abstain from joining

with Mr. Sidgwick in the severest censure which has yet befallen Mr.

Spencer,--the imputation of a "mazy inconsistency," a "fundamental

incoherence," and an "inability to harmonize different lines of

thought." We rather wish to congratulate him on presenting such

an appearance before the eye of a critic so accomplished, and so

equitable; it is a sign that we have not as yet heard Mr. Spencer's

final utterance. He is, we are quite sure, divided by a wide tract of

thought from the American Positivists;--but we are _not_ sure that

he may not ultimately be found amid the ranks of Scientific Theists.

This at the present moment appears the most natural development of

the thoughts maintained in his recently published volume. That the

nature of GOD, considered as the "ultimate cause of what we

call the material universe and what we call mind," is to us at present

inscrutable;--that clouds and darkness are round about Him;--that

His ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, no

meditative Theist will deny. But, though the Heavens are higher than

the Earth, though beatified spirits worship in humble adoration of

the Incomprehensible, yet the measureless distance does not hinder us

from knowing Him as a Spirit, and therefore as a PERSON; nor

yet from confidently affirming that Righteousness and Judgment are the

habitation of His throne.

G.--MR. J. S. MILL AS AN INDEPENDENT MORALIST.

Few passages of Mr. Mill's writings are better worth reading than pages

123, 4, of his "Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy." In these

pages the eminent writer asserts his own strong moral sentiments, and

throws to the winds that inconsistent Utilitarianism with which he had

trained his mind to associate them. He will worship no Unknowable Being

whose supreme moral nature does not affirm our human morality. "Why is

this?" an opponent might fairly ask; "is it not useful so to do? is

not such worship conducive to that noblest final end, the interest of

mankind?" By saying "No" you affirm two things: one, the _dissociation_

of Religion from Utility; a second, the indivisible _association_ of

Religion with absolute Morality.

Some antagonists may consider the first of these two propositions

inadmissible, the second objectionable, or at all events, exceedingly

doubtful. Every one who maintains that Natural Theology has, in

addition to its other elements, a firm and moral ground, will accept

with ready assent the second proposition, and will say that the

truth or falsehood of the first depends on the meaning attached to

an ambiguous word. We are equally sure that "Godliness is profitable

for all things," and that "Honesty is the best policy." But then

we are quite sure also, that the final cause of Godliness is not

profit, nor its essential nature a love of gain; and that policy is

not a true description of honesty, nor the being politic the true and

proper aim of the honest man. And Mr. Mill, when his moral sentiments

asserted themselves, felt these certainties as elements of his inner

life. Rather than worship a Being whose unknown moral attributes fell

beneath, not the dictates of Utility, but the purest instincts of his

own inmost morality, Mr. Mill goes on to declare that he is willing

to suffer the horrors of Eternal death.[138] Hell is better than a

violation of his own moral nature. Can this be a declaration deduced

from the supreme law of Interest,--is it not rather a foundation maxim

of independent morality? Violate such foundation maxims, says the

independent moralist, and you need not even speak of "Going to hell,"

hell will come to you. Sooner or later you will find its undying

torments within you.

In an article on the death of Mr. Mill, the _Pall Mall Gazette_

expresses its perception of his leading inconsistency as follows:--

"It is impossible to read Mr. Mill's works with any attention, and in

particular to look with intelligence on the later part of his career,

without seeing that by temperament he was essentially religious, but

that as far as positive doctrine went his mind was an absolute blank.

We believe that it was this sharp contrast between theory and feeling

which drove him into the schemes for the improvement of the world

which have been exposed to so many, and, in some respects, to such

well-founded objections. Having to love something, and being, as it

were, chained down by his own logic to this world and this life, past,

present, and future, he struggled to make a sort of religion out of

man as he might come to be after centuries or millenniums. Humanity,

progress, a realization of all the ideals at which his theories

pointed--these were his divinities, for he was a man who could not do

without some divinity, and he could find no other. We do not think

that his life or his thoughts were triumphant. If he had consistently

followed out his own views, if he had carried out his Benthamism with

perfect consistency, the result would have been too hard, too grim, too

dismal for his eager and sensitive heart. Hence came the faltering,

the inconsistency, the romance of his later days. It is a spectacle

which may well humble every one who looks on it with intelligence and

sympathy. From us, at least, it shall never draw one word of sarcasm,

or one thought which is not full of deep respect, regret, and pity. He

bore a burden common to many. If he bent under it, it was not because

his strength was less, but because his sensibility was greater. When

he died one of the tenderest and most passionate hearts that ever set

to work an intellect of iron was laid to rest. May he rest in peace,

and find, if it be possible, that his knowledge was less complete than

he perhaps supposed, and that there was more to be known than was

acknowledged in his philosophy." (_Pall Mall Gazette_, Saturday, May,

10, 1873.)

A little earlier in the same article we find another paragraph worthy

of careful consideration:--"No succession of writers ever exercised

greater power over the fortunes of this nation, we might say of any

nation, than Locke, Hume, Adam Smith, Bentham, and Mr. Mill. What may

be described as the theory of modern life has been thought out by them,

and translated into its practical equivalents with a persistency, a

precision, a degree of method and calmness unequalled in the history of

thought. We do not say that their results are complete, but we do say

that their teaching has been successful to an unexampled degree; and

that, however unpopular it may be with ardent and enthusiastic persons,

it is impossible to believe that it could have done what it has done

without possessing a very strong hold on human nature."

Viewing this extract by the light of the one before cited, we cannot

help asking what side of human nature is it to which the Benthamite

doctrines attach themselves? Shall we not regret that the hard, the

grim, and the dismal, should characterize our 19th century philosophy?

Philosophy that is falsely so called; for the true is "not harsh and

crabbed as dull fools suppose."

The text of this Essay and its earlier notes were completed while

Mr. Mill was in the ripeness of his powers, and when the present

writer never expected to outlive him. Death softens our view of one

who has passed away--the bygone life becomes like a moonlighted

landscape--asperities hidden in shadow, and a soft radiance poured over

each grander eminence. So may it be felt by the critic of every great

departed! If, indeed, it prove otherwise with Mr. Mill, the preventing

cause will probably be found in certain pages of his published

"Autobiography."

H.--ARCHEBIOSIS, OR SPONTANEOUS GENERATION.

The origin of Life is a question that naturally excites much interest,

and consequently has been much discussed. It is obviously a problem

that presents difficulties of no ordinary kind, and therefore it is

by no means astonishing that many theories have been started and

statements made which have in turn been quickly contradicted.

It is now known that the whole cycle of phenomena--collectively denoted

by the term "_Life_,"--is manifested by a substance possessing definite

physical and chemical properties, and by no other. This substance

constitutes the entire organism of the lower forms of life, whether

animal or vegetable, and also of the higher in their earliest stage,

while from it by various metamorphoses are developed the different

histological elements composing the complex tissues of higher animals

and plants. Its name Protoplasm is in consequence exceedingly apt, when

properly understood.

As to the origin of Protoplasm (or apparent Life) it is clear from a

little consideration that two questions may be asked: first, how did

Protoplasm arise? and secondly, when once this substance had come into

being are we to suppose that from that time to this all Protoplasm has

been derived by unbroken descent from the first Protoplasm, or does

fresh Protoplasm even now arise in the same way as did the first?--in

other words, does the transition from the inorganic to the organic,

from what has never lived to what is living, still take place as it

must have taken place at some period or another?

To neither of these questions can Physical Science return a perfectly

certain and definite answer. And it must be confessed that as far as

our knowledge of Nature goes, those have the best of it who maintain

first, that all existing Protoplasm implies pre-existing Protoplasm;

secondly, that as to the method, the conditions of the real origin

of Protoplasm nothing whatsoever is known; and thirdly, that,

notwithstanding all assertions and experiments to the contrary, the

origin of living things from dead and decaying organic matter (_i.e._,

matter that has lived), or from inorganic matter under given conditions

(spontaneous generation, generatio æquivoca, archebiosis) has never

been proved and demonstrated in such a manner as to allow us no room

for hesitation, no place for doubt.

The difficulties and dangers besetting this thorny and much-vexed

subject will be better understood if we institute a short examination

into the history and present condition of the doctrine of Spontaneous

Generation.

It is certain from the results of astronomical and geological

investigation, that at an exceedingly remote epoch, estimated by untold

millions of years, the earth's surface was absolutely unfitted for the

presence of life; nay, more, that even the laws of chemical combination

were suspended, and in abeyance. After the glowing spheroid cooled

down, and various chemical compounds were formed, life as a matter of

fact made its appearance on the earth. Throughout the inorganic world

the continuity is unbroken--the present is truly the child of the

past. But in the organic world it is not so. Whether life arose in the

natural course of universal law, or how it did arise, we cannot tell,

scientifically, that is to say; no assertion, one way or the other,

admits either of proof or disproof. There are absolutely no data to

proceed upon. The very first organic remains discovered belong to a

comparatively high type. It is as though in a garden every plant and

bush burst at once into full flower, and never showed the flower in the

bud.

These points are very well put in a passage of Littré:[139] "Jusqu'à ce

moment, nous avons cheminé de phénomènes en phénomènes qui se passaient

tous sous le régime des lois chimiques et physiques. Leur succession

ne présentait aucune solution de continuité; les degrés tenaient l'un

à l'autre; et c'est cette déduction qui satisfait l'esprit humain, et

qu'il nomme explication. Une fois que l'on reconnait une dissémination

première, dans l'espace, d'une matière douée de gravitation et de

mouvement, tout en ignorant absolument d'où vient cette matière and

d'où procèdent son mouvement et sa dissémination, le reste s'ensuit.

Des amas qu'on appelle soleils se forment par condensation; cette

condensation développe une immense chaleur; le refroidissement graduel

sépare les amas primordiaux en amas secondaires et plus petits qui

se meuvent comme lui, se refroidissent comme lui, et représentent

nos planètes, nos satellites, et en particulier notre terre. On a

l'univers, on passe au monde, et du monde au globe terrestre.

"Mais là, sur le monde terrestre, un hiatus se présente. Un phénomène

nouveau, une force nouvelle apparaît, et la vie se développe en

végétalité et animalité. Ce phénomène nouveau, cette force nouvelle,

cette vie ne succèdent point par une action continue aux actions

continues dont le soleil et la terre sont le théâtre; du moins, en

l'état actuel de nos connaissances, la continuité nous échappe. On

conçoit, grâce à des faits expérimentaux recueillis de toutes parts et

transformés en lois, comment notre globe se refroidit, comment, en se

refroidissant, il prend sa forme, comment l'atmosphère, les continents,

la mer se constituent; mais on ne conçoit plus comment la vie y parait

à un moment donné. Et ce fut bien à un moment donné: pendant des

millions de siècles, la terre, vu son incandescence, fut impropre à

toute vie. Quand la température y eut baissé au degré compatible avec

les existences vivantes, ces existences se montrèrent; mais comment?

par quel procédé?

"Il ne faut pourtant pas faire valoir outre mesure cette discontinuité.

Une discontinuité, autre que celle qui appartient à l'apparition de la

vie, est survenue dans le cours du développement de la terre. Quand les

particules qui la composent, étaient animées d'une immense chaleur,

une dissociation complète y régnait; elles n'obéissaient qu'aux lois

du mouvement, de la gravitation, de la chaleur et de la lumière; les

lois chimiques, c'est-à-dire de combinaison et de décombinaison, n'y

étaient qu'à l'état virtuel. Elles passèrent à l'état effectif, dès

que l'abaissement de la température le permit. Je sais bien qu'une

différence considérable existe entre ces deux discontinuités: en effet,

depuis lors, il a toujours été possible de reproduire à volonté les

faits chimiques; et, toutes les fois que nous en avons besoin, nous

répétons le phénomène d'origine qui se produisit dans les combinaisons

et décombinaisons. Pour la vie, c'est autre chose; elle a été une

fois émise, et, depuis le phénomène d'origine, elle ne se propage

que par génération. Un être vivant est necessaire pour produire un

être vivant; et, ni par les procédés de la nature, ni par ceux de la

science, ce qui se fit au moment créateur ne se refait. Malgré cette

considérable différence, il demeure que la terre a possédé des forces

virtuelles qui sont entrées en action, quand les conditions générales,

se modifiant graduellement, l'ont permis."

A little further on he continues:--"Au point de vue d'origine, on

abandonnera la question comme toutes les questions qui impliquent une

cause première. La philosophie positive s'exprime là-dessus comme elle

s'exprime touchant toutes les choses hyperphysiques, c'est-à-dire

placées au delà de l'expérience. Quand elle entend les matérialistes

prononcer que la vie est le résultat des forces physiques et chimiques

dont on connaît l'action, elle refuse d'accepter une solution qui

dépasse les prémisses. Mais elle n'écarte pas la solution matérialiste

au profit de la solution théologique; l'intervention d'un Dieu

créateur est également invérifiable par l'expérience, et, partant,

atteinte de la même fin de non-recevoir. Maintenant, si on demande

à la philosophie positive quelle est, à elle, sa solution entre la

génération matérialiste et la création surnaturelle, elle répond

qu'elle n'a aucune solution à proposer, que rien ne peut la forcer à

croire ce qui n'est pas démontré, et qu'elle accepte, avec autant de

fermeté que d'humilité, une ignorance invincible sur tout ce qui est

indemontrable."

In the first passage certain salient points are strikingly brought out,

above all the vast difference between the worlds organic and inorganic;

but, next, how much soever a Positivist may be pleased to believe only

that which admits of phenomenal verification, it is not every one,

especially if given to thought, who would willingly endorse the second

paragraph. If we know only what we can verify, many beliefs must needs

be abandoned, and amongst them some which have received the almost

universal assent of mankind. Knowledge (in the sense of verifiable

knowledge) and Belief may appear two widely different things; but it

should never be forgotten that we often accept the one as surely as the

other.

The ancients held that living things arose from the earth at any

time, engendered by the warmth of the sun and moisture. Absurd as it

may seem, the belief that blue-bottle flies, etc., were a natural

result of the decay of meat and other organic matter obtained credence

even in comparatively modern times. Redi, an eminent Italian, first

demonstrated experimentally the falsehood of this doctrine, and for

some time the hypothesis of spontaneous generation appeared to have

received a death-blow. And by degrees the conviction that every living

thing proceeded from a germ gained strength, and was confirmed by the

rapidly extending use of the microscope. Yet in the eighteenth century

certain experiments of Needham seemed to establish the fact that in

boiled infusions where presumably all germs were destroyed, small

Infusoria made their appearance even when means were taken to exclude

the entrance of fresh germs. Buffon lent the authority of his great

name. These experiments were repeated by the Abbé Spallanzani, who

showed by more careful methods the fallacy of the conclusions drawn. A

passage in Sir B. Brodie[140] which alludes to these facts may be worth

quoting:--

"Crites. Then am I to understand that you would reject altogether the

hypothesis of equivocal generation, which supposes that under certain

circumstances, even at the present time, particles of inorganic

matter are brought together, and so united as to become endowed with

organization and life?

"Eubulus. The question is one of great interest, and I will refer you

to Ergates for an answer, knowing at the same time pretty well what

that answer will be.

"Ergates. Of course Crites refers to the production of those minute

creatures, known by the name of _Infusoria_, in the experiments of

Walter Needham, and some others.

"It is true that in these experiments certain vegetable and animal

infusions, after no very long period of time, when examined by the

microscope, are found to contain a multitude of minute creatures,

of various forms, exhibiting signs of spontaneous motion, and

multiplying their species in the usual manner. Some of these are

even of a complicated structure, much beyond what might, _à priori_,

be expected as the result of the first attempt of inorganic matter

to enter into the realms of organic life. The subject has been so

frequently discussed, that I need not trouble you with the details of

the arguments which have led the most eminent naturalists to believe

that these creatures are not really spontaneously engendered, but that

they are derived from minute ova which are present in the air, and

which, when placed under circumstances favourable to their development,

burst into life: in the same way as the egg undergoes those changes

which convert its contents into a bird, when placed under the influence

of the animal heat of the parent. But even if this view of the matter

be not correct, the case is not really altered; for, after all,

the _Infusoria_ are never detected except in vegetable and animal

infusions, which necessarily presuppose the existence of organic life."

But it is one thing to demolish the theory and statements of an

antagonist, and another to erect a structure in their place.

However completely Spallanzani had demonstrated the faults and

untrustworthiness of Needham's results, he had not established the

opposite doctrine, and to many it seemed that the very conditions

under which his experimentation was conducted, were sufficient to

prevent the development of life. But the work begun by Schulze and

Schwann and ended by Pasteur apparently has supplied what was wanting

in Spallanzani's researches. The evidence is thus admirably summed by

Professor Huxley:[141]--

"It is demonstrable, that a fluid eminently fit for the development

of the lowest forms of life, but which contains neither germs, nor any

protein compound, gives rise to living things in great abundance, if

it is exposed to ordinary air; while no such development takes place,

if the air with which it is in contact is mechanically freed from the

solid particles, which ordinarily float in it and which maybe made

visible by appropriate means.

"It is demonstrable, that the great majority of these particles are

destructible by heat, and that some of them are germs, or living

particles, capable of giving rise to the same forms of life as those

which appear when the fluid is exposed to unpurified air.

"It is demonstrable, that inoculation of the experimental fluid with

a drop of liquid known to contain living particles, gives rise to the

same phenomena as exposure to unpurified air.

"And it is further certain that these living particles are so minute

that the assumption of their suspension in ordinary air presents

not the slightest difficulty. On the contrary, considering their

lightness and the wide diffusion of the organisms which produce them,

it is impossible to conceive that they should not be suspended in the

atmosphere in myriads."

The experimental means by which these facts are proved may be briefly

stated:--

I. The air contains solid particles. Professor Tyndall has shown, as

all who have read "Dust and Disease" know to their own discomfort, that

the purest common air, when submitted to a beam of electric light,

renders the track of that beam visible. Ergo, it must contain solid

particles capable of scattering light.

II. These particles are mostly destructible by heat, or may be

mechanically strained off. He has shown this by the fact that common

air which has passed through a red-hot tube, or through a filter of

cotton-wool, will no longer render the track of the electric beam

visible.

III. Many of these particles are germs. Schulze and Schwann proved that

when air is passed through red-hot tubes, then through a fluid which is

capable of affording a nidus to the germs, if present, no development

of life takes place. Similarly Schr[oe]der established the same fact by

using a strainer of cotton-wool. Further, Pasteur gave an additional

proof by microscopical examination, as well as by a direct experiment.

He passed air through gun-cotton, dissolved this in ether; and in the

collodion germs were clearly recognizable. Also he plunged a piece of

cotton-wool through which air had been strained into an experimental

fluid. This fluid soon swarmed with forms of life.

IV. The experimental fluid may be inoculated by simple exposure to

air as well as by any fluids known to contain living forms; _e.g._,

if the fluid be placed in an open vessel, living forms soon make

their appearance. Yet supposing the aperture of the vessel, instead

of pointing vertically upwards, be turned obliquely or downwards, the

fluid will remain clear for an indefinite time. Similarly a drop of an

infusion containing living forms added to the experimental fluid soon

causes it to swarm with life. The forms that appear are the same in

either case.

V. The experimental fluid cannot give rise itself to these forms. It is

known as Pasteur's solution, and consists of water, ammonium, tartrate,

sugar, and yeast ash. Hence there is no organic matter in it. If proper

care be taken, it may be kept for an indefinite time.

VI. The germs are so minute that in many cases, even when known to be

present, they are scarcely visible to the highest microscopic powers.

They must be universally diffused, as any organic infusion left exposed

soon swarms with the forms to which they give rise.