PART I. THE UNKNOWABLE. — CHAPTER I. RELIGION AND SCIENCE. — CHAPTER II. ULTIMATE RELIGIOUS IDEAS. — CHAPTER III. ULTIMATE SCIENTIFIC IDEAS. — CHAPTER IV. THE RELATIVITY OF ALL KNOWLEDGE. — CHAPTER V. THE RECONCILIATION.
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§ 1. We too often forget that not only is there “a soul of
goodness in things evil,” but very generally also, a soul of
truth in things erroneous. While many admit the abstract
probability that a falsity has usually a nucleus of reality, few
bear this abstract probability in mind, when passing judgment
on the opinions of others. A belief that is finally
proved to be grossly at variance with fact, is cast aside with
indignation or contempt; and in the heat of antagonism
scarcely any one inquires what there was in this belief which
commended it to men’s minds. Yet there must have been
something. And there is reason to suspect that this something
was its correspondence with certain of their experiences:
an extremely limited or vague correspondence perhaps; but
still, a correspondence. Even the absurdest report may in
nearly every instance be traced to an actual occurrence; and
had there been no such actual occurrence, this preposterous
misrepresentation of it would never have existed. Though
the distorted or magnified image transmitted to us through
the refracting medium of rumour, is utterly unlike the reality;
yet in the absence of the reality there would have been no
distorted or magnified image. And thus it is with human
beliefs in general. Entirely wrong as they may appear, the
implication is that they germinated out of actual experiences—originally
contained, and perhaps still contain, some small
amount of verity.
4More especially may we safely assume this, in the case of
beliefs that have long existed and are widely diffused; and
most of all so, in the case of beliefs that are perennial and
nearly or quite universal. The presumption that any current
opinion is not wholly false, gains in strength according to the
number of its adherents. Admitting, as we must, that life is
impossible unless through a certain agreement between internal
convictions and external circumstances; admitting
therefore that the probabilities are always in favour of the
truth, or at least the partial truth, of a conviction; we must
admit that the convictions entertained by many minds in
common are the most likely to have some foundation. The
elimination of individual errors of thought, must give to
the resulting judgment a certain additional value. It
may indeed be urged that many widely-spread beliefs
are received on authority; that those entertaining them
make no attempts at verification; and hence it may be inferred
that the multitude of adherents adds but little to the
probability of a belief. But this is not true. For a belief
which gains extensive reception without critical examination,
is thereby proved to have a general congruity with the various
other beliefs of those who receive it; and in so far as these
various other beliefs are based upon personal observation and
judgment, they give an indirect warrant to one with which
they harmonize. It may be that this warrant is of small
value; but still it is of some value.
Could we reach definite views on this matter, they would
be extremely useful to us. It is important that we should, if
possible, form something like a general theory of current
opinions; so that we may neither over-estimate nor under-estimate
their worth. Arriving at correct judgments on disputed
questions, much depends on the attitude of mind we
preserve while listening to, or taking part in, the controversy;
and for the preservation of a right attitude, it is needful that
we should learn how true, and yet how untrue, are average
human beliefs. On the one hand, we must keep free from
5that bias in favour of received ideas which expresses itself in
such dogmas as “What every one says must be true,” or
“The voice of the people is the voice of God.” On the other
hand, the fact disclosed by a survey of the past, that majorities
have usually been wrong, must not blind us to the complementary
fact, that majorities have usually not been entirely
wrong. And the avoidance of these extremes being a prerequisite
to catholic thinking, we shall do well to provide
ourselves with a safe-guard against them, by making a valuation
of opinions in the abstract. To this end we must contemplate
the kind of relation that ordinarily subsists between
opinions and facts. Let us do so with one of those beliefs
which under various forms has prevailed among all nations in
all times.
§ 2. The earliest traditions represent rulers as gods or
demigods. By their subjects, primitive kings were regarded
as superhuman in origin, and superhuman in power. They
possessed divine titles; received obeisances like those made
before the altars of deities; and were in some cases actually
worshipped. If there needs proof that the divine and half-divine
characters originally ascribed to monarchs were
ascribed literally, we have it in the fact that there are still
existing savage races, among whom it is held that the chiefs
and their kindred are of celestial origin, or, as elsewhere, that
only the chiefs have souls. And of course along with beliefs
of this kind, there existed a belief in the unlimited power of
the ruler over his subjects—an absolute possession of them,
extending even to the taking of their lives at will: as even
still in Fiji, where a victim stands unbound to be killed at the
word of his chief; himself declaring, “whatever the king says
must be done.”
In times and among races somewhat less barbarous, we find
these beliefs a little modified. The monarch, instead of being
literally thought god or demigod, is conceived to be a man
having divine authority, with perhaps more or less of divine
6nature. He retains however, as in the East to the present
day, titles expressing his heavenly descent or relationships;
and is still saluted in forms and words as humble as those addressed
to the Deity. While the lives and properties of his
people, if not practically so completely at his mercy, are still
in theory supposed to be his.
Later in the progress of civilization, as during the middle
ages in Europe, the current opinions respecting the relationship
of rulers and ruled are further changed. For the theory
of divine origin, there is substituted that of divine right. No
longer god or demigod, or even god-descended, the king is
now regarded as simply God’s vice-gerent. The obeisances
made to him are not so extreme in their humility; and his
sacred titles lose much of their meaning. Moreover his
authority ceases to be unlimited. Subjects deny his right to
dispose at will of their lives and properties; and yield allegiance
only in the shape of obedience to his commands.
With advancing political opinion has come still greater
restriction of imperial power. Belief in the supernatural
character of the ruler, long ago repudiated by ourselves for
example, has left behind it nothing more than the popular
tendency to ascribe unusual goodness, wisdom, and beauty to
the monarch. Loyalty, which originally meant implicit submission
to the king’s will, now means a merely nominal profession
of subordination, and the fulfilment of certain forms of
respect. Our political practice, and our political theory, alike
utterly reject those regal prerogatives which once passed unquestioned.
By deposing some, and putting others in their
places, we have not only denied the divine rights of certain
men to rule; but we have denied that they have any rights
beyond those originating in the assent of the nation. Though
our forms of speech and our state-documents still assert the
subjection of the citizens to the ruler, our actual beliefs and
our daily proceedings implicitly assert the contrary. We
obey no laws save those of our own making. We have entirely
divested the monarch of legislative power; and should immediately
7rebel against his or her exercise of such power,
even in matters of the smallest concern. In brief, the aboriginal
doctrine is all but extinct among us.
Nor has the rejection of primitive political beliefs, resulted
only in transferring the authority of an autocrat to a representative
body. The views entertained respecting governments
in general, of whatever form, are now widely different
from those once entertained. Whether popular or despotic,
governments were in ancient times supposed to have unlimited
authority over their subjects. Individuals existed for the
benefit of the State; not the State for the benefit of individuals.
In our days, however, not only has the national will
been in many cases substituted for the will of the king; but
the exercise of this national will has been restricted to a much
smaller sphere. In England, for instance, though there has
been established no definite theory setting bounds to governmental
authority; yet, in practice, sundry bounds have been
set to it which are tacitly recognized by all. There is no
organic law formally declaring that the legislature may not
freely dispose of the citizens’ lives, as early kings did when
they sacrificed hecatombs of victims; but were it possible for
our legislature to attempt such a thing, its own destruction
would be the consequence, rather than the destruction of
citizens. How entirely we have established the personal
liberties of the subject against the invasions of State-power,
would be quickly demonstrated, were it proposed by Act of
Parliament forcibly to take possession of the nation, or of any
class, and turn its services to public ends; as the services of
the people were turned by primitive rulers. And should any
statesman suggest a re-distribution of property such as was
sometimes made in ancient democratic communities, he would
be met by a thousand-tongued denial of imperial power over
individual possessions. Not only in our day have these fundamental
claims of the citizen been thus made good against the
State, but sundry minor claims likewise. Ages ago, laws
regulating dress and mode of living fell into disuse; and
8any attempt to revive them would prove the current opinion
to be, that such matters lie beyond the sphere of legal control.
For some centuries we have been asserting in practice, and
have now established in theory, the right of every man to
choose his own religious beliefs, instead of receiving such
beliefs on State-authority. Within the last few generations
we have inaugurated complete liberty of speech, in spite of all
legislative attempts to suppress or limit it. And still more
recently we have claimed and finally obtained under a few
exceptional restrictions, freedom to trade with whomsoever we
please. Thus our political beliefs are widely different from
ancient ones, not only as to the proper depositary of power to
be exercised over a nation, but also as to the extent of that
power.
Not even here has the change ended. Besides the average
opinions which we have just described as current among
ourselves, there exists a less widely-diffused opinion going
still further in the same direction. There are to be found
men who contend that the sphere of government should be
narrowed even more than it is in England. The modern
doctrine that the State exists for the benefit of citizens, which
has now in a great measure supplanted the ancient doctrine
that the citizens exist for the benefit of the State, they would
push to its logical results. They hold that the freedom of the
individual, limited only by the like freedom of other individuals,
is sacred; and that the legislature cannot equitably put
further restrictions upon it, either by forbidding any actions
which the law of equal freedom permits, or taking away any
property save that required to pay the cost of enforcing this
law itself. They assert that the sole function of the State is
the protection of persons against each other, and against a
foreign foe. They urge that as, throughout civilization, the
manifest tendency has been continually to extend the liberties
of the subject, and restrict the functions of the State, there is
reason to believe that the ultimate political condition must be
one in which personal freedom is the greatest possible and
9governmental power the least possible: that, namely, in which
the freedom of each has no limit but the like freedom of all;
while the sole governmental duty is the maintenance of this
limit.
Here then in different times and places we find concerning
the origin, authority, and functions of government, a great
variety of opinions—opinions of which the leading genera
above indicated subdivide into countless species. What now
must be said about the truth or falsity of these opinions?
Save among a few barbarous tribes the notion that a monarch
is a god or demigod is regarded throughout the world as an
absurdity almost passing the bounds of human credulity.
In but few places does there survive a vague notion that the
ruler possesses any supernatural attributes. Most civilized
communities, which still admit the divine right of governments,
have long since repudiated the divine right of kings.
Elsewhere the belief that there is anything sacred in legislative
regulations is dying out: laws are coming to be considered
as conventional only. While the extreme school
holds that governments have neither intrinsic authority,
nor can have authority given to them by convention;
but can possess authority only as the administrators of those
moral principles deducible from the conditions essential to
social life. Of these various beliefs, with their innumerable
modifications, must we then say that some one alone is
wholly right and all the rest wholly wrong; or must we say
that each of them contains truth more or less completely
disguised by errors? The latter alternative is the one which
analysis will force upon us. Ridiculous as they may severally
appear to those not educated under them, every one of these
doctrines has for its vital element the recognition of an
unquestionable fact. Directly or by implication, each of
them insists on a certain subordination of individual actions
to social requirements. There are wide differences as to the
power to which this subordination is due; there are wide
differences as to the motive for this subordination; there are
10wide differences as to its extent; but that there must be some
subordination all are agreed. From the oldest and rudest
idea of allegiance, down to the most advanced political theory
of our own day, there is on this point complete unanimity.
Though, between the savage who conceives his life and
property to be at the absolute disposal of his chief, and the
anarchist who denies the right of any government, autocratic
or democratic, to trench upon his individual freedom, there
seems at first sight an entire and irreconcilable antagonism;
yet ultimate analysis discloses in them this fundamental community
of opinion; that there are limits which individual
actions may not transgress—limits which the one regards as
originating in the king’s will, and which the other regards as
deducible from the equal claims of fellow-citizens.
It may perhaps at first sight seem that we here reach a
very unimportant conclusion; namely, that a certain tacit
assumption is equally implied in all these conflicting political
creeds—an assumption which is indeed of self-evident
validity. The question, however, is not the value or novelty
of the particular truth in this case arrived at. My aim has
been to exhibit the more general truth, which we are apt to
overlook, that between the most opposite beliefs there is
usually something in common,—something taken for granted
by each; and that this something, if not to be set down
as an unquestionable verity, may yet be considered to
have the highest degree of probability. A postulate which,
like the one above instanced, is not consciously asserted but
unconsciously involved; and which is unconsciously involved
not by one man or body of men, but by numerous bodies of
men who diverge in countless ways and degrees in the rest of
their beliefs; has a warrant far transcending any that can be
usually shown. And when, as in this case, the postulate is
abstract—is not based on some one concrete experience
common to all mankind, but implies an induction from a
great variety of experiences, we may say that it ranks next in
certainty to the postulates of exact science.
11Do we not thus arrive at a generalization which may habitually
guide us when seeking for the soul of truth in things
erroneous? While the foregoing illustration brings clearly
home the fact, that in opinions seeming to be absolutely and
supremely wrong something right is yet to be found; it also
indicates the method we should pursue in seeking the something
right. This method is to compare all opinions of the
same genus; to set aside as more or less discrediting one
another those various special and concrete elements in which
such opinions disagree; to observe what remains after the
discordant constituents have been eliminated; and to find
for this remaining constituent that abstract expression which
holds true throughout its divergent modifications.
§3. A candid acceptance of this general principle and an
adoption of the course it indicates, will greatly aid us in dealing
with those chronic antagonisms by which men are
divided. Applying it not only to current ideas with which
we are personally unconcerned, but also to our own ideas and
those of our opponents, we shall be led to form far more
correct judgments. We shall be ever ready to suspect that
the convictions we entertain are not wholly right, and that
the adverse convictions are not wholly wrong. On the one
hand we shall not, in common with the great mass of the
unthinking, let our beliefs be determined by the mere accident
of birth in a particular age on a particular part of the Earth’s
surface; and, on the other hand, we shall be saved from that
error of entire and contemptuous negation, which is fallen
into by most who take up an attitude of independent criticism.
Of all antagonisms of belief, the oldest, the widest, the most
profound and the most important, is that between Religion
and Science. It commenced when the recognition of the
simplest uniformities in surrounding things, set a limit to the
previously universal fetishism. It shows itself everywhere
throughout the domain of human knowledge: affecting men’s
interpretations alike of the simplest mechanical accidents and
12of the most complicated events in the histories of nations.
It has its roots deep down in the diverse habits of thought of
different orders of minds. And the conflicting conceptions of
nature and life which these diverse habits of thought severally
generate, influence for good or ill the tone of feeling and the
daily conduct.
An unceasing battle of opinion like this which has been
carried on throughout all ages under the banners of Religion
and Science, has of course generated an animosity fatal to a
just estimate of either party by the other. On a larger scale,
and more intensely than any other controversy, has it illustrated
that perennially significant fable concerning the knights
who fought about the colour of a shield of which neither
looked at more than one face. Each combatant seeing clearly
his own aspect of the question, has charged his opponent
with stupidity or dishonesty in not seeing the same aspect of
it; while each has wanted the candour to go over to his
opponent’s side and find out how it was that he saw everything
so differently.
Happily the times display an increasing catholicity of feeling,
which we shall do well in carrying as far as our natures
permit. In proportion as we love truth more and victory
less, we shall become anxious to know what it is which leads
our opponents to think as they do. We shall begin to suspect
that the pertinacity of belief exhibited by them must result
from a perception of something we have not perceived. And
we shall aim to supplement the portion of truth we have
found with the portion found by them. Making a more
rational estimate of human authority, we shall avoid alike the
extremes of undue submission and undue rebellion—shall not
regard some men’s judgments as wholly good and others as
wholly bad; but shall rather lean to the more defensible
position that none are completely right and none are completely
wrong.
Preserving, as far as may be, this impartial attitude, let us
then contemplate the two sides of this great controversy.
13Keeping guard against the bias of education and shutting out
the whisperings of sectarian feeling, let us consider what are
the à priori probabilities in favour of each party.
§4. When duly realized, the general principle above
illustrated must lead us to anticipate that the diverse forms
of religious belief which have existed and which still exist,
have all a basis in some ultimate fact. Judging by analogy
the implication is, not that any one of them is altogether
right; but that in each there is something right more or less
disguised by other things wrong. It may be that the soul of
truth contained in erroneous creeds is very unlike most, if not
all, of its several embodiments; and indeed, if, as we have good
reason to expect, it is much more abstract than any of them,
its unlikeness necessarily follows. But however different
from its concrete expressions, some essential verity must be
looked for. To suppose that these multiform conceptions
should be one and all absolutely groundless, discredits too
profoundly that average human intelligence from which all
our individual intelligences are inherited.
This most general reason we shall find enforced by other
more special ones. To the presumption that a number of
diverse beliefs of the same class have some common foundation
in fact, must in this case be added a further presumption
derived from the omnipresence of the beliefs. Religious ideas
of one kind or other are almost if not quite universal. Even
should it be true, as alleged, that there exist tribes of men
who have nothing approaching to a theory of creation—even
should it be true that only when a certain phase of intelligence
is reached do the most rudimentary of such theories make their
appearance; the implication is practically the same. Grant that
among all races who have passed a certain stage of intellectual
development there are found vague notions concerning the
origin and hidden nature of surrounding things; and there
arises the inference that such notions are necessary products
of progressing intelligence. Their endless variety serves but
14to strengthen this conclusion: showing as it does a more or
less independent genesis—showing how, in different places
and times, like conditions have led to similar trains of
thought, ending in analogous results. That these countless
different, and yet allied, phenomena presented by all religions
are accidental or factitious, is an untenable supposition. A
candid examination of the evidence quite negatives the doctrine
maintained by some, that creeds are priestly inventions.
Even as a mere question of probabilities it cannot rationally
be concluded that in every society, past and present, savage
and civilized, certain members of the community have combined
to delude the rest, in ways so analogous. To any who
may allege that some primitive fiction was devised by some
primitive priesthood, before yet mankind had diverged from
a common centre, a reply is furnished by philology; for
philology proves the dispersion of mankind to have commenced
before there existed a language sufficiently organized
to express religious ideas. Moreover, were it otherwise tenable,
the hypothesis of artificial origin fails to account for the facts.
It does not explain why, under all changes of form, certain
elements of religious belief remain constant. It does not
show us how it happens that while adverse criticism has from
age to age gone on destroying particular theological dogmas,
it has not destroyed the fundamental conception underlying
these dogmas. It leaves us without any solution of the striking
circumstance that when, from the absurdities and corruptions
accumulated around them, national creeds have
fallen into general discredit, ending in indifferentism or
positive denial, there has always by and by arisen a re-assertion
of them: if not the same in form, still the same in
essence. Thus the universality of religious ideas, their independent
evolution among different primitive races, and
their great vitality, unite in showing that their source must
be deep-seated instead of superficial. In other words, we
are obliged to admit that if not supernaturally derived as
15the majority contend, they must be derived out of human
experiences, slowly accumulated and organized.
Should it be asserted that religious ideas are products of
the religious sentiment, which, to satisfy itself, prompts
imaginations that it afterwards projects into the external
world, and by and by mistakes for realities; the problem is
not solved, but only removed further back. Whether the
wish is father to the thought, or whether sentiment and idea
have a common genesis, there equally arises the question—Whence
comes the sentiment? That it is a constituent in
man’s nature is implied by the hypothesis; and cannot indeed
be denied by those who prefer other hypotheses. And
if the religious sentiment, displayed habitually by the majority
of mankind, and occasionally aroused even in those seemingly
devoid of it, must be classed among human emotions, we
cannot rationally ignore it. We are bound to ask its origin
and its function. Here is an attribute which, to say the least,
has had an enormous influence—which has played a conspicuous
part throughout the entire past as far back as
history records, and is at present the life of numerous institutions,
the stimulus to perpetual controversies, and the
prompter of countless daily actions. Any Theory of Things
which takes no account of this attribute, must, then, be extremely
defective. If with no other view, still as a question
in philosophy, we are called on to say what this attribute
means; and we cannot decline the task without confessing
our philosophy to be incompetent.
Two suppositions only are open to us: the one that the
feeling which responds to religious ideas resulted, along with
all other human faculties, from an act of special creation; the
other that it, in common with the rest, arose by a process of
evolution. If we adopt the first of these alternatives, universally
accepted by our ancestors and by the immense
majority of our contemporaries, the matter is at once settled:
man is directly endowed with the religious feeling by a
16creator; and to that creator it designedly responds. If we
adopt the second alternative, then we are met by the questions—What
are the circumstances to which the genesis of the religious
feeling is due? and—What is its office? We are bound
to entertain these questions; and we are bound to find
answers to them. Considering all faculties, as we must on
this supposition, to result from accumulated modifications
caused by the intercourse of the organism with its environment,
we are obliged to admit that there exist in the environment
certain phenomena or conditions which have determined
the growth of the feeling in question; and so are obliged to
admit that it is as normal as any other faculty. Add to
which that as, on the hypothesis of a development of lower
forms into higher, the end towards which the progressive
changes directly or indirectly tend, must be adaptation to
the requirements of existence; we are also forced to infer
that this feeling is in some way conducive to human welfare.
Thus both alternatives contain the same ultimate implication.
We must conclude that the religious sentiment is either directly
created, or is created by the slow action of natural
causes; and whichever of these conclusions we adopt, requires
us to treat the religious sentiment with respect.
One other consideration should not be overlooked—a consideration
which students of Science more especially need to
have pointed out. Occupied as such are with established truths,
and accustomed to regard things not already known as things
to be hereafter discovered, they are liable to forget that information,
however extensive it may become, can never satisfy
inquiry. Positive knowledge does not, and never can, fill
the whole region of possible thought. At the uttermost
reach of discovery there arises, and must ever arise, the question—What
lies beyond? As it is impossible to think of a
limit to space so as to exclude the idea of space lying outside
that limit; so we cannot conceive of any explanation profound
enough to exclude the question—What is the explanation of
that explanation? Regarding Science as a gradually increasing
17sphere, we may say that every addition to its surface
does but bring it into wider contact with surrounding nescience.
There must ever remain therefore two antithetical modes of
mental action. Throughout all future time, as now, the
human mind may occupy itself, not only with ascertained
phenomena and their relations, but also with that unascertained
something which phenomena and their relations
imply. Hence if knowledge cannot monopolize
consciousness—if it must always continue possible for the
mind to dwell upon that which transcends knowledge; then
there can never cease to be a place for something of the
nature of Religion; since Religion under all its forms is distinguished
from everything else in this, that its subject
matter is that which passes the sphere of experience.
Thus, however untenable may be any or all the existing
religious creeds, however gross the absurdities associated with
them, however irrational the arguments set forth in their defence,
we must not ignore the verity which in all likelihood
lies hidden within them. The general probability that widely-spread
beliefs are not absolutely baseless, is in this case enforced
by a further probability due to the omnipresence of
the beliefs. In the existence of a religious sentiment, whatever
be its origin, we have a second evidence of great significance.
And as in that nescience which must ever remain the
antithesis to science, there is a sphere for the exercise of this
sentiment, we find a third general fact of like implication.
We may be sure therefore that religions, though even none
of them be actually true, are yet all adumbrations of a truth.
§ 5. As, to the religious, it will seem absurd to set forth
any justification for Religion; so, to the scientific, will it seem
absurd to defend Science. Yet to do the last is certainly as
needful as to do the first. If there exists a class who, in
contempt of its follies and disgust at its corruptions, have
contracted towards Religion a repugnance which makes them
overlook the fundamental verity contained in it; so, too, is
18there a class offended to such a degree by the destructive
criticisms men of science make on the religious tenets they
regard as essential, that they have acquired a strong prejudice
against Science in general. They are not prepared with any
avowed reasons for their dislike. They have simply a remembrance
of the rude shakes which Science has given to
many of their cherished convictions, and a suspicion that it
may perhaps eventually uproot all they regard as sacred; and
hence it produces in them a certain inarticulate dread.
What is Science? To see the absurdity of the prejudice
against it, we need only remark that Science is simply a
higher development of common knowledge; and that if
Science is repudiated, all knowledge must be repudiated
along with it. The extremest bigot will not suspect any
harm in the observation that the sun rises earlier and sets
later in the summer than in the winter; but will rather
consider such an observation as a useful aid in fulfilling the
duties of life. Well, Astronomy is an organized body of
similar observations, made with greater nicety, extended to a
larger number of objects, and so analyzed as to disclose the
real arrangements of the heavens, and to dispel our false conceptions
of them. That iron will rust in water, that wood
will burn, that long kept viands become putrid, the most
timid sectarian will teach without alarm, as things useful to
be known. But these are chemical truths: Chemistry is a
systematized collection of such facts, ascertained with precision,
and so classified and generalized as to enable us to say
with certainty, concerning each simple or compound substance,
what change will occur in it under given conditions. And
thus is it with all the sciences. They severally germinate
out of the experiences of daily life; insensibly as they grow
they draw in remoter, more numerous, and more complex
experiences; and among these, they ascertain laws of dependence
like those which make up our knowledge of the
most familiar objects. Nowhere is it possible to draw a line
and say—here Science begins. And as it is the function of
19common observation to serve for the guidance of conduct; so,
too, is the guidance of conduct the office of the most recondite
and abstract inquiries of Science. Through the countless industrial
processes and the various modes of locomotion which
it has given to us, Physics regulates more completely our social
life than does his acquaintance with the properties of surrounding
bodies regulate the life of the savage. Anatomy
and Physiology, through their effects on the practice of medicine
and hygiene, modify our actions almost as much as does
our acquaintance with the evils and benefits which common
environing agencies may produce on our bodies. All Science
is prevision; and all prevision ultimately aids us in greater or
less degree to achieve the good and avoid the bad. As
certainly as the perception of an object lying in our path
warns us against stumbling over it; so certainly do those
more complicated and subtle perceptions which constitute
Science, warn us against stumbling over intervening obstacles
in the pursuit of our distant ends. Thus being one in origin
and function, the simplest forms of cognition and the most
complex must be dealt with alike. We are bound in consistency
to receive the widest knowledge which our faculties
can reach, or to reject along with it that narrow knowledge
possessed by all. There is no logical alternative between
accepting our intelligence in its entirety, or repudiating even
that lowest intelligence which we possess in common with
brutes.
To ask the question which more immediately concerns our
argument—whether Science is substantially true?—is much
like asking whether the sun gives light. And it is because
they are conscious how undeniably valid are most of its propositions,
that the theological party regard Science with so much
secret alarm. They know that during the two thousand
years of its growth, some of its larger divisions—mathematics,
physics, astronomy—have been subject to the rigorous
criticism of successive generations; and have notwithstanding
become ever more firmly established. They know
20that, unlike many of their own doctrines, which were once
universally received but have age by age been more
frequently called in question, the doctrines of Science, at first
confined to a few scattered inquirers, have been slowly growing
into general acceptance, and are now in great part admitted
as beyond dispute. They know that men of science
throughout the world subject each other’s results to the most
searching examination; and that error is mercilessly exposed
and rejected as soon as discovered. And, finally, they know
that still more conclusive testimony is to be found in the
daily verification of scientific predictions, and in the never-ceasing
triumphs of those arts which Science guides.
To regard with alienation that which has such high
credentials is a folly. Though in the tone which many of
the scientific adopt towards them, the defenders of Religion
may find some excuse for this alienation; yet the excuse is a
very insufficient one. On the side of Science, as on their own
side, they must admit that short-comings in the advocates do
not tell essentially against that which is advocated. Science
must be judged by itself: and so judged, only the most perverted
intellect can fail to see that it is worthy of all reverence.
Be there or be there not any other revelation, we have a
veritable revelation in Science—a continuous disclosure,
through the intelligence with which we are endowed, of the
established order of the Universe. This disclosure it is the
duty of every one to verify as far as in him lies; and having
verified, to receive with all humility.
§6. On both sides of this great controversy, then, truth
must exist. An unbiassed consideration of its general aspects
forces us to conclude that Religion, everywhere present as a
weft running through the warp of human history, expresses
some eternal fact; while it is almost a truism to say of Science
that it is an organised mass of facts, ever growing, and ever
being more completely purified from errors. And if both
have bases in the reality of things, then between them there
21must be a fundamental harmony. It is an incredible hypothesis
that there are two orders of truth, in absolute and everlasting
opposition. Only on some Manichean theory, which
among ourselves no one dares openly avow however much his
beliefs may be tainted by it, is such a supposition even conceivable.
That Religion is divine and Science diabolical, is a
proposition which, though implied in many a clerical declamation,
not the most vehement fanatic can bring himself distinctly
to assert. And whoever does not assert this, must
admit that under their seeming antagonism lies hidden an
entire agreement.
Each side, therefore, has to recognize the claims of the other
as standing for truths that are not to be ignored. He who
contemplates the Universe from the religious point of view,
must learn to see that this which we call Science is one constituent
of the great whole; and as such ought to be regarded
with a sentiment like that which the remainder excites.
While he who contemplates the universe from the scientific
point of view, must learn to see that this which we call Religion
is similarly a constituent of the great whole; and being
such, must be treated as a subject of science with no more
prejudice than any other reality. It behoves each party to
strive to understand the other, with the conviction that the
other has something worthy to be understood; and with the
conviction that when mutually recognized this something
will be the basis of a complete reconciliation.
How to find this something—how to reconcile them, thus
becomes the problem which we should perseveringly try to
solve. Not to reconcile them in any makeshift way—not to
find one of those compromises we hear from time to time
proposed, which their proposers must secretly feel are artificial
and temporary; but to arrive at the terms of a real and
permanent peace between them. The thing we have to seek
out, is that ultimate truth which both will avow with absolute
sincerity—with not the remotest mental reservation.
There shall be no concession—no yielding on either side of
22something that will by and by be reasserted; but the common
ground on which they meet shall be one which each will
maintain for itself. We have to discover some fundamental
verity which Religion will assert, with all possible emphasis,
in the absence of Science; and which Science, with all possible
emphasis, will assert in the absence of Religion—some fundamental
verity in the defence of which each will find the
other its ally.
Or, changing the point of view, our aim must be to co-ordinate
the seemingly opposed convictions which Religion
and Science embody. From the coalescence of antagonist
ideas, each containing its portion of truth, there always arises
a higher development. As in Geology when the igneous and
aqueous hypotheses were united, a rapid advance took place;
as in Biology we are beginning to progress through the
fusion of the doctrine of types with the doctrine of adaptations;
as in Psychology the arrested growth recommences
now that the disciples of Kant and those of Locke have both
their views recognized in the theory that organized experiences
produce forms of thought; as in Sociology, now that
it is beginning to assume a positive character, we find a recognition
of both the party of progress and the party of order, as
each holding a truth which forms a needful complement to
that held by the other; so must it be on a grander scale with
Religion and Science. Here too we must look for a conception
which combines the conclusions of both; and here too we may
expect important results from their combination. To understand
how Science and Religion express opposite sides of
the same fact—the one its near or visible side, and the other
its remote or invisible side—this it is which we must attempt;
and to achieve this must profoundly modify our general
Theory of Things.
Already in the foregoing pages the method of seeking such
a reconciliation has been vaguely foreshadowed. Before proceeding
further, however, it will be well to treat the question
of method more definitely. To find that truth in which
23Religion and Science coalesce, we must know in what direction
to look for it, and what kind of truth it is likely
to be.
§ 7. We have found à priori reason for believing that in
all religions, even the rudest, there lies hidden a fundamental
verity. We have inferred that this fundamental verity is
that element common to all religions, which remains after
their discordant peculiarities have been mutually cancelled.
And we have further inferred that this element is almost
certain to be more abstract than any current religious
doctrine. Now it is manifest that only in some highly
abstract proposition, can Religion and Science find a common
ground. Neither such dogmas as those of the trinitarian and
unitarian, nor any such idea as that of propitiation, common
though it may be to all religions, can serve as the desired
basis of agreement; for Science cannot recognize beliefs like
these: they lie beyond its sphere. Hence we see not only
that, judging by analogy, the essential truth contained in
Religion is that most abstract element pervading all its forms;
but also that this most abstract element is the only one in
which Religion is likely to agree with Science.
Similarly if we begin at the other end, and inquire what
scientific truth can unite Science and Religion. It is at once
manifest that Religion can take no cognizance of special
scientific doctrines; any more than Science can take cognizance
of special religious doctrines. The truth which Science
asserts and Religion indorses cannot be one furnished by
mathematics; nor can it be a physical truth; nor can it be a
truth in chemistry: it cannot be a truth belonging to any
particular science. No generalization of the phenomena of
space, of time, of matter, or of force, can become a Religious
conception. Such a conception, if it anywhere exists in
Science, must be more general than any of these—must be
one underlying all of them. If there be a fact which
Science recognizes in common with Religion, it must be that
24fact from which the several branches of Science diverge, as
from their common root.
Assuming then, that since these two great realities are
constituents of the same mind, and respond to different aspects
of the same Universe, there must be a fundamental harmony
between them; we see good reason to conclude that the most
abstract truth contained in Religion and the most abstract
truth contained in Science must be the one in which the two
coalesce. The largest fact to be found within our mental
range must be the one of which we are in search. Uniting
these positive and negative poles of human thought, it must
be the ultimate fact in our intelligence.
§ 8. Before proceeding in the search for this common
datum let me bespeak a little patience. The next three
chapters, setting out from different points and converging to
the same conclusion, will be comparatively unattractive.
Students of philosophy will find in them much that is more
or less familiar; and to most of those who are unacquainted
with the literature of modern metaphysics, they may prove
somewhat difficult to follow.
Our argument however cannot dispense with these chapters;
and the greatness of the question at issue justifies even
a heavier tax on the reader’s attention. The matter is one
which concerns each and all of us more than any other matter
whatever. Though it affects us little in a direct way, the view
we arrive at must indirectly affect us in all our relations—must
determine our conception of the Universe, of Life, of Human
Nature—must influence our ideas of right and wrong, and so
modify our conduct. To reach that point of view from which
the seeming discordance of Religion and Science disappears,
and the two merge into one, must cause a revolution of
thought fruitful in beneficial consequences, and must surely
be worth an effort.
Here ending preliminaries, let us now address ourselves to
this all-important inquiry.
25
§ 9. When, on the sea-shore, we note how the hulls of
distant vessels are hidden below the horizon, and how, of still
remoter vessels, only the uppermost sails are visible, we
realize with tolerable clearness the slight curvature of that
portion of the sea’s surface which lies before us. But when
we seek in imagination to follow out this curved surface as it
actually exists, slowly bending round until all its meridians
meet in a point eight thousand miles below our feet, we find
ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot conceive in its real
form and magnitude even that small segment of our globe
which extends a hundred miles on every side of us; much
less the globe as a whole. The piece of rock on which we
stand can be mentally represented with something like completeness:
we find ourselves able to think of its top, its sides,
and its under surface at the same time; or so nearly at the
same time that they seem all present in consciousness together;
and so we can form what we call a conception of the rock.
But to do the like with the Earth we find impossible. If
even to imagine the antipodes as at that distant place in
space which it actually occupies, is beyond our power; much
more beyond our power must it be at the same time to
imagine all other remote points on the Earth’s surface as
in their actual places. Yet we habitually speak as though
we had an idea of the Earth—as though we could think of it
in the same way that we think of minor objects.
26What conception, then, do we form of it? the reader may
ask. That its name calls up in us some state of consciousness
is unquestionable; and if this state of consciousness is not a
conception, properly so called, what is it? The answer seems
to be this:—We have learnt by indirect methods that the
Earth is a sphere; we have formed models approximately
representing its shape and the distribution of its parts;
generally when the Earth is referred to, we either think of an
indefinitely extended mass beneath our feet, or else, leaving
out the actual Earth, we think of a body like a terrestrial
globe; but when we seek to imagine the Earth as it really is,
we join these two ideas as well as we can—such perception as
our eyes give us of the Earth’s surface we couple with the
conception of a sphere. And thus we form of the Earth, not
a conception properly so called, but only a symbolic conception.[6]
A large proportion of our conceptions, including all those
of much generality, are of this order. Great magnitudes,
great durations, great numbers, are none of them actually
conceived, but are all of them conceived more or less symbolically;
and so, too, are all those classes of objects of which we
predicate some common fact. When mention is made of any
individual man, a tolerably complete idea of him is formed.
If the family he belongs to be spoken of, probably but a part
of it will be represented in thought: under the necessity of
attending to that which is said about the family, we realize in
imagination only its most important or familiar members,
and pass over the rest with a nascent consciousness which we
know could, if requisite, be made complete. Should something
be remarked of the class, say farmers, to which this
family belongs, we neither enumerate in thought all the individuals
contained in the class, nor believe that we could do so
if required; but we are content with taking some few samples
27of it, and remembering that these could be indefinitely multiplied.
Supposing the subject of which something is predicated
be Englishmen, the answering state of consciousness is
a still more inadequate representative of the reality. Yet
more remote is the likeness of the thought to the thing, if
reference be made to Europeans or to human beings. And
when we come to propositions concerning the mammalia, or
concerning the whole of the vertebrata, or concerning animals
in general, or concerning all organic beings, the unlikeness of
our conceptions to the objects named reaches its extreme.
Throughout which series of instances we see, that as the
number of objects grouped together in thought increases, the
concept, formed of a few typical samples joined with the
notion of multiplicity, becomes more and more a mere symbol;
not only because it gradually ceases to represent the size of
the group, but also because as the group grows more heterogeneous,
the typical samples thought of are less like the
average objects which the group contains.
This formation of symbolic conceptions, which inevitably
arises as we pass from small and concrete objects to large and
to discrete ones, is mostly a very useful, and indeed necessary,
process. When, instead of things whose attributes can be
tolerably well united in a single state of consciousness, we
have to deal with things whose attributes are too vast or
numerous to be so united, we must either drop in thought
part of their attributes, or else not think of them at all—either
form a more or less symbolic conception, or no conception.
We must predicate nothing of objects too great or too
multitudinous to be mentally represented; or we must make
our predications by the help of extremely inadequate representations
of such objects—mere symbols of them.
But while by this process alone we are enabled to form
general propositions, and so to reach general conclusions, we are
by this process perpetually led into danger, and very often
into error. We habitually mistake our symbolic conceptions
for real ones; and so are betrayed into countless false inferences.
28Not only is it that in proportion as the concept we
form of any thing or class of things, misrepresents the reality,
we are apt to be wrong in any assertion we make respecting
the reality; but it is that we are led to suppose we have truly
conceived a great variety of things which we have conceived
only in this fictitious way; and further to confound with
these certain things which cannot be conceived in any way.
How almost unavoidably we fall into this error it will be
needful here to observe.
From objects readily representable in their totality, to those
of which we cannot form even an approximate representation,
there is an insensible transition. Between a pebble and the
entire Earth a series of magnitudes might be introduced, each
of which differed from the adjacent ones so slightly that it
would be impossible to say at what point in the series our
conceptions of them became inadequate. Similarly, there is
a gradual progression from those groups of a few individuals
which we can think of as groups with tolerable completeness,
to those larger and larger groups of which we can form
nothing like true ideas. Whence it is manifest that we pass
from actual conceptions to symbolic ones by infinitesimal
steps. Note next that we are led to deal with our symbolic
conceptions as though they were actual ones, not only because
we cannot clearly separate the two, but also because, in the
great majority of cases, the first serve our purposes nearly or
quite as well as the last—are simply the abbreviated signs
we substitute for those more elaborate signs which are our
equivalents for real objects. Those very imperfect representations
of ordinary things which we habitually make in thinking,
we know can be developed into adequate ones if needful. Those
concepts of larger magnitudes and more extensive classes
which we cannot make adequate, we still find can be verified
by some indirect process of measurement or enumeration.
And even in the case of such an utterly inconceivable object
as the Solar System, we yet, through the fulfilment of predictions
founded on our symbolic conception of it, gain the
29conviction that this symbolic conception stands for an actual
existence, and, in a sense, truly expresses certain of its
constituent relations. Thus our symbolic conceptions being
in the majority of cases capable of development into complete
ones, and in most other cases serving as steps to conclusions
which are proved valid by their correspondence with observation,
we acquire a confirmed habit of dealing with them as
true conceptions—as real representations of actualities.
Learning by long experience that they can, if needful, be
verified, we are led habitually to accept them without verification.
And thus we open the door to some which profess
to stand for known things, but which really stand for things
that cannot be known in any way.
To sum up, we must say of conceptions in general, that
they are complete only when the attributes of the object
conceived are of such number and kind that they can be
represented in consciousness so nearly at the same time as to
seem all present together; that as the objects conceived
become larger and more complex, some of the attributes first
thought of fade from consciousness before the rest have been
represented, and the conception thus becomes imperfect; that
when the size, complexity, or discreteness of the object
conceived becomes very great, only a small portion of its
attributes can be thought of at once, and the conception
formed of it thus becomes so inadequate as to be a mere symbol;
that nevertheless such symbolic conceptions, which are
indispensable in general thinking, are legitimate, provided
that by some cumulative or indirect process of thought, or by
the fulfilment of predictions based on them, we can assure
ourselves that they stand for actualities; but that when our
symbolic conceptions are such that no cumulative or indirect
processes of thought can enable us to ascertain that there are
corresponding actualities, nor any predictions be made whose
fulfilment can prove this, then they are altogether vicious and
illusive, and in no way distinguishable from pure fictions.
30§ 10. And now to consider the bearings of this general
truth on our immediate topic—Ultimate Religious Ideas.
To the aboriginal man and to every civilized child the
problem of the Universe suggests itself. What is it? and
whence comes it? are questions that press for solution, when,
from time to time, the imagination rises above daily trivialities.
To fill the vacuum of thought, any theory that is
proposed seems better than none. And in the absence of
others, any theory that is proposed easily gains a footing and
afterwards maintains its ground: partly from the readiness of
mankind to accept proximate explanations; partly from the
authority which soon accumulates round such explanations
when given.
A critical examination, however, will prove not only that
no current hypothesis is tenable, but also that no tenable
hypothesis can be framed.
§ 11. Respecting the origin of the Universe three verbally
intelligible suppositions may be made. We may assert that it
is self-existent; or that it is self-created; or that it is created
by an external agency. Which of these suppositions is most
credible it is not needful here to inquire. The deeper question,
into which this finally merges, is, whether any one of
them is even conceivable in the true sense of the word. Let
us successively test them.
When we speak of a man as self-supporting, of an apparatus
as self-acting, or of a tree as self-developed, our expressions,
however inexact, stand for things that can be
realized in thought with tolerable completeness. Our conception
of the self-development of a tree is doubtless
symbolic. But though we cannot really represent in consciousness
the entire series of complex changes through which
the tree passes, yet we can thus represent the leading features
of the series; and general experience teaches us that by long
continued observation we could gain the power to realize in
thought a series of changes more fully representing the actual
31series: that is, we know that our symbolic conception of self-development
can be expanded into something like a real
conception; and that it expresses, however inaccurately, an
actual process in nature. But when we speak of self-existence,
and, helped by the above analogies, form some vague symbolic
conception of it, we delude ourselves in supposing that
this symbolic conception is of the same order as the others. On
joining the word self to the word existence, the force of
association makes us believe we have a thought like that
suggested by the compound word self-acting. An endeavour
to expand this symbolic conception, however, will undeceive
us. In the first place, it is clear that by self-existence
we especially mean, an existence independent of any other—not
produced by any other: the assertion of self-existence is
simply an indirect denial of creation. In thus excluding the
idea of any antecedent cause, we necessarily exclude the idea
of a beginning; for to admit the idea of a beginning—to
admit that there was a time when the existence had not commenced—is
to admit that its commencement was determined
by something, or was caused; which is a contradiction. Self-existence,
therefore, necessarily means existence without a
beginning; and to form a conception of self-existence is to
form a conception of existence without a beginning. Now by
no mental effort can we do this. To conceive existence
through infinite past-time, implies the conception of infinite
past-time, which is an impossibility. To this let us add,
that even were self-existence conceivable, it would not in any
sense be an explanation of the Universe. No one will say
that the existence of an object at the present moment is
made easier to understand by the discovery that it existed an
hour ago, or a day ago, or a year ago; and if its existence
now is not made in the least degree more comprehensible by
its existence during some previous finite period of time, then
no accumulation of such finite periods, even could we extend
them to an infinite period, would make it more comprehensible.
Thus the Atheistic theory is not only absolutely unthinkable,
32but, even if it were thinkable, would not be a solution. The
assertion that the Universe is self-existent does not really carry
us a step beyond the cognition of its present existence; and
so leaves us with a mere re-statement of the mystery.
The hypothesis of self-creation, which practically amounts
to what is called Pantheism, is similarly incapable of being
represented in thought. Certain phenomena, such as the
precipitation of invisible vapour into cloud, aid us in forming
a symbolic conception of a self-evolved Universe; and there
are not wanting indications in the heavens, and on the earth,
which help us to render this conception tolerably definite.
But while the succession of phases through which the
Universe has passed in reaching its present form, may
perhaps be comprehended as in a sense self-determined; yet
the impossibility of expanding our symbolic conception of self-creation
into a real conception, remains as complete as ever.
Really to conceive self-creation, is to conceive potential
existence passing into actual existence by some inherent
necessity; which we cannot do. We cannot form
any idea of a potential existence of the universe, as distinguished
from its actual existence. If represented in
thought at all, potential existence must be represented as
something, that is as an actual existence; to suppose that it
can be represented as nothing, involves two absurdities—that
nothing is more than a negation, and can be positively
represented in thought; and that one nothing is distinguished
from all other nothings by its power to develope into something.
Nor is this all. We have no state of consciousness
answering to the words—an inherent necessity by which
potential existence became actual existence. To render them
into thought, existence, having for an indefinite period remained
in one form, must be conceived as passing without
any external or additional impulse, into another form; and
this involves the idea of a change without a cause—a thing
of which no idea is possible. Thus the terms of this hypothesis
do not stand for real thoughts; but merely suggest the
33vaguest symbols incapable of any interpretation. Moreover,
even were it true that potential existence is conceivable
as a different thing from actual existence; and that the transition
from the one to the other can be mentally realized as a
self-determined change; we should still be no forwarder: the
problem would simply be removed a step back. For whence
the potential existence? This would just as much require
accounting for as actual existence; and just the same difficulties
would meet us. Respecting the origin of such a latent
power, no other suppositions could be made than those above
named—self-existence, self-creation, creation by external
agency. The self-existence of a potential universe is no
more conceivable than we have found the self-existence of the
actual universe to be. The self-creation of such a potential
universe would involve over again the difficulties here
stated—would imply behind this potential universe a more
remote potentiality; and so on in an infinite series, leaving
us at last no forwarder than at first. While to assign as the
source of this potential universe an external agency, would be
to introduce the notion of a potential universe for no purpose
whatever.
There remains to be examined the commonly-received or
theistic hypothesis—creation by external agency. Alike in
the rudest creeds and in the cosmogony long current among
ourselves, it is assumed that the genesis of the Heavens and
the Earth is effected somewhat after the manner in which a
workman shapes a piece of furniture. And this assumption
is made not by theologians only, but by the immense majority
of philosophers, past and present. Equally in the writings of
Plato, and in those of not a few living men of science, we
find it taken for granted that there is an analogy between the
process of creation and the process of manufacture. Now
in the first place, not only is this conception one that cannot
by any cumulative process of thought, or the fulfilment of
predictions based on it, be shown to answer to anything
actual; and not only is it that in the absence of all evidence
34respecting the process of creation, we have no proof of correspondence
even between this limited conception and some
limited portion of the fact; but it is that the conception
is not even consistent with itself—cannot be realized in
thought, when all its assumptions are granted. Though it is
true that the proceedings of a human artificer may vaguely
symbolize to us a method after which the Universe might be
shaped, yet they do not help us to comprehend the real
mystery; namely, the origin of the material of which the
Universe consists. The artizan does not make the iron, wood,
or stone, he uses; but merely fashions and combines them.
If we suppose suns, and planets, and satellites, and all they
contain to have been similarly formed by a “Great Artificer,”
we suppose merely that certain pre-existing elements were
thus put into their present arrangement. But whence the
pre-existing elements? The comparison helps us not in the
least to understand that; and unless it helps us to understand
that, it is worthless. The production of matter out of nothing
is the real mystery, which neither this simile nor any other
enables us to conceive; and a simile which does not enable us
to conceive this, may just as well be dispensed with. Still
more manifest does the insufficiency of this theory of creation
become, when we turn from material objects to that which
contains them—when instead of matter we contemplate space.
Did there exist nothing but an immeasurable void, explanation
would be needed as much as now. There would still arise the
question—how came it so? If the theory of creation by external
agency were an adequate one, it would supply an
answer; and its answer would be—space was made in the same
manner that matter was made. But the impossibility of conceiving
this is so manifest, that no one dares to assert it. For
if space was created, it must have been previously non-existent.
The non-existence of space cannot, however, by any mental
effort be imagined. It is one of the most familiar truths that
the idea of space as surrounding us on all sides, is not for a moment
to be got rid of—not only are we compelled to think of
35space as now everywhere present, but we are unable to conceive
its absence either in the past or the future. And if the
non-existence of space is absolutely inconceivable, then, necessarily,
its creation is absolutely inconceivable. Lastly,
even supposing that the genesis of the Universe could really
be represented in thought as the result of an external agency,
the mystery would be as great as ever; for there would still
arise the question—how came there to be an external agency?
To account for this only the same three hypotheses are possible—self-existence,
self-creation, and creation by external agency.
Of these the last is useless: it commits us to an infinite series
of such agencies, and even then leaves us where we were. By
the second we are practically involved in the same predicament;
since, as already shown, self-creation implies an infinite
series of potential existences. We are obliged therefore to fall
back upon the first, which is the one commonly accepted and
commonly supposed to be satisfactory. Those who cannot
conceive a self-existent universe; and who therefore assume
a creator as the source of the universe; take for granted that
they can conceive a self-existent creator. The mystery
which they recognize in this great fact surrounding them on
every side, they transfer to an alleged source of this great
fact; and then suppose that they have solved the mystery.
But they delude themselves. As was proved at the outset of
the argument, self-existence is rigorously inconceivable; and
this holds true whatever be the nature of the object of which
it is predicated. Whoever agrees that the atheistic hypothesis
is untenable because it involves the impossible idea of
self-existence, must perforce admit that the theistic hypothesis
is untenable if it contains the same impossible idea.
Thus these three different suppositions respecting the origin
of things, verbally intelligible though they are, and severally
seeming to their respective adherents quite rational, turn out,
when critically examined, to be literally unthinkable. It is
not a question of probability, or credibility, but of conceivability.
Experiment proves that the elements of these hypotheses
36cannot even be put together in consciousness; and
we can entertain them only as we entertain such pseud-ideas
as a square fluid and a moral substance—only by abstaining
from the endeavour to render them into actual thoughts.
Or, reverting to our original mode of statement, we may say
that they severally involve symbolic conceptions of the illegitimate
and illusive kind. Differing so widely as they seem to
do, the atheistic, the pantheistic, and the theistic hypotheses
contain the same ultimate element. It is impossible to avoid
making the assumption of self-existence somewhere; and
whether that assumption be made nakedly, or under complicated
disguises, it is equally vicious, equally unthinkable. Be
it a fragment of matter, or some fancied potential form of
matter, or some more remote and still less imaginable cause,
our conception of its self-existence can be formed only by
joining with it the notion of unlimited duration through past
time. And as unlimited duration is inconceivable, all those
formal ideas into which it enters are inconceivable; and indeed,
if such an expression is allowable, are the more inconceivable
in proportion as the other elements of the ideas are indefinite.
So that in fact, impossible as it is to think of the actual universe
as self-existing, we do but multiply impossibilities of
thought by every attempt we make to explain its existence.
§ 12. If from the origin of the Universe we turn to its
nature, the like insurmountable difficulties rise up before us
on all sides—or rather, the same difficulties under new aspects.
We find ourselves on the one hand obliged to make certain
assumptions; and yet on the other hand we find these assumptions
cannot be represented in thought.
When we inquire what is the meaning of the various effects
produced upon our senses—when we ask how there come to
be in our consciousness impressions of sounds, of colours, of
tastes, and of those various attributes which we ascribe to
bodies; we are compelled to regard them as the effects of
some cause. We may stop short in the belief that this cause
37is what we call matter. Or we may conclude, as some do, that
matter is only a certain mode of manifestation of spirit;
which is therefore the true cause. Or, regarding matter and
spirit as proximate agencies, we may attribute all the changes
wrought in our consciousness to immediate divine power.
But be the cause we assign what it may, we are obliged to
suppose some cause. And we are not only obliged to suppose
some cause, but also a first cause. The matter, or spirit, or
whatever we assume to be the agent producing on us these
various impressions, must either be the first cause of them or
not. If it is the first cause, the conclusion is reached. If it
is not the first cause, then by implication there must be a
cause behind it; which thus becomes the real cause of the
effect. Manifestly, however complicated the assumptions, the
same conclusion must inevitably be reached. We cannot
think at all about the impressions which the external world
produces on us, without thinking of them as caused; and we
cannot carry out an inquiry concerning their causation, without
inevitably committing ourselves to the hypothesis of a
First Cause.
But now if we go a step further, and ask what is the nature
of this First Cause, we are driven by an inexorable logic to
certain further conclusions. Is the First Cause finite or infinite?
If we say finite we involve ourselves in a dilemma.
To think of the First Cause as finite, is to think of it as
limited. To think of it as limited, necessarily implies a conception
of something beyond its limits: it is absolutely impossible
to conceive a thing as bounded without conceiving a
region surrounding its boundaries. What now must we say of
this region? If the First Cause is limited, and there consequently
lies something outside of it, this something must have
no First Cause—must be uncaused. But if we admit that there
can be something uncaused, there is no reason to assume a cause
for anything. If beyond that finite region over which the First
Cause extends, there lies a region, which we are compelled to
regard as infinite, over which it does not extend—if we admit
38that there is an infinite uncaused surrounding the finite caused;
we tacitly abandon the hypothesis of causation altogether. Thus
it is impossible to consider the First Cause as finite. And if
it cannot be finite it must be infinite.
Another inference concerning the First Cause is equally
unavoidable. It must be independent. If it is dependent it
cannot be the First Cause; for that must be the First
Cause on which it depends. It is not enough to say that it is
partially independent; since this implies some necessity which
determines its partial dependence, and this necessity, be it
what it may, must be a higher cause, or the true First Cause,
which is a contradiction. But to think of the First Cause as
totally independent, is to think of it as that which exists in
the absence of all other existence; seeing that if the presence
of any other existence is necessary, it must be partially dependent
on that other existence, and so cannot be the First
Cause. Not only however must the First Cause be a form of
being which has no necessary relation to any other form of
being, but it can have no necessary relation within itself.
There can be nothing in it which determines change, and yet
nothing which prevents change. For if it contains something
which imposes such necessities or restraints, this something
must be a cause higher than the First Cause, which is absurd.
Thus the First Cause must be in every sense perfect, complete,
total: including within itself all power, and transcending all
law. Or to use the established word, it must be absolute.
Here then respecting the nature of the Universe, we seem
committed to certain unavoidable conclusions. The objects
and actions surrounding us, not less than the phenomena of
our own consciousness, compel us to ask a cause; in our search
for a cause, we discover no resting place until we arrive at the
hypothesis of a First Cause; and we have no alternative but
to regard this First Cause as Infinite and Absolute. These
are inferences forced upon us by arguments from which there
appears no escape. It is hardly needful however to show
those who have followed thus far, how illusive are these
39reasonings and their results. But that it would tax the
reader’s patience to no purpose, it might easily be proved
that the materials of which the argument is built, equally
with the conclusions based on them, are merely symbolic conceptions
of the illegitimate order. Instead, however, of repeating
the disproof used above, it will be desirable to pursue
another method; showing the fallacy of these conclusions by
disclosing their mutual contradictions.
Here I cannot do better than avail myself of the demonstration
which Mr Mansel, carrying out in detail the doctrine of
Sir William Hamilton, has given in his “Limits of Religious
Thought.” And I gladly do this, not only because his mode
of presentation cannot be improved, but also because, writing
as he does in defence of the current Theology, his reasonings
will be the more acceptable to the majority of readers.
§ 13. Having given preliminary definitions of the First
Cause, of the Infinite, and of the Absolute, Mr Mansel says:—
“But these three conceptions, the Cause, the Absolute, the
Infinite, all equally indispensable, do they not imply contradiction
to each other, when viewed in conjunction, as attributes
of one and the same Being? A Cause cannot, as such, be
absolute: the Absolute cannot, as such, be a cause. The cause,
as such, exists only in relation to its effect: the cause is a
cause of the effect; the effect is an effect of the cause. On
the other hand, the conception of the Absolute implies a possible
existence out of all relation. We attempt to escape from
this apparent contradiction, by introducing the idea of succession
in time. The Absolute exists first by itself, and afterwards
becomes a Cause. But here we are checked by the
third conception, that of the Infinite. How can the Infinite
become that which it was not from the first? If Causation is
a possible mode of existence, that which exists without causing
is not infinite; that which becomes a cause has passed beyond
its former limits.” * * *
“Supposing the Absolute to become a cause, it will follow
40that it operates by means of freewill and consciousness. For
a necessary cause cannot be conceived as absolute and infinite.
If necessitated by something beyond itself, it is thereby limited
by a superior power; and if necessitated by itself, it has in
its own nature a necessary relation to its effect. The act of
causation must therefore be voluntary; and volition is only
possible in a conscious being. But consciousness again is
only conceivable as a relation. There must be a conscious
subject, and an object of which he is conscious. The subject
is a subject to the object; the object is an object to the subject;
and neither can exist by itself as the absolute. This
difficulty, again, may be for the moment evaded, by distinguishing
between the absolute as related to another and the
absolute as related to itself. The Absolute, it may be said,
may possibly be conscious, provided it is only conscious of itself.
But this alternative is, in ultimate analysis, no less self-destructive
than the other. For the object of consciousness,
whether a mode of the subject’s existence or not, is either
created in and by the act of consciousness, or has an existence
independent of it. In the former case, the object depends
upon the subject, and the subject alone is the true absolute.
In the latter case, the subject depends upon the object, and
the object alone is the true absolute. Or if we attempt a third
hypothesis, and maintain that each exists independently of the
other, we have no absolute at all, but only a pair of relatives;
for coexistence, whether in consciousness or not, is itself a
relation.”
“The corollary from this reasoning is obvious. Not only
is the Absolute, as conceived, incapable of a necessary relation
to anything else; but it is also incapable of containing, by
the constitution of its own nature, an essential relation within
itself; as a whole, for instance, composed of parts, or as a
substance consisting of attributes, or as a conscious subject
in antithesis to an object. For if there is in the absolute any
principle of unity, distinct from the mere accumulation of
parts or attributes, this principle alone is the true absolute.
41If, on the other hand, there is no such principle, then there is
no absolute at all, but only a plurality of relatives. The
almost unanimous voice of philosophy, in pronouncing that
the absolute is both one and simple, must be accepted as the
voice of reason also, so far as reason has any voice in the
matter. But this absolute unity, as indifferent and containing
no attributes, can neither be distinguished from the multiplicity
of finite beings by any characteristic feature, nor be
identified with them in their multiplicity. Thus we are landed
in an inextricable dilemma. The Absolute cannot be conceived
as conscious, neither can it be conceived as unconscious:
it cannot be conceived as complex, neither can it be conceived
as simple: it cannot be conceived by difference, neither can it
be conceived by the absence of difference: it cannot be identified
with the universe, neither can it be distinguished from
it. The One and the Many, regarded as the beginning of
existence, are thus alike incomprehensible.”
“The fundamental conceptions of Rational Theology being
thus self-destructive, we may naturally expect to find the same
antagonism manifested in their special applications. * * *
How, for example, can Infinite Power be able to do all things,
and yet Infinite Goodness be unable to do evil? How can Infinite
Justice exact the utmost penalty for every sin, and yet
Infinite Mercy pardon the sinner? How can Infinite Wisdom
know all that is to come, and yet Infinite Freedom be at liberty
to do or to forbear? How is the existence of Evil compatible
with that of an infinitely perfect Being; for if he wills it, he
is not infinitely good; and if he wills it not, his will is
thwarted and his sphere of action limited?” * * *
“Let us, however, suppose for an instant that these difficulties
are surmounted, and the existence of the Absolute securely
established on the testimony of reason. Still we have not
succeeded in reconciling this idea with that of a Cause: we
have done nothing towards explaining how the absolute can
give rise to the relative, the infinite to the finite. If the condition
of casual activity is a higher state than that of quiescence,
42the Absolute, whether acting voluntarily or involuntarily,
has passed from a condition of comparative imperfection
to one of comparative perfection; and therefore was not
originally perfect. If the state of activity is an inferior state
to that of quiescence, the Absolute, in becoming a cause, has
lost its original perfection. There remains only the supposition
that the two states are equal, and the act of creation one of
complete indifference. But this supposition annihilates the
unity of the absolute, or it annihilates itself. If the act of
creation is real, and yet indifferent, we must admit the possibility
of two conceptions of the absolute, the one as productive,
the other as non-productive. If the act is not real, the supposition
itself vanishes.” * * *
“Again, how can the relative be conceived as coming into
being? If it is a distinct reality from the absolute, it must be
conceived as passing from non-existence into existence. But
to conceive an object as non-existent, is again a self-contradiction;
for that which is conceived exists, as an object of thought,
in and by that conception. We may abstain from thinking of
an object at all; but, if we think of it, we cannot but think of
it as existing. It is possible at one time not to think of an
object at all, and at another to think of it as already in being;
but to think of it in the act of becoming, in the progress from
not being into being, is to think that which, in the very
thought, annihilates itself.” * * *
“To sum up briefly this portion of my argument. The
conception of the Absolute and Infinite, from whatever side we
view it, appears encompassed with contradictions. There is
a contradiction in supposing such an object to exist, whether
alone or in conjunction with others; and there is a contradiction
in supposing it not to exist. There is a contradiction in
conceiving it as one; and there is a contradiction in conceiving
it as many. There is a contradiction in conceiving it as
personal; and there is a contradiction in conceiving it as impersonal.
It cannot, without contradiction, be represented as
active; nor, without equal contradiction, be represented as
43inactive. It cannot be conceived as the sum of all existence;
nor yet can it be conceived as a part only of that sum.”
§ 14. And now what is the bearing of these results on the
question before us? Our examination of Ultimate Religious
Ideas has been carried on with the view of making manifest
some fundamental verity contained in them. Thus far however
we have arrived at negative conclusions only. Criticising
the essential conceptions involved in the different
orders of beliefs, we find no one of them to be logically
defensible. Passing over the consideration of credibility, and
confining ourselves to that of conceivability, we see that
Atheism, Pantheism, and Theism, when rigorously analysed,
severally prove to be absolutely unthinkable. Instead of
disclosing a fundamental verity existing in each, our investigation
seems rather to have shown that there is no fundamental
verity contained in any. To carry away this
conclusion, however, would be a fatal error; as we shall
shortly see.
Leaving out the accompanying moral code, which is in all
cases a supplementary growth, every Religion may be defined
as an à priori theory of the Universe. The surrounding
facts being given, some form of agency is alleged which, in
the opinion of those alleging it, accounts for these facts. Be
it in the rudest Fetishism, which assumes a separate personality
behind every phenomenon; be it in Polytheism, in
which these personalities are partially generalized; be it in
Monotheism, in which they are wholly generalized; or be it
in Pantheism, in which the generalized personality becomes
one with the phenomena; we equally find an hypothesis
which is supposed to render the Universe comprehensible.
Nay, even that which is commonly regarded as the negation
of all Religion—even positive Atheism, comes within the
definition; for it, too, in asserting the self-existence of Space,
Matter, and Motion, which it regards as adequate causes of
every appearance, propounds an à priori theory from which
44it holds the facts to be deducible. Now every theory tacitly
asserts two things: firstly, that there is something to be
explained; secondly, that such and such is the explanation.
Hence, however widely different speculators may disagree in
the solutions they give of the same problem; yet by implication
they agree that there is a problem to be solved. Here
then is an element which all creeds have in common. Religions
diametrically opposed in their overt dogmas, are
yet perfectly at one in the tacit conviction that the existence
of the world with all it contains and all which surrounds
it, is a mystery ever pressing for interpretation. On this
point, if on no other, there is entire unanimity.
Thus we come within sight of that which we seek. In the
last chapter, reasons were given for inferring that human
beliefs in general, and especially the perennial ones, contain,
under whatever disguises of error, some soul of truth; and
here we have arrived at a truth underlying even the grossest
superstitions. We saw further that this soul of truth was
most likely to be some constituent common to conflicting
opinions of the same order; and here we have a constituent
which may be claimed alike by all religions. It was pointed
out that this soul of truth would almost certainly be more
abstract than any of the beliefs involving it; and the truth
we have arrived at is one exceeding in abstractness the most
abstract religious doctrines. In every respect, therefore, our
conclusion answers to the requirements. It has all the
characteristics which we inferred must belong to that fundamental
verity expressed by religions in general.
That this is the vital element in all religions is further
proved by the fact, that it is the element which not only survives
every change, but grows more distinct the more highly the
religion is developed. Aboriginal creeds, though pervaded
by the idea of personal agencies which are usually unseen,
yet conceive these agencies under perfectly concrete and
ordinary forms—class them with the visible agencies of men
and animals; and so hide a vague perception of mystery in
45disguises as unmysterious as possible. The Polytheistic conceptions
in their advanced phases, represent the presiding
personalities in greatly idealized shapes, existing in a remote
region, working in subtle ways, and communicating with men
by omens or through inspired persons; that is, the ultimate
causes of things are regarded as less familiar and comprehensible.
The growth of a Monotheistic faith, accompanied
as it is by a denial of those beliefs in which the divine nature
is assimilated to the human in all its lower propensities, shows
us a further step in the same direction; and however imperfectly
this higher faith is at first realized, we yet see in altars
“to the unknown and unknowable God,” and in the worship
of a God that cannot by any searching be found out, that
there is a clearer recognition of the inscrutableness of creation.
Further developments of theology, ending in such assertions
as that “a God understood would be no God at all,” and “to
think that God is, as we can think him to be, is blasphemy,”
exhibit this recognition still more distinctly; and it pervades
all the cultivated theology of the present day. Thus while
other constituents of religious creeds one by one drop away,
this remains and grows even more manifest; and so is shown
to be the essential constituent.
Nor does the evidence end here. Not only is the omnipresence
of something which passes comprehension, that most
abstract belief which is common to all religions, which becomes
the more distinct in proportion as they develope, and
which remains after their discordant elements have been
mutually cancelled; but it is that belief which the most unsparing
criticism of each leaves unquestionable—or rather
makes ever clearer. It has nothing to fear from the most
inexorable logic; but on the contrary is a belief which the
most inexorable logic shows to be more profoundly true than
any religion supposes. For every religion, setting out though
it does with the tacit assertion of a mystery, forthwith proceeds
to give some solution of this mystery; and so asserts
that it is not a mystery passing human comprehension. But
46an examination of the solutions they severally propound,
shows them to be uniformly invalid. The analysis of every
possible hypothesis proves, not simply that no hypothesis is
sufficient, but that no hypothesis is even thinkable. And
thus the mystery which all religions recognize, turns out to
be a far more transcendent mystery than any of them suspect—not
a relative, but an absolute mystery.
Here, then, is an ultimate religious truth of the highest
possible certainty—a truth in which religions in general are
at one with each other, and with a philosophy antagonistic
to their special dogmas. And this truth, respecting which
there is a latent agreement among all mankind from the
fetish-worshipper to the most stoical critic of human creeds,
must be the one we seek. If Religion and Science are to be
reconciled, the basis of reconciliation must be this deepest,
widest, and most certain of all facts—that the Power which
the Universe manifests to us is utterly inscrutable.
47
§ 15. What are Space and Time? Two hypotheses are
current respecting them: the one that they are objective, and
the other that they are subjective—the one that they are
external to, and independent of, ourselves, the other that
they are internal, and appertain to our own consciousness.
Let us see what becomes of these hypotheses under analysis.
To say that Space and Time exist objectively, is to say that
they are entities. The assertion that they are non-entities is
self-destructive: non-entities are non-existences; and to allege
that non-existences exist objectively, is a contradiction in
terms. Moreover, to deny that Space and Time are things,
and so by implication to call them nothings, involves the
absurdity that there are two kinds of nothing. Neither can
they be regarded as attributes of some entity; seeing, not
only that it is impossible really to conceive any entity of
which they are attributes, but seeing further that we cannot
think of them as disappearing, even if everything else disappeared;
whereas attributes necessarily disappear along with
the entities they belong to. Thus as Space and Time cannot
be either non-entities, nor the attributes of entities, we have
no choice but consider them as entities. But while, on
the hypothesis of their objectivity, Space and Time must be
classed as things, we find, on experiment, that to represent
them in thought as things is impossible. To be conceived
at all, a thing must be conceived as having attributes. We
48can distinguish something from nothing, only by the power
which the something has to act on our consciousness; the
several affections it produces on our consciousness (or else the
hypothetical causes of them), we attribute to it, and call
its attributes; and the absence of these attributes is the
absence of the terms in which the something is conceived,
and involves the absence of a conception. What now are the
attributes of Space? The only one which it is possible for a
moment to think of as belonging to it, is that of extension;
and to credit it with this implies a confusion of thought.
For extension and Space are convertible terms: by extension,
as we ascribe it to surrounding objects, we mean occupancy
of Space; and thus to say that Space is extended, is to say
that Space occupies Space. How we are similarly unable
to assign any attribute to Time, scarcely needs pointing
out. Nor are Time and Space unthinkable as entities
only from the absence of attributes; there is another peculiarity,
familiar to readers of metaphysics, which equally excludes
them from the category. All entities which we actually
know as such, are limited; and even if we suppose ourselves
either to know or to be able to conceive some unlimited
entity, we of necessity in so classing it positively separate it
from the class of limited entities. But of Space and Time
we cannot assert either limitation or the absence of limitation.
We find ourselves totally unable to form any mental image of
unbounded Space; and yet totally unable to imagine bounds
beyond which there is no Space. Similarly at the other
extreme: it is impossible to think of a limit to the divisibility
of Space; yet equally impossible to think of its infinite
divisibility. And, without stating them, it will be seen that we
labour under like impotencies in respect to Time. Thus
we cannot conceive Space and Time as entities, and are
equally disabled from conceiving them as either the attributes
of entities or as non-entities. We are compelled to think of
them as existing; and yet cannot bring them within those
conditions under which existences are represented in thought.
49Shall we then take refuge in the Kantian doctrine? shall
we say that Space and Time are forms of the intellect,—“à
priori laws or conditions of the conscious mind”? To do this
is to escape from great difficulties by rushing into greater.
The proposition with which Kant’s philosophy sets out,
verbally intelligible though it is, cannot by any effort be
rendered into thought—cannot be interpreted into an idea
properly so called, but stands merely for a pseud-idea. In
the first place, to assert that Space and Time, as we are conscious
of them, are subjective conditions, is by implication
to assert that they are not objective realities: if the Space
and Time present to our minds belong to the ego, then of
necessity they do not belong to the non-ego. Now it is absolutely
impossible to think this. The very fact on which
Kant bases his hypothesis—namely that our consciousness of
Space and Time cannot be suppressed—testifies as much; for
that consciousness of Space and Time which we cannot rid
ourselves of, is the consciousness of them as existing objectively.
It is useless to reply that such an inability must
inevitably result if they are subjective forms. The question
here is—What does consciousness directly testify? And the
direct testimony of consciousness is, that Time and Space are
not within but without the mind; and so absolutely independent
of it that they cannot be conceived to become non-existent
even were the mind to become non-existent. Besides
being positively unthinkable in what it tacitly denies,
the theory of Kant is equally unthinkable in what it openly
affirms. It is not simply that we cannot combine the thought
of Space with the thought of our own personality, and contemplate
the one as a property of the other—though our
inability to do this would prove the inconceivableness of the
hypothesis—but it is that the hypothesis carries in itself the
proof of its own inconceivableness. For if Space and Time
are forms of thought, they can never be thought of; since it
is impossible for anything to be at once the form of thought
and the matter of thought. That Space and Time are objects
50of consciousness, Kant emphatically asserts by saying
that it is impossible to suppress the consciousness of them.
How then, if they are objects of consciousness, can they at the
same time be conditions of consciousness? If Space and Time
are the conditions under which we think, then when we think
of Space and Time themselves, our thoughts must be unconditioned;
and if there can thus be unconditioned thoughts,
what becomes of the theory?
It results therefore that Space and Time are wholly incomprehensible.
The immediate knowledge which we seem
to have of them, proves, when examined, to be total ignorance.
While our belief in their objective reality is insurmountable,
we are unable to give any rational account
of it. And to posit the alternative belief (possible to state
but impossible to realize) is merely to multiply irrationalities.
§ 16. Were it not for the necessities of the argument, it
would be inexcusable to occupy the reader’s attention with
the threadbare, and yet unended, controversy respecting the
divisibility of matter. Matter is either infinitely divisible or
it is not: no third possibility can be named. Which of the
alternatives shall we accept? If we say that Matter is infinitely
divisible, we commit ourselves to a supposition not
realizable in thought. We can bisect and re-bisect a body,
and continually repeating the act until we reduce its parts to
a size no longer physically divisible, may then mentally continue
the process without limit. To do this, however, is not
really to conceive the infinite divisibility of matter, but to form
a symbolic conception incapable of expansion into a real one,
and not admitting of other verification. Really to conceive
the infinite divisibility of matter, is mentally to follow out the
divisions to infinity; and to do this would require infinite
time. On the other hand, to assert that matter is not
infinitely divisible, is to assert that it is reducible to parts
which no conceivable power can divide; and this verbal
51supposition can no more be represented in thought than the
other. For each of such ultimate parts, did they exist, must
have an under and an upper surface, a right and a left side,
like any larger fragment. Now it is impossible to imagine
its sides so near that no plane of section can be conceived between
them; and however great be the assumed force of
cohesion, it is impossible to shut out the idea of a greater
force capable of overcoming it. So that to human intelligence
the one hypothesis is no more acceptable than the
other; and yet the conclusion that one or other must agree
with the fact, seems to human intelligence unavoidable.
Again, leaving this insoluble question, let us ask whether
substance has, in reality, anything like that extended solidity
which it presents to our consciousness. The portion of space
occupied by a piece of metal, seems to eyes and fingers perfectly
filled: we perceive a homogeneous, resisting mass,
without any breach of continuity. Shall we then say that
Matter is as actually solid as it appears? Shall we say that
whether it consists of an infinitely divisible element or of
ultimate units incapable of further division, its parts are
everywhere in actual contact? To assert as much entangles
us in insuperable difficulties. Were Matter thus absolutely
solid, it would be, what it is not—absolutely incompressible;
since compressibility, implying the nearer approach of constituent
parts, is not thinkable unless there is unoccupied
space between the parts. Nor is this all. It is an established
mechanical truth, that if a body, moving at a given
velocity, strikes an equal body at rest in such wise that the
two move on together, their joint velocity will be but half
that of the striking body. Now it is a law of which the
negation is inconceivable, that in passing from any one
degree of magnitude to any other, all intermediate degrees
must be passed through. Or, in the case before us, a body
moving at velocity 4, cannot, by collision, be reduced to
velocity 2, without passing through all velocities between 4
and 2. But were Matter truly solid—were its units absolutely
52incompressible and in absolute contact—this “law of
continuity,” as it is called, would be broken in every case
of collision. For when, of two such units, one moving at
velocity 4 strikes another at rest, the striking unit must have
its velocity 4 instantaneously reduced to velocity 2; must
pass from velocity 4 to velocity 2 without any lapse of time,
and without passing through intermediate velocities; must be
moving with velocities 4 and 2 at the same instant, which is
impossible.
The supposition that Matter is absolutely solid being
untenable, there presents itself the Newtonian supposition,
that it consists of solid atoms not in contact but acting on
each other by attractive and repulsive forces, varying with
the distances. To assume this, however, merely shifts the
difficulty: the problem is simply transferred from the aggregated
masses of matter to these hypothetical atoms. For
granting that Matter, as we perceive it, is made up of such dense
extended units surrounded by atmospheres of force, the
question still arises—What is the constitution of these units?
We have no alternative but to regard each of them as a
small piece of matter. Looked at through a mental microscope,
each becomes a mass of substance such as we have just
been contemplating. Exactly the same inquiries may be
made respecting the parts of which each atom consists; while
exactly the same difficulties stand in the way of every answer.
And manifestly, even were the hypothetical atom assumed to
consist of still minuter ones, the difficulty would re-appear at
the next step; nor could it be got rid of even by an infinite
series of such assumptions.
Boscovich’s conception yet remains to us. Seeing that
Matter could not, as Leibnitz suggested, be composed of unextended
monads (since the juxtaposition of an infinity of
points having no extension, could not produce that extension
which matter possesses); and perceiving objections to the
view entertained by Newton; Boscovich proposed an intermediate
theory, uniting, as he considered, the advantages of
53both and avoiding their difficulties. His theory is, that the
constituents of Matter are centres of force—points without
dimensions, which attract and repel each other in suchwise as
to be kept at specific distances apart. And he argues, mathematically,
that the forces possessed by such centres might
so vary with the distances, that under given conditions the
centres would remain in stable equilibrium with definite
interspaces; and yet, under other conditions, would maintain
larger or smaller interspaces. This speculation however,
ingeniously as it is elaborated, and eluding though it does
various difficulties, posits a proposition which cannot by any
effort be represented in thought: it escapes all the inconceivabilities
above indicated, by merging them in the one
inconceivability with which it sets out. A centre of force
absolutely without extension is unthinkable: answering to
these words we can form nothing more than a symbolic conception
of the illegitimate order. The idea of resistance
cannot be separated in thought from the idea of an extended
body which offers resistance. To suppose that central forces
can reside in points not infinitesimally small but occupying
no space whatever—points having position only, with nothing
to mark their position—points in no respect distinguishable
from the surrounding points that are not centres of force;—to
suppose this, is utterly beyond human power.
Here it may possibly be said, that though all hypotheses
respecting the constitution of Matter commit us to inconceivable
conclusions when logically developed, yet we have
reason to think that one of them corresponds with the fact.
Though the conception of Matter as consisting of dense indivisible
units, is symbolic and incapable of being completely
thought out, it may yet be supposed to find indirect verification
in the truths of chemistry. These, it is argued, necessitate
the belief that Matter consists of particles of specific
weights, and therefore of specific sizes. The general law of
definite proportions seems impossible on any other condition
than the existence of ultimate atoms; and though the combining
54weights of the respective elements are termed by
chemists their “equivalents,” for the purpose of avoiding a
questionable assumption, we are unable to think of the combination
of such definite weights, without supposing it to take
place between definite numbers of definite particles. And
thus it would appear that the Newtonian view is at any rate
preferable to that of Boscovich. A disciple of Boscovich,
however, may reply that his master’s theory is involved
in that of Newton; and cannot indeed be escaped.
“What,” he may ask, “is it that holds together the parts
of these ultimate atoms?”. “A cohesive force,” his opponent
must answer. “And what,” he may continue, “is it
that holds together the parts of any fragments into
which, by sufficient force, an ultimate atom might be
broken?” Again the answer must be—a cohesive force.
“And what,” he may still ask, “if the ultimate atom were,
as we can imagine it to be, reduced to parts as small in proportion
to it, as it is in proportion to a tangible mass of
matter—what must give each part the ability to sustain itself,
and to occupy space?” Still there is no answer but—a cohesive
force. Carry the process in thought as far as we may,
until the extension of the parts is less than can be imagined,
we still cannot escape the admission of forces by which the
extension is upheld; and we can find no limit until we
arrive at the conception of centres of force without any
extension.
Matter then, in its ultimate nature, is as absolutely incomprehensible
as Space and Time. Frame what suppositions we
may, we find on tracing out their implications that they leave
us nothing but a choice between opposite absurdities.
§ 17. A body impelled by the hand is clearly perceived to
move, and to move in a definite direction: there seems at first
sight no possibility of doubting that its motion is real, or that
it is towards a given point. Yet it is easy to show that we
not only may be, but usually are, quite wrong in both these
55judgments. Here, for instance, is a ship which, for simplicity’s
sake, we will suppose to be anchored at the equator
with her head to the West. When the captain walks from
stem to stern, in what direction does he move? East is the
obvious answer—an answer which for the moment may pass
without criticism. But now the anchor is heaved, and the
vessel sails to the West with a velocity equal to that at which
the captain walks. In what direction does he now move
when he goes from stem to stern? You cannot say East, for
the vessel is carrying him as fast towards the West as he
walks to the East; and you cannot say West for the converse
reason. In respect to surrounding space he is stationary;
though to all on board the ship he seems to be moving. But
now are we quite sure of this conclusion?—Is he really stationary?
When we take into account the Earth’s motion round
its axis, we find that instead of being stationary he is travelling
at the rate of 1000 miles per hour to the East; so that
neither the perception of one who looks at him, nor the inference
of one who allows for the ship’s motion, is anything like
the truth. Nor indeed, on further consideration, shall we find
this revised conclusion to be much better. For we have forgotten
to allow for the Earth’s motion in its orbit. This
being some 68,000 miles per hour, it follows that, assuming
the time to be midday, he is moving, not at the rate of 1000
miles per hour to the East, but at the rate of 67,000 miles per
hour to the West. Nay, not even now have we discovered
the true rate and the true direction of his movement. With
the Earth’s progress in its orbit, we have to join that of the
whole Solar system towards the constellation Hercules; and
when we do this, we perceive that he is moving neither East
nor West, but in a line inclined to the plane of the Ecliptic,
and at a velocity greater or less (according to the time of the
year) than that above named. To which let us add, that
were the dynamic arrangements of our sidereal system fully
known to us, we should probably discover the direction and
rate of his actual movement to differ considerably even from
56these. How illusive are our ideas of Motion, is thus made
sufficiently manifest. That which seems moving proves to be
stationary; that which seems stationary proves to be moving;
while that which we conclude to be going rapidly in one
direction, turns out to be going much more rapidly in the
opposite direction. And so we are taught that what we are
conscious of is not the real motion of any object, either in its
rate or direction; but merely its motion as measured from an
assigned position—either the position we ourselves occupy or
some other. Yet in this very process of concluding that the
motions we perceive are not the real motions, we tacitly
assume that there are real motions. In revising our successive
judgments concerning a body’s course or velocity, we take
for granted that there is an actual course and an actual
velocity—we take for granted that there are fixed points in
space with respect to which all motions are absolute; and we
find it impossible to rid ourselves of this idea. Nevertheless,
absolute motion cannot even be imagined, much less known.
Motion as taking place apart from those limitations of space
which we habitually associate with it, is totally unthinkable.
For motion is change of place; but in unlimited space, change
of place is inconceivable, because place itself is inconceivable.
Place can be conceived only by reference to other places; and
in the absence of objects dispersed through space, a place
could be conceived only in relation to the limits of space;
whence it follows that in unlimited space, place cannot be
conceived—all places must be equidistant from boundaries
that do not exist. Thus while we are obliged to think that
there is an absolute motion, we find absolute motion incomprehensible.
Another insuperable difficulty presents itself when we
contemplate the transfer of Motion. Habit blinds us to the
marvelousness of this phenomenon. Familiar with the fact
from childhood, we see nothing remarkable in the ability of a
moving thing to generate movement in a thing that is
stationary. It is, however, impossible to understand it. In
57what respect does a body after impact differ from itself before
impact? What is this added to it which does not sensibly
affect any of its properties and yet enables it to traverse
space? Here is an object at rest and here is the same object
moving. In the one state it has no tendency to change its
place; but in the other it is obliged at each instant to assume
a new position. What is it which will for ever go on producing
this effect without being exhausted? and how does it
dwell in the object? The motion you say has been communicated.
But how?—What has been communicated?
The striking body has not transferred a thing to the body
struck; and it is equally out of the question to say that it
has transferred an attribute. What then has it transferred?
Once more there is the old puzzle concerning the connexion
between Motion and Rest. We daily witness the gradual
retardation and final stoppage of things projected from the
hand or otherwise impelled; and we equally often witness
the change from Rest to Motion produced by the application
of force. But truly to represent these transitions in thought,
we find impossible. For a breach of the law of continuity
seems necessarily involved; and yet no breach of it is conceivable.
A body travelling at a given velocity cannot be
brought to a state of rest, or no velocity, without passing
through all intermediate velocities. At first sight nothing
seems easier than to imagine it doing this. It is quite possible
to think of its motion as diminishing insensibly until
it becomes infinitesimal; and many will think equally possible
to pass in thought from infinitesimal motion to no
motion. But this is an error. Mentally follow out the
decreasing velocity as long as you please, and there still
remains some velocity. Halve and again halve the rate of
movement for ever, yet movement still exists; and the smallest
movement is separated by an impassable gap from no
movement. As something, however minute, is infinitely
great in comparison with nothing; so is even the least conceivable
motion, infinite as compared with rest. The
58converse perplexities attendant on the transition from Rest to
Motion, need not be specified. These, equally with the foregoing,
show us that though we are obliged to think of such
changes as actually occurring, their occurrence cannot be
realized.
Thus neither when considered in connexion with Space,
nor when considered in connexion with Matter, nor when
considered in connexion with Rest, do we find that Motion is
truly cognizable. All efforts to understand its essential
nature do but bring us to alternative impossibilities of
thought.
§ 18. On lifting a chair, the force exerted we regard as
equal to that antagonistic force called the weight of the
chair; and we cannot think of these as equal without thinking
of them as like in kind; since equality is conceivable only
between things that are connatural. The axiom that action
and reaction are equal and in opposite directions, commonly
exemplified by this very instance of muscular effort versus
weight, cannot be mentally realized on any other condition.
Yet, contrariwise, it is incredible that the force as existing in
the chair really resembles the force as present to our minds.
It scarcely needs to point out that the weight of the chair
produces in us various feelings according as we support it by a
single finger, or the whole hand, or the leg; and hence
to argue that as it cannot be like all these sensations there is
no reason to believe it like any. It suffices to remark that
since the force as known to us is an affection of consciousness,
we cannot conceive the force existing in the chair under the
same form without endowing the chair with consciousness.
So that it is absurd to think of Force as in itself like our
sensation of it, and yet necessary so to think of it if we
realize it in consciousness at all.
How, again, can we understand the connexion between
Force and Matter? Matter is known to us only through its
manifestations of Force: our ultimate test of Matter is the
59ability to resist: abstract its resistance and there remains
nothing but empty extension. Yet, on the other hand, resistance
is equally unthinkable apart from Matter—apart from
something extended. Not only, as pointed out some pages
back, are centres of force devoid of extension unimaginable;
but, as an inevitable corollary, we cannot imagine either
extended or unextended centres of force to attract and repel
other such centres at a distance, without the intermediation
of some kind of matter. We have here to remark, what
could not without anticipation be remarked when treating of
Matter, that the hypothesis of Newton, equally with that of
Boscovich, is open to the charge that it supposes one thing to
act upon another through a space which is absolutely empty—a
supposition which cannot be represented in thought.
This charge is indeed met by the introduction of a hypothetical
fluid existing between the atoms or centres. But the
problem is not thus solved: it is simply shifted, and re-appears
when the constitution of this fluid is inquired into. How
impossible it is to elude the difficulty presented by the transfer
of Force through space, is best seen in the case of astronomical
forces. The Sim acts upon us in such way as to produce the
sensations of light and heat; and we have ascertained that
between the cause as existing in the Sun, and the effect as
experienced on the Earth, a lapse of about eight minutes
occurs: whence unavoidably result in us, the conceptions of
both a force and a motion. So that for the assumption of a
luminiferous ether, there is the defence, not only that the
exercise of force through 95,000,000 of miles of absolute
vacuum is inconceivable, but also that it is impossible to conceive
motion in the absence of something moved. Similarly
in the case of gravitation. Newton described himself as
unable to think that the attraction of one body for another at
a distance, could be exerted in the absence of an intervening
medium. But now let us ask how much the forwarder we
are if an intervening medium be assumed. This ether whose
undulations according to the received hypothesis constitute
60heat and light, and which is the vehicle of gravitation—how
is it constituted? We must regard it, in the way that physicists
do regard it, as composed of atoms which attract and
repel each other—infinitesimal it may be in comparison with
those of ordinary matter, but still atoms. And remembering
that this ether is imponderable, we are obliged to conclude
that the ratio between the interspaces of these atoms and the
atoms themselves, is incommensurably greater than the like
ratio in ponderable matter; else the densities could not be
incommensurable. Instead then of a direct action by the Sun
upon the Earth without anything intervening, we have to
conceive the Sun’s action propagated through a medium
whose molecules are probably as small relatively to their interspaces
as are the Sun and Earth compared with the space
between them: we have to conceive these infinitesimal molecules
acting on each other through absolutely vacant spaces
which are immense in comparison with their own dimensions.
How is this conception easier than the other? We still have
mentally to represent a body as acting where it is not, and in
the absence of anything by which its action may be transferred;
and what matters it whether this takes place on a large
or a small scale? We see therefore that the exercise of
Force is altogether unintelligible. We cannot imagine it
except through the instrumentality of something having
extension; and yet when we have assumed this something,
we find the perplexity is not got rid of but only postponed.
We are obliged to conclude that matter, whether ponderable
or imponderable, and whether aggregated or in its hypothetical
units, acts upon matter through absolutely vacant space;
and yet this conclusion is positively unthinkable.
Again, Light, Heat, Gravitation and all central forces, vary
inversely as the squares of the distances; and physicists in
their investigations assume that the units of matter act upon
each other according to the same law—an assumption which
indeed they are obliged to make; since this law is not simply
an empirical one, but one deducible mathematically from the
61relations of space—one of which the negation is inconceivable.
But now, in any mass of matter which is in internal equilibrium,
what must follow? The attractions and repulsions of
the constituent atoms are balanced. Being balanced, the
atoms remain at their present distances; and the mass of
matter neither expands nor contracts. But if the forces
with which two adjacent atoms attract and repel each other
both vary inversely as the squares of the distances, as they
must; and if they are in equilibrium at their present distances,
as they are; then, necessarily, they will be in equilibrium at all
other distances. Let the atoms be twice as far apart, and
their attractions and repulsions will both be reduced to one
fourth of their present amounts. Let them be brought
within half the distance, and their attractions and repulsions
will both be quadrupled. Whence it follows that this matter
will as readily as not assume any other density; and can
offer no resistance to any external agents. Thus we are
obliged to say that these antagonist molecular forces do not
both vary inversely as the squares of the distances, which is
unthinkable; or else that matter does not possess that attribute
of resistance by which alone we distinguish it from
empty space, which is absurd.
While then it is impossible to form any idea of Force
in itself, it is equally impossible to comprehend either its
mode of exercise or its law of variation.
§ 19. Turning now from the outer to the inner world, let
us contemplate, not the agencies to which we ascribe our
subjective modifications, but the subjective modifications
themselves. These constitute a series. Difficult as we find
it distinctly to separate and individualize them, it is nevertheless
beyond question that our states of consciousness occur in
succession.
Is this chain of states of consciousness infinite or finite?
We cannot say infinite; not only because we have indirectly
reached the conclusion that there was a period when it commenced,
62but also because all infinity is inconceivable—an
infinite series included. We cannot say finite; for we have
no knowledge of either of its ends. Go back in memory as
far as we may, we are wholly unable to identify our first
states of consciousness: the perspective of our thoughts
vanishes in a dim obscurity where we can make out nothing.
Similarly at the other extreme. We have no immediate
knowledge of a termination to the series at a future time; and
we cannot really lay hold of that temporary termination of
the series reached at the present moment. For the state of
consciousness recognized by us as our last, is not truly our
last. That any mental affection may be contemplated as one
of the series, it must be remembered—represented in thought,
not presented. The truly last state of consciousness is that
which is passing in the very act of contemplating a state
just past—that in which we are thinking of the one before as
the last. So that the proximate end of the chain eludes us,
as well as the remote end.
“But,” it may be said, “though we cannot directly know
consciousness to be finite in duration, because neither of its
limits can be actually reached; yet we can very well conceive
it to be so.” No: not even this is true. In the first place,
we cannot conceive the terminations of that consciousness
which alone we really know—our own—any more than we
can perceive its terminations. For in truth the two acts are
here one. In either case such terminations must be, as above
said, not presented in thought, but represented; and they
must be represented as in the act of occurring. Now to
represent the termination of consciousness as occurring
in ourselves, is to think of ourselves as contemplating the
cessation of the last state of consciousness; and this implies
a supposed continuance of consciousness after its last
state, which is absurd. In the second place, if we regard
the matter objectively—if we study the phenomena as
occurring in others, or in the abstract, we are equally foiled.
Consciousness implies perpetual change and the perpetual
63establishment of relations between its successive phases. To
be known at all, any mental affection must be known as such or
such—as like these foregoing ones or unlike those: if it is not
thought of in connexion with others—not distinguished or
identified by comparison with others, it is not recognized—is
not a state of consciousness at all. A last state of consciousness,
then, like any other, can exist only through a perception
of its relations to previous states. But such perception of
its relations must constitute a state later than the last, which
is a contradiction. Or to put the difficulty in another form:—If
ceaseless change of state is the condition on which alone
consciousness exists, then when the supposed last state
has been reached by the completion of the preceding change,
change has ceased; therefore consciousness has ceased; therefore
the supposed last state is not a state of consciousness at
all; therefore there can be no last state of consciousness. In
short, the perplexity is like that presented by the relations of
Motion and Rest. As we found it was impossible really to
conceive Rest becoming Motion or Motion becoming Rest; so
here we find it is impossible really to conceive either the
beginning or the ending of those changes which constitute
consciousness.
Hence, while we are unable either to believe or to conceive
that the duration of consciousness is infinite, we are equally
unable either to know it as finite, or to conceive it as finite.
§ 20. Nor do we meet with any greater success when, instead
of the extent of consciousness, we consider its substance.
The question—What is this that thinks? admits of no better
solution than the question to which we have just found none
but inconceivable answers.
The existence of each individual as known to himself, has
been always held by mankind at large, the most incontrovertible
of truths. To say—“I am as sure of it as I am sure
that I exist,” is, in common speech, the most emphatic expression
of certainty. And this fact of personal existence,
64testified to by the universal consciousness of men, has been
made the basis of sundry philosophies; whence may be drawn
the inference, that it is held by thinkers, as well as by the
vulgar, to be beyond all facts unquestionable.
Belief in the reality of self, is, indeed, a belief which no
hypothesis enables us to escape. What shall we say of these
successive impressions and ideas which constitute consciousness?
Shall we say that they are the affections of something
called mind, which, as being the subject of them, is the real
ego? If we say this, we manifestly imply that the ego is an
entity. Shall we assert that these impressions and ideas are not
the mere superficial changes wrought on some thinking substance,
but are themselves the very body of this substance—are
severally the modified forms which it from moment to
moment assumes? This hypothesis, equally with the foregoing,
implies that the individual exists as a permanent and
distinct being; since modifications necessarily involve something
modified. Shall we then betake ourselves to the sceptic’s
position, and argue that we know nothing more than our impressions
and ideas themselves—that these are to us the only
existences; and that the personality said to underlie them is a
mere fiction? We do not even thus escape; since this proposition,
verbally intelligible but really unthinkable, itself
makes the assumption which it professes to repudiate. For
how can consciousness be wholly resolved into impressions and
ideas, when an impression of necessity implies something impressed?
Or again, how can the sceptic who has decomposed
his consciousness into impressions and ideas, explain the fact
that he considers them as his impressions and ideas? Or
once more, if, as he must, he admits that he has an impression
of his personal existence, what warrant can he show for rejecting
this impression as unreal while he accepts all his other
impressions as real? Unless he can give satisfactory answers
to these queries, which he cannot, he must abandon his conclusions;
and must admit the reality of the individual mind.
But now, unavoidable as is this belief—established though
65it is, not only by the assent of mankind at large, endorsed by
divers philosophers, but by the suicide of the sceptical argument—it
is yet a belief admitting of no justification by reason:
nay, indeed, it is a belief which reason, when pressed for a
distinct answer, rejects. One of the most recent writers who
has touched upon this question—Mr Mansel—does indeed
contend that in the consciousness of self, we have a piece of
real knowledge. The validity of immediate intuition he
holds in this case unquestionable: remarking that “let
system-makers say what they will, the unsophisticated sense
of mankind refuses to acknowledge that mind is but a bundle
of states of consciousness, as matter is (possibly) a bundle of
sensible qualities.” On which position the obvious comment
is, that it does not seem altogether a consistent one for a
Kantist, who pays but small respect to “the unsophisticated
sense of mankind” when it testifies to the objectivity of space.
Passing over this, however, it may readily be shown that a
cognition of self, properly so called, is absolutely negatived
by the laws of thought. The fundamental condition to all
consciousness, emphatically insisted upon by Mr Mansel in
common with Sir William Hamilton and others, is the antithesis
of subject and object. And on this “primitive dualism
of consciousness,” “from which the explanations of philosophy
must take their start,” Mr Mansel founds his refutation of the
German absolutists. But now, what is the corollary from this
doctrine, as bearing on the consciousness of self? The mental
act in which self is known, implies, like every other mental
act, a perceiving subject and a perceived object. If, then, the
object perceived is self, what is the subject that perceives? or
if it is the true self which thinks, what other self can it be
that is thought of? Clearly, a true cognition of self implies
a state in which the knowing and the known are one—in
which subject and object are identified; and this Mr Mansel
rightly holds to be the annihilation of both.
So that the personality of which each is conscious, and of
which the existence is to each a fact beyond all others the most
66certain, is yet a thing which cannot truly be known at all:
knowledge of it is forbidden by the very nature of thought.
§ 21. Ultimate Scientific Ideas, then, are all representative
of realities that cannot be comprehended. After no matter
how great a progress in the colligation of facts and the establishment
of generalizations ever wider and wider—after the
merging of limited and derivative truths in truths that are
larger and deeper has been carried no matter how far; the
fundamental truth remains as much beyond reach as ever. The
explanation of that which is explicable, does but bring out
into greater clearness the inexplicableness of that which remains
behind. Alike in the external and the internal worlds,
the man of science sees himself in the midst of perpetual changes
of which he can discover neither the beginning nor the end.
If, tracing back the evolution of things, he allows himself to
entertain the hypothesis that the Universe once existed in a
diffused form, he finds it utterly impossible to conceive how
this came to be so; and equally, if he speculates on the
future, he can assign no limit to the grand succession of phenomena
ever unfolding themselves before him. In like
manner if he looks inward, he perceives that both ends of the
thread of consciousness are beyond his grasp; nay, even
beyond his power to think of as having existed or as existing
in time to come. When, again, he turns from the succession of
phenomena, external or internal, to their intrinsic nature, he
is just as much at fault. Supposing him in every case able to
resolve the appearances, properties, and movements of things,
into manifestations of Force in Space and Time; he still finds
that Force, Space, and Time pass all understanding. Similarly,
though the analysis of mental actions may finally bring
him down to sensations, as the original materials out of which
all thought is woven, yet he is little forwarder; for he can
give no account either of sensations themselves or of that
something which is conscious of sensations. Objective and
subjective things he thus ascertains to be alike inscrutable in
67their substance and genesis. In all directions his investigations
eventually bring him face to face with an insoluble
enigma; and he ever more clearly perceives it to be an insoluble
enigma. He learns at once the greatness and the littleness of
the human intellect—its power in dealing with all that comes
within the range of experience; its impotence in dealing
with all that transcends experience. He realizes with a
special vividness the utter incomprehensibleness of the simplest
fact, considered in itself. He, more than any other, truly
knows that in its ultimate essence nothing can be known.
68
§ 22. The same conclusion is thus arrived at, from whichever
point we set out. If, respecting the origin and nature
of things, we make some assumption, we find that through an
inexorable logic it inevitably commits us to alternative impossibilities
of thought; and this holds true of every assumption
that can be imagined. If, contrariwise, we make no assumption,
but set out from the sensible properties of surrounding
objects, and, ascertaining their special laws of dependence, go
on to merge these in laws more and more general, until we
bring them all under some most general laws; we still find ourselves
as far as ever from knowing what it is which manifests
these properties to us: clearly as we seem to know it, our
apparent knowledge proves on examination to be utterly irreconcilable
with itself. Ultimate religious ideas and ultimate
scientific ideas, alike turn out to be merely symbols of the
actual, not cognitions of it.
The conviction, so reached, that human intelligence is
incapable of absolute knowledge, is one that has been slowly
gaining ground as civilization has advanced. Each new
ontological theory, from time to time propounded in lieu of
previous ones shown to be untenable, has been followed by a
new criticism leading to a new scepticism. All possible conceptions
have been one by one tried and found wanting; and
69so the entire field of speculation has been gradually exhausted
without positive result: the only result arrived at being
the negative one above stated—that the reality existing
behind all appearances is, and must ever be, unknown. To
this conclusion almost every thinker of note has subscribed.
“With the exception,” says Sir William Hamilton, “of a few
late Absolutist theorisers in Germany, this is, perhaps, the
truth of all others most harmoniously re-echoed by every
philosopher of every school.” And among these he names—Protagoras,
Aristotle, St. Augustin, Boethius, Averroes,
Albertus Magnus, Gerson, Leo Hebræus, Melancthon, Scaliger,
Francis Piccolomini, Giordano Bruno, Campanella,
Bacon, Spinoza, Newton, Kant.
It yet remains to point out how this belief may be established
rationally, as well as empirically. Not only is it that,
as in the earlier thinkers above named, a vague perception of
the inscrutableness of things in themselves results from discovering
the illusiveness of sense-impressions; and not only
is it that, as shown in the foregoing chapters, definite experiments
evolve alternative impossibilities of thought out of
every ultimate conception we can frame; but it is that the
relativity of our knowledge is demonstrable analytically.
The induction drawn from general and special experiences,
may be confirmed by a deduction from the nature of our
intelligence. Two ways of reaching such a deduction exist.
Proof that our cognitions are not, and never can be, absolute,
is obtainable by analyzing either the product of thought, or
the process of thought. Let us analyze each.
§ 23. If, when walking through the fields some day in
September, you hear a rustle a few yards in advance, and
on observing the ditch-side where it occurs, see the herbage
agitated, you will probably turn towards the spot to learn by
what this sound and motion are produced. As you approach
there flutters into the ditch, a partridge; on seeing which
70your curiosity is satisfied—you have what you call an explanation
of the appearances. The explanation, mark, amounts
to this; that whereas throughout life you have had countless
experiences of disturbance among small stationary bodies,
accompanying the movement of other bodies among them,
and have generalized the relation between such disturbances
and such movements, you consider this particular disturbance
explained, on finding it to present, an instance of the like
relation. Suppose you catch the partridge; and, wishing
to ascertain why it did not escape, examine it, and find
at one spot, a slight trace of blood upon its feathers. You
now understand, as you say, what has disabled the partridge.
It has been wounded by a sportsman—adds another case to
the many cases already seen by you, of birds being killed or
injured by the shot discharged at them from fowling-pieces.
And in assimilating this case to other such cases, consists
your understanding of it. But now, on consideration, a
difficulty suggests itself. Only a single shot has struck the
partridge, and that not in a vital place: the wings are uninjured,
as are also those muscles which move them; and the
creature proves by its struggles that it has abundant strength.
Why then, you inquire of yourself, does it not fly? Occasion
favouring, you put the question to an anatomist, who furnishes
you with a solution. He points out that this solitary
shot has passed close to the place at which the nerve supplying
the wing-muscles of one side, diverges from the spine; and that
a slight injury to this nerve, extending even to the rupture of
a few fibres, may, by preventing a perfect co-ordination in the
actions of the two wings, destroy the power of flight. You are
no longer puzzled. But what has happened?—what has
changed your state from one of perplexity to one of comprehension?
Simply the disclosure of a class of previously
known cases, along with which you can include this case.
The connexion between lesions of the nervous system and
paralysis of limbs has been already many times brought
71under your notice; and you here find a relation of cause and
effect that is essentially similar.
Let us suppose you are led on to make further inquiries
concerning organic actions, which, conspicuous and remarkable
as they are, you had not before cared to understand. How
is respiration effected? you ask—why does air periodically
rush into the lungs? The answer is that in the higher vertebrata,
as in ourselves, influx of air is caused by an enlargement
of the thoracic cavity, due, partly to depression of the
diaphragm, partly to elevation of the ribs. But how does
elevation of the ribs enlarge the cavity? In reply the
anatomist shows you that the plane of each pair of ribs
makes an acute angle with the spine; that this angle widens
when the moveable ends of the ribs are raised; and he makes
you realize the consequent dilatation of the cavity, by pointing
out how the area of a parallelogram increases as its angles
approach to right angles—you understand this special fact
when you see it to be an instance of a general geometrical
fact. There still arises, however, the question—why does the
air rush into this enlarged cavity? To which comes the
answer that, when the thoracic cavity is enlarged, the contained
air, partially relieved from pressure, expands, and so loses
some of its resisting power; that hence it opposes to the pressure
of the external air a less pressure; and that as air, like
every other fluid, presses equally in all directions, motion must
result along any line in which the resistance is less than
elsewhere; whence follows an inward current. And this
interpretation you recognize as one, when a few facts of like
kind, exhibited more plainly in a visible fluid such as water,
are cited in illustration. Again, when it was pointed out
that the limbs are compound levers acting in essentially the
same way as levers of iron or wood, you might consider yourself
as having obtained a partial rationale of animal movements.
The contraction of a muscle, seeming before utterly
unaccountable, would seem less unaccountable were you shown
72how, by a galvanic current, a series of soft iron magnets could
be made to shorten itself, through the attraction of each
magnet for its neighbours:—an alleged analogy which
especially answers the purpose of our argument; since,
whether real or fancied, it equally illustrates the mental
illumination that results on finding a class of cases within
which a particular case may possibly be included. And it
may be further noted how, in the instance here named, an additional
feeling of comprehension arises on remembering that
the influence conveyed through the nerves to the muscles, is,
though not positively electric, yet a form of force nearly
allied to the electric. Similarly when you learn that
animal heat arises from chemical combination, and so is
evolved as heat is evolved in other chemical combinations—when
you learn that the absorption of nutrient fluids through
the coats of the intestines, is an instance of osmotic action—when
you learn that the changes undergone by food during
digestion, are like changes artificially producible in the laboratory;
you regard yourself as knowing something about the
natures of these phenomena.
Observe now what we have been doing. Turning to the
general question, let us note where these successive interpretations
have carried us. We began with quite special and
concrete facts. In explaining each, and afterwards explaining
the more general facts of which they are instances, we
have got down to certain highly general facts:—to a geometrical
principle or property of space, to a simple law of mechanical
action, to a law of fluid equilibrium—to truths in
physics, in chemistry, in thermology, in electricity. The
particular phenomena with which we set out, have been
merged in larger and larger groups of phenomena; and as
they have been so merged, we have arrived at solutions that
we consider profound in proportion as this process has been
carried far. Still deeper explanations are simply further
steps in the same direction. When, for instance, it is asked
73why the law of action of the lever is what it is, or why fluid
equilibrium and fluid motion exhibit the relations which they
do, the answer furnished by mathematicians consists in the
disclosure of the principle of virtual velocities—a principle
holding true alike in fluids and solids—a principle under
which the others are comprehended. And similarly, the insight
obtained into the phenomena of chemical combination,
heat, electricity, &c., implies that a rationale of them, when
found, will be the exposition of some highly general fact respecting
the constitution of matter, of which chemical,
electrical, and thermal facts, are merely different manifestations.
Is this process limited or unlimited? Can we go on for
ever explaining classes of facts by including them in larger
classes; or must we eventually come to a largest class? The
supposition that the process is unlimited, were any one absurd
enough to espouse it, would still imply that an ultimate
explanation could not be reached; since infinite time would
be required to reach it. While the unavoidable conclusion
that it is limited (proved not only by the finite sphere of
observation open to us, but also by the diminution in the
number of generalizations that necessarily accompanies increase
of their breadth) equally implies that the ultimate
fact cannot be understood. For if the successively deeper interpretations
of nature which constitute advancing knowledge,
are merely successive inclusions of special truths in general
truths, and of general truths in truths still more general; it
obviously follows that the most general truth, not admitting
of inclusion in any other, does not admit of interpretation.
Manifestly, as the most general cognition at which we arrive
cannot be reduced to a more general one, it cannot be understood.
Of necessity, therefore, explanation must eventually
bring us down to the inexplicable. The deepest truth which
we can get at, must be unaccountable. Comprehension must
become something other than comprehension, before the ultimate
fact can be comprehended.
74§ 24. The inference which we thus find forced upon us
when we analyze the product of thought, as exhibited objectively
in scientific generalizations, is equally forced upon us
by an analysis of the process of thought, as exhibited subjectively
in consciousness. The demonstration of the necessarily
relative character of our knowledge, as deduced from
the nature of intelligence, has been brought to its most
definite shape by Sir William Hamilton. I cannot here do
better than extract from his essay on the “Philosophy of
the Unconditioned,” the passage containing the substance of
his doctrine.
“The mind can conceive,” he argues, “and consequently
can know,” only the limited, and the conditionally limited. The
unconditionally unlimited, or the Infinite, the unconditionally
limited, or the Absolute, cannot positively be construed to
the mind; they can be conceived, only by a thinking away
from, or abstraction of, those very conditions under which
thought itself is realized; consequently, the notion of the
Unconditioned is only negative,—negative of the conceivable
itself. For example, on the one hand we can positively conceive,
neither an absolute whole, that is, a whole so great, that we
cannot also conceive it as a relative part of a still greater
whole; nor an absolute part, that is, a part so small, that we
cannot also conceive it as a relative whole, divisible into smaller
parts. On the other hand, we cannot positively represent, or
realize, or construe to the mind (as here understanding and
imagination coincide), an infinite whole, for this could only
be done by the infinite synthesis in thought of finite wholes,
which would itself require an infinite time for its accomplishment;
nor, for the same reason, can we follow out in thought
an infinite divisibility of parts. The result is the same,
whether we apply the process to limitation in space, in time,
or in degree. The unconditional negation, and the unconditional
affirmation of limitation; in other words, the infinite
and absolute, properly so called, are thus equally inconceivable
to us.
75As the conditionally limited (which we may briefly call
the conditioned) is thus the only possible object of knowledge
and of positive thought—thought necessarily supposes conditions.
To think is to condition; and conditional limitation is
the fundamental law of the possibility of thought. For, as
the greyhound cannot outstrip his shadow, nor (by a more
appropriate simile) the eagle outsoar the atmosphere in which
he floats, and by which alone he may be supported; so the
mind cannot transcend that sphere of limitation, within and
through which exclusively the possibility of thought is
realized. Thought is only of the conditioned; because, as we
have said, to think is simply to condition. The absolute is
conceived merely by a negation of conceivability; and all
that we know, is only known as
——‘won from the void and formless infinite.’
How, indeed, it could ever be doubted that thought is only of
the conditioned, may well be deemed a matter of the profoundest
admiration. Thought cannot transcend consciousness; consciousness
is only possible under the antithesis of a subject
and object of thought, known only in correlation, and mutually
limiting each other; while, independently of this, all that we
know either of subject or object, either of mind or matter, is
only a knowledge in each of the particular, of the plural, of
the different, of the modified, of the phenomenal. We admit
that the consequence of this doctrine is,—that philosophy, if
viewed as more than a science of the conditioned, is impossible.
Departing from the particular, we admit, that we can
never, in our highest generalizations, rise above the finite;
that our knowledge, whether of mind or matter, can be
nothing more than a knowledge of the relative manifestations
of an existence, which in itself it is our highest wisdom to
recognize as beyond the reach of philosophy,—in the language
of St Austin,—‘cognoscendo ignorari, et ignorando cognosci.’
“The conditioned is the mean between two extremes,—two
76inconditionates, exclusive of each other, neither of which can
be conceived as possible, but of which, on the principles of contradiction
and excluded middle, one must be admitted as
necessary. On this opinion, therefore, reason is shown to
be weak, but not deceitful. The mind is not represented as
conceiving two propositions subversive of each other, as
equally possible; but only, as unable to understand as possible,
either of two extremes; one of which, however, on
the ground of their mutual repugnance, it is compelled
to recognize as true. We are thus taught the salutary
lesson, that the capacity of thought is not to be constituted
into the measure of existence; and are warned from recognizing
the domain of our knowledge as necessarily co-extensive
with the horizon of our faith. And by a wonderful revelation,
we are thus, in the very consciousness of our inability to
conceive aught above the relative and finite, inspired with a
belief in the existence of something unconditioned beyond the
sphere of all comprehensible reality.”
Clear and conclusive as this statement of the case appears
when carefully studied, it is expressed in so abstract a
manner as to be not very intelligible to the general reader.
A more popular presentation of it, with illustrative applications,
as given by Mr Mansel in his “Limits of Religious
Thought,” will make it more fully understood. The following
extracts, which I take the liberty of making from his
pages, will suffice.
“The very conception of consciousness, in whatever mode
it may be manifested, necessarily implies distinction between
one object and another. To be conscious, we must be conscious
of something; and that something can only be known, as
that which it is, by being distinguished from that which it is
not. But distinction is necessarily limitation; for, if one
object is to be distinguished from another, it must possess
some form of existence which the other has not, or it must
not possess some form which the other has. But it is obvious
77the Infinite cannot be distinguished, as such, from the Finite,
by the absence of any quality which the Finite possesses; for
such absence would be a limitation. Nor yet can it be distinguished
by the presence of an attribute which the Finite
has not; for, as no finite part can be a constituent of an
infinite whole, this differential characteristic must itself be
infinite; and must at the same time have nothing in common
with the finite. We are thus thrown back upon our former
impossibility; for this second infinite will be distinguished
from the finite by the absence of qualities which the latter
possesses. A consciousness of the Infinite as such thus necessarily
involves a self-contradiction; for it implies the recognition,
by limitation and difference, of that which can only be
given as unlimited and indifferent. * * *
“This contradiction, which is utterly inexplicable on the
supposition that the infinite is a positive object of human
thought, is at once accounted for, when it is regarded as the
mere negation of thought. If all thought is limitation;—if
whatever we conceive is, by the very act of conception,
regarded as finite,—the infinite, from a human point of view,
is merely a name for the absence of those conditions under
which thought is possible. To speak of a Conception of the
Infinite is, therefore, at once to affirm those conditions and to
deny them. The contradiction, which we discover in such a
conception, is only that which we have ourselves placed there,
by tacitly assuming the conceivability of the inconceivable.
The condition of consciousness is distinction; and condition
of distinction is limitation. We can have no consciousness of
Being in general which is not some Being in particular: a
thing, in consciousness, is one thing out of many. In assuming
the possibility of an infinite object of consciousness, I
assume, therefore, that it is at the same time limited and
unlimited;—actually something, without which it could not
be an object of consciousness, and actually nothing, without
which it could not be infinite. * * *
“A second characteristic of Consciousness is, that it is only
78possible in the form of a relation. There must be a Subject,
or person conscious, and an Object, or thing of which he is
conscious. There can be no consciousness without the
union of these two factors; and, in that union, each exists
only as it is related to the other. The subject is a subject,
only in so far as it is conscious of an object: the object is an
object, only in so far as it is apprehended by a subject: and
the destruction of either is the destruction of consciousness
itself. It is thus manifest that a consciousness of the Absolute
is equally self-contradictory with that of the Infinite.
To be conscious of the Absolute as such, we must know that
an object, which is given in relation to our consciousness, is
identical with one which exists in its own nature, out of all
relation to consciousness. But to know this identity, we
must be able to compare the two together; and such a comparison
is itself a contradiction. We are in fact required to
compare that of which we are conscious with that of which
we are not conscious; the comparison itself being an act of
consciousness, and only possible through the consciousness of
both its objects. It is thus manifest that, even if we could
be conscious of the absolute, we could not possibly know that
it is the absolute: and, as we can be conscious of an object as
such, only by knowing it to be what it is, this is equivalent
to an admission that we cannot be conscious of the absolute
at all. As an object of consciousness, every thing is necessarily
relative; and what a thing may be out of consciousness,
no mode of consciousness can tell us.
“This contradiction, again, admits of the same explanation
as the former. Our whole notion of existence is necessarily
relative; for it is existence as conceived by us. But Existence,
as we conceive it, is but a name for the several ways in which
objects are presented to our consciousness,—a general term,
embracing a variety of relations. The Absolute, on the other
hand, is a term expressing no object of thought, but only a
denial of the relation by which thought is constituted. To
assume absolute existence as an object of thought, is thus to
79suppose a relation existing when the related terms exist no
longer. An object of thought exists, as such, in and through
its relation to a thinker; while the Absolute, as such, is independent
of all relation. The Conception of the Absolute thus
implies at the same time the presence and absence of the relation
by which thought is constituted; and our various endeavours
to represent it are only so many modified forms of
the contradiction involved in our original assumption. Here,
too, the contradiction is one which we ourselves have made.
It does not imply that the Absolute cannot exist; but it implies,
most certainly, that we cannot conceive it as existing.”
Here let me point out how the same general inference may
be evolved from another fundamental condition of thought,
omitted by Sir W. Hamilton, and not supplied by Mr Mansel;—a
condition which, under its obverse aspect, we have already
contemplated in the last section. Every complete act
of consciousness, besides distinction and relation, also implies
likeness. Before it can become an idea, or constitute a piece
of knowledge, a mental state must not only be known as
separate in kind from certain foregoing states to which it is
known as related by succession; but it must further be known
as of the same kind with certain other foregoing states.
That organization of changes which constitutes thinking, involves
continuous integration as well as continuous differentiation.
Were each new affection of the mind perceived
simply as an affection in some way contrasted with the
preceding ones—were there but a chain of impressions, each
of which as it arose was merely distinguished from its predecessors;
consciousness would be an utter chaos. To produce
that orderly consciousness which we call intelligence, there
requires the assimilation of each impression to others,
that occurred earlier in the series. Both the successive
mental states, and the successive relations which they bear to
each other, must be classified; and classification involves not
only a parting of the unlike, but also a binding together of
the like. In brief, a true cognition is possible only through
80an accompanying recognition. Should it be objected
that if so, there cannot be a first cognition, and hence there
can be no cognition; the reply is, that cognition proper arises
gradually—that during the first stage of incipient intelligence,
before the feelings produced by intercourse with the outer world
have been put into order, there are no cognitions, strictly so
called; and that, as every infant shows us, these slowly
emerge out of the confusion of unfolding consciousness as
fast as the experiences are arranged into groups—as fast as
the most frequently repeated sensations, and their relations to
each other, become familiar enough to admit of their recognition
as such or such, whenever they recur. Should it be
further objected that if cognition pre-supposes recognition,
there can be, no cognition, even by an adult, of an object
never before seen; there is still the sufficient answer that in
so far as it is not assimilated to previously-seen objects, it is
not known, and that it is known in so far as it is assimilated
to them. Of this paradox the interpretation is, that an object
is classifiable in various ways, with various degrees of completeness.
An animal hitherto unknown (mark the word),
though not referable to any established species or genus, is
yet recognized as belonging to one of the larger divisions—mammals,
birds, reptiles, or fishes; or should it be so
anomalous that its alliance with any of these is not determinable,
it may yet be classed as vertebrate or invertebrate; or if
it be one of those organisms of which it is doubtful whether
the animal or vegetal characteristics predominate, it is still
known as a living body; even should it be questioned
whether it is organic, it remains beyond question that it is a
material object, and it is cognized by being recognized as
such. Whence it is manifest that a thing is perfectly known
only when it is in all respects like certain things previously
observed; that in proportion to the number of respects in
which it is unlike them, is the extent to which it is unknown;
and that hence when it has absolutely no attribute in common
81with anything else, it must be absolutely beyond the bounds
of knowledge.
Observe the corollary which here concerns us. A cognition
of the Real, as distinguished from the Phenomenal, must,
if it exists, conform to this law of cognition in general. The
First Cause, the Infinite, the Absolute, to be known at all,
must be classed. To be positively thought of, it must be
thought of as such or such—as of this or that kind. Can it
be like in kind to anything of which we have sensible
experience? Obviously not. Between the creating and the
created, there must be a distinction transcending any of the
distinctions existing between different divisions of the created.
That which is uncaused cannot be assimilated to that which
is caused: the two being, in the very naming, antithetically
opposed. The Infinite cannot be grouped along with something
that is finite; since, in being so grouped, it must be
regarded as not-infinite. It is impossible to put the Absolute
in the same category with anything relative, so long as
the Absolute is defined as that of which no necessary relation
can be predicated. Is it then that the Actual, though unthinkable
by classification with the Apparent, is thinkable by
classification with itself? This supposition is equally absurd
with the other. It implies the plurality of the First Cause,
the Infinite, the Absolute; and this implication is self-contradictory.
There cannot be more than one First Cause; seeing
that the existence of more than one would involve the existence
of something necessitating more than one, which something
would be the true First Cause. How self-destructive is the
assumption of two or more Infinites, is manifest on remembering
that such Infinites, by limiting each other, would become
finite. And similarly, an Absolute which existed not alone
but along with other Absolutes, would no longer be an absolute
but a relative. The Unconditioned therefore, as class-able
neither with any form of the conditioned nor with any other
Unconditioned, cannot be classed at all. And to admit that
it cannot be known as of such or such kind, is to admit that
it is unknowable.
82Thus, from the very nature of thought, the relativity of our
knowledge is inferable in three several ways. As we find by
analyzing it, and as we see it objectively displayed in every
proposition, a thought involves relation, difference, likeness.
Whatever does not present each of these does not admit of
cognition. And hence we may say that the Unconditioned, as
presenting none of them, is trebly unthinkable.
§ 25. From yet another point of view we may discern the
same great truth. If, instead of examining our intellectual
powers directly as exhibited in the act of thought, or indirectly
as exhibited in thought when expressed by words, we look at
the connexion between the mind and the world, a like conclusion
is forced upon us. In the very definition of Life, when
reduced to its most abstract shape, this ultimate implication
becomes visible.
All vital actions, considered not separately but in their
ensemble, have for their final purpose the balancing of certain
outer processes by certain inner processes. There are unceasing
external forces tending to bring the matter of which organic
bodies consist, into that state of stable equilibrium displayed
by inorganic bodies; there are internal forces by which
this tendency is constantly antagonized; and the perpetual
changes which constitute Life, may be regarded as incidental
to the maintenance of the antagonism. To preserve the
erect posture, for instance, we see that certain weights have
to be neutralized by certain strains: each limb or other organ,
gravitating to the Earth and pulling down the parts to which
it is attached, has to be preserved in position by the tension
of sundry muscles; or in other words, the group of forces
which would if allowed bring the body to the ground, has to
be counterbalanced by another group of forces. Again, to
keep up the temperature at a particular point, the external
process of radiation and absorption of heat by the surrounding
medium, must be met by a corresponding internal process
of chemical combination, whereby more heat may be evolved;
to which add, that if from atmospheric changes the loss
83becomes greater or less, the production must become greater or
less. And similarly throughout the organic actions in general.
When we contemplate the lower kinds of life, we see that
the correspondences thus maintained are direct and simple;
as in a plant, the vitality of which mainly consists in osmotic
and chemical actions responding to the co-existence of light,
heat, water, and carbonic acid around it. But in animals, and
especially in the higher orders of them, the correspondences
become extremely complex. Materials for growth and
repair not being, like those which plants require, everywhere
present, but being widely dispersed and under special forms,
have to be found, to be secured, and to be reduced to a fit state
for assimilation. Hence the need for locomotion; hence the need
for the senses; hence the need for prehensile and destructive
appliances; hence the need for an elaborate digestive apparatus.
Observe, however, that these successive complications
are essentially nothing but aids to the maintenance of the
organic balance in its integrity, in opposition to those physical,
chemical, and other agencies which tend to overturn it. And
observe, moreover, that while these successive complications
subserve this fundamental adaptation of inner to outer actions,
they are themselves nothing else but further adaptations of
inner to outer actions. For what are those movements by
which a predatory creature pursues its prey, or by which its
prey seeks to escape, but certain changes in the organism
fitted to meet certain changes in its environment? What is
that compound operation which constitutes the perception of
a piece of food, but a particular correlation of nervous modifications,
answering to a particular correlation of physical properties?
What is that process by which food when swallowed
is reduced to a fit form for assimilation, but a set of mechanical
and chemical actions responding to the mechanical and
chemical actions which distinguish the food? Whence
it becomes manifest, that while Life in its simplest form is the
correspondence of certain inner physico-chemical actions with
certain outer physico-chemical actions, each advance to a higher
84form of Life consists in a better preservation of this primary
correspondence by the establishment of other correspondences.
Divesting this conception of all superfluities and reducing
it to its most abstract shape, we see that Life is definable as
the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
relations. And when we so define it, we discover that the
physical and the psychial life are equally comprehended by
the definition. We perceive that this which we call Intelligence,
shows itself when the external relations to which the
internal ones are adjusted, begin to be numerous, complex, and
remote in time or space; that every advance in Intelligence
essentially consists in the establishment of more varied, more
complete, and more involved adjustments; and that even the
highest achievements of science are resolvable into mental relations
of co-existence and sequence, so co-ordinated as exactly to
tally with certain relations of co-existence and sequence that
occur externally. A caterpillar, wandering at random and at
length finding its way on to a plant having a certain odour,
begins to eat—has inside of it an organic relation between
a particular impression and a particular set of actions, answering
to the relation outside of it, between scent and nutriment.
The sparrow, guided by the more complex correlation of impressions
which the colour, form, and movements of the caterpillar
gave it; and guided also by other correlations which measure
the position and distance of the caterpillar; adjusts certain
correlated muscular movements in such way as to seize the
caterpillar. Through a much greater distance in space is the
hawk, hovering above, affected by the relations of shape and
motion which the sparrow presents; and the much more complicated
and prolonged series of related nervous and muscular
changes, gone through in correspondence with the sparrow’s
changing relations of position, finally succeed when they are
precisely adjusted to these changing relations. In the fowler,
experience has established a relation between the appearance
and flight of a hawk and the destruction of other birds, including
game; there is also in him an established relation between
85those visual impressions answering to a certain distance in
space, and the range of his gun; and he has learned, too,
by frequent observation, what relations of position the
sights must bear to a point somewhat in advance of the flying
bird, before he can fire with success. Similarly if we
go back to the manufacture of the gun. By relations of co-existence
between colour, density, and place in the earth, a
particular mineral is known as one which yields iron; and
the obtainment of iron from it, results when certain correlated
acts of ours, are adjusted to certain correlated affinities displayed
by ironstone, coal, and lime, at a high temperature. If
we descend yet a step further, and ask a chemist to explain the
explosion of gunpowder, or apply to a mathematician for a
theory of projectiles, we still find that special or general relations
of co-existence and sequence between properties, motions,
spaces &c., are all they can teach us. And lastly, let it be
noted that what we call truth, guiding us to successful action
and the consequent maintenance of life, is simply the accurate
correspondence of subjective to objective relations; while error,
leading to failure and therefore towards death, is the absence
of such accurate correspondence.
If, then, Life in all its manifestations, inclusive of Intelligence
in its highest forms, consists in the continuous adjustment
of internal relations to external relations, the necessarily
relative character of our knowledge becomes obvious. The
simplest cognition being the establishment of some connexion
between subjective states, answering to some connexion between
objective agencies; and each successively more complex
cognition being the establishment of some more involved connexion
of such states, answering to some more involved connexion
of such agencies; it is clear that the process, no matter
how far it be carried, can never bring within the reach of Intelligence,
either the states themselves or the agencies themselves.
Ascertaining which things occur along with which, and what
things follow what, supposing it to be pursued exhaustively,
must still leave us with co-existences and sequences only. If
86every act of knowing is the formation of a relation in consciousness
parallel to a relation in the environment, then the relativity
of knowledge is self-evident—becomes indeed a truism.
Thinking being relationing, no thought can ever express more
than relations.
And here let us not omit to mark how that to which our
intelligence is confined, is that with which alone our intelligence
is concerned. The knowledge within our reach, is the
only knowledge that can be of service to us. This maintenance
of a correspondence between internal actions and external
actions, which both constitutes our life at each moment
and is the means whereby life is continued through subsequent
moments, merely requires that the agencies acting upon us
shall be known in their co-existences and sequences, and not
that they shall be known in themselves. If x and y are two
uniformly connected properties in some outer object, while a
and b are the effects they produce in our consciousness; and
if while the property x produces in us the indifferent mental
state a, the property y produces in us the painful mental state
b (answering to a physical injury); then, all that is requisite
for our guidance, is, that x being the uniform accompaniment
of y externally, a shall be the uniform accompaniment of b internally;
so that when, by the presence of x, a is produced in
consciousness, b, or rather the idea of b, shall follow it, and
excite the motions by which the effect of y may be escaped.
The sole need is that a and b and the relation between them,
shall always answer to x and y and the relation between them.
It matters nothing to us if a and b are like x and y or not.
Could they be exactly identical with them, we should not be
one whit the better off; and their total dissimilarity is no
disadvantage to us.
Deep down then in the very nature of Life, the relativity
of our knowledge is discernible. The analysis of vital actions
in general, leads not only to the conclusion that things in themselves
cannot be known to us; but also to the conclusion that
knowledge of them, were it possible, would be useless.
87§ 26. There still remains the final question—What must
we say concerning that which transcends knowledge? Are
we to rest wholly in the consciousness of phenomena?—is the
result of inquiry to exclude utterly from our minds everything
but the relative? or must we also believe in something beyond
the relative?
The answer of pure logic is held to be, that by the limits
of our intelligence we are rigorously confined within the relative;
and that anything transcending the relative can be
thought of only as a pure negation, or as a non-existence.
“The absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability,”
writes Sir William Hamilton. “The Absolute and
the Infinite” says Mr Mansel, “are thus, like the Inconceivable
and the Imperceptible, names indicating, not an object of
thought or of consciousness at all, but the mere absence of the
conditions under which consciousness is possible.” From each
of which extracts may be deduced the conclusion, that since
reason cannot warrant us in affirming the positive existence
of what is cognizable only as a negation, we cannot rationally
affirm the positive existence of anything beyond phenomena.
Unavoidable as this conclusion seems, it involves, I think,
a grave error. If the premiss be granted, the inference must
doubtless be admitted; but the premiss, in the form presented
by Sir William Hamilton and Mr Mansel, is not strictly true.
Though, in the foregoing pages, the arguments used by these
writers to show that the Absolute is unknowable, have been
approvingly quoted; and though these arguments have been
enforced by others equally thoroughgoing; yet there remains
to be stated a qualification, which saves us from that scepticism
otherwise necessitated. It is not to be denied that so
long as we confine ourselves to the purely logical aspect of the
question, the propositions quoted above must be accepted in
their entirety; but when we contemplate its more general, or
psychological, aspect, we find that these propositions are imperfect
statements of the truth: omitting, or rather excluding,
as they do, an all-important fact. To speak specifically:—Besides
88that definite consciousness of which Logic formulates
the laws, there is also an indefinite consciousness which cannot
be formulated. Besides complete thoughts, and besides the
thoughts which though incomplete admit of completion, there
are thoughts which it is impossible to complete; and yet which
are still real, in the sense that they are normal affections of
the intellect.
Observe in the first place, that every one of the arguments
by which the relativity of our knowledge is demonstrated,
distinctly postulates the positive existence of something beyond
the relative. To say that we cannot know the Absolute,
is, by implication, to affirm that there is an Absolute. In the
very denial of our power to learn what the Absolute is, there
lies hidden the assumption that it is; and the making of
this assumption proves that the Absolute has been present
to the mind, not as a nothing, but as a something. Similarly
with every step in the reasoning by which this doctrine is
upheld. The Noumenon, everywhere named as the antithesis
of the Phenomenon, is throughout necessarily thought of as
an actuality. It is rigorously impossible to conceive that our
knowledge is a knowledge of Appearances only, without at the
same time conceiving a Reality of which they are appearances;
for appearance without reality is unthinkable. Strike out
from the argument the terms Unconditioned, Infinite, Absolute,
with their equivalents, and in place of them write, “negation
of conceivability,” or “absence of the conditions under which
consciousness is possible,” and you find that the argument
becomes nonsense. Truly to realize in thought any one of the
propositions of which the argument consists, the Unconditioned
must be represented as positive and not negative. How then can
it be a legitimate conclusion from the argument, that our consciousness
of it is negative? An argument, the very construction
of which assigns to a certain term a certain meaning,
but which ends in showing that this term has no such meaning,
is simply an elaborate suicide. Clearly, then, the very
demonstration that a definite consciousness of the Absolute
89is impossible to us, unavoidably presupposes an indefinite consciousness
of it.
Perhaps the best way of showing that by the necessary
conditions of thought, we are obliged to form a positive though
vague consciousness of this which transcends distinct consciousness,
is to analyze our conception of the antithesis
between Relative and Absolute. It is a doctrine called in
question by none, that such antinomies of thought as Whole
and Part, Equal and Unequal, Singular and Plural, are
necessarily conceived as correlatives: the conception of a part
is impossible without the conception of a whole; there can
be no idea of equality without one of inequality. And it is
admitted that in the same manner, the Relative is itself conceivable
as such, only by opposition to the Irrelative or Absolute.
Sir William Hamilton however, in his trenchant
(and in most parts unanswerable) criticism on Cousin, contends,
in conformity with his position above stated, that one of
these correlatives is nothing whatever beyond the negation of
the other. “Correlatives” he says “certainly suggest each
other, but correlatives may, or may not, be equally real and
positive. In thought contradictories necessarily imply each
other, for the knowledge of contradictories is one. But the
reality of one contradictory, so far from guaranteeing the reality
of the other, is nothing else than its negation. Thus every
positive notion (the concept of a thing by what it is) suggests
a negative notion (the concept of a thing by what it is not);
and the highest positive notion, the notion of the conceivable,
is not without its corresponding negative in the notion of the
inconceivable. But though these mutually suggest each
other, the positive alone is real; the negative is only an abstraction
of the other, and in the highest generality, even an
abstraction of thought itself.” Now the assertion
that of such contradictories “the negative is only an abstraction
of the other”—“is nothing else than its negation,”—is
not true. In such correlatives as Equal and Unequal, it is
obvious enough that the negative concept contains something
90besides the negation of the positive one; for the things of
which equality is denied are not abolished from consciousness
by the denial. And the fact overlooked by Sir William
Hamilton, is, that the like holds even with those correlatives
of which the negative is inconceivable, in the strict sense of
the word. Take for example the Limited and the Unlimited.
Our notion of the Limited is composed, firstly of a consciousness
of some kind of being, and secondly of a consciousness of
the limits under which it is known. In the antithetical notion
of the Unlimited, the consciousness of limits is abolished; but
not the consciousness of some kind of being. It is quite true
that in the absence of conceived limits, this consciousness ceases
to be a concept properly so called; but it is none the less true
that it remains as a mode of consciousness. If, in such cases,
the negative contradictory were, as alleged, “nothing else”
than the negation of the other, and therefore a mere nonentity,
then it would clearly follow that negative contradictories
could be used interchangeably: the Unlimited might be
thought of as antithetical to the Divisible; and the Indivisible
as antithetical to the Limited. While the fact that they
cannot be so used, proves that in consciousness the Unlimited
and the Indivisible are qualitatively distinct, and therefore
positive or real; since distinction cannot exist between
nothings. The error, (very naturally fallen into by philosophers
intent on demonstrating the limits and conditions
of consciousness,) consists in assuming that consciousness contains
nothing but limits and conditions; to the entire neglect
of that which is limited and conditioned. It is forgotten
that there is something which alike forms the raw material
of definite thought and remains after the definiteness which
thinking gave to it has been destroyed. Now all
this applies by change of terms to the last and highest of
these antinomies—that between the Relative and the Non-relative.
We are conscious of the Relative as existence under
conditions and limits; it is impossible that these conditions
and limits can be thought of apart from something to which
91they give the form; the abstraction of these conditions and
limits, is, by the hypothesis, the abstraction of them only; consequently
there must be a residuary consciousness of something
which filled up their outlines; and this indefinite something
constitutes our consciousness of the Non-relative or
Absolute. Impossible though it is to give to this consciousness
any qualitative or quantitative expression whatever, it is
not the less certain that it remains with us as a positive and
indestructible element of thought.
Still more manifest will this truth become when it is observed
that our conception of the Relative itself disappears, if
our conception of the Absolute is a pure negation. It is admitted,
or rather it is contended, by the writers I have quoted
above, that contradictories can be known only in relation to
each other—that Equality, for instance, is unthinkable apart
from its correlative Inequality; and that thus the Relative can
itself be conceived only by opposition to the Non-relative. It
is also admitted, or rather contended, that the consciousness of
a relation implies a consciousness of both the related members.
If we are required to conceive the relation between the Relative
and Non-relative without being conscious of both, “we
are in fact” (to quote the words of Mr Mansel differently
applied) “required to compare that of which we are conscious
with that of which we are not conscious; the comparison
itself being an act of consciousness, and only possible through
the consciousness of both its objects.” What then becomes
of the assertion that “the Absolute is conceived merely by a
negation of conceivability,” or as “the mere absence of the
conditions under which consciousness is possible?” If the Non-relative
or Absolute, is present in thought only as a mere
negation, then the relation between it and the Relative becomes
unthinkable, because one of the terms of the relation is
absent from consciousness. And if this relation is unthinkable,
then is the Relative itself unthinkable, for want of its
antithesis: whence results the disappearance of all thought
whatever.
92Let me here point out that both Sir Wm Hamilton and
Mr Mansel, do, in other places, distinctly imply that our
consciousness of the Absolute, indefinite though it is, is
positive and not negative. The very passage already quoted
from Sir Wm Hamilton, in which he asserts that “the
absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability,”
itself ends with the remark that, “by a wonderful revelation,
we are thus, in the very consciousness of our inability to conceive
aught above the relative and finite, inspired with a
belief in the existence of something unconditioned beyond
the sphere of all comprehensible reality.” The last of
these assertions practically admits that which the other
denies. By the laws of thought as Sir Wm Hamilton has
interpreted them, he finds himself forced to the conclusion
that our consciousness of the Absolute is a pure negation.
He nevertheless finds that there does exist in consciousness
an irresistible conviction of the real “existence of something
unconditioned.” And he gets over the inconsistency
by speaking of this conviction as “a wonderful revelation”—“a
belief” with which we are “inspired:” thus apparently
hinting that it is supernaturally at variance with the laws of
thought. Mr Mansel is betrayed into a like inconsistency.
When he says that “we are compelled, by the constitution of
our minds, to believe in the existence of an Absolute and Infinite
Being,—a belief which appears forced upon us, as the
complement of our consciousness of the relative and the
finite;” he clearly says by implication that this consciousness
is positive, and not negative. He tacitly admits that
we are obliged to regard the Absolute as something more
than a negation—that our consciousness of it is not “the
mere absence of the conditions under which consciousness is
possible.”
The supreme importance of this question must be my
apology for taxing the reader’s attention a little further, in
the hope of clearing up the remaining difficulties. The necessarily
positive character of our consciousness of the Unconditioned,
93which, as we have seen, follows from an ultimate
law of thought, will be better understood on contemplating
the process of thought.
One of the arguments used to prove the relativity of
our knowledge, is, that we cannot conceive Space or Time as
either limited or unlimited. It is pointed out that when we
imagine a limit, there simultaneously arises the consciousness
of a space or time existing beyond the limit. This remoter
space or time, though not contemplated as definite, is yet contemplated
as real. Though we do not form of it a conception
proper, since we do not bring it within bounds, there is yet in
our minds the unshaped material of a conception. Similarly
with our consciousness of Cause. We are no more able to
form a circumscribed idea of Cause, than of Space or Time;
and we are consequently obliged to think of the Cause which
transcends the limits of our thought as positive though indefinite.
Just in the same manner that on conceiving any
bounded space, there arises a nascent consciousness of space
outside the bounds; so, when we think of any definite cause,
there arises a nascent consciousness of a cause behind it: and
in the one case as in the other, this nascent consciousness is
in substance like that which suggests it, though without form.
The momentum of thought inevitably carries us beyond conditioned
existence to unconditioned existence; and this ever
persists in us as the body of a thought to which we can give
no shape.
Hence our firm belief in objective reality—a belief which
metaphysical criticisms cannot for a moment shake. When
we are taught that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing
externally, cannot be really known, but that we can
know only certain impressions produced on us, we are yet, by
the relativity of our thought, compelled to think of these in
relation to a positive cause—the notion of a real existence
which generated these impressions becomes nascent. If it be
proved to us that every notion of a real existence which we
can frame, is utterly inconsistent with itself—that matter,
94however conceived by us, cannot be matter as it actually is,
our conception, though transfigured, is not destroyed: there
remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far as possible from
those special forms under which it was before represented in
thought. Though Philosophy condemns successively each
attempted conception of the Absolute—though it proves to us
that the Absolute is not this, nor that, nor that—though in
obedience to it we negative, one after another, each idea as it
arises; yet, as we cannot expel the entire contents of consciousness,
there ever remains behind an element which passes
into new shapes. The continual negation of each particular
form and limit, simply results in the more or less complete
abstraction of all forms and limits; and so ends in an
indefinite consciousness of the unformed and unlimited.
And here we come face to face with the ultimate difficulty—How
can there possibly be constituted a consciousness
of the unformed and unlimited, when, by its very nature, consciousness
is possible only under forms and limits? If every
consciousness of existence is a consciousness of existence as
conditioned, then how, after the negation of conditions, can
there be any residuum?. Though not directly withdrawn by
the withdrawal of its conditions, must not the raw material of
consciousness be withdrawn by implication? Must it not vanish
when the conditions of its existence vanish? That
there must be a solution of this difficulty is manifest; since
even those who would put it, do, as already shown, admit
that we have some such consciousness; and the solution appears
to be that above shadowed forth. Such consciousness
is not, and cannot be, constituted by any single mental act;
but is the product of many mental acts. In each concept there
is an element which persists. It is alike impossible for this
element to be absent from consciousness, and for it to be present
in consciousness alone: either alternative involves unconsciousness—the
one from the want of the substance; the
other from the want of the form. But the persistence of this
element under successive conditions, necessitates a sense of it as
95distinguished from the conditions, and independent of them.
The sense of a something that is conditioned in every thought,
cannot be got rid of, because the something cannot be got rid of.
How then must the sense of this something be constituted?
Evidently by combining successive concepts deprived of their
limits and conditions. We form this indefinite thought, as
we form many of our definite thoughts, by the coalescence of
a series of thoughts. Let me illustrate this. A large
complex object, having attributes too numerous to be represented
at once, is yet tolerably well conceived by the union of
several representations, each standing for part of its attributes.
On thinking of a piano, there first rises in imagination its
visual appearance, to which are instantly added (though by
separate mental acts) the ideas of its remote side and of its
solid substance. A complete conception, however, involves the
strings, the hammers, the dampers, the pedals; and while
successively adding these to the conception, the attributes first
thought of lapse more or less completely out of consciousness.
Nevertheless, the whole group constitutes a representation of
the piano. Now as in this case we form a definite concept of
a special existence, by imposing limits and conditions in successive
acts; so, in the converse case, by taking away the
limits and conditions in successive acts, we form an indefinite
notion of general existence. By fusing a series of states of
consciousness, in each of which, as it arises, the limitations
and conditions are abolished, there is produced a consciousness
of something unconditioned. To speak more rigorously:—this
consciousness is not the abstract of any one
group of thoughts, ideas, or conceptions; but it is the abstract
of all thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. That which is common
to them all, and cannot be got rid of, is what we predicate by
the word existence. Dissociated as this becomes from each of
its modes by the perpetual change of those modes, it remains
as an indefinite consciousness of something constant under
all modes—of being apart from its appearances. The distinction
we feel between special and general existence, is the
96distinction between that which is changeable in us, and that
which is unchangeable. The contrast between the Absolute
and the Relative in our minds, is really the contrast between
that mental element which exists absolutely, and those which
exist relatively.
By its very nature, therefore, this ultimate mental element
is at once necessarily indefinite and necessarily indestructible.
Our consciousness of the unconditioned being literally the unconditioned
consciousness, or raw material of thought to which
in thinking we give definite forms, it follows that an ever-present
sense of real existence is the very basis of our intelligence.
As we can in successive mental acts get rid of all particular
conditions and replace them by others, but cannot get rid of
that undifferentiated substance of consciousness which is conditioned
anew in every thought; there ever remains with us
a sense of that which exists persistently and independently of
conditions. At the same time that by the laws of thought
we are rigorously prevented from forming a conception of absolute
existence; we are by the laws of thought equally prevented
from ridding ourselves of the consciousness of absolute
existence: this consciousness being, as we here see, the obverse
of our self-consciousness. And since the only possible measure
of relative validity among our beliefs, is the degree of
their persistence in opposition to the efforts made to change
them, it follows that this which persists at all times, under all
circumstances, and cannot cease until consciousness ceases, has
the highest validity of any.
To sum up this somewhat too elaborate argument:—We
have seen how in the very assertion that all our knowledge,
properly so called, is Relative, there is involved the assertion
that there exists a Non-relative. We have seen how, in each
step of the argument by which this doctrine is established,
the same assumption is made. We have seen how, from the
very necessity of thinking in relations, it follows that the
Relative is itself inconceivable, except as related to a real
Non-relative. We have seen that unless a real Non-relative
97or Absolute be postulated, the Relative itself becomes absolute;
and so brings the argument to a contradiction. And on
contemplating the process of thought, we have equally seen
how impossible it is to get rid of the consciousness of an
actuality lying behind appearances; and how, from this impossibility,
results our indestructible belief in that actuality.
98
§ 27. Thus do all lines of argument converge to the same
conclusion. The inference reached à priori. in the last chapter,
confirms the inferences which, in the two preceding chapters,
were reached à posteriori. Those imbecilities of the understanding
that disclose themselves when we try to answer the
highest questions of objective science, subjective science proves
to be necessitated by the laws of that understanding. We not
only learn by the frustration of all our efforts, that the reality
underlying appearances is totally and for ever inconceivable
by us; but we also learn why, from the very nature of our
intelligence, it must be so. Finally we discover that this
conclusion, which, in its unqualified form, seems opposed to
the instinctive convictions of mankind, falls into harmony
with them when the missing qualification is supplied.
Though the Absolute cannot in any manner or degree be
known, in the strict sense of knowing, yet we find that its positive
existence is a necessary datum of consciousness; that so
long as consciousness continues, we cannot for an instant rid
it of this datum; and that thus the belief which this datum
constitutes, has a higher warrant than any other whatever.
Here then is that basis of agreement we set out to seek.
This conclusion which objective science illustrates, and subjective
science shows to be unavoidable,—this conclusion
which, while it in the main expresses the doctrine of the English
99school of philosophy, recognizes also a soul of truth in the
doctrine of the antagonist German school—this conclusion
which brings the results of speculation into harmony with those
of common sense; is also the conclusion which reconciles Religion
with Science. Common Sense asserts the existence of a
reality; Objective Science proves that this reality cannot be
what we think it; Subjective Science shows why we cannot
think of it as it is, and yet are compelled to think of it as existing;
and in this assertion of a Reality utterly inscrutable
in nature, Religion finds an assertion essentially coinciding
with her own. We are obliged to regard every phenomenon
as a manifestation of some Power by which we are acted upon;
phenomena being, so far as we can ascertain, unlimited in
their diffusion, we are obliged to regard this Power as omnipresent;
and criticism teaches us that this Power is wholly
incomprehensible. In this consciousness of an Incomprehensible
Omnipresent Power, we have just that consciousness on
which Religion dwells. And so we arrive at the point where
Religion and Science coalesce.
To understand fully how real is the reconciliation thus
reached, it will be needful to look at the respective attitudes
that Religion and Science have all along maintained towards
this conclusion. We must observe how, all along, the imperfections
of each have been undergoing correction by the other;
and how the final out-come of their mutual criticisms, can be
nothing else than an entire agreement on this deepest and
widest of all truths.
§ 28. In Religion let us recognize the high merit that from
the beginning it has dimly discerned the ultimate verity, and
has never ceased to insist upon it. In its earliest and crudest
forms it manifested, however vaguely and inconsistently, an
intuition forming the germ of this highest belief in which all
philosophies finally unite. The consciousness of a mystery
is traceable in the rudest fetishism. Each higher religious
creed, rejecting those definite and simple interpretations of
100Nature previously given, has become more religious by doing
this. As the quite concrete and conceivable agencies alleged
as the causes of things, have been replaced by agencies less
concrete and conceivable, the element of mystery has of necessity
become more predominant. Through all its successive
phases the disappearance of those positive dogmas by which
the mystery was made unmysterious, has formed the essential
change delineated in religious history. And so Religion has
ever been approximating towards that complete recognition of
this mystery which is its goal.
For its essentially valid belief, Religion has constantly done
battle. Gross as were the disguises under which it first
espoused this belief, and cherishing this belief, though it still
does, under disfiguring vestments, it has never ceased to maintain
and defend it. It has everywhere established and propagated
one or other modification of the doctrine that all things
are manifestations of a Power that transcends our knowledge.
Though from age to age, Science has continually defeated it
wherever they have come in collision, and has obliged it to
relinquish one or more of its positions; it has still held the
remaining ones with undiminished tenacity. No exposure of
the logical inconsistency of its conclusions—no proof that each
of its particular dogmas was absurd, has been able to weaken
its allegiance to that ultimate verity for which it stands.
After criticism has abolished all its arguments and reduced it
to silence, there has still remained with it the indestructible
consciousness of a truth which, however faulty the mode in
which it had been expressed, was yet a truth beyond cavil.
To this conviction its adherence has been substantially sincere.
And for the guardianship and diffusion of it, Humanity has
ever been, and must ever be, its debtor.
But while from the beginning, Religion has had the all-essential
office of preventing men from being wholly absorbed
in the relative or immediate, and of awakening them to a consciousness
of something beyond it, this office has been but very
imperfectly discharged. Religion has ever been more or less
101irreligious; and it continues to be partially irreligious even
now. In the first place, as implied above, it has all
along professed to have some knowledge of that which transcends
knowledge; and has so contradicted its own teachings.
While with one breath it has asserted that the Cause of all
things passes understanding, it has, with the next breath,
asserted that the Cause of all things possesses such or such
attributes—can be in so far understood. In the second
place, while in great part sincere in its fealty to the great
truth it had had to uphold, it has often been insincere, and
consequently irreligious, in maintaining the untenable doctrines
by which it has obscured this great truth. Each assertion
respecting the nature, acts, or motives of that Power
which the Universe manifests to us, has been repeatedly called
in question, and proved to be inconsistent with itself, or with
accompanying assertions. Yet each of them has been age
after age insisted on, in spite of a secret consciousness that it
would not bear examination. Just as though unaware that
its central position was impregnable, Religion has obstinately
held every outpost long after it was obviously indefensible.
And this naturally introduces us to the third and
most serious form of irreligion which Religion has displayed;
namely, an imperfect belief in that which it especially professes
to believe. How truly its central position is impregnable, Religion
has never adequately realized. In the devoutest faith
as we habitually see it, there lies hidden an innermost core of
scepticism; and it is this scepticism which causes that dread
of inquiry displayed by Religion when face to face with Science.
Obliged to abandon one by one the superstitions it once tenaciously
held, and daily finding its cherished beliefs more and
more shaken, Religion shows a secret fear that all things may
some day be explained; and thus itself betrays a lurking
doubt whether that Incomprehensible Cause of which it is
conscious, is really incomprehensible.
Of Religion then, we must always remember, that amid its
many errors and corruptions it has asserted and diffused a
102supreme verity. From the first, the recognition of this supreme
verity, in however imperfect a manner, has been its vital element;
and its various defects, once extreme but gradually diminishing,
have been so many failures to recognize in full that which
it recognized in part. The truly religious element of Religion
has always been good; that which has proved untenable in
doctrine and vicious in practice, has been its irreligious element;
and from this it has been ever undergoing purification.
§ 29. And now observe that all along, the agent which has
effected the purification has been Science. We habitually
overlook the fact that this has been one of its functions.
Religion ignores its immense debt to Science; and Science is
scarcely at all conscious how much Religion owes it. Yet it
is demonstrable that every step by which Religion has progressed
from its first low conception to the comparatively
high one it has now reached, Science has helped it, or rather
forced it, to take; and that even now, Science is urging further
steps in the same direction.
Using the word Science in its true sense, as comprehending all
positive and definite knowledge of the order existing among
surrounding phenomena, it becomes manifest that from the
outset, the discovery of an established order has modified that
conception of disorder, or undetermined order, which underlies
every superstition. As fast as experience proves that
certain familiar changes always happen in the same sequence,
there begins to fade from the mind the conception of a special
personality to whose variable will they were before ascribed.
And when, step by step, accumulating observations do the like
with the less familiar changes, a similar modification of
belief takes place with respect to them.
While this process seems to those who effect, and those
who undergo it, an anti-religious one, it is really the reverse.
Instead of the specific comprehensible agency before assigned,
there is substituted a less specific and less comprehensible
agency; and though this, standing in opposition to the previous
103one, cannot at first call forth the same feeling, yet, as
being less comprehensible, it must eventually call forth this
feeling more fully. Take an instance. Of old the Sun
was regarded as the chariot of a god, drawn by horses. How
far the idea thus grossly expressed, was idealized, we need not
inquire. It suffices to remark that this accounting for the
apparent motion of the Sun by an agency like certain visible
terrestrial agencies, reduced a daily wonder to the level of the
commonest intellect. When, many centuries after, Kepler discovered
that the planets moved round the Sun in ellipses and
described equal areas in equal times, he concluded that in
each planet there must exist a spirit to guide its movements.
Here we see that with the progress of Science, there had disappeared
the idea of a gross mechanical traction, such as was
first assigned in the case of the Sun; but that while for this
there was substituted an indefinite and less-easily conceivable
force, it was still thought needful to assume a special personal
agent as a cause of the regular irregularity of motion. When,
finally, it was proved that these planetary revolutions with
all their variations and disturbances, conformed to one universal
law—when the presiding spirits which Kepler conceived
were set aside, and the force of gravitation put in their
place; the change was really the abolition of an imaginable
agency, and the substitution of an unimaginable one. For
though the law of gravitation is within our mental grasp, it
is impossible to realize in thought the force of gravitation.
Newton himself confessed the force of gravitation to be incomprehensible
without the intermediation of an ether; and,
as we have already seen, (§ 18,) the assumption of an ether
does not in the least help us. Thus it is with
Science in general. Its progress in grouping particular
relations of phenomena under laws, and these special laws
under laws more and more general, is of necessity a progress
to causes that are more and more abstract. And
causes more and more abstract, are of necessity causes less
and less conceivable; since the formation of an abstract
104conception involves the dropping of certain concrete elements
of thought. Hence the most abstract conception, to which
Science is ever slowly approaching, is one that merges into
the inconceivable or unthinkable, by the dropping of all concrete
elements of thought. And so is justified the assertion,
that the beliefs which Science has forced upon Religion, have
been intrinsically more religious than those which they supplanted.
Science however, like Religion, has but very incompletely
fulfilled its office. As Religion has fallen short of its function
in so far as it has been irreligious; so has Science fallen short
of its function in so far as it has been unscientific. Let us
note the several parallelisms. In its earlier stages,
Science, while it began to teach the constant relations of
phenomena, and so discredited the belief in separate personalities
as the causes of them, itself substituted the belief
in causal agencies which, if not personal, were yet concrete.
When certain facts were said to show “Nature’s abhorrence
of a vacuum,” when the properties of gold were explained as
due to some entity called “aureity,” and when the phenomena
of life were attributed to “a vital principle;” there was set
up a mode of interpreting the facts, which, while antagonistic
to the religious mode, because assigning other agencies, was
also unscientific, because it professed to know that about
which nothing was known. Having abandoned these metaphysical
agencies—having seen that they were not independent
existences, but merely special combinations of general
causes, Science has more recently ascribed extensive groups
of phenomena to electricity, chemical affinity, and other like
general powers. But in speaking of these as ultimate and
independent entities, Science has preserved substantially
the same attitude as before. Accounting thus for all phenomena,
those of Life and Thought included, it has not only
maintained its seeming antagonism to Religion, by alleging
agencies of a radically unlike kind; but, in so far as it has
tacitly assumed a knowledge of these agencies, it has continued
105unscientific. At the present time, however, the most advanced
men of science are abandoning these later conceptions, as
their predecessors abandoned the earlier ones. Magnetism,
heat, light &c, which were awhile since spoken of as so
many distinct imponderables, physicists are now beginning
to regard as different modes of manifestation of some one
universal force; and in so doing are ceasing to think of
this force as comprehensible. In each phase of its
progress, Science has thus stopped short with superficial
solutions—has unscientifically neglected to ask what was
the nature of the agents it so familiarly invoked. Though
in each succeeding phase it has gone a little deeper, and
merged its supposed agents in more general and abstract
ones, it has still, as before, rested content with these as
if they were ascertained realities. And this, which has
all along been the unscientific characteristic of Science, has
all along been a part cause of its conflict with Religion.
§ 30. We see then that from the first, the faults of both
Religion and Science have been the faults of imperfect development.
Originally a mere rudiment, each has been
growing into a more complete form; the vice of each has in
all times been its incompleteness; the disagreements between
them have throughout been nothing more than the consequences
of their incompleteness; and as they reach their
final forms, they come into entire harmony.
The progress of intelligence has throughout been dual.
Though it has not seemed so to those who made it, every step
in advance has been a step towards both the natural and the
supernatural. The better interpretation of each phenomenon
has been, on the one hand, the rejection of a cause that was
relatively conceivable in its nature but unknown in the order
of its actions, and, on the other hand, the adoption of a cause
that was known in the order of its actions but relatively inconceivable
in its nature. The first advance out of universal
fetishism, manifestly involved the conception of agencies less
106assimilable to the familiar agencies of men and animals, and
therefore less understood; while, at the same time, such newly-conceived
agencies in so far as they were distinguished by
their uniform effects, were better understood than those they
replaced. All subsequent advances display the same double
result. Every deeper and more general power arrived at as
a cause of phenomena, has been at once less comprehensible
than the special ones it superseded, in the sense of being less
definitely representable in thought; while it has been more
comprehensible in the sense that its actions have been more
completely predicable. The progress has thus been as much
towards the establishment of a positively unknown as towards
the establishment of a positively known. Though as knowledge
approaches its culmination, every unaccountable and
seemingly supernatural fact, is brought into the category of
facts that are accountable or natural; yet, at the same time,
all accountable or natural facts are proved to be in their ultimate
genesis unaccountable and supernatural. And so there
arise two antithetical states of mind, answering to the opposite
sides of that existence about which we think. While
our consciousness of Nature under the one aspect constitutes
Science, our consciousness of it under the other aspect constitutes
Religion.
Otherwise contemplating the facts, we may say that Religion
and Science have been undergoing a slow differentiation;
and that their ceaseless conflicts have been due to the imperfect
separation of their spheres and functions. Religion has,
from the first, struggled to unite more or less science with its
nescience; Science has, from the first, kept hold of more or
less nescience as though it were a part of science. Each has
been obliged gradually to relinquish that territory which it
wrongly claimed, while it has gained from the other that to which
it had a right; and the antagonism between them has been
an inevitable accompaniment of this process. A more specific
statement will make this clear. Religion, though at
the outset it asserted a mystery, also made numerous definite
107assertions respecting this mystery—professed to know its nature
in the minutest detail; and in so far as it claimed positive
knowledge, it trespassed upon the province of Science.
From the times of early mythologies, when such intimate acquaintance
with the mystery was alleged, down to our own
days, when but a few abstract and vague propositions are
maintained, Religion has been compelled by Science to give
up one after another of its dogmas—of those assumed cognitions
which it could not substantiate. In the mean time,
Science substituted for the personalities to which Religion
ascribed phenomena, certain metaphysical entities; and in
doing this it trespassed on the province of Religion; since it
classed among the things which it comprehended, certain
forms of the incomprehensible. Partly by the criticisms of
Religion, which has occasionally called in question its assumptions,
and partly as a consequence of spontaneous growth,
Science has been obliged to abandon these attempts to include
within the boundaries of knowledge that which cannot be
known; and has so yielded up to Religion that which of
right belonged to it. So long as this process of
differentiation is incomplete, more or less of antagonism
must continue. Gradually as the limits of possible cognition
are established, the causes of conflict will diminish. And
a permanent peace will be reached when Science becomes
fully convinced that its explanations are proximate and relative;
while Religion becomes fully convinced that the
mystery it contemplates is ultimate and absolute.
Religion and Science are therefore necessary correlatives.
As already hinted, they stand respectively for those two antithetical
modes of consciousness which cannot exist asunder.
A known cannot be thought of apart from an unknown; nor
can an unknown be thought of apart from a known. And by
consequence neither can become more distinct without giving
greater distinctness to the other. To carry further a metaphor
before used,—they are the positive and negative poles of
108thought; of which neither can gain in intensity without increasing
the intensity of the other.
§ 31. Thus the consciousness of an Inscrutable Power manifested
to us through all phenomena, has been growing ever
clearer; and must eventually be freed from its imperfections.
The certainty that on the one hand such a Power exists, while
on the other hand its nature transcends intuition and is beyond
imagination, is the certainty towards which intelligence
has from the first been progressing. To this conclusion
Science inevitably arrives as it reaches its confines; while to
this conclusion Religion is irresistibly driven by criticism.
And satisfying as it does the demands of the most rigorous
logic at the same time that it gives the religious sentiment
the widest possible sphere of action, it is the conclusion we
are bound to accept without reserve or qualification.
Some do indeed allege that though the Ultimate Cause of
things cannot really be thought of by us as having specified
attributes, it is yet incumbent upon us to assert these attributes.
Though the forms of our consciousness are such that
the Absolute cannot in any manner or degree be brought
within them, we are nevertheless told that we must represent
the Absolute to ourselves under these forms. As writes Mr
Mansel, in the work from which I have already quoted largely—“It
is our duty, then, to think of God as personal; and it
is our duty to believe that He is infinite.”
That this is not the conclusion here adopted, needs hardly
be said. If there be any meaning in the foregoing arguments,
duty requires us neither to affirm nor deny personality.
Our duty is to submit ourselves with all humility to the
established limits of our intelligence; and not perversely to
rebel against them. Let those who can, believe that there is
eternal war set between our intellectual faculties and our moral
obligations. I for one, admit no such radical vice in the
constitution of things.
109This which to most will seem an essentially irreligious position,
is an essentially religious one—nay is the religious one,
to which, as already shown, all others are but approximations.
In the estimate it implies of the Ultimate Cause, it does not
fall short of the alternative position, but exceeds it. Those
who espouse this alternative position, make the erroneous assumption
that the choice is between personality and something
lower than personality; whereas the choice is rather
between personality and something higher. Is it not just
possible that there is a mode of being as much transcending
Intelligence and Will, as these transcend mechanical motion?
It is true that we are totally unable to conceive any such
higher mode of being. But this is not a reason for questioning
its existence; it is rather the reverse. Have we not seen
how utterly incompetent our minds are to form even an approach
to a conception of that which underlies all phenomena?
Is it not proved that this incompetency is the incompetency
of the Conditioned to grasp the Unconditioned? Does
it not follow that the Ultimate Cause cannot in any respect be
conceived by us because it is in every respect greater than can
be conceived? And may we not therefore rightly refrain
from assigning to it any attributes whatever, on the ground
that such attributes, derived as they must be from our own
natures, are not elevations but degradations? Indeed it seems
somewhat strange that men should suppose the highest worship
to lie in assimilating the object of their worship to themselves.
Not in asserting a transcendant difference, but in asserting
a certain likeness, consists the element of their creed
which they think essential. It is true that from the time
when the rudest savages imagined the causes of all things to
be creatures of flesh and blood like themselves, down to our
own time, the degree of assumed likeness has been diminishing.
But though a bodily form and substance similar to that of man,
has long since ceased, among cultivated races, to be a literally-conceived
attribute of the Ultimate Cause—though the grosser
human desires have been also rejected as unfit elements of the
110conception—though there is some hesitation in ascribing even
the higher human feelings, save in greatly idealized shapes;
yet it is still thought not only proper, but imperative, to
ascribe the most abstract qualities of our nature. To think of
the Creative Power as in all respects anthropomorphous, is now
considered impious by men who yet hold themselves bound to
think of the Creative Power as in some respects anthropomorphous;
and who do not see that the one proceeding is but an
evanescent form of the other. And then, most marvellous of
all, this course is persisted in even by those who contend that
we are wholly unable to frame any conception whatever of
the Creative Power. After it has been shown that every supposition
respecting the genesis of the Universe commits us to
alternative impossibilities of thought—after it has been
shown that each attempt to conceive real existence ends in an
intellectual suicide—after it has been shown why, by the very
constitution of our minds, we are eternally debarred from
thinking of the Absolute; it is still asserted that we ought
to think of the Absolute thus and thus. In all imaginable
ways we find thrust upon us the truth, that we are not permitted
to know—nay are not even permitted to conceive—that
Reality which is behind the veil of Appearance; and
yet it is said to be our duty to believe (and in so far to conceive)
that this Reality exists in a certain defined manner.
Shall we call this reverence? or shall we call it the reverse?
Volumes might be written upon the impiety of the pious.
Through the printed and spoken thoughts of religious teachers,
may almost everywhere be traced a professed familiarity with
the ultimate mystery of things, which, to say the least of it,
seems anything but congruous with the accompanying expressions
of humility. And surprisingly enough, those tenets which
most clearly display this familiarity, are those insisted upon
as forming the vital elements of religious belief. The attitude
thus assumed, can be fitly represented only by further developing
a simile long current in theological controversies—the
simile of the watch. If for a moment we made the grotesque
111supposition that the tickings and other movements of a watch
constituted a kind of consciousness; and that a watch possessed
of such a consciousness, insisted on regarding the watchmaker’s
actions as determined like its own by springs and escapements;
we should simply complete a parallel of which religious
teachers think much. And were we to suppose that a watch
not only formulated the cause of its existence in these
mechanical terms, but held that watches were bound out of
reverence so to formulate this cause, and even vituperated, as
atheistic watches, any that did not venture so to formulate it;
we should merely illustrate the presumption of theologians by
carrying their own argument a step further. A few
extracts will bring home to the reader the justice of this
comparison. We are told, for example, by one of high
repute among religious thinkers, that the Universe is “the
manifestation and abode of a Free Mind, like our own; embodying
His personal thought in its adjustments, realizing
His own ideal in its phenomena, just as we express own inner
faculty and character through the natural language of an external
life. In this view, we interpret Nature by Humanity;
we find the key to her aspects in such purposes and affections
as our own consciousness enables us to conceive; we look
everywhere for physical signals of an ever-living Will; and
decipher the universe as the autobiography of an Infinite
Spirit, repeating itself in miniature within our Finite Spirit.”
The same writer goes still further. He not only thus parallels
the assimilation of the watchmaker to the watch,—he not only
thinks the created can “decipher” “the autobiography” of
the Creating; but he asserts that the necessary limits of the
one are necessary limits of the other. The primary qualities
of bodies, he says, “belong eternally to the material datum objective
to God” and control his acts; while the secondary
ones are “products of pure Inventive Reason and Determining
Will”—constitute “the realm of Divine originality.” * * *
“While on this Secondary field His Mind and ours are thus
contrasted, they meet in resemblance again upon the Primary:
112for the evolutions of deductive Reason there is but one track
possible to all intelligences; no merum arbitrium can interchange
the false and true, or make more than one geometry,
one scheme of pure Physics, for all worlds; and the Omnipotent
Architect Himself, in realizing the Kosmical conception,
in shaping the orbits out of immensity and determining seasons
out of eternity, could but follow the laws of curvature, measure
and proportion.” That is to say, the Ultimate Cause is like
a human mechanic, not only as “shaping” the “material datum
objective to” Him, but also as being obliged to conform to
the necessary properties of that “datum.” Nor is this all.
There follows some account of “the Divine psychology,” to
the extent of saying that “we learn” “the character of God—the
order of affections in Him” from “the distribution of
authority in the hierarchy of our impulses.” In other words,
it is alleged that the Ultimate Cause has desires that are to be
classed as higher and lower like our own.[7] Every
one has heard of the king who wished he had been present at
the creation of the world, that he might have given good advice.
He was humble however compared with those who profess
to understand not only the relation of the Creating to the
created, but also how the Creating is constituted. And yet
this transcendant audacity, which claims to penetrate the
secrets of the Power manifested to us through all existence—nay
even to stand behind that Power and note the conditions
to its action—this it is which passes current as piety! May
we not without hesitation affirm that a sincere recognition of
the truth that our own and all other existence is a mystery
absolutely and for ever beyond our comprehension, contains
more of true religion than all the dogmatic theology ever
written?
Meanwhile let us recognize whatever of permanent good
there is in these persistent attempts to frame conceptions of
that which cannot be conceived. From the beginning it has
113been only through the successive failures of such conceptions
to satisfy the mind, that higher and higher ones have been
gradually reached; and doubtless, the conceptions now current
are indispensable as transitional modes of thought. Even
more than this may be willingly conceded. It is possible,
nay probable, that under their most abstract forms, ideas of
this order will always continue to occupy the background of
our consciousness. Very likely there will ever remain a need
to give shape to that indefinite sense of an Ultimate Existence,
which forms the basis of our intelligence. We shall always
be under the necessity of contemplating it as some mode of being;
that is—of representing it to ourselves in some form of
thought, however vague. And we shall not err in doing this
so long as we treat every notion we thus frame as merely a
symbol, utterly without resemblance to that for which it
stands. Perhaps the constant formation of such symbols and
constant rejection of them as inadequate, may be hereafter,
as it has hitherto been, a means of discipline. Perpetually to
construct ideas requiring the utmost stretch of our faculties,
and perpetually to find that such ideas must be abandoned as
futile imaginations, may realize to us more fully than any other
course, the greatness of that which we vainly strive to grasp.
Such efforts and failures may serve to maintain in our minds
a due sense of the incommensurable difference between the
Conditioned and the Unconditioned. By continually seeking
to know and being continually thrown back with a deepened
conviction of the impossibility of knowing, we may keep alive
the consciousness that it is alike our highest wisdom and our
highest duty to regard that through which all things exist as
The Unknowable.
§ 32. An immense majority will refuse with more or less of
indignation, a belief seeming to them so shadowy and indefinite.
Having always embodied the Ultimate Cause so far as was
needful to its mental realization, they must necessarily resent
the substitution of an Ultimate Cause which cannot be mentally
114realized at all. “You offer us,” they say, “an unthinkable
abstraction in place of a Being towards whom we may
entertain definite feelings. Though we are told that the Absolute
is real, yet since we are not allowed to conceive it, it
might as well be a pure negation. Instead of a Power which
we can regard as having some sympathy with us, you would
have us contemplate a Power to which no emotion whatever
can be ascribed. And so we are to be deprived of the very
substance of our faith.”
This kind of protest of necessity accompanies every change
from a lower creed to a higher. The belief in a community
of nature between himself and the object of his worship, has
always been to man a satisfactory one; and he has always
accepted with reluctance those successively less concrete conceptions
which have been forced upon him. Doubtless, in all
times and places, it has consoled the barbarian to think of his
deities as so exactly like himself in nature, that they could be
bribed by offerings of food; and the assurance that deities
could not be so propitiated, must have been repugnant, because
it deprived him of an easy method of gaining supernatural
protection. To the Greeks it was manifestly a source
of comfort that on occasions of difficulty they could obtain,
through oracles, the advice of their gods,—nay, might even
get the personal aid of their gods in battle; and it was probably
a very genuine anger which they visited upon philosophers
who called in question these gross ideas of their mythology.
A religion which teaches the Hindoo that it is
impossible to purchase eternal happiness by placing himself
under the wheel of Juggernaut, can scarcely fail to seem a
cruel one to him; since it deprives him of the pleasurable
consciousness that he can at will exchange miseries for joys.
Nor is it less clear that to our Catholic ancestors, the beliefs
that crimes could be compounded for by the building of
churches, that their own punishments and those of their relatives
could be abridged by the saying of masses, and that
divine aid or forgiveness might be gained through the intercession
115of saints, were highly solacing ones; and that Protestantism,
in substituting the conception of a God so comparatively
unlike ourselves as not to be influenced by such
methods, must have appeared to them hard and cold.
Naturally, therefore, we must expect a further step in the
same direction to meet with a similar resistance from outraged
sentiments. No mental revolution can be accomplished
without more or less of laceration. Be it a change of habit or
a change of conviction, it must, if the habit or conviction be
strong, do violence to some of the feelings; and these must
of course oppose it. For long-experienced, and therefore
definite, sources of satisfaction, have to be substituted sources
of satisfaction that have not been experienced, and are
therefore indefinite. That which is relatively well known
and real, has to be given up for that which is relatively
unknown and ideal. And of course such an exchange cannot
be made without a conflict involving pain. Especially
then must there arise a strong antagonism to
any alteration in so deep and vital a conception as that
with which we are here dealing. Underlying, as this
conception does, all others, a modification of it threatens to
reduce the superstructure to ruins. Or to change the
metaphor—being the root with which are connected our
ideas of goodness, rectitude, or duty, it appears impossible
that it should be transformed without causing these to
wither away and die. The whole higher part of the nature
almost of necessity takes up arms against a change which, by
destroying the established associations of thought, seems
to eradicate morality.
This is by no means all that has to be said for such protests.
There is a much deeper meaning in them. They do
not simply express the natural repugnance to a revolution of
belief, here made specially intense by the vital importance of
the belief to be revolutionized; but they also express an
instinctive adhesion to a belief that is in one sense the best—the
best for those who thus cling to it, though not abstractedly
116the best. For here let me remark that
what were above spoken of as the imperfections of Religion,
at first great but gradually diminishing, have been imperfections
only as measured by an absolute standard; and not as
measured by a relative one. Speaking generally, the religion
current in each age and among each people, has been as
near an approximation to the truth as it was then and there
possible for men to receive: the more or less concrete forms
in which it has embodied the truth, have simply been the
means of making thinkable what would otherwise have been
unthinkable; and so have for the time being served to
increase its impressiveness. If we consider the conditions
of the case, we shall find this to be an unavoidable
conclusion. During each stage of evolution, men must think
in such terms of thought as they possess. While all the
conspicuous changes of which they can observe the origins,
have men and animals as antecedents, they are unable to
think of antecedents in general under any other shapes; and
hence creative agencies are of necessity conceived by them
in these shapes. If during this phase, these concrete conceptions
were taken from them, and the attempt made to
give them comparatively abstract conceptions, the result
would be to leave their minds with none at all; since the
substituted ones could not be mentally represented. Similarly
with every successive stage of religious belief, down to
the last. Though, as accumulating experiences slowly modify
the earliest ideas of causal personalities, there grow up
more general and vague ideas of them; yet these cannot be
at once replaced by others still more general and vague.
Further experiences must supply the needful further abstractions,
before the mental void left by the destruction of such
inferior ideas can be filled by ideas of a superior order. And
at the present time, the refusal to abandon a relatively concrete
notion for a relatively abstract one, implies the inability to
frame the relatively abstract one; and so proves that the
change would be premature and injurious. Still
117more clearly shall we see the injuriousness of any such
premature change, on observing that the effects of a belief
upon conduct must be diminished in proportion as the vividness
with which it is realized becomes less. Evils and
benefits akin to those which the savage has personally felt,
or learned from those who have felt them, are the only evils
and benefits he can understand; and these must be looked
for as coming in ways, like those of which he has had experience.
His deities must be imagined to have like motives
and passions and methods with the beings around him;
for motives and passions and methods of a higher character,
being unknown to him, and in great measure unthinkable by
him, cannot be so realized in thought as to influence his
deeds. During every phase of civilization, the actions of
the Unseen Reality, as well as the resulting rewards and
punishments, being conceivable only in such forms as experience
furnishes, to supplant them by higher ones before
wider experiences have made higher ones conceivable, is to
set up vague and uninfluential motives for definite and influential
ones. Even now, for the great mass of men,
unable through lack of culture to trace out with due clearness
those good and bad consequences which conduct brings
round through the established order of the Unknowable, it is
needful that there should be vividly depicted future torments
and future joys—pains and pleasures of a definite kind, produced
in a manner direct and simple enough to be clearly imagined.
Nay still more must be conceded. Few if any
are as yet fitted wholly to dispense with such conceptions as are
current. The highest abstractions take so great a mental power
to realize with any vividness, and are so inoperative upon conduct
unless they are vividly realized, that their regulative effects
must for a long period to come be appreciable on but a
small minority. To see clearly how a right or wrong act
generates consequences, internal and external, that go on
branching out more widely as years progress, requires a rare
power of analysis. To mentally represent even a single series
118of these consequences, as it stretches out into the remote future,
requires an equally rare power of imagination. And to estimate
these consequences in their totality, ever multiplying in
number while diminishing in intensity, requires a grasp of
thought possessed by none. Yet it is only by such analysis,
such imagination, and such grasp, that conduct can be rightly
guided in the absence of all other control: only so can ultimate
rewards and penalties be made to outweigh proximate
pains and pleasures. Indeed, were it not that throughout the
progress of the race, men’s experiences of the effects of conduct
have been slowly generalized into principles—were it not that
these principles have been from generation to generation insisted
on by parents, upheld by public opinion, sanctified by religion,
and enforced by threats of eternal damnation for disobedience—were
it not that under these potent influences,
habits have been modified, and the feelings proper to them
made innate—were it not, in short, that we have been
rendered in a considerable degree organically moral; it is
certain that disastrous results would ensue from the removal
of those strong and distinct motives which the current belief
supplies. Even as it is, those who relinquish the faith in
which they have been brought up, for this most abstract faith
in which Science and Religion unite, may not uncommonly
fail to act up to their convictions. Left to their organic morality,
enforced only by general reasonings imperfectly wrought
out and difficult to keep before the mind, their defects of
nature will often come out more strongly than they would
have done under their previous creed. The substituted creed
can become adequately operative only when it becomes, like
the present one, an element in early education, and has the
support of a strong social sanction. Nor will men be quite
ready for it until, through the continuance of a discipline
which has already partially moulded them to the conditions
of social existence, they are completely moulded to those
conditions.
We must therefore recognize the resistance to a change of
119theological opinion, as in great measure salutary. It is not
simply that strong and deep-rooted feelings are necessarily
excited to antagonism—it is not simply that the highest moral
sentiments join in the condemnation of a change which seems
to undermine their authority; but it is that a real adaptation
exists between an established belief and the natures of those
who defend it; and that the tenacity of the defence measures
the completeness of the adaptation. Forms of religion, like forms
of government, must be fit for those who live under them; and
in the one case as in the other, that form which is fittest is that
for which there is an instinctive preference. As certainly as a
barbarous race needs a harsh terrestrial rule, and habitually
shows attachment to a despotism capable of the necessary
rigour; so certainly does such a race need a belief in a celestial
rule that is similarly harsh, and habitually shows attachment
to such a belief. And just in the same way that the sudden
substitution of free institutions for tyrannical ones, is sure
to be followed by a reaction; so, if a creed full of dreadful
ideal penalties is all at once replaced by one presenting ideal
penalties that are comparatively gentle, there will inevitably
be a return to some modification of the old belief. The
parallelism holds yet further. During those early stages in
which there is an extreme incongruity between the relatively
best and the absolutely best, both political and religious changes,
when at rare intervals they occur, are necessarily violent; and
necessarily entail violent retrogressions. But as the incongruity
between that which is and that which should be, diminishes, the
changes become more moderate, and are succeeded by more moderate
retrogressions; until, as these movements and counter-movements
decrease in amount and increase in frequency,
they merge into an almost continuous growth. That adhesion
to old institutions and beliefs, which, in primitive societies,
opposes an iron barrier to any advance, and which, after the
barrier has been at length burst through, brings back the institutions
and beliefs from that too-forward position to which
the momentum of change had carried them, and so helps to
120re-adapt social conditions to the popular character—this adhesion
to old institution and beliefs, eventually becomes the constant
check by which the constant advance is prevented from
being too rapid. This holds true of religious creeds and forms,
as of civil ones. And so we learn that theological conservatism,
like political conservatism, has an all-important function.
§ 33. That spirit of toleration which is so marked a characteristic
of modern times, and is daily growing more conspicuous,
has thus a far deeper meaning than is supposed. What
we commonly regard simply as a due respect for the right of
private judgment, is really a necessary condition to the balancing
of the progressive and conservative tendencies—is a
means of maintaining the adaptation between men’s beliefs
and their natures. It is therefore a spirit to be fostered; and
it is a spirit which the catholic thinker, who perceives the functions
of these various conflicting creeds, should above all other
men display. Doubtless whoever feels the greatness
of the error to which his fellows cling and the greatness of the
truth which they reject, will find it hard to show a due patience.
It is hard for him to listen calmly to the futile arguments
used in support of irrational doctrines, and to the misrepresentation
of antagonist doctrines. It is hard for him to
bear the manifestation of that pride of ignorance which so far
exceeds the pride of science. Naturally enough such a one
will be indignant when charged with irreligion because he
declines to accept the carpenter-theory of creation as the most
worthy one. He may think it needless as it is difficult, to conceal
his repugnance to a creed which tacitly ascribes to The
Unknowable a love of adulation such as would be despised in
a human being. Convinced as he is that all punishment, as
we see it wrought out in the order of nature, is but a disguised
beneficence, there will perhaps escape from him an angry condemnation
of the belief that punishment is a divine vengeance,
and that divine vengeance is eternal. He may be tempted to
show his contempt when he is told that actions instigated by
121an unselfish sympathy or by a pure love of rectitude, are
intrinsically sinful; and that conduct is truly good only
when it is due to a faith whose openly-professed motive is
other-worldliness. But he must restrain such feelings. Though
he may be unable to do this during the excitement of controversy,
or when otherwise brought face to face with current
superstitions, he must yet qualify his antagonism in calmer
moments; so that his mature judgment and resulting conduct
may be without bias.
To this end let him ever bear in mind three cardinal
facts—two of them already dwelt upon, and one still to be
pointed out. The first is that with which we set
out; namely the existence of a fundamental verity under
all forms of religion, however degraded. In each of them
there is a soul of truth. Through the gross body of dogmas
traditions and rites which contain it, it is always visible—dimly
or clearly as the case may be. This it is which gives
vitality even to the rudest creed; this it is which survives
every modification; and this it is which we must not forget
when condemning the forms under which it is presented.
The second of these cardinal facts, set forth at
length in the foregoing section, is, that while those concrete
elements in which each creed embodies this soul of truth,
are bad as measured by an absolute standard, they are good
as measured by a relative standard. Though from higher
perceptions they hide the abstract verity within them; yet
to lower perceptions they render this verity more appreciable
than it would otherwise be. They serve to make real and
influential over men, that which would else be unreal and uninfluential.
Or we may call them the protective envelopes,
without which the contained truth would die. The
remaining cardinal fact is, that these various beliefs are
parts of the constituted order of things; and not accidental
but necessary parts. Seeing how one or other of them is
everywhere present; is of perennial growth; and when
cut down, redevelops in a form but slightly modified; we
122cannot avoid the inference that they are needful accompaniments
of human life, severally fitted to the societies in
which they are indigenous. From the highest point of
view, we must recognize them as elements in that great
evolution of which the beginning and end are beyond our
knowledge or conception—as modes of manifestation of The
Unknowable; and as having this for their warrant.
Our toleration therefore should be the widest possible. Or
rather, we should aim at something beyond toleration, as commonly
understood. In dealing with alien beliefs, our endeavour
must be, not simply to refrain from injustice of word or
deed; but also to do justice by an open recognition of positive
worth. We must qualify our disagreement with as much as
may be of sympathy.
§ 34. These admissions will perhaps be held to imply, that
the current theology should be passively accepted; or, at any
rate, should not be actively opposed. “Why,” it may be
asked, “if all creeds have an average fitness to their times and
places, should we not rest content with that to which we are
born? If the established belief contains an essential truth—if
the forms under which it presents this truth, though
intrinsically bad, are extrinsically good—if the abolition of
these forms would be at present detrimental to the great majority—nay,
if there are scarcely any to whom the ultimate
and most abstract belief can furnish an adequate rule of life;
surely it is wrong, for the present at least, to propagate this
ultimate and most abstract belief.”
The reply is, that though existing religious ideas and institutions
have an average adaptation to the characters of the
people who live under them; yet, as these characters are ever
changing, the adaptation is ever becoming imperfect; and the
ideas and institutions need remodelling with a frequency proportionate
to the rapidity of the change. Hence, while it is
requisite that free play should be given to conservative thought
and action, progressive thought and action must also have free
123play. Without the agency of both, there cannot be those continual
re-adaptations which orderly progress demands.
Whoever hesitates to utter that which he thinks the highest
truth, lest it should be too much in advance of the time,
may reassure himself by looking at his acts from an impersonal
point of view. Let him duly realize the fact that opinion
is the agency through which character adapts external
arrangements to itself—that his opinion rightly forms part of
this agency—is a unit of force, constituting, with other such
units, the general power which works out social changes; and
he will perceive that he may properly give full utterance to
his innermost conviction: leaving it to produce what effect it
may. It is not for nothing that he has in him these sympathies
with some principles and repugnance to others. He,
with all his capacities, and aspirations, and beliefs, is not an
accident, but a product of the time. He must remember that
while he is a descendant of the past, he is a parent of the future;
and that his thoughts are as children born to him,
which he may not carelessly let die. He, like every other
man, may properly consider himself as one of the myriad
agencies through whom works the Unknown Cause; and
when the Unknown Cause produces in him a certain belief,
he is thereby authorized to profess and act out that belief.
For, to render in their highest sense the words of the poet—
——Nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes.
Not as adventitious therefore will the wise man regard the
faith which is in him. The highest truth he sees he will
fearlessly utter; knowing that, let what may come of it, he is
thus playing his right part in the world—knowing that if he
can effect the change he aims at—well: if not—well also;
though not so well.
PART II. LAWS OF THE KNOWABLE. — CHAPTER I. LAWS IN GENERAL. — CHAPTER II. THE LAW OF EVOLUTION. [8] — CHAPTER III. THE LAW OF EVOLUTION, CONTINUED. — CHAPTER IV. THE CAUSES OF EVOLUTION. — CHAPTER V. SPACE, TIME, MATTER, MOTION, AND FORCE. — CHAPTER VI. THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF MATTER. — CHAPTER VII. THE CONTINUITY OF MOTION. — CHAPTER VIII. THE PERSISTENCE OF FORCE. [12] — CHAPTER IX. THE CORRELATION AND EQUIVALENCE OF FORCES. — CHAPTER X. THE DIRECTION OF MOTION. — CHAPTER XI. THE RHYTHM OF MOTION. — CHAPTER XII. THE CONDITIONS ESSENTIAL TO EVOLUTION. — CHAPTER XIII. THE INSTABILITY OF THE HOMOGENEOUS. [16] — CHAPTER XIV. THE MULTIPLICATION OF EFFECTS. — CHAPTER XV. DIFFERENTIATION AND INTEGRATION. — CHAPTER XVI. EQUILIBRATION. — CHAPTER XVII. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION.
125
127
§ 35. We have seen that intellectual advance has been
dual—has been towards the establishment of both a positively
unknown and a positively known. In making ever more
certain the inaccessibility of one kind of truth, experience has
made ever more certain the accessibility of another kind.
The differentiation of the knowable from the unknowable, is
shown as much in the reduction of the one to perfect clearness,
as in the reduction of the other to impenetrable mystery.
Progressing enlightenment discloses a definite limit to human
intelligence; and while all which lies on the other side
of the limit, is, with increasing distinctness, seen to transcend
our finite faculties, it grows more and more obvious that all
which lies on this side of the limit may become an indisputable
possession.
To speak specifically—it has been shown that though we
can never learn the nature of that which is manifested to us,
we are daily learning more completely the order of its manifestations.
We are conscious of effects produced in us by
something separate from ourselves. The effects of which
we are conscious—the changes of consciousness which make
up our mental life, we ascribe to the forces of an external
world. The intrinsic character of these forces—of this external
world—of that which underlies all appearances, we
find inscrutable; as is also the internal something whose
changes constitute consciousness, but at the same time we
128find that among the changes of consciousness thus produced,
there exist various constant relations; and we have no choice
but to ascribe constancy to the relations which subsist among
the inscrutable causes of these changes. Observation early
discloses certain invariable connexions of coexistence and
sequence among phenomena. Accumulating experiences
tend continually to augment the number of invariable connexions
recognized. When, as in the later stages of civilization,
there arises not only a diligent gathering together of
experiences but a critical comparison of them, more remote
and complex connexions are added to the list. And gradually
there grows up the habit of regarding these uniformities
of relation as characterizing all manifestations of the
Unknowable. Under the endless variety and seeming irregularity,
there is ever more clearly discerned that “constant
course of procedure” which we call Law.
The growing belief in the universality of Law, is so conspicuous
to all cultivated minds as scarcely to need illustration.
None who read these pages will ask for proof that this
has been the central element of intellectual progress. But
though the fact is sufficiently familiar, the philosophy of the
fact is not so; and it will be desirable now to consider it.
Partly because the development of our conception of Law will
so be rendered more comprehensible; but chiefly because our
subsequent course will thus be facilitated; I propose here to
enumerate the several conditions that determine the order in
which the various relations among phenomena are discovered.
Seeing, as we shall, the consequent necessity of this order;
and enabled, as we shall also be, to estimate the future by inference
from the past; we shall perceive how inevitable is
our advance towards the ultimatum that has been indicated.
§ 36. The recognition of Law, being the recognition of uniformity
of relations among phenomena, it follows that the
order in which different groups of phenomena are reduced to
129law, must depend on the frequency and distinctness with
which the uniform relations they severally present, are experienced.
At any given stage of progress, those uniformities
will be most recognized with which men’s minds have been
oftenest and most strongly impressed. In proportion partly
to the number of times a relation has been presented to
consciousness (not merely to the senses); and in proportion
partly to the vividness with which the terms of the relation
have been cognized; will be the degree in which the constancy
of connexion is perceived.
The frequency and impressiveness with which different
classes of relations are repeated in conscious experience, thus
primarily determining the succession in which they are generalized,
there result certain derivative principles to which
this succession must more immediately and obviously conform.
First in importance comes the directness with
which personal welfare is affected. While, among surrounding
things, many do not appreciably influence the body in any
way, some act detrimentally and some beneficially, in various
degrees; and manifestly, those things whose actions on the
organism are most influential, will, cæteris paribus, be those
whose laws of action are earliest observed. Second
in order, is the conspicuousness of one or both the phenomena
between which a relation is to be perceived. On every side are
countless phenomena so concealed as to be detected only by
close observation; others not obtrusive enough to attract
notice; others which moderately solicit the attention; others
so imposing or vivid as to force themselves upon consciousness;
and supposing incidental conditions to be the same, these
last will of course be among the first to have their relations
generalized. In the third place, we have the absolute
frequency with which the relations occur. There are coexistences
and sequences of all degrees of commonness, from those
which are ever present to those which are extremely rare;
and it is clear that the rare coexistences and sequences, as
well as the sequences which are very long in taking place,
130will not be reduced to law so soon as those which are familiar
and rapid. Fourthly has to be added the relative
frequency of occurrence. Many events and appearances are
more or less limited to times and places; and as a relation
which does not exist within the environment of an observer,
cannot be cognized by him, however common it may be elsewhere
or in another age, we have to take account of the surrounding
physical circumstances, as well as the state of
society, of the arts, and of the sciences—all of which affect
the frequency with which certain groups of facts are exposed
to observation. The fifth corollary to be noticed, is,
that the succession in which different classes of phenomena are
reduced to law, depends in part on their simplicity. Phenomena
presenting great composition of causes or conditions,
have their essential relations so masked, that it requires accumulated
experiences to impress upon consciousness the true
connexion of antecedents and consequents they involve. Hence,
other things equal, the progress of generalization will be
from the simple to the complex; and this it is which M.
Comte has wrongly asserted to be the sole regulative principle
of the progress. Sixth, and last, comes the degree
of abstractness. Concrete relations are the earliest acquisitions.
The colligation of any group of these into a general relation,
which is the first step in abstraction, necessarily comes later
than the discovery of the relations colligated. The union of a
number of these lowest generalizations into a higher and
more abstract generalization, is necessarily subsequent to the
formation of such lowest generalizations. And so on continually,
until the highest and most abstract generalizations
have been reached.
These then are the several derivative principles. The frequency
and vividness with which uniform relations are repeated
in conscious experience, determining the recognition
of their uniformity; and this frequency and vividness depending
on the above conditions; it follows that the order in
which different classes of facts are generalized, must depend
131on the extent to which the above conditions are fulfilled in
each class. Let us mark how the facts harmonize with this
conclusion: taking first a few that elucidate the general
truth, and afterwards some that are illustrative of the several
special truths which we here see follow from it.
§ 37. The relations earliest known as uniformities, are those
subsisting between the common physical properties of matter—tangibility,
visibility, cohesion, weight &c. We have no
trace of an era in human history when the resistance offered
by every visible object, was regarded as caused by the will
of the object; or when the pressure of a body on the hand
supporting it, was ascribed to the direct agency of a living
being. And accordingly, we see that these are the relations
oftenest repeated in consciousness; being as they are, objectively
frequent, conspicuous, simple, concrete, and of immediate
personal concern.
Similarly with respect to the ordinary phenomena of motion.
The fall of a mass on the withdrawal of its support, is a
sequence which directly affects bodily welfare, is conspicuous,
simple, concrete, and very often repeated. Hence it is one
of the uniformities recognized before the dawn of tradition.
We know of no time when movements due to terrestrial gravitation
were attributed to volition. Only when the relation
is obscured—only, as in the case of an aerolite, where the
antecedent of the descent is unperceived, do we find the
fetishistic conception persistent. On the other hand,
motions of intrinsically the same order as that of a falling
stone—those of the heavenly bodies—long remain ungeneralized;
and until their uniformity is seen, are construed
as results of will. This difference is clearly not dependent
on comparative complexity or abstractness; since the motion
of a planet in an ellipse, is as simple and concrete a phenomenon
as the motion of a projected arrow in a parabola.
But the antecedents are not conspicuous; the sequences are
of long duration; and they are infrequently repeated.
132Hence in a given period, there cannot be the same multiplied
experiences of them. And that this is the chief cause of their
slow reduction to law, we see in the fact that they are severally
generalized in the order of their frequency and conspicuousness—the
moon’s monthly cycle, the sun’s annual
change, the periods of the inferior planets, the periods of the
superior planets.
While astronomical sequences were still ascribed to volition,
certain terrestrial sequences of a different kind, but some
of them equally without complication, were interpreted in like
manner. The solidification of water at a low temperature, is
a phenomenon that is simple, concrete, and of much personal
concern. But it is neither so frequent as those which we
saw are earliest generalized, nor is the presence of the antecedent
so uniformly conspicuous. Though in all but tropical
climates, mid-winter displays the relation between cold and
freezing with tolerable constancy; yet, during the spring and
autumn, the occasional appearance of ice in the mornings has
no very manifest connexion with coldness of the weather.
Sensation being so inaccurate a measure, it is not possible for
the savage to experience the definite relation between a
temperature of 32° and the congealing of water; and hence
the long-continued conception of personal agency. Similarly,
but still more clearly, with the winds. The absence of regularity
and the inconspicuousness of the antecedents, allowed
the mythological explanation to survive for a great period.
During the era in which the uniformity of many quite
simple inorganic relations was still unrecognized, certain
classes of organic relations, intrinsically very complex and
special, were generalized. The constant coexistence of
feathers and a beak, of four legs with a bony internal framework,
of a particular leaf with poisonous berries, are facts
which were, and are, familiar to every savage. Did a savage
find a bird with teeth, or a mammal clothed with feathers, he
would be as much surprised as an instructed naturalist; and
would probably make a fetish of the anomalous form: so
133showing that while the exceptional relation suggested the
notion of a personal cause, the habitual relation did not.
Now these uniformities of organic structure which are so
early perceived, are of exactly the same class as those more
numerous ones later established by biology. The constant
coexistence of mammary glands with two occipital condyles
in the skull, of vertebræ with teeth lodged in sockets, of
frontal horns with the habit of rumination, are generalizations
as purely empirical as those known to the aboriginal
hunter. The vegetal physiologist cannot in the least
understand the complex relation between the kind of leaf
and the kind of fruit borne by a particular plant: he
knows these and like connexions simply in the same
manner that the barbarian knows them. But the fact that
sundry of the uniform relations which chiefly make up
the organic sciences, were very early recognized, is due to
the high degree of vividness and frequency with which they
were presented to consciousness. Though the connexion between
the form of a given creature and the sound it makes,
or the quality of its fur, or the nature of its flesh, is extremely
involved; yet the two terms of the relation are conspicuous;
are usually observed in close juxtaposition in time and space;
are so observed perhaps daily, or many times a day; and above
all a knowledge of their connexion has a direct and obvious
bearing on personal welfare. Meanwhile, we see that innumerable
other relations of exactly the same order, which
are displayed with even greater frequency by surrounding
plants and animals, remain for thousands of years unrecognized,
if they are unobtrusive or of no apparent moment.
When, passing from this primitive stage to a more advanced
stage, we trace the discovery of those less familiar uniformities
which constitute what is technically distinguished as Science,
we find the order of discovery to be still determined in the
same manner. We shall most clearly see this in contemplating
separately the influence of each derivative condition; as
was proposed in the last section.
134§ 38. How relations that have an immediate bearing on the
maintenance of life, are, other things equal, necessarily fixed
in the mind before those which have no such immediate
bearing, is abundantly illustrated in the history of Science.
The habits of existing uncivilized races, who fix times by
moons and barter so many of one article for so many of
another, show us that numeration, which is the germ of
mathematical science, commenced under the immediate pressure
of personal wants; and it can scarcely be doubted that
those laws of numerical relations which are embodied in the
rules of arithmetic, were first brought to light through the
practice of mercantile exchange. Similarly with Geometry.
The derivation shows us that it originally included only certain
methods of partitioning ground and laying out buildings.
The properties of the scales and the lever, involving the first
principle in mechanics, were early generalized under the
stimulus of commercial and architectural needs. To fix the
times of religious festivals and agricultural operations, were
the motives which led to the establishment of the simpler
astronomic periods. Such small knowledge of chemical relations
as was involved in ancient metallurgy, was manifestly
obtained in seeking how to improve tools and weapons. In
the alchemy of later times, we see how greatly an intense hope
of private benefit contributed to the disclosure of a certain
class of uniformities. Nor is our own age barren of illustrations.
“Here,” says Humboldt when in Guiana, “as in
many parts of Europe, the sciences are thought worthy to
occupy the mind, only so far as they confer some immediate
and practical benefit on society.” “How is it possible to believe,”
said a missionary to him, “that you have left your
country to come and be devoured by mosquitoes on this
river, and to measure lands that are not your own.” Our
coasts furnish like instances. Every sea-side naturalist knows
how great is the contempt with which fishermen regard the
collection of objects for the microscope or aquarium: their
incredulity as to the possible value of such things, being so
135great, that they can scarcely be induced even by bribes to
preserve the refuse of their nets. Nay, we need not go for
evidence beyond daily table-talk. The demand for “practical
science”—for a knowledge that can be brought to bear on
the business of life; joined to the ridicule commonly vented
on pursuits that have no obvious use; suffice to show that the
order in which different coexistences and sequences are discovered,
greatly depends on the directness with which they
affect our welfare.
That, when all other conditions are the same, obtrusive
relations will be generalized before unobtrusive ones, is so
nearly a truism that examples appear almost superfluous. If
it be admitted that by the aboriginal man, as by the child,
the co-existent properties of large surrounding objects are
noticed before those of minute objects; and that the external
relations which bodies present are generalized before their internal
ones; it must be admitted that in all subsequent stages
of progress, the comparative conspicuousness of relations has
greatly affected the order in which they were recognized as
uniform. Hence it happened that after the establishment of
those very manifest sequences constituting a lunation, and those
less manifest ones marking a year, and those still less manifest
ones marking the planetary periods, Astronomy occupied itself
with such inconspicuous sequences as those displayed in
the repeating cycle of lunar eclipses, and those which suggested
the theory of epicycles and eccentrics; while modern
Astronomy deals with still more inconspicuous sequences: some
of which, as the planetary rotations, are nevertheless the
simplest which the heavens present. In Physics, the early
use of canoes implied an empirical knowledge of certain
hydrostatic relations that are intrinsically more complex than
sundry static relations then unknown; but these hydrostatic
relations were thrust upon observation. Or if we compare
the solution of the problem of specific gravity by Archimedes,
with the discovery of atmospheric pressure by Torricelli, (the
two involving mechanical relations of exactly the same kind,)
136we perceive that the much earlier occurrence of the first than the
last, was determined neither by a difference in their bearings
on personal welfare, nor by a difference in the frequency with
which illustrations of them come under observation, nor by
relative simplicity; but solely by the greater obtrusiveness of
the connexion between antecedent and consequent in the one
case than in the other. Similarly with Chemistry. The
burning of wood, the rusting of iron, the putrefaction of dead
bodies, were early known as consequents uniformly related to
certain antecedents; but not until long after was there reached
a like empirical knowledge of the effect produced by air in
the decomposition of soil: a phenomenon of equal simplicity,
equal or greater importance, and greater frequency; but one
that is extremely unobtrusive. Among miscellaneous illustrations,
it may be pointed out that the connexions between lightning
and thunder and between rain and clouds, were established
long before others of the same order; simply because they
thrust themselves on the attention. Or the long-delayed discovery
of the microscopic forms of life, with all the phenomena
they present, may be named as very clearly showing how
certain groups of relations that are not ordinarily perceptible,
though in all other respects like long-familiar relations, have
to wait until changed conditions render them perceptible.
But, without further details, it needs only to consider the inquiries
which now occupy the electrician, the chemist, the
physiologist, to see that Science has advanced and is advancing
from the more conspicuous phenomena to the less
conspicuous ones.
How the degree of absolute frequency of a relation affects
the recognition of its uniformity, we see in contrasting certain
biological facts. Death and disease are near akin in most
of their relations to us; while in respect of complexity,
conspicuousness, and the directness with which they personally
concern us, diseases in general may be put pretty nearly
on a level with each other. But there are great differences in
the times at which the natural sequences they severally exhibit
137are recognized as such. The connexion between death and
bodily injury, constantly displayed not only in men but in
all inferior creatures, was known as an established uniformity
while yet diseases were thought supernatural. Among diseases
themselves, it is observable that comparatively unusual
ones were regarded as of demoniacal origin during ages
when the more frequent were ascribed to ordinary causes:
a truth paralleled indeed among our own peasantry, who by the
use of charms show a lingering superstition with respect to
rare disorders, which they do not show with respect to common
ones, such as colds. Passing to physical illustrations, we
may note that within the historic period, whirlpools were accounted
for by the agency of water-spirits; but we do not find
that within the same period the disappearance of water on exposure
either to the sun or to artificial heat was interpreted in
an analogous way: though a much more marvellous occurrence,
and a much more complex one, its great frequency
led to the early establishment of it as a natural uniformity.
Rainbows and comets do not differ greatly in conspicuousness,
and a rainbow is intrinsically the more involved phenomenon;
but chiefly because of their far greater commonness, rainbows
were perceived to have a direct dependence on sun and rain
while yet comets were regarded as supernatural appearances.
That races living inland must long have remained ignorant
of the daily and monthly sequences of the tides, and that intertropical
races could not early have comprehended the phenomena
of northern winters, are extreme illustrations of the
influence which relative frequency has on the recognition of
uniformities. Animals which, where they are indigenous, call
forth no surprise by their structure or habits, because these
are so familiar, when taken to a part of the earth where they
have never been seen, are looked at with an astonishment approaching
to awe—are even thought supernatural: a fact
which will suggest numerous others that show how the localization
of phenomena, in part controls the order in which they
138are reduced to law. Not only however does their localization
in space affect the progression, but also their localization
in time. Facts which are rarely if ever manifested during
one era, are rendered very frequent in another, simply through
the changes wrought by civilization. The lever, of which the
properties are illustrated in the use of sticks and weapons, is
vaguely understood by every savage—on applying it in a
certain way he rightly anticipates certain effects; but the action
of the equally simple wedge, which is not commonly displayed
till tool-making has made some progress, is less early
generalized; while the wheel and axle, pulley, and screw,
cannot have their powers either empirically or rationally
known till the advance of the arts has more or less familiarized
them. Through those various means of exploration which we
have inherited and are ever increasing, we have become acquainted
with a vast range of chemical relations that were relatively
non-existent to the primitive man: to highly developed
industries we owe both the substances and the apparatus that
have disclosed to us countless uniformities which our ancestors
had no opportunity of seeing, and therefore could not recognize.
These and sundry like instances that will occur to the
reader, show that the accumulated materials, and processes, and
appliances, and products, which characterize the environments
of complex societies, greatly increase the accessibility of various
classes of relations; and by so multiplying the experiences
of them, or making them relatively frequent, facilitate their
generalization. To which add, that various classes of phenomena
presented by society itself, as for instance those which
political economy formulates, become relatively frequent and
therefore recognizable in advanced social states; while in
less advanced ones they are too rarely displayed to have their
relations perceived, or, as in the least advanced ones, are not
displayed at all.
That, where no other circumstances interfere, the order in
which different uniformities are established varies as their complexity,
is manifest. The geometry of straight lines was understood
139before the geometry of curved lines; the properties of
the circle before the properties of the ellipse, parabola and hyperbola;
and the equations of curves of single curvature were
ascertained before those of curves of double curvature. Plane
trigonometry comes in order of time and simplicity before
spherical trigonometry; and the mensuration of plane surfaces
and solids before the mensuration of curved surfaces and solids.
Similarly with mechanics: the laws of simple motion were
generalized before those of compound motion; and those of
rectilinear motion before those of curvilinear motion. The
properties of equal-armed levers, or scales, were understood before
those of the lever with unequal arms; and the law of the
inclined plane was formulated earlier than that of the screw,
which involves it. In chemistry, the progress has been from
the simple inorganic compounds, to the more involved organic
ones. And where, as in most of the other sciences, the conditions
of the exploration are more complicated, we still may
clearly trace relative complexity as one of the determining
circumstances.
The progression from concrete relations to abstract ones,
and from the less abstract to the more abstract, is equally
obvious. Numeration, which in its primary form concerned
itself only with groups of actual objects, came earlier than
simple arithmetic: the rules of which deal with numbers
apart from objects. Arithmetic, limited in its sphere to
concrete numerical relations, is alike earlier and less abstract
than Algebra, which deals with the relations of these relations.
And in like manner, the Infinitesimal Calculus comes after
Algebra, both in order of evolution and in order of abstractness.
In Astronomy, the progress has been from special
generalizations, each expressing the motions of a particular
planet, to the generalizations of Kepler, expressing the motions
of the planets at large; and then to Newton’s generalization,
expressing the motions of all heavenly bodies whatever.
Similarly with Physics, Chemistry and Biology, there has
ever been an advance from the relations of particular facts
140and particular classes of facts, to the relations presented by
still wider classes—to truths of a high generality or greater
abstractness.
Brief and rude as is this sketch of a mental development
that has been long and complicated, it fulfils its end if it displays
the several conditions that have regulated the course
of the development. I venture to think it shows inductively,
what was deductively inferred, that the order in which separate
groups of uniformities are recognized, depends not on one
circumstance but on several circumstances. A survey of the
facts makes it manifest that the various classes of relations
are generalized in a certain succession, not solely because of
one particular kind of difference in their natures; but also
because they are variously placed with respect to time, space,
other relations, and our own constitutions: our perception of
them being influenced by all these conditions in endless combinations.
The comparative degrees of importance, of obtrusiveness,
of absolute frequency, of relative frequency, of
simplicity, of concreteness, are every one of them factors; and
from their union in proportions that are more or less different
in every case, there results a highly complex process of mental
evolution. But while it thus becomes manifest that the
proximate causes of the succession in which relations are
reduced to law, are numerous and involved; it also becomes
manifest that there is one ultimate cause to which these proximate
ones are subordinate. As the several circumstances
that determine the early or late recognition of uniformities,
are circumstances that determine the number and strength of
the impressions which these uniformities make on the mind;
it follows that the progression conforms to a certain fundamental
principle of psychology. We see à posteriori, what
we concluded à priori, that the order in which relations are
generalized, depends on the frequency and impressiveness with
which they are repeated in conscious experience.
§ 39. And now to observe the bearings of these truths on
141our general argument. Having roughly analyzed the progress
of the past, let us take advantage of the light thus
thrown on the present, and consider what is implied respecting
the future.
Note first that the likelihood of the universality of Law, has
been ever growing greater. Out of the countless coexistences
and sequences with which mankind are environed, they have
been continually transferring some from the group whose order
was supposed to be arbitrary, to the group whose order is
known to be uniform. Age by age, the number of recognized
connexions of phenomena has been increasing; and that of
unrecognized connexions decreasing. And manifestly, as fast as
the class of ungeneralized relations becomes smaller, the probability
that among them there may be some that do not conform
to law, becomes less. To put the argument numerically—It is
clear that when out of surrounding phenomena a hundred of
several kinds have been found to occur in constant connexions,
there arises a slight presumption that all phenomena
occur in constant connexions. When uniformity has been
established in a thousand cases, more varied in their kinds,
the presumption gains strength. And when the established
cases of uniformity mount to myriads, including many of each
variety, it becomes an ordinary induction that uniformity
exists everywhere. Just as from the numerous observed cases
in which heavenly bodies have been found to move in harmony
with the law of gravitation, it is inferred that all
heavenly bodies move in harmony with the law of gravitation;
so, from the innumerable observed cases in which
phenomena are found to stand in invariable connexions, it is
inferred that in all cases phenomena stand in invariable connexions.
Silently and insensibly their experiences have been pressing
men on towards the conclusion thus drawn. Not out of a
conscious regard for these abstract reasons, but from a habit
of thought which these abstract reasons formulate and justify,
all minds have been advancing towards a belief in the constancy
142of surrounding coexistences and sequences. Familiarity
with special uniformities, has generated the abstract conception
of uniformity—the idea of Law; and this idea has been in
successive generations slowly gaining fixity and clearness.
Especially has it been thus among those whose knowledge of
natural phenomena is the most extensive—men of science.
The Mathematician, the Physicist, the Astronomer, the Chemist,
severally acquainted with the vast accumulations of uniformities
established by their predecessors, and themselves daily
adding new ones as well as verifying the old, acquire a far
stronger faith in Law than is ordinarily possessed. With them
this faith, ceasing to be merely passive, becomes an active
stimulus to inquiry. Wherever there exist phenomena of
which the dependence is not yet ascertained, these most cultivated
intellects, impelled by the conviction that here too there
is some invariable connexion, proceed to observe, compare, and
experiment; and when they discover the law to which the
phenomena conform, as they eventually do, their general belief
in the universality of law is further strengthened. So overwhelming
is the evidence, and such the effect of this discipline,
that to the advanced student of nature, the proposition
that there are lawless phenomena, has become not only incredible
but almost inconceivable.
Hence we may see how inevitably there must spread among
mankind at large, this habitual recognition of law which already
distinguishes modern thought from ancient thought. Not
only is it that each conquest of generalization over a region of
fact hitherto ungeneralized, and each merging of lower generalizations
in a higher one, adds to the distinctness of this recognition
among those immediately concerned—not only is it
that the fulfilment of the predictions made possible by every new
step, and the further command so gained of nature’s forces,
prove to the uninitiated the validity of these generalizations
and the doctrine they illustrate; but it is that widening education
is daily diffusing among the mass of men, that knowledge
of generalizations which has been hitherto confined to
143the few. And as fast as this diffusion goes on, must the belief
of the scientific become the belief of the world at large. The
simple accumulation of instances, must inevitably establish in
the general mind, a conviction of the universality of law;
even were the influence of this accumulation to be aided
by no other.
§ 40. But it will be aided by another. From the evidence
above set forth, it may be inferred that a secondary influence
will by and by enforce this primary one. That law is universal,
will become an irresistible conclusion when it is perceived that
the progress in the discovery of laws itself conforms to law;
and when it is hence understood why certain groups of phenomena
have been reduced to law, while other groups are still
unreduced. When it is seen that the order in which uniformities
are recognized, must depend upon the frequency and
vividness with which they are repeated in conscious experience;
when it is seen that, as a matter of fact, the most
common, important, conspicuous, concrete and simple uniformities
were the earliest recognized, because they were experienced
oftenest and most distinctly; when it is further seen that
from the beginning the advance has been to the recognition of
uniformities which, from one or other circumstance, were less
often experienced; it will by implication be seen that long
after the great mass of phenomena have been generalized,
there must remain phenomena which, from their rareness, or
unobtrusiveness, or seeming unimportance, or complexity, or
abstractness, are still ungeneralized. Thus will be
furnished a solution to a difficulty sometimes raised. When it
is asked why the universality of law is not already fully established,
there will be the answer that the directions in which
it is not yet established are those in which its establishment
must necessarily be latest. That state of things which is
inferable beforehand, is just the state which we find to exist.
If such coexistences and sequences as those of Biology and
Sociology are not yet reduced to law, the presumption is not
144that they are irreducible to law, but that their laws elude our
present means of analysis. Having long ago proved uniformity
throughout all the lower classes of relations; and having
been step by step proving uniformity throughout classes of
relations successively higher and higher; if we have not at
present succeeded with the highest classes, it may be fairly concluded
that our powers are at fault, rather than that the uniformity
does not exist. And unless we make the absurd assumption
that the process of generalization, now going on with
unexampled rapidity, has reached its limit, and will suddenly
cease, we must infer that ultimately mankind will discover a
constant order of manifestation even in the most involved,
obscure, and abstract phenomena.
§ 41. Not even yet, however, have we exhausted the evidence.
The foregoing arguments have to be merged in another, still
more cogent, which fuses all fragmentary proofs into one
general proof.
Thus far we have spoken of laws that are more or less special;
and from the still-continuing disclosure of special laws,
each formulating some new class of phenomena, have inferred
that eventually all classes of phenomena will be formulated.
If, now, we find that there are laws of far higher generality,
to which those constituting the body of Science are
subordinate; the fact must greatly strengthen the proof that
Law is universal. If, underneath different groups of concrete
phenomena, Mechanical, Chemical, Thermal, Electric, &c., we
discern certain uniformities of action common to them all; we
have a new and weighty reason for believing that uniformity
of action pervades the whole of nature. And if we also see that
these most general laws hold not only of the inorganic but of
the organic worlds—if we see that the phenomena of Life, of
Mind, of Society, whose special laws are yet unestablished,
nevertheless conform to these most general laws; the proof
of the universality of Law amounts to demonstration.
That there are laws of this transcendant generality, has now
145to be shown. To specify and illustrate them, will be the purpose
of the succeeding chapters. And while, in contemplating
them, we shall perceive how irresistible is the conclusion that
the workings of the Unknowable are distinguished from those
of finite agents by their absolute uniformity; we shall at the
same time familiarize ourselves with those primary facts
through which all other facts are to be interpreted.
146
§ 42. The class of phenomena to be considered under the
title of Evolution, is in a great measure co-extensive with the
class commonly indicated by the word Progress. But the word
Progress is here inappropriate, for several reasons. To specify
these reasons will perhaps be the best way of showing
what is to be understood by Evolution.
In the first place, the current conception of Progress is
shifting and indefinite. Sometimes it comprehends little more
than simple growth—as of a nation in the number of its
members and the extent of territory over which it has spread.
At other times it has reference to quantity of material products—as
when the advance of agriculture and manufactures
is the topic. Now the superior quality of these products is
contemplated; and then the new or improved appliances by
which they are produced. When, again, we speak of moral
or intellectual progress, we refer to the state of the individual
or people exhibiting it; while, when the progress of Knowledge,
of Science, of Art, is commented upon, we have in view
certain abstract results of human thought and action. In
the second place, besides being more or less vague, the
147ordinary idea of Progress is in great measure erroneous. It
takes in not so much the reality as its accompaniments—not
so much the substance as the shadow. That progress in intelligence
seen during the growth of the child into the man,
or the savage into the philosopher, is commonly regarded as
consisting in the greater number of facts known and laws
understood; whereas the actual progress consists in those
internal modifications of which this increased knowledge is
the expression. Social progress is supposed to consist in the
produce of a greater quantity and variety of the articles
required for satisfying men’s wants—in the increasing security
of person and property—in widening freedom of action;
whereas, rightly understood, social progress consists in those
changes of structure in the social organism which have entailed
these consequences. The interpretation is a teleological one.
The phenomena are contemplated solely as bearing on human
happiness. Only those changes are held to constitute progress,
which directly or indirectly tend to heighten human
happiness. And they are thought to constitute progress simply
because they tend to heighten human happiness. In
the third place, in consequence of its teleological implications,
the term Progress is rendered scarcely applicable to a wide
range of phenomena which are intrinsically of the same nature
as those included under it. The metamorphoses of an insect
are only by analogy admitted within the scope of the word, as
popularly accepted; though, considered in themselves, they
have as much right there as the changes which constitute
civilization. Having no apparent bearing on human interests,
an increasing complication in the arrangement of ocean-currents,
would not ordinarily be regarded as progress; though
really of the same character as phenomena which are so
regarded.
Hence the need for another word. Our purpose here is to
analyze the various class of changes usually considered as
Progress, together with others like them which are not so
considered; and to see what is their intrinsic peculiarity—what
148is their essential nature apart from their bearings on our
welfare. And that we may avoid the confusion of thought
likely to result from pre-established associations, it will be
best to substitute for the term Progress, the term Evolution.
Our question is then—what is Evolution?
§ 43. In respect to that evolution which individual organisms
display, this question has been answered. Pursuing an
idea which Harvey set afloat, Wolff, Goethe, and Von Baer,
have established the truth that the series of changes gone
through during the development of a seed into a tree, or
an ovum into an animal, constitute an advance from homogeneity
of structure to heterogeneity of structure. In its primary
stage, every germ consists of a substance that is uniform
throughout, both in texture and chemical composition. The
first step is the appearance of a difference between two parts
of this substance; or, as the phenomenon is called in physiological
language, a differentiation. Each of these differentiated
divisions presently begins itself to exhibit some contrast of
parts; and by and by these secondary differentiations become
as definite as the original one. This process is continuously
repeated—is simultaneously going on in all parts of the growing
embryo; and by endless such differentiations there is
finally produced that complex combination of tissues and
organs, constituting the adult animal or plant. This is the
history of all organisms whatever. It is settled beyond dispute
that organic evolution consists in a change from the
homogeneous to the heterogeneous.
Now I propose in the first place to show, that this law of
organic evolution is the law of all evolution. Whether it be
in the development of the Earth, in the development of Life
upon its surface, in the development of Society, of Government,
of Manufactures, of Commerce, of Language, Literature,
Science, Art, this same advance from the simple to the complex,
through successive differentiations, holds uniformly.
From the earliest traceable cosmical changes down to the
149latest results of civilization, we shall find that the transformation
of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous, is that in
which Evolution essentially consists.
§ 44. With the view of showing that if the Nebular Hypothesis
be true, the genesis of the solar system supplies one
illustration of this law, let us assume that the matter of which
the sun and planets consist was once in a diffused form; and
that from the gravitation of its atoms there resulted a gradual
concentration. By the hypothesis, the solar system in its
nascent state existed as an indefinitely extended and nearly
homogeneous medium—a medium almost homogeneous in
density, in temperature, and in other physical attributes.
The first advance towards consolidation resulted in a differentiation
between the occupied space which the nebulous mass
still filled, and the unoccupied space which it previously filled.
There simultaneously resulted a contrast in density and a contrast
in temperature, between the interior and the exterior of
this mass. And at the same time there arose throughout it,
rotatory movements, whose velocities varied according to their
distances from its centre. These differentiations increased in
number and degree until there was evolved the organized
group of sun, planets, and satellites, which we now know—a
group which presents numerous contrasts of structure and
action among its members. There are the immense contrasts
between the sun and the planets, in bulk and in weight; as
well as the subordinate contrasts between one planet and another,
and between the planets and their satellites. There is
the similarly marked contrast between the sun as almost stationary,
and the planets as moving round him with great
velocity; while there are the secondary contrasts between the
velocities and periods of the several planets, and between
their simple revolutions and the double ones of their satellites,
which have to move round their primaries while moving
round the sun. There is the yet further strong contrast between
the sun and the planets in respect of temperature; and
150there is reason to suppose that the planets and satellites differ
from each other in their proper heat, as well as in the heat
they receive from the sun. When we bear in mind that, in
addition to these various contrasts, the planets and satellites
also differ in respect to their distances from each other and
their primary; in respect to the inclinations of their orbits,
the inclinations of their axes, their times of rotation on their
axes, their specific gravities, and their physical constitutions;
we see what a high degree of heterogeneity the solar system
exhibits, when compared with the almost complete homogeneity
of the nebulous mass out of which it is supposed to
have originated.
§ 45. Passing from this hypothetical illustration, which
must be taken for what it is worth, without prejudice to the
general argument, let us descend to a more certain order of
evidence.
It is now generally agreed among geologists that the Earth
was at first a mass of molten matter; and that it is still fluid
and incandescent at the distance of a few miles beneath its
surface. Originally, then, it was homogeneous in consistence,
and, because of the circulation that takes place in heated fluids,
must have been comparatively homogeneous in temperature;
and it must have been surrounded by an atmosphere consisting
partly of the elements of air and water, and partly of
those various other elements which assume a gaseous form at
high temperatures. That slow cooling by radiation which is
still going on at an inappreciable rate, and which, though
originally far more rapid than now, necessarily required an
immense time to produce any decided change, must ultimately
have resulted in the solidification of the portion most able to
part with its heat; namely, the surface. In the thin crust
thus formed, we have the first marked differentiation. A still
further cooling, a consequent thickening of this crust, and an
accompanying deposition of all solidifiable elements contained
in the atmosphere, must finally have been followed by the
151condensation of the water previously existing as vapour. A
second marked differentiation must thus have arisen; and as
the condensation must have taken place on the coolest parts
of the surface—namely, about the poles—there must thus
have resulted the first geographical distinction of parts.
To these illustrations of growing heterogeneity, which,
though deduced from the known laws of matter, may be regarded
as more or less hypothetical, Geology adds an extensive
series that have been inductively established. Its investigations
show that the Earth has been continually becoming more
heterogeneous through the multiplication of the strata which
form its crust; further, that it has been becoming more
heterogeneous in respect of the composition of these strata,
the latter of which, being made from the detritus of the older
ones, are many of them rendered highly complex by the mixture
of materials they contain; and that this heterogeneity
has been vastly increased by the action of the Earth’s still
molten nucleus upon its envelope: whence have resulted not
only a great variety of igneous rocks, but the tilting up of
sedimentary strata at all angles, the formation of faults and
metallic veins, the production of endless dislocations and irregularities.
Yet again, geologists teach us that the Earth’s
surface has been growing more varied in elevation—that the
most ancient mountain systems are the smallest, and the Andes
and Himalayas the most modern; while, in all probability,
there have been corresponding changes in the bed of the ocean.
As a consequence of these ceaseless differentiations, we now
find that no considerable portion of the Earth’s exposed surface
is like any other portion, either in contour, in geologic
structure, or in chemical composition; and that in most
parts it changes from mile to mile in all these characteristics.
Moreover, it must not be forgotten that there has been
simultaneously going on a gradual differentiation of climates.
As fast as the Earth cooled and its crust solidified, there arose
appreciable differences in temperature between those parts of
its surface most exposed to the sun and those less exposed.
152Gradually, as the cooling progressed, these differences became
more pronounced; until there finally resulted the marked
contrasts between regions of perpetual ice and snow, regions
where winter and summer alternately reign for periods varying
according to the latitude, and regions where summer
follows summer with scarcely an appreciable variation. At
the same time, the successive elevations and subsidences of
different portions of the Earth’s crust, tending as they have
done to the present irregular distribution of land and sea,
have entailed various modifications of climate beyond those
dependent on latitude; while a yet further series of such
modifications have been produced by increasing differences of
elevation in the land, which have in sundry places brought
arctic, temperate, and tropical climates to within a few miles
of each other. And the general result of these changes is,
that not only has every extensive region its own meteorologic
conditions, but that every locality in each region differs more
or less from others in those conditions: as in its structure,
its contour, its soil.
Thus, between our existing Earth, the phenomena of whose
varied crust neither geographers, geologists, mineralogists
nor meteorologists have yet enumerated, and the molten globe
out of which it was evolved, the contrast in heterogeneity is
sufficiently striking.
§ 46. When from the Earth itself we turn to the plants
and animals that have lived, or still live, upon its surface, we
find ourselves in some difficulty from lack of facts. That
every existing organism has been developed out of the simple
into the complex, is indeed the first established truth of all;
and that every organism which has existed was similarly developed,
is an inference that no physiologist will hesitate to draw.
But when we pass from individual forms of life to Life in
general, and inquire whether the same law is seen in the
ensemble of its manifestations,—whether modern plants and
animals are of more heterogeneous structure than ancient ones,
153and whether the Earth’s present Flora and Fauna are more
heterogeneous than the Flora and Fauna of the past,—we find
the evidence so fragmentary, that every conclusion is open to
dispute. Two-thirds of the Earth’s surface being covered
by water; a great part of the exposed land being inaccessible
to, or untravelled by, the geologist; the greater part of the
remainder having been scarcely more than glanced at; and
even the most familiar portions, as England, having been so
imperfectly explored, that a new series of strata has been
added within these few years,—it is manifestly impossible for
us to say with any certainty what creatures have, and what
have not, existed at any particular period. Considering the
perishable nature of many of the lower organic forms, the
metamorphosis of many sedimentary strata, and the gaps that
occur among the rest, we shall see further reason for distrusting
our deductions. On the one hand, the repeated discovery
of vertebrate remains in strata previously supposed to contain
none,—of reptiles where only fish were thought to exist,—of
mammals where it was believed there were no creatures higher
than reptiles; renders it daily more manifest how small is the
value of negative evidence. On the other hand, the worthlessness
of the assumption that we have discovered the earliest,
or anything like the earliest, organic remains, is becoming
equally clear. That the oldest known aqueous formations have
been greatly changed by igneous action, and that still older
ones have been totally transformed by it, is becoming undeniable.
And the fact that sedimentary strata earlier than any
we know, have been melted up, being admitted, it must also
be admitted that we cannot say how far back in time this
destruction of sedimentary strata has been going on. Thus it
is manifest that the title Palæozoic, as applied to the earliest
known fossiliferous strata, involves a petitio principii; and
that, for aught we know to the contrary, only the last few
chapters of the Earth’s biological history may have come down
to us.
All inferences drawn from such scattered facts as we find,
154must thus be extremely questionable. If, looking at the
general aspect of evidence, a progressionist argues that the
earliest known vertebrate remains are those of Fishes, which
are the most homogeneous of the vertebrata; that Reptiles,
which are more heterogeneous, are later; and that later still,
and more heterogeneous still, are Mammals and Birds; it may
be replied that the Palæozoic deposits, not being estuary deposits,
are not likely to contain the remains of terrestrial vertebrata,
which may nevertheless have existed at that era.
The same answer may be made to the argument that the
vertebrate fauna of the Palæozoic period, consisting so far as
we know, entirely of Fishes, was less heterogeneous than the
modern vertebrate fauna, which includes Reptiles, Birds and
Mammals, of multitudinous genera; or the uniformitarian
may contend with great show of truth, that this appearance
of higher and more varied forms in later geologic eras, was
due to progressive immigration—that a continent slowly
upheaved from the ocean at a point remote from pre-existing
continents, would necessarily be peopled from them in a succession
like that which our strata display. At the
same time the counter-arguments may be proved equally inconclusive.
When, to show that there cannot have been a continuous
evolution of the more homogeneous organic forms
into the more heterogeneous ones, the uniformitarian points
to the breaks that occur in the succession of these forms; there
is the sufficient answer that current geological changes show
us why such breaks must occur, and why, by subsidences and
elevations of large area, there must be produced such marked
breaks as those which divide the three great geologic epochs.
Or again, if the opponent of the development hypothesis cites
the facts set forth by Professor Huxley in his lecture on
“Persistent Types”—if he points out that “of some two
hundred known orders of plants, not one is exclusively fossil,”
while “among animals, there is not a single totally extinct
class; and of the orders, at the outside not more than seven
per cent. are unrepresented in the existing creation”—if he
155urges that among these some have continued from the
Silurian epoch to our own day with scarcely any change—and
if he infers that there is evidently a much greater average
resemblance between the living forms of the past and those of
the present, than consists with this hypothesis; there is still
a satisfactory reply, on which in fact Prof. Huxley insists;
namely, that we have evidence of a “pre-geologic era” of
unknown duration. And indeed, when it is remembered,
that the enormous subsidences of the Silurian period show
the Earth’s crust to have been approximately as thick then as
it is now—when it is concluded that the time taken to form
so thick a crust, must have been immense as compared with
the time which has since elapsed—when it is assumed, as it
must be, that during this comparatively immense time the
geologic and biologic changes went on at their usual rates;
it becomes manifest, not only that the palæontological
records which we find, do not negative the theory of
evolution, but that they are such as might rationally be
looked for.
Moreover, it must not be forgotten that though the evidence
suffices neither for proof nor disproof, yet some of its most
conspicuous facts support the belief, that the more heterogeneous
organisms and groups of organisms, have been evolved
from the less heterogeneous ones. The average community
of type between the fossils of adjacent strata, and still more
the community that is found between the latest tertiary
fossils and creatures now existing, is one of these facts. The
discovery in some modern deposits of such forms as the
Palæotherium and Anaplotherium, which, if we may rely on
Prof. Owen, had a type of structure intermediate between
some of the types now existing, is another of these facts. And
the comparatively recent appearance of Man, is a third fact of
this kind, which possesses still greater significance. Hence
we may say, that though our knowledge of past life upon the
Earth, is too scanty to justify us in asserting an evolution of
the simple into the complex, either in individual forms or in
156the aggregate of forms; yet the knowledge we have, not only
consists with the belief that there has been such an evolution,
but rather supports it than otherwise.
§ 47. Whether an advance from the homogeneous to the
heterogeneous is or is not displayed in the biological history
of the globe, it is clearly enough displayed in the progress of
the latest and most heterogeneous creature—Man. It is alike
true that, during the period in which the Earth has been
peopled, the human organism has grown more heterogeneous
among the civilized divisions of the species; and that the
species, as a whole, has been made more heterogeneous by
the multiplication of races and the differentiation of these
races from each other. In proof of the first of these
positions, we may cite the fact that, in the relative development
of the limbs, the civilized man departs more widely
from the general type of the placental mammalia, than do the
lower human races. Though often possessing well-developed
body and arms, the Papuan has extremely small legs: thus
reminding us of the quadrumana, in which there is no great
contrast in size between the hind and fore limbs. But in the
European, the greater length and massiveness of the legs has
become very marked—the fore and hind limbs are relatively
more heterogeneous. Again, the greater ratio which the
cranial bones bear to the facial bones, illustrates the same
truth. Among the vertebrata in general, evolution is marked
by an increasing heterogeneity in the vertebral column, and
more especially in the segments constituting the skull: the
higher forms being distinguished by the relatively larger size
of the bones which cover the brain, and the relatively smaller
size of those which form the jaws, &c. Now, this characteristic,
which is stronger in Man than in any other creature, is
stronger in the European than in the savage. Moreover,
judging from the greater extent and variety of faculty he exhibits,
we may infer that the civilized man has also a more
complex or heterogeneous nervous system than the uncivilized
157man; and indeed the fact is in part visible in the increased
ratio which his cerebrum bears to the subjacent
ganglia. If further elucidation be needed, we may find it in
every nursery. The infant European has sundry marked
points of resemblance to the lower human races; as in the
flatness of the alæ of the nose, the depression of its bridge, the
divergence and forward opening of the nostrils, the form of
the lips, the absence of a frontal sinus, the width between the
eyes, the smallness of the legs. Now, as the developmental
process by which these traits are turned into those of the
adult European, is a continuation of that change from the
homogeneous to the heterogeneous displayed during the previous
evolution of the embryo, which every physiologist will
admit; it follows that the parallel developmental process by
which the like traits of the barbarous races have been turned
into those of the civilized races, has also been a continuation
of the change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous.
The truth of the second position—that Mankind,
as a whole, have become more heterogeneous—is so obvious as
scarcely to need illustration. Every work on Ethnology, by
its divisions and subdivisions of races, bears testimony to it.
Even were we to admit the hypothesis that Mankind originated
from several separate stocks, it would still remain true
that as, from each of these stocks, there have sprung many
now widely different tribes, which are proved by philological
evidence to have had a common origin, the race as a whole
is far less homogeneous than it once was. Add to which,
that we have, in the Anglo-Americans, an example of a new
variety arising within these few generations; and that, if we
may trust to the descriptions of observers, we are likely soon
to have another such example in Australia.
§ 48. On passing from Humanity under its individual form,
to Humanity as socially embodied, we find the general law still
more variously exemplified. The change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous, is displayed equally in the
158progress of civilization as a whole, and in the progress of
every tribe or nation; and is still going on with increasing
rapidity.
As we see in existing barbarous tribes, society in its first
and lowest form is a homogeneous aggregation of individuals
having like powers and like functions: the only marked difference
of function being that which accompanies difference
of sex. Every man is warrior, hunter, fisherman, tool-maker,
builder; every woman performs the same drudgeries; every
family is self-sufficing, and, save for purposes of aggression
and defence, might as well live apart from the rest. Very
early, however, in the process of social evolution, we find an
incipient differentiation between the governing and the governed.
Some kind of chieftainship seems coeval with the
first advance from the state of separate wandering families to
that of a nomadic tribe. The authority of the strongest
makes itself felt among a body of savages, as in a herd of animals,
or a posse of school-boys. At first, however, it is indefinite,
uncertain; is shared by others of scarcely inferior power;
and is unaccompanied by any difference in occupation or style
of living: the first ruler kills his own game, makes his own
weapons, builds his own hut, and, economically considered,
does not differ from others of his tribe. Gradually, as the
tribe progresses, the contrast between the governing and the
governed grows more decided. Supreme power becomes hereditary
in one family; the head of that family, ceasing to provide
for his own wants, is served by others; and he begins to
assume the sole office of ruling. At the same time
there has been arising a co-ordinate species of government—that
of Religion. As all ancient records and traditions
prove, the earliest rulers are regarded as divine personages.
The maxims and commands they uttered during their lives
are held sacred after their deaths, and are enforced by their
divinely-descended successors; who in their turns are promoted
to the pantheon of the race, there to be worshipped
and propitiated along with their predecessors: the most ancient
159of whom is the supreme god, and the rest subordinate
gods. For a long time these connate forms of government—civil
and religious—continue closely associated. For many generations
the king continues to be the chief priest, and the
priesthood to be members of the royal race. For many ages
religious law continues to contain more or less of civil regulation,
and civil law to possess more or less of religious sanction;
and even among the most advanced nations these two
controlling agencies are by no means completely differentiated
from each other. Having a common root with these,
and gradually diverging from them, we find yet another controlling
agency—that of Manners or ceremonial usages. All
titles of honour are originally the names of the god-king;
afterwards of God and the king; still later of persons of high
rank; and finally come, some of them, to be used between
man and man. All forms of complimentary address were at
first the expressions of submission from prisoners to their
conqueror, or from subjects to their ruler, either human or
divine—expressions that were afterwards used to propitiate
subordinate authorities, and slowly descended into ordinary
intercourse. All modes of salutation were once obeisances
made before the monarch and used in worship of him after
his death. Presently others of the god-descended race were
similarly saluted; and by degrees some of the salutations
have become the due of all.[9] Thus, no sooner does the originally
homogeneous social mass differentiate into the governed
and the governing parts, than this last exhibits an incipient
differentiation into religious and secular—Church and State;
while at the same time there begins to be differentiated from
both, that less definite species of government which rides
our daily intercourse—a species of government which, as we
may see in heralds’ colleges, in books of the peerage, in masters
of ceremonies, is not without a certain embodiment of its
own. Each of these kinds of government is itself subject
to successive differentiations. In the course of ages, there
160arises, as among ourselves, a highly complex political organization
of monarch, ministers, lords and commons, with their
subordinate administrative departments, courts of justice,
revenue offices, &c., supplemented in the provinces by municipal
governments, county governments, parish or union
governments—all of them more or less elaborated. By its
side there grows up a highly complex religious organization,
with its various grades of officials from archbishops down to
sextons, its colleges, convocations, ecclesiastical courts, &c.;
to all which must be added the ever-multiplying independent
sects, each with its general and local authorities. And at the
same time there is developed a highly complex aggregation
of customs, manners, and temporary fashions, enforced by
society at large, and serving to control those minor transactions
between man and man which are not regulated by
civil and religious law. Moreover, it is to be observed that
this ever-increasing heterogeneity in the governmental appliances
of each nation, has been accompanied by an increasing
heterogeneity in the governmental appliances of different
nations: all of which are more or less unlike in their political
systems and legislation, in their creeds and religious institutions,
in their customs and ceremonial usages.
Simultaneously there has been going on a second differentiation
of a more familiar kind; that, namely, by which the
mass of the community has been segregated into distinct
classes and orders of workers. While the governing part has
undergone the complex development above detailed, the governed
part has undergone an equally complex development;
which has resulted in that minute division of labour characterizing
advanced nations. It is needless to trace
out this progress from its first stages, up through the caste
divisions of the East and the incorporated guilds of Europe,
to the elaborate producing and distributing organization existing
among ourselves. Political economists have long since
indicated the evolution which, beginning with a tribe whose
members severally perform the same actions, each for himself
161ends with a civilized community whose members severally
perform different actions for each other; and they have further
pointed out the changes through which the solitary producer
of any one commodity, is transformed into a combination
of producers who, united under a master, take separate parts
in the manufacture of such commodity. But there
are yet other and higher phases of this advance from the
homogeneous to the heterogeneous in the industrial organization
of society. Long after considerable progress has been
made in the division of labour among the different classes of
workers, there is still little or no division of labour among the
widely separated parts of the community: the nation continues
comparatively homogeneous in the respect that in each district
the same occupations are pursued. But when roads and other
means of transit become numerous and good, the different
districts begin to assume different functions, and to become
mutually dependent. The calico-manufacture locates itself in
this county, the woollen-manufacture in that; silks are produced
here, lace there; stockings in one place, shoes in another;
pottery, hardware, cutlery, come to have their special
towns; and ultimately every locality grows more or less distinguished
from the rest by the leading occupation carried on
in it. Nay, more, this subdivision of functions shows itself
not only among the different parts of the same nation, but
among different nations. That exchange of commodities
which free-trade promises so greatly to increase, will ultimately
have the effect of specializing, in a greater or less
degree, the industry of each people. So that beginning
with a barbarous tribe, almost if not quite homogeneous
in the functions of its members, the progress has been, and
still is, towards an economic aggregation of the whole human
race; growing ever more heterogeneous in respect of the
separate functions assumed by separate nations, the separate
functions assumed by the local sections of each nation, the
separate functions assumed by the many kinds of makers
and traders in each town, and the separate functions assumed
162by the workers united in producing each commodity.
§ 49. Not only is the law thus clearly exemplified in the
evolution of the social organism, but it is exemplified with
equal clearness in the evolution of all products of human
thought and action; whether concrete or abstract, real or
ideal. Let us take Language as our first illustration.
The lowest form of language is the exclamation, by which
an entire idea is vaguely conveyed through a single sound; as
among the lower animals. That human language ever consisted
solely of exclamations, and so was strictly homogeneous
in respect of its parts of speech, we have no evidence. But
that language can be traced down to a form in which nouns
and verbs are its only elements, is an established fact. In
the gradual multiplication of parts of speech out of these
primary ones—in the differentiation of verbs into active and
passive, of nouns into abstract and concrete—in the rise of
distinctions of mood, tense, person, of number and case—in
the formation of auxiliary verbs, of adjectives, adverbs, pronouns,
prepositions, articles—in the divergence of those orders,
genera, species, and varieties of parts of speech by which
civilized races express minute modifications of meaning—we
see a change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous.
And it may be remarked, in passing, that it is more especially
in virtue of having carried this subdivision of functions
to a greater extent and completeness, that the English
language is superior to all others. Another aspect
under which we may trace the development of language, is
the differentiation of words of allied meanings. Philology
early disclosed the truth that in all languages words
may be grouped into families having a common ancestry.
An aboriginal name, applied indiscriminately to each of
an extensive and ill-defined class of things or actions, presently
undergoes modifications by which the chief divisions
of the class are expressed. These several names springing
163from the primitive root, themselves become the parents of
other names still further modified. And by the aid of those
systematic modes which presently arise, of making derivatives
and forming compound terms expressing still smaller distinctions,
there is finally developed a tribe of words so
heterogeneous in sound and meaning, that to the uninitiated
it seems incredible they should have had a common origin.
Meanwhile, from other roots there are being evolved other
such tribes, until there results a language of some sixty
thousand or more unlike words, signifying as many unlike
objects, qualities, acts. Yet another way in which
language in general advances from the homogeneous to the
heterogeneous, is in the multiplication of languages. Whether,
as Max Müller and Bunsen think, all languages have
grown from one stock, or whether, as some philologists say,
they have grown from two or more stocks, it is clear that
since large families of languages, as the Indo-European, are
of one parentage, they have become distinct through a process
of continuous divergence. The same diffusion over the
Earth’s surface which has led to the differentiation of the
race, has simultaneously led to a differentiation of their
speech: a truth which we see further illustrated in each
nation by the peculiarities of dialect found in separate districts.
Thus the progress of Language conforms to the
general law, alike in the evolution of languages, in the
evolution of families of words, and in the evolution of parts
of speech.
On passing from spoken to written language, we come upon
several classes of facts, all having similar implications.
Written language is connate with Painting and Sculpture;
and at first all three are appendages of Architecture, and
have a direct connexion with the primary form of all Government—the
theocratic. Merely noting by the way the fact
that sundry wild races, as for example the Australians and
the tribes of South Africa, are given to depicting personages
and events upon the walls of caves, which are probably regarded
164as sacred places, let us pass to the case of the Egyptians.
Among them, as also among the Assyrians, we find
mural paintings used to decorate the temple of the god and
the palace of the king (which were, indeed, originally identical);
and as such they were governmental appliances in the
same sense that state-pageants and religious feasts were.
Further, they were governmental appliances in virtue of
representing the worship of the god, the triumphs of the
god-king, the submission of his subjects, and the punishment
of the rebellious. And yet again they were governmental,
as being the products of an art reverenced by the people as a
sacred mystery. From the habitual use of this
pictorial representation, there naturally grew up the but
slightly-modified practice of picture-writing—a practice
which was found still extant among the Mexicans at the time
they were discovered. By abbreviations analogous to those
still going on in our own written and spoken language, the
most familiar of these pictured figures were successively
simplified; and ultimately there grew up a system of symbols,
most of which had but a distant resemblance to the things
for which they stood. The inference that the hieroglyphics
of the Egyptians were thus produced, is confirmed by the fact
that the picture-writing of the Mexicans was found to have
given birth to a like family of ideographic forms; and among
them, as among the Egyptians, these had been partially
differentiated into the kuriological or imitative, and the
tropical or symbolic: which were, however, used together in
the same record. In Egypt, written language underwent a
further differentiation; whence resulted the hieratic and the
epistolographic or enchorial: both of which are derived from
the original hieroglyphic. At the same time we find that
for the expression of proper names, which could not be otherwise
conveyed, phonetic symbols were employed; and though
it is alleged that the Egyptians never actually achieved complete
alphabetic writing, yet it can scarcely be doubted that
these phonetic symbols occasionally used in aid of their
165ideographic ones, were the germs out of which alphabetic
writing grew. Once having become separate from hieroglyphics,
alphabetic writing itself underwent numerous differentiations—multiplied
alphabets were produced: between
most of which, however, more or less connexion can still be
traced. And in each civilized nation there has now grown
up, for the representation of one set of sounds, several sets of
written signs, used for distinct purposes. Finally, through a
yet more important differentiation came printing; which, uniform
in kind as it was at first, has since become multiform.
§ 50. While written language was passing through its
earlier stages of development, the mural decoration which
formed its root was being differentiated into Painting and
Sculpture. The gods, kings, men, and animals represented,
were originally marked by indented outlines and coloured.
In most cases these outlines were of such depth, and the
object they circumscribed so far rounded and marked out in
its leading parts, as to form a species of work intermediate
between intaglio and bas-relief. In other cases we see an
advance upon this: the raised spaces between the figures
being chiselled off, and the figures themselves appropriately
tinted, a painted bas-relief was produced. The restored
Assyrian architecture at Sydenham, exhibits this style of art
carried to greater perfection—the persons and things represented,
though still barbarously coloured, are carved out
with more truth and in greater detail; and in the winged
lions and bulls used for the angles of gateways, we may see
a considerable advance towards a completely sculptured
figure; which, nevertheless, is still coloured, and still forms
part of the building. But while in Assyria the production
of a statue proper, seems to have been little, if at all, attempted,
we may trace in Egyptian art the gradual separation
of the sculptured figure from the wall. A walk through the
collection in the British Museum will clearly show this;
while it will at the same time afford an opportunity of observing
166the evident traces which the independent statues bear
of their derivation from bas-relief: seeing that nearly all of
them not only display that union of the limbs with the body
which is the characteristic of bas-relief, but have the back of
the statue united from head to foot with a block which
stands in place of the original wall. Greece repeated
the leading stages of this progress. As in Egypt and
Assyria, these twin arts were at first united with each other
and with their parent, Architecture; and were the aids of
Religion and Government. On the friezes of Greek temples,
we see coloured bas-reliefs representing sacrifices, battles,
processions, games—all in some sort religious. On the pediments
we see painted sculptures more or less united with the
tympanum, and having for subjects the triumphs of gods or
heroes. Even when we come to statues that are definitely
separated from the buildings to which they pertain, we still
find them coloured; and only in the later periods of Greek
civilization, does the differentiation of sculpture from painting
appear to have become complete. In Christian
art we may clearly trace a parallel re-genesis. All early
paintings and sculptures throughout Europe, were religious
in subject—represented Christs, crucifixions, virgins, holy
families, apostles, saints. They formed integral parts of
church architecture, and were among the means of exciting
worship: as in Roman Catholic countries they still are.
Moreover, the early sculptures of Christ on the cross, of
virgins, of saints, were coloured; and it needs but to call to
mind the painted madonnas and crucifixes still abundant in
continental churches and highways, to perceive the significant
fact that painting and sculpture continue in closest connexion
with each other, where they continue in closest connexion
with their parent. Even when Christian sculpture was
pretty clearly differentiated from painting, it was still religious
and governmental in its subjects—was used for tombs in
churches and statues of kings; while, at the same time,
painting, where not purely ecclesiastical, was applied to the
167decoration of palaces, and besides representing royal personages,
was almost wholly devoted to sacred legends. Only in
quite recent times have painting and sculpture become
entirely secular arts. Only within these few centuries has
painting been divided into historical, landscape, marine,
architectural, genre, animal, still-life, &c., and sculpture
grown heterogeneous in respect of the variety of real and
ideal subjects with which it occupies itself.
Strange as it seems then, we find it no less true, that all
forms of written language, of painting, and of sculpture, have
a common root in the politico-religious decorations of ancient
temples and palaces. Little resemblance as they now have,
the bust that stands on the console, the landscape that hangs
against the wall, and the copy of the Times lying upon the
table, are remotely akin; not only in nature, but by extraction.
The brazen face of the knocker which the postman has just
lifted, is related not only to the woodcuts of the Illustrated London
News which he is delivering, but to the characters of the
billet-doux which accompanies it. Between the painted window,
the prayer-book on which its light falls, and the adjacent
monument, there is consanguinity. The effigies on our coins,
the signs over shops, the figures that fill every ledger, the coat
of arms outside the carriage-panel, and the placards inside the
omnibus, are, in common with dolls, blue-books and paper-hangings,
lineally descended from the rude sculpture-paintings in
which the Egyptians represented the triumphs and worship
of their god-kings. Perhaps no example can be given which
more vividly illustrates the multiplicity and heterogeneity
of the products that in course of time may arise by successive
differentiations from a common stock.
Before passing to other classes of facts, it should be observed
that the evolution of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous
is displayed not only in the separation of Painting
and Sculpture from Architecture and from each other, and in
the greater variety of subjects they embody; but it is further
shown in the structure of each work. A modern picture or
168statue is of far more heterogeneous nature than an ancient
one. An Egyptian sculpture-fresco represents all its figures
as on one plane—that is, at the same distance from the eye;
and so is less heterogeneous than a painting that represents
them as at various distances from the eye. It exhibits all objects
as exposed to the same degree of light; and so is less
heterogeneous than a painting which exhibits different objects,
and different parts of each object, as in different degrees
of light. It uses scarcely any but the primary colours, and
these in their full intensity; and so is less heterogeneous than
a painting which, introducing the primary colours but sparingly,
employs an endless variety of intermediate tints, each of
heterogeneous composition, and differing from the rest not
only in quality but in intensity. Moreover, we see
in these earliest works a great uniformity of conception. The
same arrangement of figures is perpetually reproduced—the
same actions, attitudes, faces, dresses. In Egypt the modes of
representation were so fixed that it was sacrilege to introduce
a novelty; and indeed it could have been only in consequence
of a fixed mode of representation that a system of hieroglyphics
became possible. The Assyrian bas-reliefs display parallel
characters. Deities, kings, attendants, winged-figures
and animals, are severally depicted in like positions, holding
like implements, doing like things, and with like expression or
non-expression of face. If a palm-grove is introduced, all the
trees are of the same height, have the same number of leaves,
and are equidistant. When water is imitated, each wave is
a counterpart of the rest; and the fish, almost always of one
kind, are evenly distributed over the surface. The beards of
the kings, the gods, and the winged-figures, are everywhere
similar; as are the manes of the lions, and equally so those of
the horses. Hair is represented throughout by one form of
curl. The king’s beard is quite architecturally built up of compound
tiers of uniform curls, alternating with twisted tiers
placed in a transverse direction, and arranged with perfect
regularity; and the terminal tufts of the bulls’ tails are represented
169in exactly the same manner. Without
tracing out analogous facts in early Christian art, in which,
though less striking, they are still visible, the advance in
heterogeneity will be sufficiently manifest on remembering that
in the pictures of our own day the composition is endlessly
varied; the attitudes, faces, expressions, unlike; the subordinate
objects different in size, form, position, texture; and
more or less of contrast even in the smallest details. Or, if
we compare an Egyptian statue, seated bolt upright on a
block, with hands on knees, fingers outspread and parallel,
eyes looking straight forward, and the two sides perfectly symmetrical
in every particular, with a statue of the advanced
Greek or the modern school, which is asymmetrical in respect
of the position of the head, the body, the limbs, the arrangement
of the hair, dress, appendages, and in its relations to
neighbouring objects, we shall see the change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous clearly manifested.
§ 51. In the co-ordinate origin and gradual differentiation
of Poetry, Music, and Dancing, we have another series of illustrations.
Rhythm in speech, rhythm in sound, and rhythm
in motion, were in the beginning, parts of the same thing;
and have only in process of time become separate things.
Among various existing barbarous tribes we find them still
united. The dances of savages are accompanied by some kind
of monotonous chant, the clapping of hands, the striking of
rude instruments: there are measured movements, measured
words, and measured tones; and the whole ceremony, usually
having reference to war or sacrifice, is of governmental character.
In the early records of the historic races we similarly
find these three forms of metrical action united in religious
festivals. In the Hebrew writings we read that the triumphal
ode composed by Moses on the defeat of the Egyptians, was
sung to an accompaniment of dancing and timbrels. The
Israelites danced and sung “at the inauguration of the golden
calf. And as it is generally agreed that this representation
170of the Deity was borrowed from the mysteries of Apis, it is
probable that the dancing was copied from that of the Egyptians
on those occasions.” There was an annual dance in
Shiloh on the sacred festival; and David danced before the
ark. Again, in Greece the like relation is everywhere seen:
the original type being there, as probably in other cases, a
simultaneous chanting and mimetic representation of the life
and adventures of the god. The Spartan dances were accompanied
by hymns and songs; and in general the Greeks
had “no festivals or religious assemblies but what were accompanied
with songs and dances”—both of them being
forms of worship used before altars. Among the Romans,
too, there were sacred dances: the Salian and Lupercalian
being named as of that kind. And even in Christian countries,
as at Limoges in comparatively recent times, the people have
danced in the choir in honour of a saint. The incipient
separation of these once united arts from each other
and from religion, was early visible in Greece. Probably
diverging from dances partly religious, partly warlike, as the
Corybantian, came the war-dances proper, of which there
were various kinds; and from these resulted secular dances.
Meanwhile Music and Poetry, though still united, came to
have an existence separate from dancing. The aboriginal
Greek poems, religious in subject, were not recited but
chanted; and though at first the chant of the poet was accompanied
by the dance of the chorus, it ultimately grew
into independence. Later still, when the poem had been
differentiated into epic and lyric—when it became the custom
to sing the lyric and recite the epic—poetry proper was born.
As during the same period musical instruments were being
multiplied, we may presume that music came to have an existence
apart from words. And both of them were beginning
to assume other forms besides the religious. Facts
having like implications might be cited from the histories of
later times and peoples; as the practices of our own early
minstrels, who sang to the harp heroic narratives versified
171by themselves to music of their own composition: thus
uniting the now separate offices of poet, composer, vocalist,
and instrumentalist. But, without further illustration, the
common origin and gradual differentiation of Dancing, Poetry,
and Music will be sufficiently manifest.
The advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous
is displayed not only in the separation of these arts from
each other and from religion, but also in the multiplied
differentiations which each of them afterwards undergoes.
Not to dwell upon the numberless kinds of dancing that
have, in course of time, come into use; and not to occupy
space in detailing the progress of poetry, as seen in the development
of the various forms of metre, of rhyme, and of
general organization; let us confine our attention to music
as a type of the group. As argued by Dr. Burney,
and as implied by the customs of still extant barbarous races,
the first musical instruments were, without doubt, percussive—sticks,
calabashes, tom-toms—and were used simply to
mark the time of the dance; and in this constant repetition
of the same sound, we see music in its most homogeneous
form. The Egyptians had a lyre with three
strings. The early lyre of the Greeks had four, constituting
their tetrachord. In course of some centuries lyres of seven
and eight strings were employed. And, by the expiration of
a thousand years, they had advanced to their “great system”
of the double octave. Through all which changes there of
course arose a greater heterogeneity of melody. Simultaneously
there came into use the different modes—Dorian,
Ionian, Phrygian, Æolian, and Lydian—answering to our
keys: and of these there were ultimately fifteen. As yet,
however, there was but little heterogeneity in the time of
their music. Instrumental music during this period being
merely the accompaniment of vocal music, and vocal music
being completely subordinated to words,—the singer being
also the poet, chanting his own compositions and making the
lengths of his notes agree with the feet of his verses; there
172unavoidably arose a tiresome uniformity of measure, which,
as Dr Burney says, “no resources of melody could disguise.”
Lacking the complex rhythm obtained by our equal bars and
unequal notes, the only rhythm was that produced by the
quantity of the syllables, and was of necessity comparatively
monotonous. And further, it may be observed that the chant
thus resulting, being like recitative, was much less clearly
differentiated from ordinary speech than is our modern song.
Nevertheless, considering the extended range of notes in use,
the variety of modes, the occasional variations of time consequent
on changes of metre, and the multiplication of instruments,
we see that music had, towards the close of Greek
civilization, attained to considerable heterogeneity: not indeed
as compared with our music, but as compared with that
which preceded it. As yet, however, there existed
nothing but melody: harmony was unknown. It was not
until Christian church-music had reached some development,
that music in parts was evolved; and then it came into existence
through a very unobtrusive differentiation. Difficult as
it may be to conceive, à priori, how the advance from melody
to harmony could take place without a sudden leap, it is none
the less true that it did so. The circumstance which prepared
the way for it, was the employment of two choirs singing alternately
the same air. Afterwards it became the practice
(very possibly first suggested by a mistake) for the second
choir to commence before the first had ceased; thus producing
a fugue. With the simple airs then in use, a partially harmonious
fugue might not improbably thus result; and a very
partially harmonious fugue satisfied the ears of that age, as
we know from still preserved examples. The idea having
once been given, the composing of airs productive of fugal
harmony would naturally grow up; as in some way it did
grow up out of this alternate choir-singing. And from the
fugue to concerted music of two, three, four, and more parts,
the transition was easy. Without pointing out in
detail the increasing complexity that resulted from introducing
173notes of various lengths, from the multiplication of keys,
from the use of accidentals, from varieties of time, from modulations
and so forth, it needs but to contrast music as it is,
with music as it was, to see how immense is the increase of
heterogeneity. We see this if, looking at music in its ensemble,
we enumerate its many different genera and species—if
we consider the divisions into vocal, instrumental, and mixed;
and their subdivisions into music for different voices and different
instruments—if we observe the many forms of sacred
music, from the simple hymn, the chant, the canon, motet,
anthem, &c., up to the oratorio; and the still more numerous
forms of secular music, from the ballad up to the serenata,
from the instrumental solo up to the symphony. Again, the
same truth is seen on comparing any one sample of aboriginal
music with a sample of modern music—even an ordinary
song for the piano; which we find to be relatively highly
heterogeneous, not only in respect of the varieties in the pitch
and in the length of the notes, the number of different notes
sounding at the same instant in company with the voice, and
the variations of strength with which they are sounded and
sung, but in respect of the changes of key, the changes of
time, the changes of timbre of the voice, and the many other
modifications of expression. While between the old monotonous
dance-chant and a grand opera of our own day, with
its endless orchestral complexities and vocal combinations,
the contrast in heterogeneity is so extreme that it seems
scarcely credible that the one should have been the ancestor of
the other.
§ 52. Were they needed, many further illustrations might
be cited. Going back to the early time when the deeds of the
god-king, chanted and mimetically represented in dances
round his altar, were further narrated in picture-writings on
the walls of temples and palaces, and so constituted a rude
literature, we might trace the development of Literature
through phases in which, as in the Hebrew Scriptures it presents
174in one work, theology, cosmogony, history, biography,
civil law, ethics, poetry; through other phases in which, as in
the Iliad, the religious, martial, historical, the epic, dramatic,
and lyric elements are similarly commingled; down to its present
heterogeneous development, in which its divisions and
subdivisions are so numerous and varied as to defy complete
classification. Or we might track the evolution of Science:
beginning with the era in which it was not yet differentiated
from Art, and was, in union with Art, the handmaid of Religion;
passing through the era in which the sciences were so
few and rudimentary, as to be simultaneously cultivated by
the same philosophers; and ending with the era in which the
genera and species are so numerous that few can enumerate
them, and no one can adequately grasp even one genus. Or
we might do the like with Architecture, with the Drama, with
Dress. But doubtless the reader is already weary of illustrations;
and my promise has been amply fulfilled. I believe it
has been shown beyond question, that that which the German
physiologists have found to be the law of organic development,
is the law of all development. The advance from
the simple to the complex, through a process of successive
differentiations, is seen alike in the earliest changes
of the Universe to which we can reason our way back, and
in the earliest changes which we can inductively establish;
it is seen in the geologic and climatic evolution of the Earth,
and of every single organism on its surface; it is seen in the
evolution of Humanity, whether contemplated in the civilized
individual, or in the aggregation of races; it is seen in
the evolution of Society, in respect alike of its political, its religious,
and its economical organization; and it is seen in the
evolution of all those endless concrete and abstract products
of human activity, which constitute the environment of our
daily life. From the remotest past which Science can fathom,
up to the novelties of yesterday, that in which Evolution
essentially consists, is the transformation of the homogeneous
into the heterogeneous.
175
§ 53. But now, does this generalization express the whole
truth? Does it include all the phenomena of Evolution? and
does it exclude all other phenomena? A careful consideration
of the facts, will show that it does neither.
That there are changes from the less heterogeneous to the
more heterogeneous, which do not come within what we call
Evolution, is proved in every case of local disease. A portion
of the body in which there arises a cancer, or other
morbid growth, unquestionably displays a new differentiation.
Whether this morbid growth be, or be not, more heterogeneous
than the tissues in which it is seated, is not the question.
The question is, whether the structure of the organism as a
whole, is, or is not, rendered more heterogeneous by the addition
of a part unlike every pre-existing part, both in form and
composition. And to this question there can be none but an
affirmative answer. Again, it might with apparent
truth be contended, that the earlier stages of decomposition
in a dead body, similarly involve an increase of heterogeneity.
Supposing the chemical changes to commence in some parts
of the body earlier than in other parts, as they commonly
do; and to affect different tissues in different, ways, as they
must; it seems to be a necessary admission that the entire
body, made up of undecomposed parts and parts decomposed
in different ways and degrees, has become more heterogeneous
than it was. Though greater homogeneity will be the
176eventual result, the immediate result is the opposite. And yet
this immediate result is certainly not evolution. But
perhaps of all illustrations the least debatable are those furnished
by social disorders and disasters. When in any nation
there occurs a rebellion, which, while leaving some provinces
undisturbed, developes itself here in secret societies,
there in public demonstrations, and elsewhere in actual appeal
to arms, leading probably to conflict and bloodshed; it
must be admitted that the society, regarded as a whole, has
so been rendered more heterogeneous. Or when a dearth
causes commercial panic with its entailed bankruptcies,
closed factories, discharged operatives, political agitations,
food riots, incendiarisms; it is manifest that as, throughout
the rest of society, there still exists the ordinary organization
displaying the usual phenomena, these new phenomena must
be regarded as adding to the complexity previously existing.
Nevertheless, it is clear that such changes so far from constituting
a further stage of evolution, are steps towards dissolution.
There is good reason to think then, that the definition
arrived at in the last chapter, is an imperfect one. We may
suspect, not that the process of evolution is different from the
process there described; but that the description did not contain
all that it should. The changes above instanced as coming
within the formula as it now stands, are so obviously
different from the rest, that the inclusion of them implies
some oversight—some distinction hitherto overlooked. Such
further distinction we shall find really exists.
§ 54. At the same time that all evolution is a change from
the homogeneous to the heterogeneous, it is also a change from
the indefinite to the definite. As well as an advance from
simplicity to complexity, there is an advance from confusion
to order—from undetermined arrangement to determined
arrangement. In the process of development, no matter
what sphere it is displayed in, there is not only a gradual
177multiplication of unlike parts; but there is a gradual increase
in the distinctness with which these parts are marked off from
each other. And so is that increase of heterogeneity which
characterizes Evolution, distinguished from that increase of
heterogeneity which does not. For proof of this, it
needs only to reconsider the instances given above. The
structural changes constituting a disease, have no such definiteness,
either in locality, extent, or outline, as the structural
changes constituting development. Though certain morbid
growths arise much more commonly in some parts of the
body than in others (as warts on the hands, cancer on the
breasts, tubercle in the lungs), yet they are not confined to
these parts; nor, when found on them, are they anything like
so precise in their relative positions as are the normal parts
around them. In size, again, they are extremely variable—they
bear no such constant proportion to the body as
organs do. Their forms, too, are far less specific than organic
forms. And they are extremely irregular or confused in
their internal structures. That is to say, they are in all respects
comparatively indefinite. The like peculiarity
may be traced in decomposition. That state of total indefiniteness
to which a dead body is finally reduced, is a state towards
which the putrefactive changes have tended from their commencement.
Each step in the destruction of the organic compounds,
is accompanied by a blurring of the minute structure—diminishes
its distinctness. From the portions that have undergone
most decomposition, there is a gradual transition to the
less decomposed portions. And step by step the lines of organization,
once so precise, disappear. Similarly with
social changes of an abnormal kind. A political outbreak
rising finally to a rebellion, tends from the very first to
obliterate the specializations, governmental and industrial,
which previously existed. The disaffection which originates
such an outbreak, itself implies a loosening of those ties by
which the citizens are bound up into distinct classes and
sub-classes. Agitation, growing into revolutionary meetings,
178shows us a decided tendency towards the fusion of ranks that
are usually separated. Acts of open insubordination exhibit a
breaking through of those definite limits to individual conduct
which were previously observed; and a disappearance of the
lines previously existing between those in authority and those
beneath them. At the same time, by the arrest of trade,
artizans and others lose their occupations; and in so ceasing
to be functionally distinguished, become fused into a mass
from which the demarcations in great part vanish.
And when at last there comes positive insurrection, all
magisterial and official powers, all class distinctions, and all
industrial differences, at once cease: organized society lapses
into an unorganized aggregation of social units. How the
like holds true of such social disasters as are entailed by
famine, needs not be pointed out. On calling to mind that
in cases of this kind the changes are from order towards
disorder, it will at once be seen that like the foregoing they
are changes from definite arrangements to indefinite arrangements.
Thus then is that increase of heterogeneity which constitutes
Evolution, distinguished from that increase of heterogeneity
which does not do so. Though in disease and death,
individual or social, the earliest modifications may be construed
as additions to the heterogeneity previously existing;
yet they cannot be construed as additions to the definiteness
previously existing. They begin from the very outset to destroy
this definiteness; and so, gradually produce a heterogeneity
that is indeterminate instead of determinate. Just in
the same way that a city, already multiform in its variously
arranged structures of various architecture, may be made
more multiform by an earthquake, which leaves part of it
standing and overthrows other parts in different ways and
degrees, and yet is at the same time reduced from definite
arrangement to indefinite arrangement; so may organized
bodies be made for a time more multiform by changes which
are nevertheless disorganizing changes. And in the one case
179as in the other, it is the absence of definiteness which distinguishes
the multiformity of regression from the multiformity
of progression.
If the advance from the indefinite to the definite is an
essential characteristic of Evolution, we shall of course find it
everywhere displayed; as in the last Chapter we found the
advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. With
a view of showing that it is so, let us now briefly reconsider
the same several classes of facts.
§ 55. Beginning as before with a hypothetical illustration,
we have to note that each further stage in the evolution of
the Solar System, supposing it to have originated from diffused
matter, was an advance towards more definite forms,
and times, and forces. At first irregular in shape and with
indistinct margins, the attenuated substance, as it concentrated
and acquired a rotatory motion, must have assumed the shape
of an oblate spheroid; which, with every increase of density,
became more specific in general outline, and had its surface
more sharply marked off from the surrounding void. At the
same time, the constituent portions of nebulous matter, instead
of independently moving towards their common centre
of gravity from all points, and tending to revolve round it in
various planes, as they would at first do, must have had these
planes more and more merged into a single plane; and this
plane must have gained greater precision as the concentration
progressed. To which add that in the gradual establishment
of a common and determinate angular velocity, instead
of the various and conflicting angular velocities of different
parts, we have a further change of like nature. According
to the hypothesis, change from indistinct characteristics
to distinct ones, was repeated in the evolution of each
planet and satellite; and may in them be traced to a much
greater extent. A gaseous spheroid is less definitely marked
off from the space around it than a fluid spheroid, since it is
subject to larger and more rapid undulations of surface,
180and to much greater distortions of general form; and similarly
a fluid spheroid, covered as it must be with waves of
various magnitudes, is less definite than a solid spheroid.
Nor is it only in greater fixity of surface that a planet in its
last stage, is distinguished from a planet in its earlier stages.
Its general form, too, is more precise. The sphere, to which in
the end it very closely approximates, is a perfectly specific
figure; while the spheroid, under which figure it previously
existed, being infinitely variable in oblateness, is an imperfectly
specific figure. And further, a planet having an
axis inclined to the plane of its orbit, must, while its form
is very oblate, have its plane of rotation greatly disturbed by
the attraction of external bodies; whereas its approach to a
spherical form, involving a less extreme precessional motion,
implies less marked variations in the direction of its
axis. Nor is it only in respect of space-relations
that the Solar System in general and in detail has become
more precise. The like is true of time-relations. During
the process of concentration the various portions of the
nebulous mass must not only differ more or less from each
other in their angular velocities, but each of them must
gradually change the period in which it moves round the
general axis. In every detached ring however, and in the
resulting planet, this progressive alteration ceases: there
results a determinate period of revolution. And similarly
the time of axial rotation, which, during the formation of
each planet, is continually diminishing, becomes at last practically
fixed: as in the case of the Earth, whose day is not a
second less than it was 2000 years ago. It is scarcely
needful to point out that the force-relations have simultaneously
become more and more settled. The exact calculations
of physical astronomy, show us how definite these
force-relations now are; while the great indefiniteness which
once characterized them, is implied in the extreme difficulty,
if not impossibility, of subjecting the nebular hypothesis to
mathematical treatment.
181From that originally molten state of the Earth inferable
from established geological data—a state in harmony with
the nebular hypothesis but inexplicable on any other—the
transition to its existing state has been through stages in
which the characters became more determinate. Besides
being, as above pointed out, comparatively unstable in surface
and contour, a fluid spheroid is less definite than a solid
spheroid in having no fixed distribution of parts. Currents
of molten matter, though kept to certain general circuits by
the conditions of equilibrium, cannot in the absence of solid
boundaries be precise or permanent in direction: all parts
must be in motion with respect to other parts. But a solidification
of the surface, even though but partial, is manifestly
a step towards the establishment of definite relations of position.
In a thin crust however, frequently ruptured as it
must be by disturbing forces, and moved by every tidal undulation,
such fixity of relative position can be but temporary.
Only as the crust slowly increases in thickness, can there arise
distinct and settled geographical relations. Observe too that
when, on a crust that has cooled to the requisite degree, there
begins to precipitate the water floating above as vapour, the
water which is precipitated cannot maintain any definiteness
either of state or place. Falling on a surface not thick
enough to preserve anything beyond slight variations of
level, it must form small shallow deposits over areas sufficiently
cool to permit condensation; which areas must not
only pass insensibly into others that are too hot for this, but
must themselves from time to time be so raised in temperature
as to drive off the water lying on them. With progressive
refrigeration, however,—with an increasing thickness
of crust, a consequent formation of larger elevations and
depressions, and the condensation of more atmospheric water,
there comes an arrangement of parts that is comparatively
fixed in both time and space; and the definiteness of state
and position increases, until there results such a distribution
of continents and oceans as we now see—a distribution
182that is not only topographically precise, but also in its cliff-marked
coast-lines presents a more definite division of land
from water than could have existed during the period when
islands of low elevation had shelving beaches up which the
tide ebbed and flowed to great distances. Respecting
the characteristics technically classed as geological, we may
draw parallel inferences. While the Earth’s crust was thin,
mountain-chains were impossibilities: there could not have
been long and well-defined axes of elevation, with distinct
water-sheds and areas of drainage. Moreover, from small
islands admitting of but small rivers, and tidal streams both
feeble and narrow, there would result no clearly-marked sedimentary
strata. Confused and varying masses of detritus,
such as those now found at the mouths of brooks, must have
been the prevailing formations. And these could give place
to distinct strata, only as there arose continents and oceans,
with their great rivers, long coast-lines, and wide-spreading
marine currents. How there must simultaneously
have resulted more definite meteorological characters, need
not be pointed out in detail. That differences of climates
and seasons must have grown relatively decided as the heat of
the Sun became distinguishable from the proper heat of the
Earth; that the establishment through this cause of comparatively
constant atmospheric currents, must have similarly
produced more specific conditions in each locality; and
that these effects must have been aided by increasing permanence
in the distribution of land and sea and of ocean
currents; are conclusions which are sufficiently obvious.
Let us turn now to the evidence furnished by organic
bodies. In place of deductive illustrations like the foregoing,
we shall here find numerous illustrations which, as
being inductively established, are less open to criticism. The
process of mammalian development, for example, will supply
us with numerous proofs ready-described by embryologists.
The first change which the ovum of a
mammal undergoes, after continued segmentation has reduced
183its yelk to a mulberry-like mass, is the appearance of
a greater definiteness in the peripheral cells of this mass:
each of which acquires a distinct enveloping membrane.
These peripheral cells, vaguely distinguished from the internal
ones both by their greater completeness and by
their minuter subdivision, coalesce to form the blastoderm
or germinal membrane. One portion of the blastoderm
presently becomes contrasted with the rest, through
the accumulation of cells still more subdivided, which, together,
form an opaque roundish spot. This area germinativa,
as it is called, is not sharply delineated, but shades off
gradually into the surrounding parts of the blastoderm;
and the area pellucida, subsequently formed in the midst of
this germinal area, is similarly without any precise margin.
The “primitive trace,” which makes its appearance in the
centre of the area pellucida, and is the rudiment of that vertebrate
axis which is to be the fundamental characteristic of
the mature animal, is shown by its name to be at first indefinite—a
mere trace. Beginning as a shallow groove, this
becomes slowly more pronounced: its sides grow higher,
their summits overlap, and at last unite; and so the indefinite
groove passes into a definite tube, forming the vertebral
canal. In this vertebral canal the leading divisions of the
brain are at first discernible only as slight bulgings; while
the vertebræ commence as indistinct modifications of the tissue
bounding the canal. Simultaneously, the outer portion of the
blastoderm has been undergoing separation from the inner portion:
there has been a division into the serous and mucous
layers—a division at the outset indistinct, and traceable only
about the germinal area, but which insensibly spreads throughout
nearly the whole germinal membrane, and becomes definite.
From the mucous layer, the development of the alimentary
canal proceeds as that of the vertebral canal does from
the serous layer. Originally a simple channel along the under
surface of the embryonic mass, the intestine is rendered step by
step more distinct by the bending down, on each side, of ridges
184which finally join to form a tube—the permanent absorbing
surface is by degrees clearly cut off from that temporary absorbing
surface of which it was at first a part like all the rest.
And in an analogous manner the entire embryo, which at first
lies outspread upon the surface of the yelk-sack, gradually rises
up from it, and, by the infolding of its ventral surface, becomes
a separate mass, connected with the yelk-sack only by a narrow
duct. These changes through which the general
structure of the embryo is marked out with slowly-increasing
precision, are paralleled in the evolution of each organ.
The heart is at first a mere aggregation of cells, of which the
inner liquify to form the cavity, while the outer are transformed
into the walls; and when thus sketched out, the heart
is indefinite not only as being unlined by limiting membrane,
but also as being but vaguely distinguishable from
the great blood-vessels: of which it is little more than a
dilatation. By and by the receiving portion of the cavity
becomes distinct from the propelling portion. Afterwards
there begins to be formed across the ventricle, a septum,
which, however, is some time before it completely shuts off
the two halves from each other; while the later-formed
septum of the auricle remains incomplete during the whole
of fœtal life. Again, the liver commences as a multiplication
of certain cells in the wall of the intestine. The thickening
produced by this multiplication “increases so as to form a
projection upon the exterior of the canal;” and at the same
time that the organ grows and becomes distinct from the intestine,
the channels which permeate it are transformed into
ducts having clearly-marked walls. Similarly, by the increase
of certain cells of the external coat of the alimentary
canal at its upper portion, are produced buds from which
the lungs are developed; and these, in their general outlines
and detailed structure, acquire distinctness step by
step. Changes of this order continue long after
birth; and, in the human being, are some of them not completed
till middle life. During youth, most of the articular
185surfaces of the bones remain rough and fissured—the calcareous
deposit ending irregularly in the surrounding cartilage.
But between puberty and the age of thirty, the articular
surfaces are finished off by the addition of smooth, hard,
sharply-cut “epiphyses.” Thus we may say that during
Evolution, an increase of definiteness continues long after
there ceases to be any appreciable increase of heterogeneity.
And, indeed, there is reason to think that those structural
modifications which take place after maturity, ending in
old age and death, are modifications of this nature; since
they result in a growing rigidity of structure, a consequent
restriction of movement and of functional pliability, a
gradual narrowing of the limits within which the vital
processes go on, ending at length in an organic adjustment
too precise—too narrow in its margin of possible variation to
permit the requisite adaptation to external changes of condition.
To demonstrate that the Earth’s Flora and Fauna, regarded
either as wholes or in their separate species, have progressed
in definiteness, is of course no more possible than it was to
demonstrate that they have progressed in heterogeneity: lack
of facts being an obstacle to the one conclusion as to the other.
If, however, we allow ourselves to reason from the hypothesis,
now daily rendered more probable, that every species of
organic form up to the most complex, has arisen out of the
simplest through the accumulation of modifications upon
modifications, just as every individual organic form arises;
we shall see that in such case there must have been a progress
from the indeterminate to the determinate, both in the
particular forms and in the groups of forms. We
may set out with the significant fact that many of the lowest
living organisms (which are analogous in structure to the
germs of all higher ones) are so indefinite in character that
it is difficult, if not impossible, to decide whether they are
plants or animals. Respecting sundry of them there are unsettled
disputes between zoologists and botanists; and it has
186even been proposed to group them into a separate kingdom,
forming a common basis to the animal and vegetal kingdoms.
Note next that among the Protozoa, extreme indefiniteness
of shape is very general. In the shell-less Rhizopods
and their allies, not only is the form so irregular as to admit
of no description, but it is neither alike in any two individuals
nor in the same individual at successive moments. By the
aggregation of such creatures, are produced, among other indefinite
bodies, the sponges—bodies that are indefinite in size,
in contour, in internal arrangement, and in the absence of an
external limiting membrane. As further showing the relatively
indeterminate character of the simplest organisms,
it may be mentioned that their structures vary very greatly
with surrounding conditions: so much so that, among the
Protozoa and Protophyta, many forms which were once
classed as distinct species, and even as distinct genera, are
found to be merely varieties of one species. If now we
call to mind how precise in their attributes are the highest
organisms—how sharply cut their outlines, how invariable
their proportions, and how comparatively constant their structures
under changed conditions, we cannot deny that greater
definiteness is one of their characteristics; and that if they
have been evolved out of lower organisms, an increase of
definiteness has been an accompaniment of their evolution.
That in course of time, species have become
more sharply marked off from other species, genera from
genera, and orders from orders, is a conclusion not admitting
of a more positive establishment than the foregoing; and
must, indeed, stand or fall with it. If, however, species and
genera and orders have resulted from the process of “natural
selection,” then, as Mr. Darwin shows, there must have been
a tendency to divergence, causing the contrasts between
groups to become more and more pronounced. By the disappearance
of intermediate forms, less fitted for special
spheres of existence than the extreme forms they connected,
the differences between the extreme forms must be rendered
187more decided; and so, from indistinct and unstable varieties,
must slowly be produced distinct and stable species. Of
which inference it may be remarked, not only that it follows
from a process to which the organic creation is of necessity
ever subject, but also that it is in harmony with what we
know respecting races of men and races of domestic animals.
Evidence that in the course of psychial development,
there is a change from the vague to the distinct, may be
seen in every nursery. The confusion of the infant’s perceptions
is shown by its inability to distinguish persons.
The dimness of its ideas of direction and distance, may be
inferred from the ill-guided movements of its hands, and from
its endeavours to grasp objects far out of reach. Only by
degrees does the sense of equilibrium, needful for safe standing
and moving, gain the requisite precision. Through the
insensible steps that end in comprehensible speech, we may
trace an increase in the accuracy with which sounds are discriminated
and in the nicety with which they are imitated.
And similarly during education, the change is towards the
establishment of internal relations more perfectly corresponding
to external ones—to exactness in calculations, to a better
representation of objects drawn, to a more correct spelling, to
a completer conformity to the rules of speech, to clearer ideas
respecting the affairs of life. How in the further
progress to maturity the law still holds, needs not here be
pointed out; more especially as it will presently be shown in
treating of the evolution of intelligence during the advance
of civilization. The only further fact calling for remark, is,
that this increase of mental definiteness is, in some ways,
manifested even during the advance from maturity to old
age. The habits of life grow more and more fixed; the
character becomes less capable of change; the quantity of
knowledge previously acquired ceases to have its limits alterable
by additions; and the opinions upon every point admit
of no modification.
Still more manifestly do the successive phases through
188which societies pass, display the progress from indeterminate
arrangement to determinate arrangement. A wandering
tribe of savages, as being fixed neither in its locality nor in
the relative positions of its parts, is far less definite than a
nation, covering a territory clearly marked out, and formed
of individuals grouped together in towns and villages. In
such a tribe the social relations are similarly confused and
unsettled. Political authority is neither well established nor
precise. Distinctions of rank are neither clearly marked nor
impassable. “Medicine-men” and “rain-makers” form a
class by no means as distinct from the rest of the community
as eventually becomes the priesthood they foreshadow. And
save in the different occupations of men and women, there are
no complete industrial divisions. Only in tribes of considerable
size, which have enslaved other tribes, is the economical differentiation
decided. Any one of these primitive
societies however that developes, becomes step by step more
specific. Increasing in size, consequently ceasing to be so
nomadic, and restricted in its range by neighbouring tribes,
it acquires, after prolonged border warfare, a more settled
territorial boundary. The distinction between the royal
race and the people, grows so extreme as to amount in the
popular apprehension to a difference of nature. The warrior-class
attains a perfect separation from classes devoted to the
cultivation of the soil or other occupations regarded as servile.
And there arises a priesthood that is defined in its rank, its
functions, its privileges. This sharpness of definition, growing
both greater and more variously exemplified as societies
advance to maturity, is extremest in those that have reached
their full development or are declining. Of ancient Egypt
we read that its social divisions were strongly-marked and its
customs rigid. Recent investigations make it more than ever
clear, that among the Assyrians and surrounding peoples, not
only were the laws unalterable, but even the minor habits,
down to those of domestic routine, possessed a sacredness which
insured their permanence. In India at the present day, the
189unchangeable distinctions of caste, not less than the constancy
in modes of dress, industrial processes, and religious observances,
show us how fixed are the arrangements where the
antiquity is great. Nor does China with its long-settled
political organization, its elaborate and precise conventions,
and its unprogressive literature, fail to exemplify the same
truth. The successive phases of our own and neighbouring
societies, furnish facts somewhat different in kind but
similar in meaning. After our leading class-divisions had
become tolerably well-established, it was long before they
acquired their full precision. Originally, monarchical authority
was more baronial, and baronial authority more monarchical,
than they afterwards became. Between modern
priests and the priests of old times, who while officially
teachers of religion were also warriors, judges, architects,
there is a marked difference in definiteness of function. And
among the people engaged in productive occupations, the like
contrast would be found to hold: the industrial office has
become more distinct from the military; and its various divisions
from each other. A history of our constitution, reminding
us how, after prolonged struggles, the powers of
King, Lords, and Commons, have been gradually settled,
would clearly exhibit analogous changes. Countless facts
bearing the like construction would meet us, were we to
trace the development of legislation: in the successive
stages of which, we should find statutes made more precise
in their provisions—more specific in their applications to
particular cases. Even at the present time we see that each
new law, beginning as a vague proposition, is, in the
course of enactment, elaborated into specific clauses; and
further that only after its interpretation has been established
by judges’ decisions in courts of justice, does it reach its final
definiteness. From the history of minor institutions like
evidence may be gathered. Religious, charitable, literary,
and all other societies, beginning with ends and methods
roughly sketched out and easily modifiable, show us how, by
190the accumulation of rules and precedents, the purposes become
more distinct and the modes of action more restricted; until
at last death often results from a fixity which admits of
no adaptation to new conditions. Should it be objected that
among civilized nations there are examples of decreasing
definiteness, (instance the breaking down of limits between
ranks,) the reply is, that such apparent exceptions are the accompaniments
of a social metamorphosis—a change from the
military or predatory type of social structure, to the industrial
or mercantile type, during which the old lines of organization
are disappearing and the new ones becoming more
marked.
That all organized results of social action, pass in the
course of civilization through parallel phases, is demonstrable.
Being, as they are, objective products of subjective
processes, they must display corresponding changes; and
that they do this, the cases of Language, of Science, of Art,
clearly prove.
If we strike out from our sentences everything but nouns
and verbs, we shall perceive how extremely vague is the expression
of ideas in undeveloped tongues. When we note
how each inflection of a verb or addition by which the case
of a noun is marked, serves to limit the conditions of action
or of existence, we see that these constituents of speech enable
men more precisely to communicate their thoughts.
That the application of an adjective to a noun or an adverb
to a verb, narrows the class of things or changes indicated,
implies that these additional words serve further to
define the meaning. And similarly with other parts of
speech. The like effect results from the multiplication
of words of each order. When the names for objects,
and acts, and qualities, are but few, the range of each is proportionately
wide, and its meaning therefore unspecific. The
similes and metaphors so abundantly used by aboriginal races,
are simply vehicles for indirectly and imperfectly conveying
ideas, which lack of words disables them from conveying directly
191and perfectly. In contrasting these figurative expressions,
interpretable in various senses, with the expressions
which we should use in place of them, the increase of exactness
which wealth of language gives, is rendered very obvious.
Or to take a case from ordinary life, if we compare the
speech of the peasant, who, out of his limited vocabulary, can
describe the contents of the bottle he carries, only as “doctor’s-stuff”
which he has got for his “sick” wife, with the
speech of the physician, who tells those educated like himself
the particular composition of the medicine, and the particular
disorder for which he has prescribed it; we have vividly
brought home to us, the precision which language gains by the
multiplication of terms. Again, in the course of its
evolution, each tongue acquires a further accuracy through
processes which fix the meaning of each word. Intellectual
intercourse tends gradually to diminish laxity of expression.
By and by dictionaries give definitions. And eventually,
among the most cultivated, indefiniteness is not tolerated,
either in the terms used or in their grammatical combinations.
Once more, languages considered as wholes,
become gradually more distinct from each other, and from
their common parent: as witness in early times the divergence
from the same root of two languages so unlike as Greek
and Latin, and in later times the development of three Latin
dialects into Italian, French, and Spanish.
In his “History of the Inductive Sciences,” Dr. Whewell
says that the Greeks failed in physical philosophy because
their “ideas were not distinct, and appropriate to the facts.”
I do not quote this remark for its luminousness; since it
would be equally proper to ascribe the indistinctness and inappropriateness
of their ideas to the imperfection of their physical
philosophy; but I quote it because it serves as good evidence
of the indefiniteness of primitive science. The same
work and its fellow on “The Philosophy of the Inductive
Sciences,” supply other evidences equally good, because
equally independent of any such hypothesis as is here to be
192established. Respecting mathematics we have the fact that
geometrical theorems grew out of empirical methods; and that
these theorems, at first isolated, did not acquire the clearness
which complete demonstration gives, until they were arranged
by Euclid into a series of dependent propositions. At a later
period the same general truth was exemplified in the progress
from the “method of exhaustions” and the “method of indivisibles”
to the “method of limits;” which is the central idea
of the infinitesimal calculus. In early mechanics, too, may be
traced a dim perception that action and re-action are equal and
opposite; though for ages after, this truth remained unformulated.
And similarly, the property of inertia, though not
distinctly comprehended until Kepler lived, was vaguely recognized
long previously. “The conception of statical force,”
“was never presented in a distinct form till the works of
Archimedes appeared;” and “the conception of accelerating
force was confused, in the mind of Kepler and his contemporaries,
and did not become clear enough for purposes of sound
scientific reasoning before the succeeding century.” To which
specific assertions may be added the general remark, that
“terms which originally, and before the laws of motion were
fully known, were used in a very vague and fluctuating
sense, were afterwards limited and rendered precise.” When
we turn from abstract scientific conceptions to the concrete
previsions of science, of which astronomy furnishes us with
numerous examples, the like contrast is visible. The times
at which celestial phenomena will occur, have been predicted
with ever-increasing accuracy: errors once amounting to
days, have been reduced down to seconds. The correspondence
between the real and supposed forms of orbits, has
been growing gradually more precise. Originally thought
circular, then epicyclical, then elliptical, orbits are now
ascertained to be curves which always deviate more or
less from perfect ellipses, and which are ever undergoing
change. But the general advance of Science in definiteness,
is best shown by the contrast between its qualitative
193stage, and its quantitative stage. At first, the facts ascertained
were, that between such and such phenomena some
connexion existed—that the appearances a and b always
occurred together or in succession; but it was neither
known what was the nature of the relation between a and b,
nor how much of a accompanied so much of b. The development
of Science has in part been the reduction of these vague
connexions to distinct ones. Most relations have been determined
as belonging to the classes mechanical, chemical,
thermal, electric, magnetic, &c.; and we have learnt to
infer the amounts of the antecedents and consequents from
each other with an exactness that becomes ever greater.
Were there space to state them, illustrations of this truth
might be cited from all departments of physics; but it must
suffice here to instance the general progress of chemistry.
Besides the conspicuous fact that we have positively ascertained
the constituent elements of an immense number of
compounds which our ancestors could not analyze, and of a
far greater number which they never even saw, there is the
still more conspicuous fact that the combining equivalents of
these elements are accurately calculated. The beginnings
of a like advance from qualitative to quantitative prevision,
may be traced even in some of the higher sciences. Physiology
shows it in the weighing and measuring of organic products,
and of the materials consumed. By Pathology it is
displayed in the use of the statistical method of determining
the sources of diseases, and the effects of treatment. In
Zoology and Botany, the numerical comparisons of Floras
and Faunas, leading to specific conclusions respecting their
sources and distributions, illustrate it. And in Sociology,
questionable as are the conclusions usually drawn from the
classified sum-totals of the census, from Board-of-Trade
tables, and from criminal returns, it must be admitted that
these imply a progress towards more accurate conceptions of
social phenomena. That an essential characteristic
of advancing Science is increase in definiteness, appears indeed
194almost a truism, when we remember that Science may
be described as definite knowledge, in contradistinction to
that indefinite knowledge possessed by the uncultured. And
if, as we cannot question, Science has, in the slow course of
ages, been evolved out of this indefinite knowledge of the
uncultured; then, the gradual acquirement of that great definiteness
which now distinguishes it, must have been a leading
trait in its evolution.
The Arts, industrial and æsthetic, furnish illustrations
perhaps still more striking. Flint implements of the kind
recently found in certain of the later geologic deposits—implements
so rude that some have held them to be of natural
rather than of artificial origin—show the extreme want of
precision in men’s first handyworks. Though a great advance
on these is seen in the tools and weapons of existing
savage tribes, yet an inexactness in forms and fittings, more
than anything else distinguishes such tools and weapons
from those of civilized races. In a less degree, the productions
of semi-barbarous nations are characterized by like defects.
A Chinese junk with all its contained furniture and
appliances, nowhere presents a perfectly straight line, a uniform
curve, or a true surface. Nor do the utensils and
machines of our ancestors fail to exhibit a similar inferiority
to our own. An antique chair, an old fireplace, a lock of the
last century, or almost any article of household use that has
been preserved for a few generations, will prove by contrast
how greatly the industrial products of our time excel those
of the past in their accuracy. Since planing machines have
been invented, it has become possible to produce absolutely
straight lines, and surfaces so truly level as to be air-tight
when applied to each other. While in the dividing-engine
of Troughton, in the micrometer of Whitworth, and in microscopes
that show fifty thousand divisions to the inch, we
have an exactness as far exceeding that reached in the works
of our great-grandfathers, as theirs exceeded that of the
aboriginal celt-makers. In the Fine Arts there has
195been a parallel process. From the rudely carved and painted
idols of savages, through the early sculptures characterized
by limbs having no muscular detail, wooden-looking drapery,
and faces devoid of individuality, up to the later statues of
the Greeks or some of those now produced, the increased
accuracy of representation is conspicuous. Compare the
mural paintings of the Egyptians with the paintings of
medieval Europe, or these with modern paintings, and the
more precise rendering of the appearances of objects is manifest.
So too is it with the delineations of fiction and the
drama. In the marvellous tales current among Eastern
nations, in the romantic legends of feudal Europe, as well as
in the mystery-plays and those immediately succeeding them,
we see great want of correspondence to the realities of life;
not only in the predominance of supernatural events and extremely
improbable coincidences, but also in the vaguely-indicated
personages, who are nothing more than embodiments
of virtue and vice in general, or at best of particular
virtues and vices. Through transitions that need not be
specified, there has been a progressive diminution, in both
fiction and the drama, of whatever is unnatural—whatever
does not answer to real life. And now, novels and plays are
applauded in proportion to the fidelity with which they exhibit
individual characters with their motives and consequent
actions; improbabilities, like the impossibilities which preceded
them, are disallowed; and there is even an incipient
abandonment of those elaborate plots which the realities of
life rarely if ever furnish.
Were it needful, it would be easy to accumulate evidences
of various other kinds. The progress from myths and
legends, extreme in their misrepresentations, to a history
that has slowly become, and is still becoming, more accurate;
the establishment of settled systematic methods of doing
things, instead of the indeterminate ways at first pursued;
and the great increase in the number of points on which
conflicting opinion has settled down into exact knowledge;
196might severally be used further to exemplify the general
truth enunciated. The basis of induction is, however, already
sufficiently wide. Proof that all Evolution is from
the indefinite to the definite, we find to be not less abundant
than proof that all Evolution is from the homogeneous to
the heterogeneous. The one kind of change is co-extensive
with the other—is equally with it exhibited throughout
Nature.
§ 56. To form a complete conception of Evolution, we
have to contemplate it under yet another aspect. This advance
from the indefinite to the definite, is obviously not
primary but secondary—is an incidental result attendant on
the finishing of certain changes. The transformation of a
whole that was originally uniform, into a combination of
multiform parts, implies a progressive separation. While
this is going on there must be indistinctness. Only as each
separated division draws into its general mass those diffused
peripheral portions which are at first imperfectly disunited
from the peripheral portions of neighbouring divisions, can
it acquire anything like a precise outline. And it cannot
become perfectly definite until its units are aggregated into
a compact whole. That is to say, the acquirement of definiteness
is simply a concomitant of complete union of the elements
constituting each component division. Thus,
Evolution is characterized not only by a continuous multiplication
of parts, but also by a growing oneness in each part.
And while an advance in heterogeneity results from progressive
differentiation, an advance in definiteness results
from progressive integration. The two changes are simultaneous;
or are rather opposite aspects of the same change.
This change, however, cannot be rightly comprehended without
looking at both its sides. Let us then once more consider
Evolution under its several manifestations; for the purpose
of noting how it is throughout a process of integration.
The illustrations furnished by the Solar System, supposing
197it to have had a nebular origin, are so obvious as scarcely to
need indicating. That as a whole, it underwent a gradual
concentration while assuming its present distribution of
parts; and that there subsequently took place a like concentration
of the matter forming each planet and satellite, is the
leading feature of the hypothesis. The process of integration
is here seen in its simplest and most decided form.
Geologic evolution, if we trace it up from that molten
state of the Earth’s substance which we are obliged to postulate,
supplies us with more varied facts of like meaning.
The advance from a thin crust, at first everywhere fissured
and moveable, to a crust so solid and thick as to be but now
and then very partially dislocated by disturbing forces,
exemplifies the unifying process; as does likewise the advance
from a surface covered with small patches of land and
water, to one divided into continents and oceans—an advance
also resulting from the Earth’s gradual solidification. Moreover,
the collection of detritus into strata of great extent, and
the union of such strata into extensive “systems,” becomes
possible only as surfaces of land and water become wide, and
subsidences great, in both area and depth; whence it follows
that integrations of this order must have grown more pronounced
as the Earth’s crust thickened. Different
and simpler instances of the process through which mixed
materials are separated, and the kindred units aggregated
into masses, are exhibited in the detailed structure of the
Earth. The phenomena of crystallization may be cited en
masse, as showing how the unifications of similar elements
take place wherever the conditions permit. Not only do we
see this where there is little or no hindrance to the approach
of the particles, as in the cases of crystals formed from
solutions, or by sublimation; but it is also seen where there
are great obstacles to their approach. The flints and the
nodules of iron pyrites that are found in chalk, as well as
the silicious concretions which occasionally occur in limestone,
can be interpreted only as aggregations of atoms of
198silex or sulphuret of iron, originally diffused almost uniformly
through the deposit, but gradually collected round
certain centres, notwithstanding the solid or semi-solid state
of the surrounding matter. Iron-stone as it ordinarily occurs,
presents a similar phenomenon to be similarly explained;
and what is called bog iron-ore supplies the conditions and
the result in still more obvious correlation.
During the evolution of an organism, there occurs, as
every physiologist knows, not only separation of parts, but
coalescence of parts. In the mammalian embryo, the heart, at
first a long pulsating blood-vessel, by and by twists upon
itself and becomes integrated. The layer of bile-cells constituting
the rudimentary liver, do not simply become different
from the wall of the intestine in which they at first lie; but
they simultaneously diverge from it and consolidate into an
organ. The anterior segments of the cerebro-spinal axis,
which are at first continuous with the rest, and distinguished
only by their larger size, undergo a gradual union; and at
the same time the resulting head consolidates into a mass
clearly marked off from the rest of the vertebral column. The
like process, variously exemplified in other organs, is meanwhile
exhibited by the body as a whole; which becomes
integrated, somewhat in the same way that the contents of
an outspread handkerchief become integrated when its edges
are drawn in and fastened to make a bundle. Analogous
changes go on long after birth, and continue even up to old
age. In the human being that gradual solidification of the
bony framework, which, during childhood, is seen in the coalescence
of portions of the same bone ossified from different
centres, is afterwards seen in the coalescence of bones that
were originally distinct. The appendages of the vertebræ unite
with the vertebral centres to which they belong—a change not
completed until towards thirty. At the same time the epiphyses,
formed separately from the main bodies of their respective
bones, have their cartilaginous connexions turned into
osseous ones—are fused to the masses beneath them. The component
199vertebræ of the sacrum, which remain separate till about
the sixteenth year, then begin to unite; and in ten or a dozen
years more their union is complete. Still later occurs the coalescence
of the coccygeal vertebræ; and there are some other
bony unions which are not completed until advanced age.
To which add that the increase of density and toughness,
going on throughout the tissues in general during life, may
be regarded as the formation of a more highly integrated substance.
The species of change thus illustrated under
its several aspects in the unfolding of the human body, may
be traced in all animals. That mode of it which consists in
the union of homogeneous parts originally separate, has been
described by Milne-Edwards and others, as exhibited in various
of the invertebrata; though it does not seem to have been
included by them as an essential peculiarity in the process of
organic development. We shall, however, be led strongly to
suspect that progressive integration should form part of the
definition of this process, when we find it displayed not only
in tracing up the stages passed through by every embryo, but
also in ascending from the lower living creatures to the higher.
And here, as in the evolution of individual organisms, it goes
on both longitudinally and transversely: under which different
forms we may indeed most conveniently consider
it. Of longitudinal integration, the sub-kingdom Annulosa
supplies abundant examples. Its lower members, such
as worms and myriapods, are mostly characterized by the great
number of segments composing them: reaching in some cases
to several hundreds. But in the higher divisions—crustaceans,
insects, and spiders—we find this number reduced down
to twenty-two, thirteen, or even fewer; while, accompanying
the reduction, there is a shortening or integration of the
whole body, reaching its extreme in the crab and the spider.
The significance of these contrasts, as bearing upon the general
doctrine of Evolution, will be seen when it is pointed out that
they are parallel to those which arise during the development
of individual Annulosa. In the lobster, the head and
200thorax form one compact box, made by the union of a number
of segments which in the embryo were separable. Similarly,
the butterfly shows us segments so much more closely
united than they were in the caterpillar, as to be, some of
them, no longer distinguishable from each other. The
Vertebrata again, throughout their successively higher classes,
furnish like instances of longitudinal union. In most fishes,
and in reptiles that have no limbs, the only segments of the
spinal column that coalesce, are those forming the skull. In
most mammals and in birds, a variable number of vertebræ become
fused together to form the sacrum; and in the higher
quadrumana and man, the caudal vertebræ also lose their separate
individualities in a single os coccygis. That which
we may distinguish as transverse integration, is well illustrated
among the Annulosa in the development of the nervous
system. Leaving out those most degraded forms which do
not present distinct ganglia, it is to be observed that the
lower annulose animals, in common with the larvæ of the
higher, are severally characterized by a double chain of
ganglia running from end to end of the body; while in the
more perfectly formed annulose animals, this double chain becomes
more or less completely united into a single chain.
Mr. Newport has described the course of this concentration
as exhibited in insects; and by Rathke it has been traced in
crustaceans. During the early stages of the Astacus fluviatilis,
or common cray-fish, there is a pair of separate ganglia
to each ring. Of the fourteen pairs belonging to the head
and thorax, the three pairs in advance of the mouth consolidate
into one mass to form the brain, or cephalic ganglion.
Meanwhile, out of the remainder, the first six pairs severally
unite in the median line, while the rest remain more or less
separate. Of these six double ganglia thus formed, the
anterior four coalesce into one mass; the remaining two
coalesce into another mass; and then these two masses
coalesce into one. Here we see longitudinal and transverse
integration going on simultaneously; and in the highest
201crustaceans they are both carried still further. The Vertebrata
clearly exhibit transverse integration in the development
of the generative system. The lowest of the mammalia—the
Monotremata—in common with birds, to which
they are in many respects allied, have oviducts which towards
their lower extremities are dilated into cavities, severally
performing in an imperfect way the function of a uterus.
“In the Marsupialia there is a closer approximation of the
two lateral sets of organs on the median line; for the oviducts
converge towards one another and meet (without coalescing)
on the median line; so that their uterine dilatations are in
contact with each other, forming a true ‘double uterus....’
As we ascend the series of ‘placental’ mammals, we find the
lateral coalescence becoming more and more complete....
In many of the Rodentia the uterus still remains completely
divided into two lateral halves; whilst in others these coalesce
at their lower portions, forming a rudiment of the true ‘body’
of the uterus in the human subject. This part increases at
the expense of the lateral ‘cornua’ in the higher herbivora
and carnivora; but even in the lower quadrumana the uterus
is somewhat cleft at its summit.”[10]
In the social organism integrative changes are not less
clearly and abundantly exemplified. Uncivilized societies
display them when wandering families, such as the bushmen
show us, unite into tribes of considerable numbers. Among
these we see a further progress of like nature everywhere
manifested in the subjugation of weaker tribes by stronger
ones; and in the subordination of their respective chiefs to
the conquering chief. The partial combinations thus resulting,
which among aboriginal races are being continually formed
and continually broken up, become, among the superior races,
both more complete and more permanent. If we trace the
metamorphoses through which our own society, or any adjacent
one, has passed, we see this unification from time to time
202repeated on a larger scale and with increasing stability. The
aggregation of juniors and the children of juniors under
elders and the children of elders; the consequent establishment
of groups of vassals bound to their respective nobles;
the subordination afterwards established of groups of inferior
nobles to dukes or earls; and the still later establishment of
the kingly power over dukes or earls; are so many instances
of increasing consolidation. This process through which petty
tenures are combined into feuds, feuds into provinces, provinces
into kingdoms, and finally contiguous kingdoms into
a single one, slowly completes itself by destroying the original
lines of demarcation. And it may be further remarked of
the European nations as a whole, that in the tendency to
form alliances more or less lasting, in the restraining influences
exercised by the several governments over each other,
in the system that is gradually establishing itself of settling
international disputes by congresses, as well as in the
breaking down of commercial barriers and the increasing
facilities of communication, we may trace the incipient stage
of a European confederation—a still larger integration than
any now established. But it is not only in these external
unions of groups with groups, and of the compound
groups with each other, that the general law is exemplified.
It is exemplified also in unions that take place internally, as
the groups become more highly organized. These, of which
the most conspicuous are commercial in their origin and function,
are well illustrated in our own society. We have integrations
consequent on the simple growth of adjacent parts
performing like functions: as, for instance, the junction of
Manchester with its calico-weaving suburbs. We have other
integrations that arise when, out of several places producing
a particular commodity, one monopolizes more and more of
the business, and leaves the rest to dwindle: as witness the
growth of the Yorkshire cloth-districts at the expense of
those in the west of England; or the absorption by Staffordshire
of the pottery-manufacture, and the consequent decay
203of the establishments that once flourished at Worcester,
Derby, and elsewhere. And we have those yet other integrations
produced by the actual approximation of the similarly-occupied
parts: whence result such facts as the concentration
of publishers in Paternoster Row; of lawyers in
the Temple and neighbourhood; of corn-merchants about
Mark Lane; of civil engineers in Great George Street; of
bankers in the centre of the city. Industrial combinations
that consist, not in the approximation or fusion of parts, but
in the establishment of common centres of connexion, are exhibited
in the Bank clearing-house and the Railway clearing-house.
While of yet another genus are those unions which
bring into relation the more or less dispersed citizens who are
occupied in like ways: as traders are brought by the Exchange
and the Stock-Exchange; and as are professional men
by institutes, like those of Civil Engineers, Architects, &c.
Here, as before, it is manifest that a law of Evolution
which holds of organisms, must hold too of all objective results
of their activity; and that hence Language, and Science,
and Art, must not only in the course of their development
display increasing heterogeneity and definiteness, but also increasing
integration. We shall find this conclusion to be in
harmony with the facts.
Among uncivilized races, the many-syllabled terms used for
not uncommon objects, as well as the descriptive character of
proper names, show us that the words used for the less familiar
things are formed by compounding the words used for the
more familiar things. This process of composition is sometimes
found in its incipient stage—a stage in which the component
words are temporarily united to signify some unnamed object,
and do not (from lack of frequent use) permanently cohere.
But in the majority of inferior languages, the process of “agglutination,”
as it is called, has gone far enough to produce
considerable stability in the compound words: there is a manifest
integration. How small is the degree of this integration,
however, when compared with that reached in well-developed
204languages is shown both by the great length of the compound
words used for things and acts of constant occurrence, and
by the separableness of their elements. Certain North-American
tongues very well illustrate this. In a Ricaree vocabulary
extending to fifty names of common objects, which in
English are nearly all expressed by single syllables, there is
not one monosyllabic word; and in the nearly-allied vocabulary
of the Pawnees, the names for these same common
objects are monosyllabic in but two instances. Things so
familiar to these hunting tribes as dog and bow, are, in the
Pawnee language, ashakish and teeragish; the hand and the
eyes are respectively iksheeree and keereekoo; for day the
term is shakoorooeeshairet, and for devil it is tsaheekshkakooraiwah;
while the numerals are composed of from two syllables
up to five, and in Ricaree up to seven. That the great
length of these familiar words implies a low degree of development,
and that in the formation of higher languages out
of lower there is a progressive integration, which reduces the
polysyllables to dissyllables and monosyllables, is an inference
fully confirmed by the history of our own language.
Anglo-Saxon steorra has been in course of time consolidated
into English star, mona into moon, and nama into name. The
transition through the intermediate semi-Saxon is clearly
traceable. Sunu became in semi-Saxon sune, and in English
son: the final e of sune being an evanescent form of the
original u. The change from the Anglo-Saxon plural, formed
by the distinct syllable as, to our plural formed by the appended
consonant s, shows us the same thing: smithas in becoming
smiths, and endas in becoming ends, illustrate progressive
coalescence. So too does the disappearance of the
terminal an in the infinitive mood of verbs; as shown in the
transition from the Anglo-Saxon cuman to the semi-Saxon
cumme, and to the English come. Moreover the process has
been slowly going on, even since what we distinguish as English
was formed. In Elizabeth’s time, verbs were still very
frequently pluralized by the addition of en—we tell was we
205tellen; and in some rural districts this form of speech may
even now be heard. In like manner the terminal ed of the
past tense, has united with the word it modifies. Burn-ed has
in pronunciation become burnt; and even in writing the
terminal t has in some cases taken the place of the ed. Only
where antique forms in general are adhered to, as in the
church-service, is the distinctness of this inflection still maintained.
Further, we see that the compound vowels have
been in many cases fused into single vowels. That in bread
the e and a were originally both sounded, is proved by the
fact that they are still so sounded in parts where old habits
linger. We, however, have contracted the pronunciation into
bred; and we have made like changes in many other common
words. Lastly, let it be noted that where the frequency
of repetition is greatest, the process is carried furthest; as
instance the contraction of lord (originally laford) into lud
in the mouths of Barristers; and still better the coalescence
of God be with you into Good bye. Besides exhibiting
in this way the integrative process, Language equally
exhibits it throughout all grammatical development. The
lowest kinds of human speech, having merely nouns and
verbs without inflections to them, manifestly permit no such
close union of the elements of a proposition as results when
the relations are either marked by inflections or by words
specially used for purposes of connexion. Such speech is
necessarily what we significantly call “incoherent.” To a considerable
extent, incoherence is seen in the Chinese language.
“If, instead of saying I go to London, figs come from Turkey,
the sun shines through the air, we said, I go end London,
figs come origin Turkey, the sun shines passage air, we should
discourse of the manner of the Chinese.” From this “aptotic”
form, there is clear evidence of a transition by coalescence
to a form in which the connexions of words are expressed
by the addition to them of certain inflectional words.
“In Languages like the Chinese,” remarks Dr Latham, “the
separate words most in use to express relation may become
206adjuncts or annexes.” To this he adds the fact that “the
numerous inflexional languages fall into two classes. In one,
the inflexions have no appearance of having been separate
words. In the other, their origin as separate words is demonstrable.”
From which the inference drawn is, that the
“aptotic” languages, by the more and more constant use of
adjuncts, gave rise to the “agglutinate” languages, or those
in which the original separateness of the inflexional parts can
be traced; and that out of these, by further use, arose the
“amalgamate” languages, or these in which the original
separateness of the inflexional parts can no longer be traced.
Strongly corroborative of this inference is the unquestionable
fact, that by such a process there have grown out of the
amalgamate languages, the “anaptotic” languages; of which
our own is the most perfect example—languages in which, by
further consolidation, inflexions have almost disappeared,
while, to express the verbal relations, certain new kinds of
words have been developed. When we see the Anglo-Saxon
inflexions gradually lost by contraction during the development
of English, and, though to a less degree, the Latin inflexions
dwindling away during the development of French,
we cannot deny that grammatical structure is modified by integration;
and seeing how clearly the earlier stages of grammatical
structure are explained by it, we can scarcely doubt
that it has been going on from the first. And now
mark that in proportion to the degree of the integration above
described, is the extent to which integration of another order
is shown. Aptotic languages are, as already pointed out,
necessarily incoherent—the elements of a proposition cannot
be tied into a definite and complete whole. But as fast as
coalescence produces inflected words, it becomes possible to
unite them into sentences of which the parts are so mutually
dependent that no considerable change can be made without
destroying the meaning. Yet a further stage in this process
may be noted. After the development of those grammatical
forms which make definite statements possible, we do not at
207first find them used to express anything beyond statements
of a simple kind. A single subject with a single predicate,
accompanied by but few qualifying terms, are usually all. If
we compare, for instance, the Hebrew scriptures with writings
of modern times, a marked difference of aggregation among
the groups of words, is visible. In the number of subordinate
propositions which accompany the principal one; in the various
complements to subjects and predicates; and in the
numerous qualifying clauses—all of them united into one
complex whole—many sentences in modern composition exhibit
a degree of integration not to be found in ancient ones.
The history of Science presents facts of the same meaning
at every step. Indeed the integration of groups of like
entities and like relations, may be said to constitute the most
conspicuous part of scientific progress. A glance at the classificatory
sciences, shows us not only that the confused aggregations
which the vulgar make of natural objects, are differentiated
into groups that are respectively more homogeneous,
but also that these groups are gradually rendered complete
and compact. While, instead of considering all marine
creatures as fish, shell-fish, and jelly-fish, Zoology establishes
divisions and sub-divisions under the heads Vertebrata,
Annulosa, Mollusca, &c.—while in place of the wide and
vague assemblage popularly described as “creeping things,”
it makes the specific classes Annelida, Myriopoda, Insecta,
Arachnida; it at the same time gives to these an increasing
consolidation. The several orders and genera of which each
consists, are arranged according to their affinities and bound
together under common definitions; at the same time that,
by extended observation and rigorous criticism, the previously
unknown and undetermined forms are integrated with their
respective congeners. Nor is the same process less
clearly manifested in those sciences which have for their
subject-matter, not classified objects, but classified relations.
Under one of its chief aspects, the advance of Science
is the advance of generalization; and generalization is the
208uniting into groups all like co-existencies and sequences
among phenomena. Not only, however, does the colligation
of a number of concrete relations into a generalization of the
lowest order, exemplify the principle enunciated; but it is
again and again exemplified in the colligation of these lowest
generalizations into higher ones, and these into still higher
ones. Year by year are established certain connexions
among orders of phenomena that seem wholly unallied; and
these connexions, multiplying and strengthening, gradually
bring the seemingly unallied orders under a common bond.
When, for example, Humboldt quotes the saying of the Swiss—“it
is going to rain because we hear the murmur of the
torrents nearer,”—when he remarks the relation between this
and an observation of his own, that the cataracts of the Orinoco
are heard at a greater distance by night than by day—when
he notes the essential parallelism existing between these
facts and the fact that the unusual visibility of remote objects
is also an indication of coming rain—and when he
points out that the common cause of these variations is the
smaller hindrance offered to the passage of both light and
sound, by media which are comparatively homogeneous,
either in temperature or hygrometric state; he helps in
bringing under one generalization the phenomena of light
and those of sound. Experiment having shown that these
conform to like laws of reflection and refraction, the conclusion
that they are both produced by undulations gains probability:
there is an incipient integration of two great orders
of phenomena, between which no connexion was suspected in
times past. A still more decided integration has been of late
taking place between the once independent sub-sciences of
Electricity, Magnetism, and Light. And indeed it must be
obvious to those who are familiar with the present state of
Science, that there will eventually take place a far wider
integration, by which all orders of phenomena will be combined
as differently conditioned forms of one ultimate fact.
Nor do the industrial and æsthetic Arts fail to supply us
209with equally conclusive evidence. The progress from rude,
small, and simple tools, to perfect, complex, and large machines,
illustrates not only a progress in heterogeneity and
in definiteness, but also in integration. Among what are
classed as the mechanical powers, the advance from the lever
to the wheel-and-axle is an advance from a simple agent to an
agent made up of several simple ones combined together. On
comparing the wheel-and-axle, or any of the machines used
in early times with those used now, we find an essential
difference to be, that in each of our machines several of the
primitive machines are united into one. A modern apparatus
for spinning or weaving, for making stockings or lace,
contains not simply a lever, an inclined plane, a screw, a
wheel-and-axle, united together; but several of each integrated
into one complex whole. Again, in early ages, when
horse-power and man-power were alone employed, the motive
agent was not bound up with the tool moved; but the two
have now become in many cases fused together: the fire-box
and boiler of a locomotive are combined with the machinery
which the steam works. Nor is this the most extreme case.
A still more extensive integration is exhibited in every
large factory. Here we find a large number of complicated
machines, all connected by driving shafts with the same
steam-engine—all united with it into one vast apparatus.
Contrast the mural decorations of the
Egyptians and Assyrians with modern historical paintings,
and there becomes manifest a great advance in unity of composition—in
the subordination of the parts to the whole.
One of these ancient frescoes is in truth made up of a number
of pictures that have little mutual dependence. The
several figures of which each group consists, show very imperfectly
by their attitudes, and not at all by their expressions,
the relations in which they stand to each other; the
respective groups might be separated with but little loss of
meaning; and the centre of chief interest, which should link
all parts together, is often inconspicuous. The same trait
210may be noted in the tapestries of medieval days. Representing
perhaps a hunting scene, one of these exhibits men,
horses, dogs, beasts, birds, trees, and flowers, miscellaneously
dispersed: the living objects being variously occupied, and
mostly with no apparent consciousness of each other’s proximity.
But in the paintings since produced, faulty as many
of them are in this respect, there is always a more or less
manifest co-ordination of parts—an arrangement of attitudes,
expressions, lights, and colours, such as to combine the picture
into an organic whole; and the success with which unity
of effect is educed from variety of components, is a chief test
of merit. In music, progressive integration is displayed
in still more numerous ways. The simple cadence
embracing but a few notes, which in the chants of savages is
monotonously repeated, becomes among civilized races, a long
series of different musical phrases combined into one whole;
and so complete is the integration, that the melody cannot be
broken off in the middle, nor shorn of its final note, without
giving us a painful sense of incompleteness. When to the
air, a bass, a tenor, and an alto are added; and when to the
harmony of different voice-parts there is added an accompaniment;
we see exemplified integrations of another order, which
grow gradually more elaborate. And the process is carried
a stage higher when these complex solos, concerted pieces,
choruses, and orchestral effects, are combined into the vast
ensemble of a musical drama; of which, be it remembered,
the artistic perfection largely consists in the subordination of
the particular effects to the total effect. Once more
the Arts of literary delineation, narrative and dramatic, furnish
us with parallel illustrations. The tales of primitive times,
like those with which the story-tellers of the East still daily
amuse their listeners, are made up of successive occurrences
that are not only in themselves unnatural, but have no
natural connexion: they are but so many separate adventures
put together without necessary sequence. But in a
good modern work of imagination, the events are the proper
211products of the characters working under given conditions;
and cannot at will be changed in their order or kind, without
injuring or destroying the general effect. And further, the
characters themselves, which in early fictions play their respective
parts without showing us how their minds are modified
by each other or by the events, are now presented to us
as held together by complex moral relations, and as acting
and re-acting upon each other’s natures.
Evolution, then, is in all cases a change from a more diffused
or incoherent form, to a more consolidated or coherent
form. This proves to be a characteristic displayed equally
in those earliest changes which the Universe as a whole is
supposed to have undergone, and in those latest changes
which we trace in society and the products of social life.
Nor is it only that in the development of a planet, of an
organism, of a society, of a science, of an art, the process
of integration is seen in a more complete aggregation of each
whole and of its constituent parts; but it is also shown in an
increasing mutual dependence of the parts. Dimly foreshadowed
as this mutual dependence is among inorganic
phenomena, both celestial and terrestrial, it becomes distinct
among organic phenomena. From the lowest living forms
upwards, the degree of development is marked by the degree
in which the several parts constitute a mutually-dependent
whole. The advance from those creatures which live on in
each part when cut in pieces, up to those creatures which
cannot lose any considerable part without death, nor any inconsiderable
part without great constitutional disturbance, is
clearly an advance to creatures which are not only more integrated
in respect of their solidification, but are also more
integrated as consisting of organs that live for and by each
other. The like contrast between undeveloped and developed
societies, need not be shown in detail: the ever-increasing
co-ordination of parts, is conspicuous to all. And it must
suffice just to indicate that the same thing holds true of
social products: as, for instance, of Science; which has become
212highly integrated not only in the sense that each division
is made up of mutually-dependent propositions, but
also in the sense that the several divisions are mutually-dependent—cannot
carry on their respective investigations
without aid from each other.
It seems proper to remark that the generalization here
variously illustrated, is akin to one enunciated by Schelling,
that Life is the tendency to individuation. Struck by the
fact that an aggregative process is traceable throughout
nature, from the growth of a crystal up to the development
of a man; and by the fact that the wholes resulting from this
process, completer in organic than in inorganic bodies, are
completest where the vital manifestations are the highest;
Schelling concluded that this characteristic was the essential
one. According to him, the formation of individual bodies
is not incident to Life, but is that in which Life fundamentally
consists. This position is, for several reasons,
untenable. In the first place, it requires the conception of
Life to be extended so as to embrace inorganic phenomena;
since in crystallization, and even in the formation of amorphous
masses of matter, this tendency to individuation is
displayed. Schelling, fully perceiving this, did indeed accept
the implication; and held that inorganic bodies had life
lower only in degree than that of organic bodies—their
degree of life being measured by their degree of individuation.
This bold assumption, which Schelling evidently
made to save his definition, is inadmissible. Rational philosophy
cannot ignore those broad distinctions which the
general sense of mankind has established. If it transcends
them, it must at the same time show what is their origin;
how far only they are valid; and why they disappear from
a higher point of view. Note next that the more
complete individuality which Schelling pointed out as
characterizing bodies having the greatest amount of life,
is only one of their structural traits. The greater degree of
heterogeneity which they exhibit, is, as we have seen, a
213much more conspicuous peculiarity; and though it might
possibly be contended that greater heterogeneity is remotely
implied by greater individuality, it must be admitted that in
defining Life as the tendency to individuation, no hint is given
that the bodies which live most are the most heterogeneous
bodies. Moreover it is to be remarked that this
definition of Schelling, refers much more to the structures of
living bodies than to the processes which constitute Life. Not
Life, but the invariable accompaniment of Life, is that which
his formula alone expresses. The formation of a completer
organic whole, a more fully individuated body, is truly a
necessary concomitant of a higher life; and the development
of a higher life must therefore be accompanied by a tendency
to greater individuation. But to represent this tendency as
Life itself, is to mistake an incidental result for an original
cause. Life, properly so called, consists of multiform changes
united together in various ways; and is not expressed either
by an anatomical description of the organism which manifests
it, or by a history of the modifications through which such
organism has reached its present structure. Yet it is only
in such description and such history that the tendency to
individuation is seen. Lastly, this definition which
Schelling gave of Life is untenable, not only because it refers
rather to the organism than to the actions going on in it;
but also because it wholly ignores that connexion between
the organism and the external world, on which Life depends.
All organic processes, physical and psychial, having for their
object the maintenance of certain relations with environing
agencies and objects; it is impossible that there should be a
true definition of Life, in which the environment is not
named. Nevertheless, Schelling’s conception was
not a baseless one. Though not a truth, it was yet the
adumbration of a truth. In defining Life as the tendency to
individuation, he had in view that formation of a more compact,
complete, and mutually-dependent whole, which, as we
have seen, is one characteristic of Evolution in general. His
214error was, firstly, in regarding it as a characteristic of Life,
instead of a characteristic of living bodies, displayed, though
in a less degree, by other bodies; and, secondly, in regarding
it as the sole characteristic of such bodies. It remains
only to add, that for expressing this aspect of the process
of Evolution, the word integration is for several reasons
preferable to the word individuation. Integration is the true
antithesis of differentiation; it has not that tacit reference to
living bodies which the word individuation cannot be wholly
freed from; it expresses the aggregative tendency not only
as displayed in the formation of more complete wholes, but
also as displayed in the consolidation of the several parts of
which such wholes are made up; and it has not the remotest
teleological implication. In short, it simply formulates in the
most abstract manner, a wide induction untainted by any
hypothesis.
§ 57. Thus we find that to complete the definition arrived
at in the last chapter, much has to be added. What
was there alleged is true; but it is not the whole truth.
Evolution is unquestionably a change from a homogeneous
state to a heterogeneous state; but, as we have seen, there
are some advances in heterogeneity which cannot be included
in the idea of Evolution. This undue width of the definition,
implies the omission of some further peculiarity by which
Evolution is distinguished; and this peculiarity we find to
be that the more highly developed things become, the more
definite they become. Advance from the indefinite to the
definite, is as constantly and variously displayed as advance
from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. And we are
thus obliged to regard it as an essential characteristic of
Evolution. Further analysis, however, shows us that this
increase of definiteness is not an independent process; but
is rather the necessary concomitant of another process. A
very little consideration of the facts proves that a change
from the indefinite to the definite, can arise only through a
215completer consolidation of the respective parts, and of the
whole which they constitute. And so we find that while
Evolution is a transformation of the homogeneous into the
heterogeneous, and of the indefinite into the definite, it is also
a transformation of the incoherent into the coherent. Along
with the differentiation shown in increasing contrasts of
parts with each other, there goes on an integration, by which
the parts are rendered distinct units, as well as closely united
components of one whole. These clauses here added
to the definition, are essential ones; not only as being needful
to distinguish Evolution from that which is not Evolution,
but likewise as being needful to express all which the idea of
Evolution includes. Progressive integration with the growing
definiteness necessarily resulting from it, is of co-ordinate
importance with the progressive differentiation before dwelt
upon—nay, from one point of view, may be held of greater
importance. For organization, in which what we call Evolution
is most clearly and variously displayed, consists even
more in the union of many parts into one whole, than in the
formation of many parts. The Evolution which we see throughout
inorganic nature, is lower than that which organic nature
exhibits to us, for the especial reason that the mutual dependence
of parts is extremely indefinite, even when traceable at
all. In an amorphous mass of matter, you may act mechanically
or chemically upon one part without appreciably affecting
the other parts. Though their electrical or thermal states
may be for the moment altered, their original states are soon
resumed. Even in the highest inorganic aggregation—a
crystal—the apex may be broken off and leave the rest intact:
the only clear evidence of mutual dependence of parts, being,
the ability of the crystal to regenerate its apex if replaced in
the solution from which it was formed. But the constituent
parts of organic bodies can severally maintain their existing
states, only while remaining in connexion. Even in the lowest
living forms, mutilation cannot be carried beyond a certain
point without decomposition ensuing. As we advance through
216the higher up to the highest forms, we see a gradual narrowing
of the limits within which the mutilation does not
cause destruction: a progressive increase of mutual dependence
or integration which is, at the same time, the condition
to greater functional perfection. In societies this truth is
equally manifest. That the component units slowly segregate
into groups of different ranks and occupations, is a fact
scarcely more conspicuous than is the fact that these groups
are necessary to each other’s existence. And we cannot contemplate
the still-progressing division of labour, without seeing
that the interdependence becomes ever greater as the
evolution becomes higher. It remains only to point
out definitely, what has been already implied, that these
several forms of change which have been successively described
as making up the process of Evolution, are not in
reality separate forms of change, but different aspects of the
same change. Intrinsically the transformation is one and indivisible.
The establishment of differences that become gradually
more decided, is evidently but the beginning of an
action which cannot be pushed to its extreme without producing
definite divisions between the parts, and reducing
each part to a separate mass. But with our limited faculties,
it is not possible to take in the entire process at one view;
nor have we any single terms by which the process can be
described. Hence we are obliged to contemplate each of its
aspects separately, and to find a separate expression for its
characteristic.
Having done this, we are now in a position to frame a
true idea of Evolution. Combining these partial definitions
we get a complete definition, which may be most conveniently
expressed thus—Evolution is a change from an indefinite, incoherent
homogeneity, to a definite, coherent heterogeneity;
through continuous differentiations and integrations.
It may perhaps be remarked that the last of these clauses
is superfluous; since the differentiation and integration are
implied in the first clause. This is true: the transition which
217the first clause specifies, is impossible save through the process
specified in the second. Nevertheless, a mere statement
of the two extreme stages with which Evolution begins
and ends, omitting all reference to changes connecting them,
leaves the mind with but an incomplete idea. The idea becomes
much more concrete when these changes are described.
Hence, though not logically necessary, the second clause of
the definition is practically desirable.
Before closing the chapter, a few words must be added
respecting certain other modes of describing Evolution. Organic
bodies, from the changes of which the idea of Evolution
has arisen, and to the changes of which alone it is usually
applied, are often said to progress from simplicity to complexity.
The transformation of the simple into the complex,
and of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous, are used as
equivalent phrases; or, if any difference is recognized between
them, it is to the advantage of the first, which is held
to be the more specific. After what has been said, however,
it must be obvious that Evolution cannot be thus adequately
formulated. No hint is given of that increased definiteness
which we have found to be a concomitant of development.
Nor is there anything implying the greater mutual dependence
of parts. Nevertheless, the brevity of the expression
gives it a value for ordinary purposes; and I shall probably
hereafter frequently use it, both in those cases where more
precise language is not demanded, and in those cases
where it indicates the particular aspect of Evolution referred
to. Another description frequently given of Evolution,
is, that it is a change from the general to the special.
The more or less spherical germ from which every organism,
animal and vegetal, proceeds, is comparatively general: alike
in the sense that in appearance and chemical nature it is very
similar to all other germs; and also in the sense that its form
is less markedly distinguished from the average forms of objects
at large, than is that of the mature organism—a contrast
which equally holds of internal structure. But this progress
218from the more general to the more special, is rather a derivative
than an original characteristic. An increase of speciality
being really an increase in the number of attributes—an addition
of traits not possessed by bodies that are in other respects
similar—is a necessary result of multiplying differentiations.
In other words, general and special are subjective
or ideal distinctions involved in our conceptions of classes,
rather than objective or real distinctions presented in the
bodies classified. Nevertheless, this abstract formula is not
without its use. It expresses a fact of much significance;
and one which we shall have constantly to refer to when
dealing with the relations between organic bodies and their
surrounding conditions.
The law of Evolution however, be it expressed in full as
above, or in these shorter but less specific phrases, is essentially
that which has been exhibited in detail throughout the
foregoing pages. So far as we can ascertain, this law is universal.
It is illustrated with endless repetition, and in countless
ways, wherever the facts are abundant; and where the
facts do not suffice for induction, deduction goes far to supply
its place. Among all orders of phenomena that lie within
the sphere of observation, we see ever going on the process
of change above defined; and many significant indications
warrant us in believing, that the same process of change went
on throughout that remote past which lies beyond the sphere
of observation. If we must form any conclusion respecting
the general course of things, past, present, and future, the
one which the evidence as far as it goes justifies, and the
only one for which there is any justification, is, that the
change from an indeterminate uniformity to a determinate
multiformity which we everywhere see going on, has been
going on from the first, and will continue to go on.
219
§ 58. Is this law ultimate or derivative? Must we rest
satisfied with the conclusion that throughout all classes of
concrete phenomena such is the mode of evolution? Or is it
possible for us to ascertain why such is the mode of evolution?
May we seek for some all-pervading principle which underlies
this all-pervading process? Can we by a further step
reduce our empirical generalization to a rational generalization?
Manifestly this community of result implies community of
causation. It may be that of such causation no account can
be given, further than that the Unknowable is manifested to
us after this manner. Or, it may be, that the mode of manifestation
is reducible to simpler ones, from which these
many complex consequences follow. Analogy suggests the
latter inference. At present, the conclusion that every kind
of Evolution is from a state of indefinite incoherent homogeneity
to a state of definite coherent heterogeneity, stands
in the same position as did the once ultimate conclusion that
every kind of organized body undergoes, when dead, a more
or less rapid decay. And as, for the various kinds of decomposition
through which animal and vegetal products pass, we
have now discovered a rationale in the chemical affinities of
their constituent elements; so, possibly, this universal transformation
of the simple into the complex may be affiliated
upon certain simple primordial principles.
220Such cause or causes of Evolution, may be sought for without
in the least assuming that the ultimate mystery can be
fathomed. Fully conscious that an absolute solution is for
ever beyond us, we may still look for a relative solution—may
try to reduce the problem to its lowest terms. Just as
it was possible to interpret Kepler’s laws as necessary consequences
of the law of gravitation, and then to admit that
gravitation transcends analysis; so it may be possible to
interpret the law of Evolution as the necessary consequence
of some deeper law, beyond which we may nevertheless be
unable to go.
§ 59. The probability of common causation, and the possibility
of formulating it, being granted, it will be well before
going further, to consider what must be the general characteristics
of such causation, and in what direction we ought to
look for it. We can with certainty predict that be it simple
or compound, the cause has a high degree of generality; seeing
that it is common to such infinitely varied phenomena:
in proportion to the universality of its application must be
the abstractness of its character. Whatever be the agency
and the conditions under which it acts, we need not expect
to see in them an obvious explanation of this or that species of
Evolution, because they equally underlie species of Evolution
of quite a different order. Determining Evolution of every
kind—astronomic, geologic, organic, ethnologic, social, economic,
artistic, &c.—they must be concerned with something
common to all these; and to see what these possess in common,
will therefore be the best method of guiding ourselves
towards the desired solution.
The only obvious respect in which all kinds of Evolution
are alike, is, that they are modes of change. Every phenomenon
to which we apply the term, presents us with a succession
of states; and when such succession ceases, we no longer
predicate Evolution. Equally in those past forms of it which
are more or less hypothetical, and in those forms of it which
221we see going on around, this is the common characteristic.
Note next, that the kind of change which
constitutes Evolution, is broadly distinguished from change
of an equally general kind, in this, that it is change of internal
relations instead of change of external relations. All
things in motion through space are the subjects of change;
but while in this which we call mechanical motion, the relative
position as measured from surrounding objects is continually
altered, there is not implied any alteration in the
positions of the parts of the moving body in respect to each
other. Conversely, a body exhibiting what we call Evolution,
while it either may or may not display new relations
of position to the things around it, must display new relations
of position among the parts of which it is made up. Thus
we narrow the field of inquiry by recognizing the change in
which Evolution consists, as a change in the arrangement of
parts: of course using the word parts in its most extended
sense, as signifying both ultimate units and masses of such
units. Further, we have to remember that this
change in the arrangement of parts which constitutes Evolution,
is a certain order of such change. As we saw in the
last chapter, there is a change in the arrangement of parts
which is not Evolution but Dissolution—a destructive change
as opposed to a constructive change—a change by which the
definite is gradually rendered indefinite, the coherent slowly
becomes incoherent, and the heterogeneous eventually lapses
into comparative homogeneity. Thus then we reduce
that which we have to investigate to its most abstract
shape. Our task is to find the cause or causes of a certain
order of change that takes place in the arrangement of parts.
§ 60. Evidently the problem, as thus expressed, brings us
face to face with the ultimate elements of phenomena in general.
It is impossible to account for a certain change in
the arrangement of the parts of any mass, without involving—first,
the matter which makes up the parts thus re-arranged;
222next, the motion exhibited during the re-arrangement; and
then, the force producing this motion. The problem is a
dynamical one; and there can be no truly scientific solution
of it, save one given in terms of Matter, Motion, and Force—terms
in which all other dynamical problems are expressed
and solved.
The proposal thus to study the question from a purely physical
point of view, will most likely, notwithstanding what
has been said in the first part of this work, raise in some
minds either alarm or prejudice. Having, throughout life,
constantly heard the charge of materialism made against
those who ascribed the more involved phenomena to agencies
like those seen in the simplest phenomena, most persons have
acquired a repugnance to such methods of interpretation;
and when it is proposed to apply them universally, even
though it is premised that the solution they give can be but
relative, more or less of the habitual feeling will probably
arise. Such an attitude of mind, however, is significant,
not so much of a reverence for the Unknown Cause, as of an
irreverence for those omnipresent forms in which the Unknown
Cause is manifested to us. Men who have not risen
above that vulgar conception which unites with Matter the
contemptuous epithets “gross” and “brute,” may naturally
enough feel dismay at the proposal to reduce the phenomena
of Life, of Mind, and of Society, to a level with those which
they think so degraded. But whoever remembers that the
forms of existence which the uncultivated speak of with so
much scorn, are not only shown by the man of science to be
the more marvellous in their attributes the more they are
investigated, but are also proved to be in their ultimate
nature absolutely incomprehensible—as absolutely incomprehensible
as sensation, or the conscious something which
perceives it—whoever fully realizes this truth, I say, will
see that the course proposed does not imply a degradation
of the so-called higher, but an elevation of the so-called
lower. Perceiving, as he will, that the Materialist and
223Spiritualist controversy is a mere war of words, in which
the disputants are equally absurd—each thinking he understands
that which it is impossible for any man to understand—he
will perceive how utterly groundless is the fear referred
to. Being fully convinced that whatever nomenclature is
used, the ultimate mystery must remain the same, he will be
as ready to formulate all phenomena in terms of Matter, Motion,
and Force, as in any other terms; and will rather indeed
anticipate, that only in a doctrine which recognizes the Unknown
Cause as co-extensive with all orders of phenomena,
can there be a consistent Religion, or a consistent Science.
On the other hand, the conclusion that Evolution, considered
under its most abstract form, is a certain change in the
arrangement of parts; and that the causes of this change can
be expressed only in terms of Matter, Motion, and Force;
may in critical minds raise the question—What are Matter,
Motion, and Force? Referring back in thought to the reasonings
contained in the chapter on “Ultimate Scientific Ideas;”
and remembering how it was there shown that absolute knowledge
of Matter, Motion, and Force, is impossible; some
readers will perhaps conclude that any such interpretation as
the one above proposed, must be visionary. It may be asked—How
can a comprehensible account of Evolution be given
in terms that are themselves incomprehensible?
Before proceeding, this question must be met. There can
be no sound philosophy without clearly defined terms; and
as, on the meanings of the terms to be here used, doubts have
probably been cast by the reasonings contained in the chapter
referred to, such doubts must be removed. If, as was shown,
our ideas of things do not correspond with things in themselves,
it becomes necessary to inquire in what way they are
to be accepted. If they are not absolutely true, then what is
the exact meaning of the assertion that they are relatively
true? To this question let us now address ourselves.
224
§ 61. That sceptical state of mind which the criticisms of
Philosophy usually produce, is, in great measure, caused by
the misinterpretation of words. A sense of universal illusion
ordinarily follows the reading of metaphysics; and is strong
in proportion as the argument has appeared conclusive. This
sense of universal illusion would probably never have arisen,
had the terms used been always rightly construed. Unfortunately,
these terms have by association acquired meanings
that are quite different from those given to them in philosophical
discussions; and the ordinary meanings being unavoidably
suggested, there results more or less of that dreamlike
idealism which is so incongruous with our instinctive
convictions. The word phenomenon and its equivalent word
appearance, are in great part to blame for this. In ordinary
speech, these are uniformly employed in reference to visual
perceptions. Habit, almost, if not quite, disables us from
thinking of appearance except as something seen; and though
phenomenon has a more generalized meaning, yet we cannot
rid it of associations with appearance, which is its verbal
equivalent. When, therefore, Philosophy proves that our
knowledge of the external world can be but phenomenal—when
it concludes that the things of which we are conscious
are appearances; it inevitably arouses in us the notion of an
illusiveness like that to which our visual perceptions are so
liable in comparison with our tactual perceptions. Good pictures
225show us that the aspects of things may be very nearly
simulated by colours on canvass. The looking-glass still more
distinctly proves how deceptive is sight when unverified by
touch. And the frequent cases in which we misinterpret the
impressions made on our eyes, and think we see something
which we do not see, further shake our faith in vision. So
that the implication of uncertainty has infected the very word
appearance. Hence, Philosophy, by giving it an extended
meaning, leads us to think of all our senses as deceiving us in
the same way that the eyes do; and so makes us feel ourselves
floating in a world of phantasms. Had phenomenon and appearance
no such misleading associations, little, if any, of this
mental confusion would result. Or did we in place of them
use the term effect, which is equally applicable to all impressions
produced on consciousness through any of the senses,
and which carries with it in thought the necessary correlative
cause, with which it is equally real, we should be in little
danger of falling into the insanities of idealism.
Such danger as there might still remain, would disappear
on making a further verbal correction. At present, the confusion
resulting from the above misinterpretation, is made
greater by an antithetical misinterpretation. We increase
the seeming unreality of that phenomenal existence which
we can alone know, by contrasting it with a noumenal existence
which we imagine would, if we could know it, be more
truly real to us. But we delude ourselves with a verbal fiction.
What is the meaning of the word real? This
is the question which underlies every metaphysical inquiry;
and the neglect of it is the remaining cause of the chronic
antagonisms of metaphysicians. In the interpretation put on
the word real, the discussions of philosophy retain one element
of the vulgar conception of things, while they reject all
its other elements; and create confusion by the inconsistency.
The peasant, on contemplating an object, does not regard
that which he contemplates as something in himself, but believes
the thing of which he is conscious to be the external
226object—imagines that his consciousness extends to the very
place where the object lies: to him the appearance and the
reality are one and the same thing. The metaphysician,
however, is convinced that consciousness cannot embrace the
reality, but only the appearance of it; and so he transfers the
appearance into consciousness and leaves the reality outside.
This reality left outside of consciousness, he continues to
think of much in the same way as the ignorant man thinks
of the appearance. Though the reality is asserted to be out
of consciousness, yet the realness ascribed to it is constantly
spoken of as though it were a knowledge possessed apart from
consciousness. It seems to be forgotten that the conception of
reality can be nothing more than some mode of consciousness;
and that the question to be considered is—What is the relation
between this mode and other modes?
By reality we mean persistence in consciousness: a persistence
that is either unconditional, as our consciousness of
space, or that is conditional, as our consciousness of a body
while grasping it. The real, as we conceive it, is distinguished
solely by the test of persistence; for by this test we separate
it from what we call the unreal. Between a person standing
before us, and the idea of such a person, we discriminate by
our ability to expel the idea from consciousness, and our inability,
while looking at him, to expel the person from consciousness.
And when in doubt as to the validity or illusiveness
of some impression made upon us in the dusk, we settle
the matter by observing whether the impression persists on
closer observation; and we predicate reality if the persistence
is complete. How truly persistence is what we mean
by reality, is shown in the fact that when, after criticism has
proved that the real as we are conscious of it is not the objectively
real, the indefinite notion which we form of the objectively
real, is of something which persists absolutely, under
all changes of mode, form, or appearance. And the fact that
we cannot form even an indefinite notion of the absolutely
real, except as the absolutely persistent, clearly implies that
227persistence is our ultimate test of the real as present to consciousness.
Reality then, as we think it, being nothing more than persistence
in consciousness, the result must be the same to us
whether that which we perceive be the Unconditioned itself,
or an effect invariably wrought on us by the Unconditioned.
If some mode of the Unconditioned uniformly produces some
mode of consciousness—if the mode of consciousness so produced,
is as persistent as would be such mode of the Unconditioned
were it immediately known; it follows that the
reality will be to our consciousness as complete in the one case
as in the other. Were the Unconditioned itself present in
thought, it could but be persistent; and if instead of it, there
is present its persistent effect, the resulting consciousness of
reality must be exactly the same.
Hence there may be drawn these conclusions:—First, that
we have an indefinite consciousness of an absolute reality
transcending relations, which is produced by the absolute
persistence in us of something which survives all changes of
relation. Second, that we have a definite consciousness of
relative reality, which unceasingly persists in us under one
or other of its forms, and under each form so long as the conditions
of presentation are fulfilled; and that the relative
reality, being thus continuously persistent in us, is as real to
us as would be the absolute reality could it be immediately
known. Third, that thought being possible only under relation,
the relative reality can be conceived as such only in connexion
with an absolute reality; and the connexion between
the two being absolutely persistent in our consciousness, is
real in the same sense as the terms it unites are real.
Thus then we may resume, with entire confidence, those
realistic conceptions which philosophy at first sight seems to
dissipate. Though reality under the forms of our consciousness,
is but a conditioned effect of the absolute reality, yet
this conditioned effect standing in indissoluble relation with
its unconditioned cause, and being equally persistent with it
228so long as the conditions persist, is, to the consciousness supplying
those conditions, equally real. The persistent impressions
being the persistent results of a persistent cause, are for
practical purposes the same to us as the cause itself; and may
be habitually dealt with as its equivalents. Somewhat in the
same way that our visual perceptions, though merely symbols
found to be the equivalents of tactual perceptions, are yet so
identified with those tactual perceptions that we actually appear
to see the solidity and hardness which we do but infer,
and thus conceive as objects what are only the signs of objects;
so, on a higher stage, do we deal with these relative realities
as though they were absolutes instead of effects of the absolute.
And we may legitimately continue so to deal with them
as long as the conclusions to which they help us are understood
as relative realities and not absolute ones.
This general conclusion it now remains to interpret specifically,
in its application to each of our ultimate scientific
ideas.
§ 62.[11] We think in relations. This is truly the form of
all thought; and if there are any other forms, they must be
derived from this. We have seen (Chap. iii. Part I.) that
the several ultimate modes of being cannot be known or conceived
as they exist in themselves; that is, out of relation to
our consciousness. We have seen, by analyzing the product
of thought, (§ 23,) that it always consists of relations;
and cannot include anything beyond the most general of these.
On analyzing the process of thought, we found that cognition
of the Absolute was impossible, because it presented
neither relation, nor its elements—difference and likeness.
Further, we found that not only Intelligence but Life itself,
consists in the establishment of internal relations in correspondence
with external relations. And lastly, it was shown
229that though by the relativity of our thought we are eternally
debarred from knowing or conceiving Absolute Being; yet
that this very relativity of our thought, necessitates that vague
consciousness of Absolute Being which no mental effort can
suppress. That relation is the universal form of thought, is
thus a truth which all kinds of demonstration unite in
proving.
By the transcendentalists, certain other phenomena of consciousness
are regarded as forms of thought. Presuming
that relation would be admitted by them to be a universal
mental form, they would class with it two others as also universal.
Were their hypothesis otherwise tenable however, it
must still be rejected if such alleged further forms are interpretable
as generated by the primary form. If we think in
relations, and if relations have certain universal forms, it is
manifest that such universal forms of relations will become
universal forms of our consciousness. And if these further
universal forms are thus explicable, it is superfluous, and
therefore unphilosophical, to assign them an independent
origin. Now relations are of two orders—relations
of sequence, and relations of co-existence; of which the one
is original and the other derivative. The relation of sequence
is given in every change of consciousness. The relation of
co-existence, which cannot be originally given in a consciousness
of which the states are serial, becomes distinguished only
when it is found that certain relations of sequence have their
terms presented in consciousness in either order with equal
facility; while the others are presented only in one order.
Relations of which the terms are not reversible, become recognized
as sequences proper; while relations of which the
terms occur indifferently in both directions, become recognized
as co-existences. Endless experiences, which from
moment to moment present both orders of these relations,
render the distinction between them perfectly definite;
and at the same time generate an abstract conception of
each. The abstract of all sequences is Time. The abstract
230of all co-existences is Space. From the fact that in thought,
Time is inseparable from sequence, and Space from co-existence,
we do not here infer that Time and Space are original
conditions of consciousness under which sequences and co-existences
are known; but we infer that our conceptions of
Time and Space are generated, as other abstracts are generated
from other concretes: the only difference being, that
the organization of experiences has, in these cases, been going
on throughout the entire evolution of intelligence.
This synthesis is confirmed by analysis. Our consciousness
of Space is a consciousness of co-existent positions. Any limited
portion of space can be conceived only by representing its
limits as co-existing in certain relative positions; and each of
its imagined boundaries, be it line or plane, can be thought of
in no other way than as made up of co-existent positions in
close proximity. And since a position is not an entity—since
the congeries of positions which constitute any conceived portion
of space, and mark its bounds, are not sensible existences;
it follows that the co-existent positions which make up our
consciousness of Space, are not co-existences in the full sense
of the word (which implies realities as their terms), but are the
blank forms of co-existences, left behind when the realities are
absent; that is, are the abstracts of co-existences. The
experiences out of which, during the evolution of intelligence,
this abstract of all co-existences has been generated,
are experiences of individual positions as ascertained by touch;
and each of such experiences involves the resistance of an object
touched, and the muscular tension which measures this
resistance. By countless unlike muscular adjustments, involving
unlike muscular tensions, different resisting positions are disclosed;
and these, as they can be experienced in one order as
readily as another, we regard as co-existing. But since, under
other circumstances, the same muscular adjustments do
not produce contact with resisting positions, there result the
same states of consciousness, minus the resistances—blank
forms of co-existence from which the co-existent objects before
231experienced are absent. And from a building up of these, too
elaborate to be here detailed, results that abstract of all relations
of co-existence which we call Space. It remains
only to point out, as a thing which we must not forget, that
the experiences from which the consciousness of Space arises,
are experiences of force. A certain correlation of the muscular
forces we ourselves exercise, is the index of each position
as originally disclosed to us; and the resistance which makes
us aware of something existing in that position, is an equivalent
of the pressure we consciously exert. Thus, experiences
of forces variously correlated, are those from which our consciousness
of Space is abstracted.
That which we know as Space being thus shown, alike by
its genesis and definition, to be purely relative, what are we
to say of that which causes it? Is there an absolute Space
which relative Space in some sort represents? Is Space in itself
a form or condition of absolute existence, producing in
our minds a corresponding form or condition of relative existence?
These are unanswerable questions. Our conception
of Space is produced by some mode of the Unknowable; and
the complete unchangeableness of our conception of it simply
implies a complete uniformity in the effects wrought by this
mode of the Unknowable upon us. But therefore to call it a
necessary mode of the Unknowable, is illegitimate. All we
can assert is, that Space is a relative reality; that our consciousness
of this unchanging relative reality implies an absolute
reality equally unchanging in so far as we are concerned;
and that the relative reality may be unhesitatingly accepted
in thought as a valid basis for our reasonings; which, when
rightly carried on, will bring us to truths that have a like
relative reality—the only truths which concern us or can
possibly be known to us.
Concerning Time, relative and absolute, a parallel argument
leads to parallel conclusions. These are too obvious to
need specifying in detail.
232§ 63. Our conception of Matter, reduced to its simplest shape,
is that of co-existent positions that offer resistance; as contrasted
with our conception of Space, in which the co-existent
positions offer no resistance. We think of Body as bounded
by surfaces that resist; and as made up throughout of parts
that resist. Mentally abstract the co-existent resistances, and
the consciousness of Body disappears; leaving behind it the
consciousness of Space. And since the group of co-existing
resistent positions constituting a portion of matter, is uniformly
capable of giving us impressions of resistance in combination
with various muscular adjustments, according as we
touch its near, its remote, its right, or its left side; it results
that as different muscular adjustments habitually indicate different
co-existences, we are obliged to conceive every portion
of matter as containing more than one resistent position—that
is, as occupying Space. Hence the necessity we are under of
representing to ourselves the ultimate elements of Matter as
being at once extended and resistent: this being the universal
form of our sensible experiences of Matter, becomes the
form which our conception of it cannot transcend, however
minute the fragments which imaginary subdivisions produce.
Of these two inseparable elements, the resistance
is primary, and the extension secondary. Occupied extension,
or Body, being distinguished in consciousness from
unoccupied extension, or Space, by its resistance, this attribute
must clearly have precedence in the genesis of the idea. Such a
conclusion is, indeed, an obvious corollary from that at which
we arrived in the foregoing section. If, as was there contended,
our consciousness of Space is a product of accumulated experiences,
partly our own but chiefly ancestral—if, as was
pointed out, the experiences from which our consciousness of
Space is abstracted, can be received only through impressions
of resistance made upon the organism; the necessary inference
is, that experiences of resistance being those from which the
conception of Space is generated, the resistance-attribute of
Matter must be regarded as primordial and the space-attribute
233as derivative. Whence it becomes manifest that our
experience of force, is that out of which the idea of Matter is
built. Matter as opposing our muscular energies, being immediately
present to consciousness in terms of force; and its
occupancy of Space being known by an abstract of experiences
originally given in terms of force; it follows that forces,
standing in certain correlations, form the whole content of
our idea of Matter.
Such being our cognition of the relative reality, what are
we to say of the absolute reality? We can only say that it
is some mode of the Unknowable, related to the Matter we
know, as cause to effect. The relativity of our cognition of
Matter is shown alike by the above analysis, and by the contradictions
which are evolved when we deal with the cognition
as an absolute one (§ 16). But, as we have lately seen,
though known to us only under relation, Matter is as real in
the true sense of that word, as it would be could we know it
out of relation; and further, the relative reality which we
know as Matter, is necessarily represented to the mind as
standing in a persistent or real relation to the absolute reality.
We may therefore deliver ourselves over without
hesitation, to those terms of thought which experience has
organized in us. We need not in our physical, chemical,
or other researches, refrain from dealing with Matter as made
up of extended and resistent atoms; for this conception, necessarily
resulting from our experiences of Matter, is not less
legitimate, than the conception of aggregate masses as extended
and resistent. The atomic hypothesis, as well as the kindred
hypothesis of an all-pervading ether consisting of molecules, is
simply a necessary development of those universal forms which
the actions of the Unknowable have wrought in us. The conclusions
logically worked out by the aid of these hypotheses, are
sure to be in harmony with all others which these same forms
involve, and will have a relative truth that is equally complete.
§ 64. The conception of Motion as presented or represented
234in the developed consciousness, involves the conceptions of
Space, of Time, and of Matter. A something that moves; a
series of positions occupied in succession; and a group of co-existent
positions united in thought with the successive ones—these
are the constituents of the idea. And since, as we
have seen, these are severally elaborated from experiences of
force as given in certain correlations, it follows that from a
further synthesis of such experiences, the idea of Motion is
also elaborated. A certain other element in the idea, which
is in truth its fundamental element, (namely, the necessity
which the moving body is under to go on changing its position),
results immediately from the earliest experiences of force.
Movements of different parts of the organism in relation to
each other, are the first presented in consciousness. These,
produced by the action of the muscles, necessitate reactions
upon consciousness in the shape of sensations of muscular tension.
Consequently, each stretching-out or drawing-in of a
limb, is originally known as a series of muscular tensions,
varying in intensity as the position of the limb changes. And
this rudimentary consciousness of Motion, consisting of serial
impressions of force, becomes inseparably united with the
consciousness of Space and Time as fast as these are abstracted
from further impressions of force. Or rather, out of this
primitive conception of Motion, the adult conception of it is
developed simultaneously with the development of the conceptions
of Space and Time: all three being evolved from the
more multiplied and varied impressions of muscular tension
and objective resistance. Motion, as we know it, is thus traceable,
in common with the other ultimate scientific ideas, to experiences
of force.
That this relative reality answers to some absolute reality,
it is needful only for form’s sake to assert. What has been
said above, respecting the Unknown Cause which produces in
us the effects called Matter, Space, and Time, will apply, on
simply changing the terms, to Motion.
235§ 65. We come down then finally to Force, as the ultimate
of ultimates. Though Space, Time, Matter, and Motion, are
apparently all necessary data of intelligence, yet a psychological
analysis (here indicated only in rude outline) shows us
that these are either built up of, or abstracted from, experiences
of Force. Matter and Motion, as we know them, are
differently conditioned manifestations of Force. Space and
Time, as we know them, are disclosed along with these different
manifestations of Force as the conditions under which
they are presented. Matter and Motion are concretes built
up from the contents of various mental relations; while Space
and Time are abstracts of the forms of these various relations.
Deeper down than these, however, are the primordial
experiences of Force, which, as occurring in consciousness
in different combinations, supply at once the materials
whence the forms of relations are generalized, and the related
objects built up. A single impression of force is
manifestly receivable by a sentient being devoid of mental
forms: grant but sensibility, with no established power of
thought, and a force producing some nervous change, will
still be presentable at the supposed seat of sensation. Though
no single impression of force so received, could itself produce
consciousness (which implies relations between different states),
yet a multiplication of such impressions, differing in kind
and degree, would give the materials for the establishment
of relations, that is, of thought. And if such relations
differed in their forms as well as in their contents,
the impressions of such forms would be organized simultaneously
with the impressions they contained. Thus all other
modes of consciousness are derivable from experiences of
Force; but experiences of Force are not derivable from anything
else. Indeed, it needs but to remember that consciousness
consists of changes, to see that the ultimate datum of consciousness
must be that of which change is the manifestation;
and that thus the force by which we ourselves produce changes,
236and which serves to symbolize the cause of changes in general,
is the final disclosure of analysis.
It is a truism to say that the nature of this undecomposable
element of our knowledge is inscrutable. If, to use an algebraic
illustration, we represent Matter, Motion, and Force, by the
symbols x, y, and z; then, we may ascertain the values of x
and y in terms of z; but the value of z can never be found: z
is the unknown quantity which must for ever remain unknown;
for the obvious reason that there is nothing in which its value
can be expressed. It is within the possible reach of our intelligence
to go on simplifying the equations of all phenomena,
until the complex symbols which formulate them are reduced
to certain functions of this ultimate symbol; but when we
have done this, we have reached that limit which eternally
divides science from nescience.
That this undecomposable mode of consciousness into
which all other modes may be decomposed, cannot be itself
the Power manifested to us through phenomena, has been
already proved (§ 18). We saw that to assume an identity
of nature between the cause of changes as it absolutely exists,
and that cause of change of which we are conscious in our own
muscular efforts, betrays us into alternative impossibilities of
thought. Force, as we know it, can be regarded only as a
certain conditioned effect of the Unconditioned Cause—as the
relative reality indicating to us an Absolute Reality by which
it is immediately produced. And here, indeed, we see even
more clearly than before, how inevitable is that transfigured
realism to which sceptical criticism finally brings us round.
Getting rid of all complications, and contemplating pure
Force, we are irresistibly compelled by the relativity of our
thought, to vaguely conceive some unknown force as the
correlative of the known force. Conditioned effect and unconditioned
cause, are here presented in their primordial relation
as two sides of the same change; of which we are obliged
to regard the conditioned and the unconditioned sides as
equally real: the only difference being that the reality of
237the one is made relative by the imposition of the forms and
limits of our consciousness, while the reality of the other,
in the absence of those forms and limits, remains absolute.
Thus much respecting the nature of our ultimate scientific
ideas. Before proceeding to our general inquiry concerning
the causes of Evolution, we have still to consider certain
ultimate scientific truths.
238
§ 66. Not because the truth is unfamiliar, is it needful here
to say something concerning the indestructibility of Matter;
but partly because the symmetry of our argument demands the
enunciation of this truth, and partly because the evidence on
which it is accepted requires examination. Could it be shown,
or could it with any rationality be even supposed, that Matter,
either in its aggregates or in its units, ever became non-existent,
there would be an end to the inquiry on which we are
now setting out. Evolution, considered as a re-arrangement
of parts, could not be scientifically explained, if, during its
course, any of the parts might arise out of nothing or might
lapse into nothing. The question would no longer be one
comprehending only the forces and motions by which the
re-arrangement is effected; but would involve an incalculable
element, and would hence be insoluble. Clearly, therefore,
the indestructibility of Matter is an indispensable axiom.
So far from being admitted as a self-evident truth, this
would, in primitive times, have been rejected as a self-evident
error. There was once universally current, a notion that things
could vanish into absolute nothing, or arise out of absolute
nothing. If we analyze early superstitions, or that faith in
magic which was general in later times and even still survives
among the uncultured, we find one of its postulates to
be, that by some potent spell Matter can be called out of nonentity,
and can be made non-existent. If men did not believe
239this in the strict sense of the word (which would imply
that the process of creation or annihilation was clearly represented
in consciousness), they still believed that they believed
it; and how nearly, in their confused thoughts, the one was
equivalent to the other, is shown by their conduct. Nor, indeed,
have dark ages and inferior minds alone betrayed this
belief. The current theology, in its teachings respecting the
beginning and end of the world, is clearly pervaded by it;
and it may be even questioned whether Shakespeare, in his
poetical anticipation of a time when all things should disappear
and “leave not a wrack behind,” was not under its influence.
The gradual accumulation of experiences
however, and still more the organization of experiences, has
tended slowly to reverse this conviction; until now, the doctrine
that Matter is indestructible has become a common-place.
Whatever may be true of it absolutely, we have learnt that
relatively to our consciousness, Matter never either comes into
existence or ceases to exist. Cases which once gave an
apparent support to the illusion that something could come out
of nothing, a wider knowledge has one by one cancelled. The
comet that is all at once discovered in the heavens and nightly
waxes larger, is proved not to be a newly-created body, but a
body that was until lately beyond the range of vision. The
cloud which in the course of a few minutes forms in the sky, consists
not of substance that has just begun to be, but of substance
that previously existed in a more diffused and transparent form.
And similarly with a crystal or precipitate in relation to
the fluid depositing it. Conversely, the seeming annihilations
of Matter turn out, on closer observation, to be only changes
of state. It is found that the evaporated water, though it has
become invisible, may be brought by condensation to its original
shape. The discharged fowling-piece gives evidence
that though the gunpowder has disappeared, there have appeared
in place of it certain gases, which, in assuming a
larger volume, have caused the explosion. Not, however,
until the rise of quantitative chemistry, could the conclusion
240suggested by such experiences be reduced to a certainty.
When, having ascertained not only the combinations into
which various substances enter, but also the proportions in
which they combine, chemists were enabled to account for
the matter that had made its appearance or become invisible,
the proof was rendered complete. When, in place of the candle
that had slowly burnt away, it was shown that certain calculable
quantities of carbonic acid and water had resulted—when
it was demonstrated that the joint weight of the carbonic
acid and water thus produced, was equal to the weight
of the candle plus that of the oxygen uniting with its constituents
during combustion; it was put beyond doubt that
the carbon and hydrogen forming the candle, were still in existence,
and had simply changed their state. And of the
general conclusion thus exemplified, the exact analyses daily
made, in which the same portion of matter is pursued through
numerous transformations and finally separated, furnish
never-ceasing confirmations.
Such has become the effect of this specific evidence, joined
to that general evidence which the continued existence of
familiar objects unceasingly gives us; that the indestructibility
of Matter is now recognized by many as a truth of which the
negation is inconceivable. Habitual experiences being no
longer met by any counter-experiences, as they once seemed
to be; but these apparent counter-experiences furnishing new
proof that Matter exists permanently, even where the senses fail
to detect it; it has grown into an axiom of science, that whatever
metamorphoses Matter undergoes, its quantity is fixed.
The chemist, the physicist, and the physiologist, not only
one and all take this for granted, but would severally profess
themselves unable to realize any supposition to the
contrary.
§ 67. This last fact naturally raises the question, whether
we have any higher warrant for this fundamental belief, than
the warrant of conscious induction. The indestructibility of
241Matter is proved experimentally to be an absolute uniformity
within the range of our experience. But absolute uniformities
of experience, generate absolute uniformities of thought.
Does it not follow, then, that this ultimate truth must be a
cognition involved in our mental organization? An affirmative
answer we shall find unavoidable.
What is termed the ultimate incompressibility of Matter,
is an admitted law of thought. Though it is possible to imagine
a piece of matter to be compressed without limit, yet however
small the bulk to which we conceive it reduced, it is impossible
to conceive it reduced into nothing. While we can
represent to ourselves the parts of the matter as indefinitely
approximated, and the space occupied as indefinitely decreased,
we cannot represent to ourselves the quantity of matter as
made less. To do this would imply an imagined disappearance
of some of the constituent parts—would imply that
some of the constituent parts were in thought compressed
into nothing; which is no more possible than the compression
of the whole into nothing. Whence it is an obvious corollary,
that the total quantity of matter in the Universe, cannot
really be conceived as diminished, any more than it can be
conceived as increased. Our inability to conceive
Matter becoming non-existent, is immediately consequent on
the very nature of thought. Thought consists in the establishment
of relations. There can be no relation established, and
therefore no thought framed, when one of the related terms
is absent from consciousness. Hence it is impossible to think
of something becoming nothing, for the same reason that it is
impossible to think of nothing becoming something—the
reason, namely, that nothing cannot become an object of consciousness.
The annihilation of Matter is unthinkable for
the same reason that the creation of Matter is unthinkable;
and its indestructibility thus becomes an à priori cognition of
the highest order—not one that results from a long continued
registry of experiences gradually organized into an irreversible
242mode of thought; but one that is given in the form of all
experiences whatever.
Doubtless it will be considered strange that a truth only
in modern times accepted as unquestionable, and then only
by men of science, should be classed as an à priori truth; not
only of equal certainty with those commonly so classed, but
of even higher certainty. To set down as a proposition which
cannot be thought, one which mankind once universally professed
to think, and which the great majority profess to think
even now, seems absurd. The explanation is, that in this, as
in countless other cases, men have supposed themselves to
think what they did not think. As was shown at the outset,
the greater part of our conceptions are symbolic. Many of
these symbolic conceptions, though rarely developed into real
ones, admit of being so developed; and, being directly or indirectly
proved to correspond with actualities, are valid. But
along with these there pass current others which cannot be
developed—cannot by any direct or indirect process be realized
in thought; much less proved to correspond with actualities.
Not being habitually tested, however, the legitimate and
illegitimate symbolic conceptions are confounded together;
and supposing themselves to have literally thought, that
which they have thought only symbolically, men say they believe
propositions of which the terms cannot even be put together
in consciousness. Hence the ready acceptance given
to sundry hypotheses respecting the origin of the Universe,
which yet are absolutely unthinkable. And as before we
found the commonly asserted doctrine that Matter was created
out of nothing, to have been never really conceived at all,
but to have been conceived only symbolically; so here we
find the annihilation of Matter to have been conceived only
symbolically, and the symbolic conception mistaken for a real
one. Possibly it will be objected that the words
thought, and belief, and conception, are here employed in
new senses; and that it is a misuse of language to say that
243men did not really think that which has nevertheless so profoundly
influenced their conduct. It must be confessed that
there is an inconvenience in so restricting the meanings of
these words. There is no remedy however. Definite conclusions
can be reached, only by the use of well-defined terms.
Questions touching the validity of any portion of our knowledge,
cannot be profitably discussed unless the words knowing,
and thinking, have specific interpretations. We must
not include under them whatever confused processes of consciousness
the popular speech applies them to; but only the
distinct processes of consciousness. And if this obliges us to
reject a large part of human thinking as not thinking at all,
but merely pseudo-thinking, there is no help for it.
Returning to the general question, we find the results to
be:—that we have positive experience of the continued existence
of Matter; that the form of our thought renders it impossible
for us to have experience of Matter passing into non-existence,
since such experience would involve cognition of a
relation having one of its terms not representable in consciousness;
that hence the indestructibility of Matter is in strictness
an à priori truth; that nevertheless, certain illusive experiences,
suggesting the notion of its annihilation, have produced in
undisciplined minds not only the supposition that Matter
could be conceived to become non-existent, but the notion that
it did so; but that careful observation, showing the supposed
annihilations to have never taken place, has confirmed, à
posteriori, the à priori cognition which Psychology shows to
result from a uniformity of experience that can never be met
by counter-experience.
§ 68. The fact, however, which it most concerns us here
to observe, is, the nature of the perceptions by which the permanence
of Matter is perpetually illustrated to us, and from
which Science draws the inference that Matter is indestructible.
These perceptions, under all their forms, amount simply
to this—that the force which a given quantity of matter exercises,
244remains always the same. This is the proof on which
common sense and exact science alike rely. When,
for example, somebody known to have existed a few years since
is said to exist still, by one who yesterday saw him, his assertion
amounts to this—that an object which in past time
wrought on his consciousness a certain group of changes, still
exists because a like group of changes has been again wrought
on his consciousness: the continuance of the power thus to
impress him, he holds to prove the continuance of the object.
Should some auditor allege a mistake in identity, the witness
is admitted to give conclusive proof when he says that he not
only saw, but shook hands with this person, and remarked
while grasping his hand, that absence of the index finger
which was his known peculiarity: the implication being, that
an object which through a special combination of forces, produces
special tactual impressions, is concluded still to exist
while it continues still to do this. Even more clearly do we
see that force is our ultimate measure of Matter, in those cases
where the shape of the matter has been changed. A piece of
gold given to an artizan to be worked into an ornament, and
which when brought back appears to be less, is placed in the
scales; and if it balances a much smaller weight than it did
in its rough state, we infer that much has been lost
either in manipulation or by direct abstraction. Here the
obvious postulate is, that the quantity of Matter is finally
determinable by the quantity of gravitative force it manifests.
And this is the kind of evidence on which
Science bases its experimentally-established induction that
Matter is indestructible. Whenever a piece of substance lately
visible and tangible, has been reduced to an invisible, intangible
shape, but is proved by the weight of the gas into which
it has been transformed to be still existing; the assumption is,
that though otherwise insensible to us, the amount of matter
is the same, if it still tends towards the Earth with the same
force. Similarly, every case in which the weight of an element
present in combination, is inferred from the known
245weight of another element which it neutralizes, is a case in
which the quantity of matter is expressed in terms of the
quantity of chemical force it exerts; and in which this specific
chemical force is assumed to be the necessary correlative of
a specific gravitative force.
Thus then by the indestructibility of Matter, we really mean
the indestructibility of the force with which Matter affects us.
As we become conscious of Matter only through that resistance
which it opposes to our muscular energy, so do we become
conscious of the permanence of Matter only through the permanence
of this resistance; as either immediately or mediately
proved to us. And this truth is made manifest not only by
analysis of the à posteriori cognition, but equally so by analysis
of the à priori one. For that which we cannot conceive to be
diminished by the continued compression of Matter, is not its
occupancy of space, but its ability to resist.
246
§ 69. Another general truth of the same order with the
foregoing, must here be specified—one which, though not so
generally recognized, has yet long been familiar among men
of science. The continuity of Motion, like the indestructibility
of Matter, is clearly an axiom underlying the very
possibility of a rational theory of Evolution. That kind of
change in the arrangement of parts, which we have found to
constitute Evolution, could not be deductively explained
were it possible for Motion either to appear or disappear. If
those motions through which the parts pass into a new
arrangement, might either proceed from nothing or lapse
into nothing, there would be an end to scientific interpretation
of them. Each constituent change might as well as not
be supposed to begin and end of itself.
The axiomatic character of the truth that Motion is continuous,
is recognized only after the discipline of exact
science has given precision to the conceptions. Aboriginal
men, our uneducated population, and even most of the so-called
educated, think in an extremely indefinite manner.
From careless observations, they pass by careless reasoning,
to conclusions of which they do not contemplate the implications—conclusions
which they never develope for the purpose
of seeing whether they are consistent. Accepting without
criticism the dicta of unaided perception, to the effect that
surrounding bodies when put in motion soon return to rest,
247the great majority tacitly assume that the motion is actually
lost. They do not consider whether the phenomenon can be
otherwise interpreted; or whether the interpretation they
put on it can be mentally realized. They are content with a
colligation of mere appearances. But the establishment
of certain facts having quite an opposite implication,
led to inquiries which have gradually proved such appearances
to be illusive. The discovery that the planets revolve
round the Sun with undiminishing speed, raised the suspicion
that a moving body, when not interfered with, will go on for
ever without change of velocity; and suggested the question
whether bodies which lose their motion, do not at the same
time communicate as much motion to other bodies. It was a
familiar fact that a stone would glide further over a smooth
surface, such as ice, presenting no small objects to which it
could part with its motion by collision, than over a surface
strewn with such small objects; and that a projectile would
travel a far greater distance through a rare medium like air,
than through a dense medium like water. Thus the primitive
notion that moving bodies had an inherent tendency gradually
to lose their motion and finally stop—a notion of which
the Greeks did not get rid, but which lasted till the time of
Galileo—began to give way. It was further shaken by such
experiments as those of Hooke, which proved that the spinning
of a top continued long in proportion as it was prevented
from communicating movement to surrounding matter—experiments
which, when repeated with the aid of modern appliances,
have shown that in vacuo such rotation, retarded
only by the friction of the axis, will continue for nearly an
hour. Thus have been gradually dispersed, the obstacles to
the reception of the first law of motion;—the law, namely,
that when not influenced by external forces, a moving body
will go on in a straight line with a uniform velocity. And
this law is in our day being merged in the more general one,
that Motion, like Matter, is indestructible; and that whatever
is lost by any one portion of matter is transferred to
248other portions—a conclusion which, however much at variance
it seems with cases of sudden arrest from collision with
an immovable object, is yet reconciled with such cases by the
discovery that the motion apparently lost continues under
new forms, though forms not directly perceptible.
§ 70. And here it may be remarked of Motion, as it was
before of Matter, that its indestructibility is not only to be
inductively inferred, but that it is a necessity of thought: its
destructibility never having been truly conceived at all, but
having always been, as it is now, a mere verbal proposition
that cannot be realized in consciousness—a pseud-idea.
Whether that absolute reality which produces in us the consciousness
we call Motion, be or be not an eternal mode of
the Unknowable, it is impossible for us to say; but that the
relative reality which we call Motion never can come into
existence, or cease to exist, is a truth involved in the very
nature of our consciousness. To think of Motion as either
being created or annihilated—to think of nothing becoming
something, or something becoming nothing—is to establish
in consciousness a relation between two terms of which one
is absent from consciousness, which is impossible. The very
nature of intelligence, negatives the supposition that Motion
can be conceived (much less known) to either commence or
cease.
§ 71. It remains to be pointed out that the continuity of
Motion, as well as the indestructibility of Matter, is really
known to us in terms of force. That a certain manifestation
of force remains for ever undiminished, is the ultimate content
of the thought; whether reached à posteriori or à priori.
From terrestrial physics let us take the case of sound propagated
to a great distance. Whenever we are directly conscious
of the causation of sound (namely, when we produce it
ourselves), its invariable antecedent is force. The immediate
sequence of this force we know to be motion—first, of our
249own organs, and then of the body which we set vibrating.
The vibrations so generated we can discern both through the
fingers and through the ears; and that the sensations received
by the ears are the equivalents of mechanical force
communicated to the air, and by it impressed on surrounding
objects, we have clear proof when objects are fractured: as
windows by the report of a cannon; or a glass vessel by a
powerful voice. On what, then, rests the reasoning when, as
occasionally happens under favourable circumstances, men
on board a vessel a hundred miles from shore, hear the ringing
of church-bells on placing their ears in the focus of the
main sail; and when it is inferred that atmospheric undulations
have traversed this immense distance? Manifestly, the
assertion that the motion of the clapper, transformed into the
vibrations of the bell, and communicated to the surrounding
air, has propagated itself thus far on all sides, diminishing in
intensity as the mass of air moved became greater, is based
solely upon a certain change produced in consciousness
through the ears. The listeners are not conscious of motion;
they are conscious of an impression produced on them—an
impression which implies a force as its necessary correlative.
With force they begin, and with force they end: the intermediate
motion being simply inferred. Again, where,
as in celestial physics, the continuity of motion is quantitatively
proved, the proof is not direct but inferential; and forces
furnish the data for the inference. A particular planet can
be identified only by its constant power to affect our visual
organs in a special way—to impress upon the retina a group
of forces standing in a particular correlation. Further, such
planet has not been seen to move by the astronomical observer;
but its motion is inferred from a comparison of its present
position with the position it before occupied. If rigorously
examined, this comparison proves to be a comparison between
the different impressions produced on him by the different adjustments
of the observing instruments. Going a step further
back, it turns out that this difference is meaningless until
250shown to correspond with a certain calculated position which
the planet must occupy, supposing that no motion has been
lost. And if, finally, we examine the implied calculation,
we find that it makes allowances for those accelerations and
retardations which ellipticity of the orbit involves, as well as
those variations of velocity caused by adjacent planets—we
find, that is, that the motion is concluded to be indestructible
not from the uniform velocity of the planet, but from
the constant quantity of motion exhibited when allowance is
made for the motion communicated to, or received from, other
celestial bodies. And when we ask how this communicated
motion is estimated, we discover that the estimate is based
upon certain laws of force; which laws, one and all, embody
the postulate that force cannot be destroyed. Without the
axiom that action and re-action are equal and opposite, astronomy
could not make its exact predictions; and we should
lack the rigorous inductive proof they furnish that motion
can never be lost, but can only be transferred.
Similarly with the à priori conclusion that Motion is continuous.
That which defies suppression in thought, is really
the force which the motion indicates. The unceasing change
of position, considered by itself, may be mentally abolished
without difficulty. We can readily imagine retardation and
stoppage to result from the action of external bodies. But
to imagine this, is not possible without an abstraction of the
force implied by the motion. We are obliged to conceive
this force as impressed in the shape of re-action on the bodies
that cause the arrest. And the motion that is communicated
to them, we are compelled to regard, not as directly communicated,
but as a product of the communicated force. We
can mentally diminish the velocity or space-element of
motion, by diffusing the momentum or force-element over
a larger mass of matter; but the quantity of this force-element,
which we regard as the cause of the motion, is unchangeable
in thought.
251
§ 72. Before taking a first step in the rational interpretation
of Evolution, it is needful to recognize, not only the facts that
Matter is indestructible and Motion continuous, but also the
fact that Force persists. An attempt to assign the causes of
Evolution, would manifestly be absurd, if that agency to which
the metamorphosis in general and in detail is due, could either
come into existence or cease to exist. The succession of phenomena
would in such case be altogether arbitrary; and deductive
science impossible.
Here, indeed, the necessity is even more imperative than in
the two preceding cases. For the validity of the proofs given
that Matter is indestructible and Motion continuous, really
depends upon the validity of the proof that Force is persistent.
An analysis of the reasoning demonstrated that in both cases,
the à posteriori conclusion involves the assumption that unchanged
quantities of Matter and Motion are proved by unchanged
manifestations of Force; and in the à priori cognition
252we found this to be the essential constituent. Hence, that the
quantity of Force remains always the same, is the fundamental
cognition in the absence of which these derivative cognitions
must disappear.
§ 73. But now on what grounds do we assert the persistence
of Force? Inductively we can allege no evidence except such
as is presented to us throughout the world of sensible phenomena.
No force however, save that of which we are conscious
during our own muscular efforts, is immediately known to us.
All other force is mediately known through the changes we
attribute to it. Since, then, we cannot infer the persistence
of Force from our own sensation of it, which does not persist;
we must infer it, if it is inferred at all, from the continuity of
Motion, and the undiminished ability of Matter to produce certain
effects. But to reason thus is manifestly to reason in a
circle. It is absurd to allege the indestructibility of Matter,
because we find experimentally that under whatever changes of
form a given mass of matter exhibits the same gravitation, and
then afterwards to argue that gravitation is constant because
a given mass of matter exhibits always the same quantity of
it. We cannot prove the continuity of Motion by assuming
that Force is persistent, and then prove the persistence of Force
by assuming that Motion is continuous.
The data of both objective and subjective science being involved
in this question touching the nature of our cognition that
Force is persistent, it will be desirable here to examine it more
closely. At the risk of trying the reader’s patience, we must
reconsider the reasoning through which the indestructibility of
Matter and the continuity of Motion are established; that we
may see how impossible it is to arrive by parallel reasoning at
the persistence of Force. In all three cases the question
is one of quantity:—does the Matter, or Motion, or Force,
ever diminish in quantity? Quantitative science implies measurement;
and measurement implies a unit of measure. The
units of measure from which all others of any exactness are derived,
253are units of linear extension. From these, through the
medium of the equal-armed lever or scales, we derive our equal
units of weight, or gravitative force. And it is by means of these
equal units of extension and equal units of weight, that we make
those quantitative comparisons by which the truths of exact
science are reached. Throughout the investigations leading
the chemist to the conclusion that of the carbon which has disappeared
during combustion, no portion has been lost, and that
in any compound afterwards formed by the resulting carbonic
acid the whole of the original carbon is present, what is his
repeatedly assigned proof? That afforded by the scales. In
what terms is the verdict of the scales given? In grains—in
units of weight—in units of gravitative force. And what is
the total content of the verdict? That as many units of gravitative
force as the carbon exhibited at first, it exhibits still.
The quantity of matter is asserted to be the same, if the number
of units of force it counter-balances is the same. The validity
of the inference, then, depends entirely upon the constancy
of the units of force. If the force with which the portion
of metal called a grain-weight, tends towards the Earth, has
varied, the inference that Matter is indestructible is vicious.
Everything turns on the truth of the assumption that the gravitation
of the weights is persistent; and of this no proof is
assigned, or can be assigned. In the reasonings of
the astronomer there is a like implication; from which we
may draw the like conclusion. No problem in celestial physics
can be solved without the assumption of some unit of force.
This unit need not be, like a pound or a ton, one of which we
can take direct cognizance. It is requisite only that the mutual
attraction which some two of the bodies concerned exercise
at a given distance, should be taken as one; so that the
other attractions with which the problem deals, may be expressed
in terms of this one. Such unit being assumed, the
momenta which the respective masses will generate in each
other in a given time, are calculated; and compounding
these with the momenta they already have, their places at the
254end of that time are predicted. The prediction is verified by
observation. From this, either of two inferences may be drawn.
Assuming the masses to be fixed, the motion may be proved
to be undiminished; or assuming the motion to be undiminished,
the masses may be proved to be fixed. But the validity of
one or other inference, depends wholly on the truth of the assumption
that the unit of force is unchanged. Let it be supposed
that the gravitation of the two bodies towards each
other at the given distance, has varied, and the conclusions
drawn are no longer true. Nor is it only in their
concrete data that the reasonings of terrestrial and celestial
physics assume the persistence of Force. They equally assume
it in the abstract principle with which they set out; and which
they repeat in justification of every step. The equality of action
and reaction is taken for granted from beginning to end
of either argument; and to assert that action and reaction
are equal and opposite, is to assert that Force is persistent.
The allegation really amounts to this, that there cannot be an
isolated force beginning and ending in nothing; but that
any force manifested, implies an equal antecedent force from
which it is derived, and against which it is a reaction. Further,
that the force so originating cannot disappear without result;
but must expend itself in some other manifestation of force,
which, in being produced, becomes its reaction; and so on
continually. Clearly then the persistence of Force is an
ultimate truth of which no inductive proof is possible.
We might indeed be certain, even in the absence of any
such analysis as the foregoing, that there must exist some
principle which, as being the basis of science, cannot be
established by science. All reasoned-out conclusions whatever,
must rest on some postulate. As before shown (§ 23), we
cannot go on merging derivative truths in those wider and
wider truths from which they are derived, without reaching
at last a widest truth which can be merged in no other, or
derived from no other. And whoever contemplates the relation
in which it stands to the truths of science in general, will
255see that this truth transcending demonstration is the persistence
of Force.
§ 74. But now what is the force of which we predicate
persistence? It is not the force we are immediately conscious
of in our own muscular efforts; for this does not persist. As
soon as an outstretched limb is relaxed, the sense of tension
disappears. True, we assert that in the stone thrown or in the
weight lifted, is exhibited the effect of this muscular tension;
and that the force which has ceased to be present in our consciousness,
exists elsewhere. But it does not exist elsewhere
under any form cognizable by us. It was proved (§ 18),
that though, on raising an object from the ground, we are
obliged to think of its downward pull as equal and opposite
to our upward pull; and though it is impossible to represent
these pulls as equal without representing them as like in
kind; yet, since their likeness in kind would imply in the
object a sensation of muscular tension, which cannot be
ascribed to it, we are compelled to admit that force as it
exists out of our consciousness, is not force as we know it.
Hence the force of which we assert persistence is that Absolute
Force of which we are indefinitely conscious as the necessary
correlate of the force we know. Thus, by the persistence
of Force, we really mean the persistence of some Power
which transcends our knowledge and conception. The manifestations,
as occurring either in ourselves or outside of us, do
not persist; but that which persists is the Unknown Cause
of these manifestations. In other words, asserting the
persistence of Force, is but another mode of asserting an
Unconditioned Reality, without beginning or end.
Thus, quite unexpectedly, we come down once more to
that ultimate truth in which, as we saw, Religion and
Science coalesce. On examining the data underlying a
rational theory of Evolution, we find them all at last resolvable
into that datum without which consciousness was
shown to be impossible—the continued existence of an Unknowable
256as the necessary correlative of the Knowable. Once
commenced, the analysis of the truths taken for granted in
scientific inquiries, inevitably brings us down to this deepest
truth, in which Common Sense and Philosophy are reconciled.
The arguments and conclusion contained in this and the
foregoing three chapters, supply, indeed, the complement to
the arguments and conclusion set forth in the preceding part
of this work. It was there first shown, by an examination of
our ultimate religious ideas, that knowledge of Absolute Being
is impossible; and the impossibility of knowing Absolute
Being, was also shown by an examination of our ultimate
scientific ideas. In a succeeding chapter a subjective analysis
proved, that while, by the very conditions of thought, we are
prevented from knowing anything beyond relative being; yet
that by these very same conditions of thought, an indefinite
consciousness of Absolute Being is necessitated. And here,
by objective analysis, we similarly find that the axiomatic
truths of physical science, unavoidably postulate Absolute
Being as their common basis.
Thus there is even a more profound agreement between
Religion and Science than was before shown. Not only are
they wholly at one on the negative proposition that the Non-relative
cannot be known; but they are wholly at one on the
positive proposition that the Non-relative is an actual existence.
Both are obliged by the demonstrated untenability of their
supposed cognitions, to confess that the Ultimate Reality is incognizable;
and yet both are obliged to assert the existence of
an Ultimate Reality. Without this, Religion has no subject-matter;
and without this, Science, subjective and objective,
lacks its indispensable datum. We cannot construct a theory
of internal phenomena without postulating Absolute Being;
and unless we postulate Absolute Being, or being which persists,
we cannot construct a theory of external phenomena.
§ 75. A few words must be added respecting the nature
257of this fundamental consciousness. Already it has been looked
at from several points of view; and here it seems needful
finally to sum up the results.
In Chapter IV. we saw that the Unknown Power of
which neither beginning nor end can be conceived, is present
to us as that unshaped material of consciousness which
is shaped afresh in every thought. Our inability to conceive
its limitation, is thus simply the obverse of our inability to
put an end to the thinking subject while still continuing to
think. In the two foregoing chapters, we contemplated
this fundamental truth under another aspect. The indestructibility
of Matter and the continuity of Motion, we saw to be
really corollaries from the impossibility of establishing in
thought a relation between something and nothing. What
we call the establishment of a relation in thought, is the passage
of the substance of consciousness, from one form into another.
To think of something becoming nothing, would involve
that this substance of consciousness having just existed
under a given form, should next assume no form; or should
cease to be consciousness. And thus our inability to conceive
Matter and Motion destroyed, is our inability to suppress consciousness
itself. What, in these two foregoing chapters,
was proved true of Matter and Motion, is, à fortiori, true
of the Force out of which our conceptions of Matter and Motion
are built. Indeed, as we saw, that which is indestructible in
matter and motion, is the force they present. And, as we
here see, the truth that Force is indestructible, is the obverse
of the truth that the Unknown Cause of the changes going on
in consciousness is indestructible. So that the persistence of
consciousness, constitutes at once our immediate experience of
the persistence of Force, and imposes on us the necessity we
are under of asserting its persistence.
§ 76. Thus, in all ways there is forced on us the fact, that
here is an ultimate truth given in our mental constitution.
It is not only a datum of science, but it is a datum which even
258the assertion of our nescience involves. Whoever alleges that
the inability to conceive a beginning or end of the Universe,
is a negative result of our mental structure, cannot deny that
our consciousness of the Universe as persistent, is a positive result
of our mental structure. And this persistence of the
Universe, is the persistence of that Unknown Cause, Power, or
Force, which is manifested to us through all phenomena.
Such then is the foundation of any possible system of positive
knowledge. Deeper than demonstration—deeper even
than definite cognition—deep as the very nature of mind, is
the postulate at which we have arrived. Its authority transcends
all other whatever; for not only is it given in the constitution
of our own consciousness, but it is impossible to
imagine a consciousness so constituted as not to give it.
Thought, involving simply the establishment of relations, may
be readily conceived to go on while yet these relations have
not been organized into the abstracts we call Space and Time;
and so there is a conceivable kind of consciousness which
does not contain the truths, commonly called à priori, involved
in the organization of these forms of relations. But
thought cannot be conceived to go on without some element
between which its relations may be established; and
so there is no conceivable kind of consciousness which does
not imply continued existence as its datum. Consciousness
without this or that particular form is possible; but consciousness
without contents is impossible.
The sole truth which transcends experience by underlying
it, is thus the persistence of Force. This being the basis of experience,
must be the basis of any scientific organization of experiences.
To this an ultimate analysis brings us down; and
on this a rational synthesis must build up.
259
§ 77. When, to the unaided senses, Science began to add
supplementary senses in the shape of measuring instruments,
men began to perceive various phenomena which eyes and
fingers could not distinguish. Of known forms of force,
minuter manifestations became appreciable; and forms of
force before unknown were rendered cognizable and measurable.
Where forces had apparently ended in nothing, and
had been carelessly supposed to have actually done so, instrumental
observation proved that effects had in every instance
been produced: the forces reappearing in new shapes.
Hence there has at length arisen the inquiry whether the
force displayed in each surrounding change, does not in the
act of expenditure undergo metamorphosis into an equivalent
amount of some other force or forces. And to this inquiry
experiment is giving an affirmative answer, which becomes
day by day more decisive. Grove, Helmholtz, and Meyer,
are more than any others to be credited with the clear enunciation
of this doctrine. Let us glance at the evidence on
which it rests.
Motion, wherever we can directly trace its genesis, we find
to pre-exist as some other mode of force. Our own voluntary
acts have always certain sensations of muscular
tension as their antecedents. When, as in letting fall a relaxed
limb, we are conscious of a bodily movement requiring
no effort, the explanation is that the effort was exerted in
260raising the limb to the position whence it fell. In this case,
as in the case of an inanimate body descending to the Earth,
the force accumulated by the downward motion is just equal
to the force previously expended in the act of elevation.
Conversely, Motion that is arrested produces,
under different circumstances, heat, electricity, magnetism,
light. From the warming of the hands by rubbing them
together, up to the ignition of a railway-brake by intense
friction—from the lighting of detonating powder by percussion,
up to the setting on fire a block of wood by a few blows
from a steam-hammer; we have abundant instances in which
heat arises as Motion ceases. It is uniformly found, that the
heat generated is great in proportion as the Motion lost is
great; and that to diminish the arrest of motion, by diminishing
the friction, is to diminish the quantity of heat
evolved. The production of electricity by Motion is illustrated
equally in the boy’s experiment with rubbed sealing-wax,
in the common electrical machine, and in the apparatus
for exciting electricity by the escape of steam. Wherever
there is friction between heterogeneous bodies, electrical disturbance
is one of the consequences. Magnetism may result
from Motion either immediately, as through percussion on
iron, or mediately as through electric currents previously
generated by Motion. And similarly, Motion may create
light; either directly, as in the minute incandescent fragments
struck off by violent collisions, or indirectly, as
through the electric spark. “Lastly, Motion may be again
reproduced by the forces which have emanated from Motion;
thus, the divergence of the electrometer, the revolution of
the electrical wheel, the deflection of the magnetic needle,
are, when resulting from frictional electricity, palpable movements
reproduced by the intermediate modes of force, which
have themselves been originated by motion.”
That mode of force which we distinguish as Heat, is now
generally regarded by physicists as molecular motion—not
motion as displayed in the changed relations of sensible
261masses to each other, but as occurring among the units of
which such sensible masses consist. If we cease to think of
Heat as that particular sensation given to us by bodies in
certain conditions, and consider the phenomena otherwise
presented by these bodies, we find that motion, either in
them or in surrounding bodies, or in both, is all that
we have evidence of. With one or two exceptions which are
obstacles to every theory of Heat, heated bodies expand; and
expansion can be interpreted only as a movement of the units
of a mass in relation to each other. That so-called radiation
through which anything of higher temperature than
things around it, communicates Heat to them, is clearly a
species of motion. Moreover, the evidence afforded by the
thermometer that Heat thus diffuses itself, is simply a movement
caused in the mercurial column. And that the molecular
motion which we call Heat, may be transformed into visible
motion, familiar proof is given by the steam-engine; in
which “the piston and all its concomitant masses of matter
are moved by the molecular dilatation of the vapour of
water.” Where Heat is absorbed without apparent
result, modern inquiries show that decided though unobtrusive
changes are produced: as on glass, the molecular
state of which is so far changed by heat, that a polarized ray
of light passing through it becomes visible, which it does not
do when the glass is cold; or as on polished metallic surfaces,
which are so far changed in structure by thermal radiations
from objects very close to them, as to retain permanent impressions
of such objects. The transformation of Heat into
electricity, occurs when dissimilar metals touching each other
are heated at the point of contact: electric currents being so
induced. Solid, incombustible matter introduced into heated
gas, as lime into the oxyhydrogen flame, becomes incandescent;
and so exhibits the conversion of Heat into light.
The production of magnetism by Heat, if it cannot be proved
to take place directly, may be proved to take place indirectly
through the medium of electricity. And through the same
262medium may be established the correlation of Heat and
chemical affinity—a correlation which is indeed implied by
the marked influence that Heat exercises on chemical composition
and decomposition.
The transformations of Electricity into other modes of
force, are still more clearly demonstrable. Produced by the
motion of heterogeneous bodies in contact, Electricity, through
attractions and repulsions, will immediately reproduce motion
in neighbouring bodies. Now a current of Electricity generates
magnetism in a bar of soft iron; and now the rotation
of a permanent magnet generates currents of Electricity.
Here we have a battery in which from the play of chemical
affinities an electric current results; and there, in the
adjacent cell, we have an electric current effecting chemical
decomposition. In the conducting wire we witness the
transformation of Electricity into heat; while in electric
sparks and in the voltaic arc we see light produced. Atomic
arrangement, too, is changed by Electricity: as instance
the transfer of matter from pole to pole of a battery; the
fractures caused by the disruptive discharge; the formation
of crystals under the influence of electric currents. And
whether, conversely, Electricity be or be not directly generated
by re-arrangement of the atoms of matter, it is at any
rate indirectly so generated through the intermediation of
magnetism.
How from Magnetism the other physical forces result,
must be next briefly noted—briefly, because in each successive
case the illustrations become in great part the obverse
forms of those before given. That Magnetism produces
motion is the ordinary evidence we have of its existence. In
the magneto-electric machine we see a rotating magnet
evolving electricity. And the electricity so evolved may
immediately after exhibit itself as heat, light, or chemical
affinity. Faraday’s discovery of the effect of Magnetism on
polarized light, as well as the discovery that change of magnetic
state is accompanied by heat, point to further like connexions.
263Lastly, various experiments show that the magnetization
of a body alters its internal structure; and that
conversely, the alteration of its internal structure, as by
mechanical strain, alters its magnetic condition.
Improbable as it seemed, it is now proved that from Light
also may proceed the like variety of agencies. The solar rays
change the atomic arrangements of particular crystals.
Certain mixed gases, which do not otherwise combine, combine
in the sunshine. In some compounds Light produces
decomposition. Since the inquiries of photographers
have drawn attention to the subject, it has been shown that
“a vast number of substances, both elementary and compound,
are notably affected by this agent, even those apparently
the most unalterable in character, such as metals.”
And when a daguerreotype plate is connected with a proper
apparatus “we get chemical action on the plate, electricity
circulating through the wires, magnetism in the coil, heat in
the helix, and motion in the needles.”
The genesis of all other modes of force from Chemical
Action, scarcely needs pointing out. The ordinary accompaniment
of chemical combination is heat; and when the
affinities are intense, light also is, under fit conditions, produced.
Chemical changes involving alteration of bulk, cause
motion, both in the combining elements and in adjacent
masses of matter: witness the propulsion of a bullet by the
explosion of gunpowder. In the galvanic battery we see
electricity resulting from chemical composition and decomposition.
While through the medium of this electricity,
Chemical Action produces magnetism.
These facts, the larger part of which are culled from Mr.
Grove’s work on “The Correlation of Physical Forces,” show
us that each force is transformable, directly or indirectly,
into the others. In every change Force undergoes metamorphosis;
and from the new form or forms it assumes, may
subsequently result either the previous one or any of the
rest, in endless variety of order and combination. It is
264further becoming manifest that the physical forces stand not
simply in qualitative correlations with each other, but also in
quantitative correlations. Besides proving that one mode of
force may be transformed into another mode, experiments
illustrate the truth that from a definite amount of one, definite
amounts of others always arise. Ordinarily it is indeed
difficult to show this; since it mostly happens that the
transformation of any force is not into some one of the rest
but into several of them: the proportions being determined
by the ever-varying conditions. But in certain cases, positive
results have been reached. Mr. Joule has ascertained
that the fall of 772 lbs. through one foot, will raise the
temperature of a pound of water one degree of Fahrenheit.
The investigations of Dulong, Petit and Neumann, have
proved a relation in amount between the affinities of combining
bodies and the heat evolved during their combination. Between
chemical action and voltaic electricity, a quantitative
connexion has also been established: Faraday’s experiments
implying that a specific measure of electricity is disengaged
by a given measure of chemical action. The well-determined
relations between the quantities of heat generated and water
turned into steam, or still better the known expansion produced
in steam by each additional degree of heat, may be
cited in further evidence. Whence it is no longer doubted
that among the several forms which force assumes, the
quantitative relations are fixed. The conclusion tacitly
agreed on by physicists, is, not only that the physical forces
undergo metamorphoses, but that a certain amount of each is
the constant equivalent of certain amounts of the others.
§ 78. Throughout Evolution under all its phases, this truth
of course invariably holds. Every successive change or
group of changes forming part of it, is of necessity limited
by the conditions thus implied. The forces which any step
in Evolution exhibits, must be affiliable on the like or unlike
forces previously existing; while from the forces so generated
265must thereafter be derived others more or less transformed.
And besides recognizing the forces at any time existing, as
necessarily linked with those preceding and succeeding them,
we must also recognize the amounts of these forces successively
manifested as determinate,—as necessarily producing
such and such quantities of results, and as necessarily
limited to those quantities.
Involved as are the phenomena of Evolution, it is not to be
expected that a definite quantitative relation can in each case,
or indeed in any case, be shown between the forces expended
in successive phases. We have not adequate data for this;
and probably shall never have them. The antecedents of
the simpler forms of Evolution, belong to a remote past respecting
which we can have nothing but inferential knowledge;
while the antecedents of the only kind of Evolution
which is traceable from beginning to end (namely, that of
individual organisms) are too complex to be dealt with by
exact methods. Hence we cannot hope to establish equivalence
among the successive manifestations of force which each
order of Evolution affords. The most we can hope is to
establish a qualitative correlation that is indefinitely quantitative—quantitative
in so far as involving something like a due
proportion between causes and effects. If this can be done,
however, some progress will be made towards the solution of
our problem. Though it may be beyond our power to show
a measurable relation between the force or group of forces
which any phase of Evolution displays, and the force or group
of forces immediately succeeding it; yet if we can show that
there always are antecedent forces, and that the effects they
produce always become the antecedents of further ones—if
while unable to calculate how much of each change will be
produced, we can prove that a change of that kind was necessitated—if
we can discern even the vaguest correspondence
between the amount of such change and the amount of the
pre-existing force; we shall advance a step towards interpreting
the transformation of the simple into the complex.
266With the view of attempting this, let us now reconsider
the different types of Evolution awhile since delineated:
taking them in the same order as before.
§ 79. On contemplating our Solar System the first fact
which strikes us, is, that all its members are in motion; and
that their motion is of a two-fold, or rather of a three-fold,
kind. Each planet and satellite has a movement of rotation
and a movement of translation; besides the movement
through space which all have in common with their rotating
primary. Whence this unceasing change of place?
The hypothesis of Evolution supplies us with an answer.
Impossible as it is to assign a reason for the pre-existence of
matter in the diffused form supposed; yet assuming its pre-existence
in that form, we have in the gravitation of its parts
a cause of motion adequate to the results. So far too as the
evidence carries us, we can perceive some quantitative relation
between the motions produced, and the gravitative forces
expended in producing them. The planets formed from that
matter which has travelled the shortest distance towards the
common centre of gravity, have the smallest velocities: the
uniform law being that in advancing from the outermost to
the innermost planets, the rate of orbital motion progressively
increases. It may indeed be remarked that this is explicable
on the teleological hypothesis; since it is a condition to equilibrium.
But without dwelling on the fact that this is beside
the question, it will suffice to point out that the like cannot
be said of the planetary rotations. No such final cause can
be assigned for the rapid axial movement of Jupiter and
Saturn, or the slow axial movement of Mercury. But if in
pursuance of the doctrine of correlation we look for the antecedents
of these gyrations which all planets exhibit, the
theory of Evolution furnishes us with equivalent ones; and
ones which bear manifest quantitative relations to the motions
displayed. For the planets that turn on their axes with extreme
rapidity, are those having great masses and large
267orbits—those, that is, of which the once diffused elements
moved to their centres of gravity through immense spaces,
and so acquired high velocities. While, conversely, there
has resulted the smallest axial movement where the orbit
and the mass are both the smallest.
“But what,” it may be asked, “has in such case become
of all that motion which brought about the aggregation of
this diffused matter into solid bodies?” The rotation of each
body can be but a residuary result of concentration—a result
due to the imperfect balancing of gravitative movements
from opposite points towards the common centre. Such
gravitative movements from opposite points must in great
measure destroy each other. What then has become of
these mutually-destroyed motions? The answer which the
doctrine of correlation suggests is—they must have been
radiated in the form of heat and light. And this answer
the evidence, so far as it goes, confirms. Apart from any
speculation respecting the genesis of the solar system, the
inquiries of geologists lead to the conclusion that the heat of
the Earth’s still molten nucleus is but a remnant of the heat
which once made molten the entire Earth. The mountainous
surfaces of the Moon and of Venus (which alone are near
enough to be scrutinized), indicating, as they do, crusts that
have, like our own, been corrugated by contraction, imply
that these bodies too have undergone refrigeration—imply
in each of them a primitive heat, such as the hypothesis necessitates.
Lastly, we have in the Sun a still-continued production
of this heat and light, which must result from the
arrest of diffused matter moving towards a common centre of
gravity. Here also, as before, a quantitative relation
is traceable. Among the bodies which make up the Solar
System, those containing comparatively small amounts of
matter whose centripetal motion has been destroyed, have already
lost nearly all the produced heat: a result which their
relatively larger surfaces have facilitated. But the Sun, a
thousand times as great in mass as the largest planet, and
268having therefore to give off an enormously greater quantity of
heat and light due to arrest of moving matter, is still radiating
with great intensity.
Thus we see that when, in pursuance of the doctrine of correlation,
we ask whence come the forces which our Solar System
displays, the hypothesis of Evolution gives us a proximate
explanation. If the Solar System once existed in a state of
indefinite, incoherent homogeneity, and has progressed to its
present state of definite, coherent heterogeneity; then the
Motion, Heat, and Light now exhibited by its members, are
interpretable as the correlatives of pre-existing forces; and
between them and their antecedents we may discern relations
that are not only qualitative, but also rudely quantitative.
How matter came to exist under the form assumed, is a
mystery which we must regard as ultimate. But grant such
a previous form of existence, and the hypothesis of Evolution
interpreted by the laws of correlation, explains for us the
forces as we now see them.
§ 80. If we inquire the origin of those forces which have
wrought the surface of our planet into its present shape, we
find them traceable to the same primordial source as that
just assigned. Assuming the solar system to have been
evolved, then geologic changes are either direct or indirect
results of the unexpended heat caused by nebular condensation.
These changes are commonly divided into igneous and
aqueous:—heads under which we may most conveniently consider
them.
All those periodic disturbances which we call earthquakes,
all those elevations and subsidences which they severally
produce, all those accumulated effects of many such elevations
and subsidences exhibited in ocean-basins, islands, continents,
table-lands, mountain-chains, and all those formations
which are distinguished as volcanic, geologists now
regard as modifications of the Earth’s crust produced by the
still-molten matter occupying its interior. However untenable
269may be the details of M. Elie de Beaumont’s theory,
there is good reason to accept the general proposition that
the disruptions and variations of level which take place at
intervals on the terrestrial surface, are due to the progressive
collapse of the Earth’s solid envelope upon its cooling and
contracting nucleus. Even supposing that volcanic eruptions,
extrusions of igneous rock, and upheaved mountain-chains,
could be otherwise satisfactorily accounted for, which
they cannot; it would be impossible otherwise to account for
those wide-spread elevations and depressions whence continents
and oceans result. The conclusion to be drawn is,
then, that the forces displayed in these so-called igneous
changes, are derived positively or negatively from the unexpended
heat of the Earth’s interior. Such phenomena as the
fusion or agglutination of sedimentary deposits, the warming
of springs, the sublimation of metals into the fissures where
we find them as ores, may be regarded as positive results of
this residuary heat; while fractures of strata and alterations
of level are its negative results, since they ensue on its escape.
The original cause of all these effects is still, however, as it
has been from the first, the gravitating movement of the
Earth’s matter towards the Earth’s centre; seeing that to
this is due both the internal heat itself and the collapse
which takes place as it is radiated into space.
When we inquire under what forms previously existed the
force which works out the geological changes classed as
aqueous, the answer is less obvious. The effects of rain, of
rivers, of winds, of waves, of marine currents, do not manifestly
proceed from one general source. Analysis, nevertheless,
proves to us that they have a common genesis. If we
ask,—Whence comes the power of the river-current, bearing
sediment down to the sea? the reply is,—The gravitation of
water throughout the tract which this river drains. If we
ask,—How came the water to be dispersed over this tract? the
reply is,—It fell in the shape of rain. If we ask,—How came
the rain to be in that position whence it fell? the reply is,—The
270vapour from which it was condensed was drifted there
by the winds. If we ask,—How came this vapour to be at
that elevation? the reply is,—It was raised by evaporation.
And if we ask,—What force thus raised it? the reply is,—The
sun’s heat. Just that amount of gravitative force which
the sun’s heat overcame in raising the atoms of water, is
given out again in the fall of those atoms to the same level.
Hence the denudations effected by rain and rivers, during
the descent of this condensed vapour to the level of the sea,
are indirectly due to the sun’s heat. Similarly with the
winds that transport the vapours hither and thither. Consequent
as atmospheric currents are on differences of temperature
(either general, as between the equatorial and polar
regions, or special as between tracts of the Earth’s surface of
unlike physical characters) all such currents are due to that
source from which the varying quantities of heat proceed.
And if the winds thus originate, so too do the waves raised
by them on the sea’s surface. Whence it follows that whatever
changes waves produce—the wearing away of shores,
the breaking down of rocks into shingle, sand, and mud—are
also traceable to the solar rays as their primary cause.
The same may be said of ocean-currents. Generated as the
larger ones are by the excess of heat which the ocean in
tropical climates continually acquires from the Sun; and
generated as the smaller ones are by minor local differences
in the quantities of solar heat absorbed; it follows that the
distribution of sediment and other geological processes which
these marine currents effect, are affiliable upon the force
which the sun radiates. The only aqueous agency otherwise
originating is that of the tides—an agency which, equally with
the others, is traceable to unexpended astronomical motion.
But making allowance for the changes which this works, we
reach the conclusion that the slow wearing down of continents
and gradual filling up of seas, by rain, rivers, winds,
waves, and ocean-streams, are the indirect effects of solar
heat.
271Thus the implication forced on us by the doctrine of correlation,
that the forces which have moulded and re-moulded
the Earth’s crust must have pre-existed under some other
shape, is quite in conformity with the theory of Evolution;
since this pre-supposes certain forces that are both adequate
to the results, and cannot be expended without producing
the results. We see that while the geological changes classed
as igneous, result from the still-progressing motion of the
Earth’s substance to its centre of gravity; the antagonistic
changes classed as aqueous, result from the still-progressing
motion of the Sun’s substance towards its centre of gravity—a
motion which, transformed into heat and radiated to us, is
here re-transformed, directly into motions of the gaseous and
liquid matters on the Earth’s surface, and indirectly into
motions of the solid matters.
§ 81. That the forces exhibited in vital actions, vegetal
and animal, are similarly derived, is so obvious a deduction
from the facts of organic chemistry, that it will meet with
ready acceptance from readers acquainted with these facts.
Let us note first the physiological generalizations; and then
the generalizations which they necessitate.
Plant-life is all directly or indirectly dependant on the
heat and light of the sun—directly dependant in the immense
majority of plants, and indirectly dependant in plants
which, as the fungi, flourish in the dark: since these, growing
as they do at the expense of decaying organic matter, mediately
draw their forces from the same original source. Each
plant owes the carbon and hydrogen of which it mainly consists,
to the carbonic acid and water contained in the surrounding
air and earth. The carbonic acid and water must, however,
be decomposed before their carbon and hydrogen can
be assimilated. To overcome the powerful affinities which
hold their elements together, requires the expenditure of
force; and this force is supplied by the Sun. In what
manner the decomposition is effected we do not know. But
272we know that when, under fit conditions, plants are exposed
to the Sun’s rays, they give off oxygen and accumulate carbon
and hydrogen. In darkness this process ceases. It ceases
too when the quantities of light and heat received are greatly
reduced, as in winter. Conversely, it is active when the light
and heat are great, as in summer. And the like relation is
seen in the fact that while plant-life is luxuriant in the
tropics, it diminishes in temperate regions, and disappears as
we approach the poles. Thus the irresistible inference is,
that the forces by which plants abstract the materials of their
tissues from surrounding inorganic compounds—the forces by
which they grow and carry on their functions, are forces that
previously existed as solar radiations.
That animal life is immediately or mediately dependant on
vegetal life is a familiar truth; and that, in the main, the
processes of animal life are opposite to those of vegetal life is a
truth long current among men of science. Chemically considered,
vegetal life is chiefly a process of de-oxidation, and
animal life chiefly a process of oxidation: chiefly, we must
say, because in so far as plants are expenders of force for the
purposes of organization, they are oxidizers (as is shown by
the exhalation of carbonic acid during the night); and animals,
in some of their minor processes, are probably de-oxidizers.
But with this qualification, the general truth is
that while the plant, decomposing carbonic acid and water
and liberating oxygen, builds up the detained carbon and
hydrogen (along with a little nitrogen and small quantities
of other elements elsewhere obtained) into branches,
leaves, and seeds; the animal, consuming these branches,
leaves, and seeds, and absorbing oxygen, recomposes carbonic
acid and water, together with certain nitrogenous
compounds in minor amounts. And while the decomposition
effected by the plant, is at the expense of certain
forces emanating from the sun, which are employed
in overcoming the affinities of carbon and hydrogen for the
oxygen united with them; the recomposition effected by the
273animal, is at the profit of these forces, which are liberated
during the combination of such elements. Thus the movements,
internal and external, of the animal, are re-appearances
in new forms of a power absorbed by the plant under
the shape of light and heat. Just as, in the manner
above explained, the solar forces expended in raising vapour
from the sea’s surface, are given out again in the fall of rain
and rivers to the same level, and in the accompanying transfer
of solid matters; so, the solar forces that in the plant
raised certain chemical elements to a condition of unstable
equilibrium, are given out again in the actions of the animal
during the fall of these elements to a condition of stable
equilibrium.
Besides thus tracing a qualitative correlation between these
two great orders of organic activity, as well as between both
of them and inorganic agencies, we may rudely trace a
quantitative correlation. Where vegetal life is abundant, we
usually find abundant animal life; and as we advance from
torrid to temperate and frigid climates, the two decrease together.
Speaking generally, the animals of each class reach
a larger size in regions where vegetation is abundant, than
in those where it is sparse. And further, there is a tolerably
apparent connexion between the quantity of energy which
each species of animal expends, and the quantity of force
which the nutriment it absorbs gives out during oxidation.
Certain phenomena of development in both plants and
animals, illustrate still more directly the ultimate truth
enunciated. Pursuing the suggestion made by Mr. Grove,
in the first edition of his work on the “Correlation of the
Physical Forces,” that a connexion probably exists between
the forces classed as vital and those classed as physical,
Dr. Carpenter has pointed out that such a connexion is
clearly exhibited during incubation. The transformation of
the unorganized contents of an egg into the organized chick,
is altogether a question of heat: withhold heat and the process
does not commence; supply heat and it goes on while the
274temperature is maintained, but ceases when the egg is allowed
to cool. The developmental changes can be completed only
by keeping the temperature with tolerable constancy at a
definite height for a definite time; that is—only by supplying
a definite quantity of heat. In the metamorphoses of
insects we may discern parallel facts. Experiments show
not only that the hatching of their eggs is determined by
temperature, but also that the evolution of the pupa into the
imago is similarly determined; and may be immensely accelerated
or retarded according as heat is artificially supplied
or withheld. It will suffice just to add that the germination of
plants presents like relations of cause and effect—relations so
similar that detail is superfluous.
Thus then the various changes exhibited to us by the
organic creation, whether considered as a whole, or in its two
great divisions, or in its individual members, conform, so far
as we can ascertain, to the law of correlation. Where, as in
the transformation of an egg into a chick, we can investigate
the phenomena apart from all complications, we find that the
re-arrangement of parts which constitutes evolution, involves
expenditure of a pre-existing force. Where it is not, as
in the egg or the chrysalis, merely the change of a fixed
quantity of matter into a new shape, but where, as in the
growing plant or animal, we have an incorporation of matter
existing outside, there is still a pre-existing external force
at the cost of which this incorporation is effected. And
where, as in the higher division of organisms, there remain
over and above the forces expended in organization,
certain surplus forces expended in movement, these too are
indirectly derived from this same pre-existing external force.
§ 82. Even after all that has been said in the foregoing
part of this work, many will be alarmed by the assertion,
that the forces which we distinguish as mental, come within
the same generalization. Yet there is no alternative but to
make this assertion: the facts which justify, or rather which
275necessitate it, being abundant and conspicuous. They fall
into the following groups.
All impressions from moment to moment made on our
organs of sense, stand in direct correlation with physical
forces existing externally. The modes of consciousness called
pressure, motion, sound, light, heat, are effects produced in
us by agencies which, as otherwise expended, crush or fracture
pieces of matter, generate vibrations in surrounding objects,
cause chemical combinations, and reduce substances from a
solid to a liquid form. Hence if we regard the changes of
relative position, of aggregation, or of chemical state, thus
arising, as being transformed manifestations of the agencies
from which they arise; so must we regard the sensations
which such agencies produce in us, as new forms of the forces
producing them. Any hesitation to admit that, between
the physical forces and the sensations there exists a
correlation like that between the physical forces themselves,
must disappear on remembering how the one correlation, like
the other, is not qualitative only but quantitative. Masses
of matter which, by scales or dynamometer, are shown to
differ greatly in weight, differ as greatly in the feelings of
pressure they produce on our bodies. In arresting moving
objects, the strains we are conscious of are proportionate to
the momenta of such objects as otherwise measured. Under
like conditions the impressions of sounds given to us by
vibrating strings, bells, or columns of air, are found to vary
in strength with the amount of force applied. Fluids or
solids proved to be markedly contrasted in temperature by
the different degrees of expansion they produce in the
mercurial column, produce in us correspondingly different
degrees of the sensation of heat. And similarly unlike intensities
in our impressions of light, answer to unlike effects
as measured by photometers.
Besides the correlation and equivalence between external
physical forces, and the mental forces generated by them in
us under the form of sensations, there is a correlation and
276equivalence between sensations and those physical forces
which, in the shape of bodily actions, result from them. The
feelings we distinguish as light, heat, sound, odour, taste,
pressure, &.c, do not die away without immediate results;
but are invariably followed by other manifestations of force.
In addition to the excitements of secreting organs, that are
in some cases traceable, there arises a contraction of the involuntary
muscles, or of the voluntary muscles, or of both.
Sensations increase the action of the heart—slightly when
they are slight; markedly when they are marked; and recent
physiological inquiries imply not only that contraction of the
heart is excited by every sensation, but also that the muscular
fibres throughout the whole, vascular system, are at the same
time more or less contracted. The respiratory muscles, too,
are stimulated into greater activity by sensations. The rate
of breathing is visibly and audibly augmented both by pleasurable
and painful impressions on the nerves, when these
reach any intensity. It has even of late been shown that
inspiration becomes more frequent on transition from darkness
into sunshine,—a result probably due to the increased
amount of direct and indirect nervous stimulation involved.
When the quantity of sensation is great, it generates contractions
of the voluntary muscles, as well as of the involuntary
ones. Unusual excitement of the nerves of touch, as by
tickling, is followed by almost incontrollable movements of
the limbs. Violent pains cause violent struggles. The
start that succeeds a loud sound, the wry face produced by
the taste of anything extremely disagreeable, the jerk with
which the hand or foot is snatched out of water that is very
hot, are instances of the transformation of feeling: into
motion; and in these cases, as in all others, it is manifest
that the quantity of bodily action is proportionate to the
quantity of sensation. Even where from pride there is a
suppression of the screams and groans expressive of great
pain (also indirect results of muscular contraction), we may
still see in the clenching of the hands, the knitting of the
277brows, and the setting of the teeth, that the bodily actions
developed are as great, though less obtrusive in their results.
If we take emotions instead of sensations, we
find the correlation and equivalence equally manifest. Not
only are the modes of consciousness directly produced in us
by physical forces, re-transformable into physical forces under
the form of muscular motions and the changes they initiate;
but the like is true of those modes of consciousness which are
not directly produced in us by the physical forces. Emotions
of moderate intensity, like sensations of moderate intensity,
generate little beyond excitement of the heart and vascular
system, joined sometimes with increased action of glandular
organs. But as the emotions rise in strength, the muscles of
the face, body, and limbs, begin to move. Of examples may
be mentioned the frowns, dilated nostrils, and stampings of
anger; the contracted brows, and wrung hands, of grief; the
smiles and leaps of joy; and the frantic struggles of terror or
despair. Passing over certain apparent, but only apparent,
exceptions, we see that whatever be the kind of emotion,
there is a manifest relation between its amount, and the
amount of muscular action induced: alike from the erect
carriage and elastic step of exhilaration, up to the dancings
of immense delight, and from the fidgetiness of impatience
up to the almost convulsive movements accompanying great
mental agony. To these several orders of evidence
must be joined the further one, that between our feelings and
those voluntary motions into which they are transformed,
there comes the sensation of muscular tension, standing in
manifest correlation with both—a correlation that is distinctly
quantitative: the sense of strain varying, other
things equal, directly as the quantity of momentum
generated.
“But how,” it may be asked, “can we interpret by the
law of correlation the genesis of those thoughts and feelings
which, instead of following external stimuli, arise spontaneously?
Between the indignation caused by an insult, and the
278loud sounds or violent acts that follow, the alleged connexion
may hold; but whence come the crowd of ideas and the mass
of feelings that expend themselves in these demonstrations?
They are clearly not equivalents of the sensations produced
by the words on the ears; for the same words otherwise
arranged, would not have caused them. The thing said
bears to the mental action it excites, much the same relation
that the pulling of a trigger bears to the subsequent explosion—does
not produce the power, but merely liberates it.
Whence then arises this immense amount of nervous energy
which a whisper or a glance may call forth?” The
reply is, that the immediate correlates of these and other such
modes of consciousness, are not to be found in the agencies
acting on us externally, but in certain internal agencies.
The forces called vital, which we have seen to be correlates
of the forces called physical, are the immediate sources of
these thoughts and feelings; and are expended in producing
them. The proofs of this are various. Here are some of
them. It is a conspicuous fact that mental action is
contingent on the presence of a certain nervous apparatus;
and that, greatly obscured as it is by numerous and involved
conditions, a general relation may be traced between the size
of this apparatus and the quantity of mental action as measured
by its results. Further, this apparatus has a particular
chemical constitution on which its activity depends; and
there is one element in it between the amount of which and
the amount of function performed, there is an ascertained
connexion: the proportion of phosphorus present in the brain
being the smallest in infancy, old age and idiotcy, and the
greatest during the prime of life. Note next, that
the evolution of thought and emotion varies, other things
equal, with the supply of blood to the brain. On the one
hand, a cessation of the cerebral circulation, from arrest of
the heart’s action, immediately entails unconsciousness. On
the other hand, excess of cerebral circulation (unless it is
such as to cause undue pressure) results in an excitement
279rising finally to delirium. Not the quantity only,
but also the condition of the blood passing through the
nervous system, influences the mental manifestations. The
arterial currents must be duly aerated, to produce the normal
amount of cerebration. At the one extreme, we find that if
the blood is not allowed to exchange its carbonic acid for
oxygen, there results asphyxia, with its accompanying stoppage
of ideas and feelings. While at the other extreme, we
find that by the inspiration of nitrous oxide, there is produced
an excessive, and indeed irrepressible, nervous activity.
Besides the connexion between the development
of the mental forces and the presence of sufficient
oxygen in the cerebral arteries, there is a kindred connexion
between the development of the mental forces and the presence
in the cerebral arteries of certain other elements.
There must be supplied special materials for the nutrition of
the nervous centres, as well as for their oxidation. And how
what we may call the quantity of consciousness, is, other things
equal, determined by the constituents of the blood, is unmistakably
seen in the exaltation that follows when certain
chemical compounds, as alcohol and the vegeto-alkalies, are
added to it. The gentle exhilaration which tea and coffee
create, is familiar to all; and though the gorgeous imaginations
and intense feelings of happiness produced by opium
and hashish, have been experienced by few, (in this country
at least,) the testimony of those who have experienced them
is sufficiently conclusive. Yet another proof that the
genesis of the mental energies is immediately dependent on
chemical change, is afforded by the fact, that the effete products
separated from the blood by the kidneys, vary in character
with the amount of cerebral action. Excessive activity
of mind is habitually accompanied by the excretion of an unusual
quantity of the alkaline phosphates. Conditions of
abnormal nervous excitement bring on analogous effects.
And the “peculiar odour of the insane,” implying as it does
morbid products in the perspiration, shows a connexion between
280insanity and a special composition of the circulating
fluids—a composition which, whether regarded as cause or
consequence, equally implies correlation of the mental and
the physical forces. Lastly we have to note that this
correlation too, is, so far as we can trace it, quantitative.
Provided the conditions to nervous action are not infringed
on, and the concomitants are the same, there is a tolerably
constant ratio between the amounts of the antecedents and
consequents. Within the implied limits, nervous stimulants
and anæsthetics produce effects on the thoughts and feelings,
proportionate to the quantities administered. And
conversely, where the thoughts and feelings form the initial
term of the relation, the degree of reaction on the bodily
energies is great, in proportion as they are great: reaching
in extreme cases a total prostration of physique.
Various classes of facts thus unite to prove that the law of
metamorphosis, which holds among the physical forces,
holds equally between them and the mental forces.
Those modes of the Unknowable which we call motion,
heat, light, chemical affinity, &c., are alike transformable
into each other, and into those modes of the
Unknowable which we distinguish as sensation, emotion,
thought: these, in their turns, being directly or indirectly
re-transformable into the original shapes. That no idea or
feeling arises, save as a result of some physical force expended
in producing it, is fast becoming a common place of science;
and whoever duly weighs the evidence will see, that nothing
but an overwhelming bias in favour of a pre-conceived
theory, can explain its non-acceptance. How this
metamorphosis takes place—how a force existing as motion,
heat, or light, can become a mode of consciousness—how it is
possible for aerial vibrations to generate the sensation we call
sound, or for the forces liberated by chemical changes in the
brain to give rise to emotion—these are mysteries which it is
impossible to fathom. But they are not profounder mysteries
than the transformations of the physical forces into each other.
281They are not more completely beyond our comprehension
than the natures of Mind and Matter. They have simply the
same insolubility as all other ultimate questions. We can
learn nothing more than that here is one of the uniformities
in the order of phenomena.
§ 83. Of course if the law of correlation and equivalence
holds of the forces we class as vital and mental, it must hold
also of those which we class as social. Whatever takes place
in a society is due to organic or inorganic agencies, or to
a combination of the two—results either from the undirected
physical forces around, from these physical forces as directed
by men, or from the forces of the men themselves. No
change can occur in its organization, its modes of activity, or
the effects it produces on the face of the Earth, but what
proceeds, mediately or immediately, from these. Let us consider
first the correlation between the phenomena which
societies display, and the vital phenomena.
Social power and life varies, other things equal, with the
population. Though different races, differing widely in their
fitness for combination, show us that the forces manifested in
a society are not necessarily proportionate to the number of
people; yet we see that under given conditions, the forces
manifested are confined within the limits which the number
of people imposes. A small society, no matter how superior
the character of its members, cannot exhibit the same
quantity of social action as a large one. The production and
distribution of commodities must be on a comparatively small
scale. A multitudinous press, a prolific literature, or a
massive political agitation, is not possible. And there can
be but a small total of results in the shape of art-products
and scientific discoveries. The correlation of the
social with the physical forces through the intermediation of
the vital ones, is, however, most clearly shown in the different
amounts of activity displayed by the same society according
as its members are supplied with different amounts of force
282from the external world. In the effects of good and bad
harvests, we yearly see this relation illustrated. A greatly
deficient yield of wheat is soon followed by a diminution of
business. Factories are worked half-time, or close entirely;
railway traffic falls; retailers find their sales much lessened;
house-building is almost suspended; and if the scarcity
rises to famine, a thinning of the population still more
diminishes the industrial vivacity. Conversely, an unusually
abundant harvest, occurring under conditions not otherwise
unfavourable, both excites the old producing and distributing
agencies and sets up new ones. The surplus social energy
finds vent in speculative enterprises. Capital seeking investment
carries out inventions that have been lying unutilized.
Labour is expended in opening new channels of communication.
There is increased encouragement to those who
furnish the luxuries of life and minister to the æsthetic
faculties. There are more marriages, and a greater rate of
increase in population. Thus the social organism grows
larger, more complex, and more active. When, as
happens with most civilized nations, the whole of the materials
for subsistence are not drawn from the area inhabited,
but are partly imported, the people are still supported by
certain harvests elsewhere grown at the expense of certain
physical forces. Our own cotton-spinners and weavers supply
the most conspicuous instance of a section in one nation living,
in great part, on imported commodities, purchased by the
labour they expend on other imported commodities. But
though the social activities of Lancashire are due chiefly to
materials not drawn from our own soil, they are none the less
evolved from physical forces elsewhere stored up in fit forms
and then brought here.
If we ask whence come these physical forces from which,
through the intermediation of the vital forces, the social
forces arise, the reply is of course as heretofore—the solar
radiations. Based as the life of a society is on animal and
vegetal products; and dependent as these animal and vegetal
283products are on the light and heat of the sun; it follows that
the changes going on in societies are effects of forces having
a common origin with those which produce all the other
orders of changes that have been analyzed. Not only is the
force expended by the horse harnessed to the plough, and by
the labourer guiding it, derived from the same reservoir
as is the force of the falling cataract and the roaring hurricane;
but to this same reservoir are eventually traceable those
subtler and more complex manifestations of force which
humanity, as socially embodied, evolves. The assertion is a
startling one, and by many will be thought ludicrous; but it
is an unavoidable deduction which cannot here be passed over.
Of the physical forces that are directly transformed into
social ones, the like is to be said. Currents of air and water,
which before the use of steam were the only agencies brought
in aid of muscular effort for the performance of industrial
processes, are, as we have seen, generated by the heat of the
sun. And the inanimate power that now, to so vast an
extent, supplements human labour, is similarly derived. The
late George Stephenson was one of the first to recognize the
fact that the force impelling his locomotive, originally emanated
from the sun. Step by step we go back—from the motion
of the piston to the evaporation of the water; thence to
the heat evolved during the oxidation of coal; thence to the
assimilation of carbon by the plants of whose imbedded remains
coal consists; thence to the carbonic acid from which
their carbon was obtained; and thence to the rays of light
that de-oxidized this carbonic acid. Solar forces millions of
years ago expended on the Earth’s vegetation, and since
locked up beneath its surface, now smelt the metals required
for our machines, turn the lathes by which the machines are
shaped, work them when put together, and distribute the
fabrics they produce. And in so far as economy of labour
makes possible the support of a larger population; gives a
surplus of human power that would else be absorbed in
manual occupations; and so facilitates the development of
284higher kinds of activity; it is clear that these social forces
which are directly correlated with physical forces anciently
derived from the sun, are only less important than those
whose correlates are the vital forces recently derived from it.
§ 84. Regarded as an induction, the doctrine set forth in
this chapter will most likely be met by a demurrer. Many
who admit that among physical phenomena at least, the
correlation of forces is now established, will probably say that
inquiry has not yet gone far enough to enable us to predicate
equivalence. And in respect of the forces classed as vital,
mental, and social, the evidence assigned, however little to be
explained away, they will consider by no means conclusive
even of correlation, much less of equivalence.
To those who think thus, it must now however be pointed
out, that the universal truth above illustrated under its various
aspects, is a necessary corollary from the persistence of force.
Setting out with the proposition that force can neither come
into existence, nor cease to exist, the several foregoing
general conclusions inevitably follow. Each manifestation of
force can be interpreted only as the effect of some antecedent
force: no matter whether it be an inorganic action, an
animal movement, a thought, or a feeling. Either this must
be conceded, or else it must be asserted that our successive
states of consciousness are self-created. Either mental
energies, as well as bodily ones, are quantitatively correlated
to certain energies expended in their production, and to
certain other energies which they initiate; or else nothing
must become something and something must become nothing.
The alternatives are, to deny the persistence of force, or to
admit that every physical and psychial change is generated
by certain antecedent forces, and that from given amounts of
such forces neither more nor less of such physical and psychial
changes can result. And since the persistence of force, being a
datum of consciousness, cannot be denied, its unavoidable corollary
must be accepted. This corollary cannot indeed be
285made more certain by accumulating illustrations. The truth as
arrived at deductively, cannot be inductively confirmed. For
every one of such facts as those above detailed, is established
only through the indirect assumption of that persistence of
force, from which it really follows as a direct consequence.
The most exact proof of correlation and equivalence which it
is possible to reach by experimental inquiry, is that based on
measurement of the forces expended and the forces produced.
But, as was shown in the last chapter, any such process of
measurement implies the use of some unit of force which is
assumed to remain constant; and for this assumption there
can be no warrant but that it is a corollary from the persistence
of force. How then can any reasoning based on this
corollary, prove the equally direct corollary that when a given
quantity of force ceases to exist under one form, an equal
quantity must come into existence under some other form or
forms? Clearly the à priori truth expressed in this last
corollary, cannot be more firmly established by any à posteriori
proofs which the first corollary helps us to.
“What then,” it may be asked, “is the use of these investigations
by which the correlation and equivalence of forces is
sought to be established as an inductive truth? Surely it
will not be alleged that they are useless. Yet if this correlation
cannot be made more certain by them than it is already,
does not their uselessness necessarily follow?” No. They are
of value as disclosing the many particular implications which
the general truth does not specify. They are of value as
teaching us how much of one mode of force is the equivalent
of so much of another mode. They are of value as determining
under what conditions each metamorphosis occurs. And
they are of value as leading us to inquire in what shape
the remnant of force has escaped, when the apparent results
are not equivalent to the cause.
286
§ 85. The Absolute Cause of changes, inclusive of those
constituting Evolution, is not less incomprehensible in respect
of the unity or duality of its action, than in all other respects.
We cannot decide between the alternative suppositions, that
phenomena are due to the variously-conditioned workings of a
single force, and that they are due to the conflict of two forces.
Whether, as some contend, everything is explicable on the
hypothesis of universal pressure, whence what we call tension
results differentially from inequalities of pressure in opposite
directions; or whether, as might be with equal propriety contended,
things are to be explained on the hypothesis of universal
tension, from which pressure is a differential result; or
whether, as most physicists hold, pressure and tension everywhere
co-exist; are questions which it is impossible to settle.
Each of these three suppositions makes the facts comprehensible,
only by postulating an inconceivability. To assume a
universal pressure, confessedly requires us to assume an
infinite plenum—an unlimited space full of something which
is everywhere pressed by something beyond; and this
assumption cannot be mentally realized. That universal
tension is the immediate agency to which phenomena are
due, is an idea open to a parallel and equally fatal objection.
And however verbally intelligible may be the proposition that
pressure and tension everywhere co-exist, yet we cannot truly
287represent to ourselves one ultimate unit of matter as drawing
another while resisting it.
Nevertheless, this last belief is one which we are compelled
to entertain. Matter cannot be conceived except as manifesting
forces of attraction and repulsion. Body is distinguished
in our consciousness from Space, by its opposition
to our muscular energies; and this opposition we feel under
the two-fold form of a cohesion that hinders our efforts to
rend, and a resistance that hinders our efforts to compress.
Without resistance there can be merely empty extension.
Without cohesion there can be no resistance. Probably this
conception of antagonistic forces, is originally derived from
the antagonism of our flexor and extensor muscles. But be
this as it may, we are obliged to think of all objects as made
up of parts that attract and repel each other; since this is the
form of our experience of all objects.
By a higher abstraction results the conception of attractive
and repulsive forces pervading space. We cannot dissociate
force from occupied extension, or occupied extension from
force; because we have never an immediate consciousness of
either in the absence of the other. Nevertheless, we have
abundant proof that force is exercised through what appears
to our senses a vacuity. Mentally to represent this
exercise, we are hence obliged to fill the apparent vacuity
with a species of matter—an etherial medium. The constitution
we assign to this etherial medium, however, like the
constitution we assign to solid substance, is necessarily an
abstract of the impressions received from tangible bodies.
The opposition to pressure which a tangible body offers to us,
is not shown in one direction only, but in all directions; and
so likewise is its tenacity. Suppose countless lines radiating
from its centre on every side, and it resists along each of these
lines and coheres along each of these lines. Hence the
constitution of those ultimate units through the instrumentality
of which phenomena are interpreted. Be they atoms
of ponderable matter or molecules of ether, the properties we
288conceive them to possess are nothing else than these perceptible
properties idealized. Centres of force attracting and
repelling each other in all directions, are simply insensible
portions of matter having the endowments common to sensible
portions of matter—endowments of which we cannot by
any mental effort divest them. In brief, they are the invariable
elements of the conception of matter, abstracted from
its variable elements—size, form, quality, &c. And so to
interpret manifestations of force which cannot be tactually
experienced, we use the terms of thought supplied by our
tactual experiences; and this for the sufficient reason that we
must use these or none.
After all that has been before shown, and after the hint
given above, it needs scarcely be said that these universally
co-existent forces of attraction and repulsion, must not be
taken as realities, but as our symbols of the reality. They
are the forms under which the workings of the Unknowable
are cognizable by us—modes of the Unconditioned as presented
under the conditions of our consciousness. But while
knowing that the ideas thus generated in us are not absolutely
true, we may unreservedly surrender ourselves to them as relatively
true; and may proceed to evolve a series of deductions
having a like relative truth.
§ 86. From universally co-existent forces of attraction and
repulsion, there result certain laws of direction of all movement.
Where attractive forces alone are concerned, or
rather are alone appreciable, movement takes place in the direction
of their resultant; which may, in a sense, be called the
line of greatest traction. Where repulsive forces alone are
concerned, or rather are alone appreciable, movement takes
place along their resultant; which is usually known as the line
of least resistance. And where both attractive and repulsive
forces are concerned, or are appreciable, movement takes
place along the resultant of all the tractions and resistances.
Strictly speaking, this last is the sole law; since, by the
289hypothesis, both forces are everywhere in action. But
very frequently the one kind of force is so immensely in
excess that the effect of the other kind may be left out of
consideration. Practically we may say that a body falling
to the Earth, follows the line of greatest traction; since,
though the resistance of the air must, if the body be irregular,
cause some divergence from this line, (quite perceptible with
feathers and leaves,) yet ordinarily the divergence is so slight
that we may omit it. In the same manner, though the course
taken by the steam from an exploding boiler, differs somewhat
from that which it would take were gravitation out of the question;
yet, as gravitation affects its course infinitesimally, we are
justified in asserting that the escaping steam follows the line of
least resistance. Motion then, we may say, always follows the
line of greatest traction, or the line of least resistance, or the
resultant of the two: bearing in mind that though the last is
alone strictly true, the others are in many cases sufficiently
near the truth for practical purposes.
Movement set up in any direction is itself a cause of further
movement in that direction, since it is the embodiment of a
surplus force in that direction. This holds equally with the
transit of matter through space, the transit of matter through
matter, and the transit through matter of any kind of vibration.
In the case of matter moving through space, this principle
is expressed in the law of inertia—a law on which the
calculations of physical astronomy are wholly based. In the
case of matter moving through matter, we trace the same
truth under the familiar experience that any breach made by
one solid through another, or any channel formed by a fluid
through a solid, becomes a route along which, other things
equal, subsequent movements of like nature take place. And
in the case of motion passing through matter under the form
of an impulse communicated from part to part, the facts of
magnetization go to show that the establishment of undulations
along certain lines, determines their continuance along
those lines.
290It further follows from the conditions, that the direction of
movement can rarely if ever be perfectly straight. For
matter in motion to pursue continuously the exact line in
which it sets out, the forces of attraction and repulsion
must be symmetrically disposed around its path; and the
chances against this are infinitely great. The impossibility
of making an absolutely true edge to a bar of metal—the
fact that all which can be done by the best mechanical appliances,
is to reduce the irregularities of such an edge to
amounts that cannot be perceived without magnifiers—sufficiently
exemplifies how, in consequence of the unsymmetrical
distribution of forces around the line of movement, the movement
is rendered more or less indirect. It may be
well to add that in proportion as the forces at work are
numerous and varied, the curve a moving body describes is
necessarily complex: witness the contrast between the flight
of an arrow and the gyrations of a stick tossed about by
breakers.
We have now to trace these laws of direction of movement
throughout the process of Evolution, under its various forms.
We have to note how every change in the arrangement of
parts, takes place along the line of greatest traction, of least
resistance, or of their resultant; how the setting up of motion
along a certain line, becomes a cause of its continuance along
that line; how, nevertheless, change of relations to external
forces, always renders this line indirect; and how the degree
of its indirectness increases with every addition to the number
of influences at work.
§ 87. If we assume the first stage in nebular condensation
to be the precipitation into flocculi of denser matter previously
diffused through a rarer medium, (a supposition both physically
justified, and in harmony with certain astronomical observations,)
we shall find that nebular motion is interpretable
in pursuance of the above general laws. Each portion of such
vapour-like matter must begin to move towards the common
291centre of gravity. The tractive forces which would of themselves
carry it in a straight line to the centre of gravity, are
opposed by the resistant forces of the medium through
which it is drawn. The direction of movement must be the
resultant of these—a resultant which, in consequence of the
unsymmetrical form of the flocculus, must be a curve directed,
not to the centre of gravity, but towards one side of it. And
it may be readily shown that in an aggregation of such flocculi,
severally thus moving, there must, by composition of
forces, eventually result a rotation of the whole nebula in one
direction.
Merely noting this hypothetical illustration for the purpose
of showing how the law applies to the case of nebular evolution,
supposing it to have taken place, let us pass to the phenomena
of the Solar System as now exhibited. Here the
general principles above set forth are every instant exemplified.
Each planet and satellite has a momentum which
would, if acting alone, carry it forward in the direction it is
at any instant pursuing. This momentum hence acts as a
resistance to motion in any other direction. Each planet and
satellite, however, is drawn by a force which, if unopposed,
would take it in a straight line towards its primary. And the
resultant of these two forces is that curve which it describes—a
curve manifestly consequent on the unsymmetrical distribution
of the forces around its path. This path, when more
closely examined, supplies us with further illustrations. For
it is not an exact circle or ellipse; which it would be were the
tangential and centripetal forces the only ones concerned.
Adjacent members of the Solar System, ever varying in their
relative positions, cause what we call perturbations; that is,
slight divergences in various directions from that circle or
ellipse which the two chief forces would produce. These perturbations
severally show us in minor degrees, how the line of
movement is the resultant of all the forces engaged; and how
this line becomes more complicated in proportion as the
forces are multiplied. If instead of the motions of the
292planets and satellites as wholes, we consider the motions of
their parts, we meet with comparatively complex illustrations.
Every portion of the Earth’s substance in its daily rotation,
describes a curve which is in the main a resultant of that
resistance which checks its nearer approach to the centre of
gravity, that momentum which would carry it off at a tangent,
and those forces of gravitation and cohesion which keep it
from being so carried off. If this axial motion be compounded
with the orbital motion, the course of each part is seen to be
a much more involved one. And we find it to have a still
greater complication on taking into account that lunar attraction
which mainly produces the tides and the precession of
the equinoxes.
§ 88. We come next to terrestrial changes: present ones
as observed, and past ones as inferred by geologists. Let us
set out with the hourly-occurring alterations in the Earth’s
atmosphere; descend to the slower alterations in progress on
its surface; and then to the still slower ones going on beneath.
Masses of air, absorbing heat from surfaces warmed by the
sun, expand, and so lessen the weight of the atmospheric
columns of which they are parts. Hence they offer to adjacent
atmospheric columns, diminished lateral resistance; and these,
moving in the directions of the diminished resistance, displace
the expanded air; while this, pursuing an upward course, displays
a motion along that line in which there is least pressure.
When again, by the ascent of such heated masses from extended
areas like the torrid zone, there is produced at the
upper surface of the atmosphere, a protuberance beyond the
limits of equilibrium—when the air forming this protuberance
begins to overflow laterally towards the poles; it does
so because, while the tractive force of the Earth is nearly the
same, the lateral resistance is greatly diminished. And
throughout the course of each current thus generated, as well
as throughout the course of each counter-current flowing: into
the vacuum that is left, the direction is always the resultant
293of the Earth’s tractive force and the resistance offered by the
surrounding masses of air: modified only by conflict with
other currents similarly determined, and by collision with
prominences on the Earth’s crust. The movements
of water, in both its gaseous and liquid states, furnish further
examples. In conformity with the mechanical theory of heat,
it may be shown that evaporation is the escape of particles of
water in the direction of least resistance; and that as the resistance
(which is due to the pressure of the water diffused in
a gaseous state) diminishes, the evaporation increases. Conversely,
that rushing together of particles called condensation,
which takes place when any portion of atmospheric vapour
has its temperature much lowered, may be interpreted as a
diminution of the mutual pressure among the condensing
particles, while the pressure of surrounding particles remains
the same; and so is a motion taking place in the direction of
lessened resistance. In the course followed by the resulting
rain-drops, we have one of the simplest instances of the joint
effect of the two antagonist forces. The Earth’s attraction,
and the resistance of atmospheric currents ever varying in
direction and intensity, give as their resultants, lines which
incline to the horizon in countless different degrees and undergo
perpetual variations. More clearly still is the law exemplified
by these same rain-drops when they reach the ground.
In the course they take while trickling over its surface, in
every rill, in every larger stream, and in every river, we see
them descending as straight as the antagonism of surrounding
objects permits. From moment to moment, the motion
of water towards the Earth’s centre is opposed by the solid
matter around and under it; and from moment to moment
its route is the resultant of the lines of greatest traction and
least resistance. So far from a cascade furnishing, as it seems
to do, an exception, it furnishes but another illustration. For
though all solid obstacles to a vertical fall of the water are
removed, yet the water’s horizontal momentum is an obstacle;
and the parabola in which the stream leaps from the projecting
294ledge, is generated by the combined gravitation and
momentum. It may be well just to draw attention
to the degree of complexity here produced in the line of
movement by the variety of forces at work. In atmospheric
currents, and still more clearly in water-courses (to which
might be added ocean-streams), the route followed is too complex
to be defined, save as a curve of three dimensions with
an ever varying equation.
The Earth’s solid crust undergoes changes that supply another
group of illustrations. The denudation of lands and
the depositing of the removed sediment in new strata at the
bottoms of seas and lakes, is a process throughout which motion
is obviously determined in the same way as is that of the
water effecting the transport. Again, though we have no
direct inductive proof that the forces classed as igneous, expend
themselves along lines of least resistance; yet what little
we know of them is in harmony with the belief that they do
so. Earthquakes continually revisit the same localities, and
special tracts undergo for long periods together successive
elevations or subsidences,—facts which imply that already-fractured
portions of the Earth’s crust are those most prone
to yield under the pressure caused by further contractions.
The distribution of volcanoes along certain lines, as well as
the frequent recurrence of eruptions from the same vents,
are facts of like meaning.
§ 89. That organic growth takes place in the direction of
least resistance, is a proposition that has been set forth and
illustrated by Mr. James Hinton, in the Medico-Chirurgical
Review for October, 1858. After detailing a few of the early
observations which led him to this generalization, he formulates
it thus:—
“Organic form is the result of motion.”
“Motion takes the direction of least resistance.”
“Therefore organic form is the result of motion in the
direction of least resistance.”
295After an elucidation and defence of this position, Mr.
Hinton proceeds to interpret, in conformity with it, sundry
phenomena of development. Speaking of plants he
says:—
“The formation of the root furnishes a beautiful illustration
of the law of least resistance, for it grows by insinuating
itself, cell by cell, through the interstices of the soil; it is by
such minute additions that it increases, winding and twisting
whithersoever the obstacles it meets in its path determine, and
growing there most, where the nutritive materials are added
to it most abundantly. As we look on the roots of a mighty
tree, it appears to us as if they had forced themselves with
giant violence into the solid earth. But it is not so; they
were led on gently, cell added to cell, softly as the dews descended,
and the loosened earth made way. Once formed, indeed,
they expand with an enormous power, but the spongy
condition of the growing radicles utterly forbids the supposition
that they are forced into the earth. Is it not probable,
indeed, that the enlargement of the roots already formed may
crack the surrounding soil, and help to make the interstices
into which the new rootlets grow?” * * *
“Throughout almost the whole of organic nature the spiral
form is more or less distinctly marked. Now, motion under
resistance takes a spiral direction, as may be seen by the motion
of a body rising or falling through water. A bubble
rising rapidly in water describes a spiral closely resembling
a corkscrew, and a body of moderate specific gravity dropped
into water may be seen to fall in a curved direction, the
spiral tendency of which may be distinctly observed.
* * * In this prevailing spiral form of organic
bodies, therefore, it appears to me, that there is presented a
strong prima facie case for the view I have maintained.
* * * The spiral form of the branches of many
trees is very apparent, and the universally spiral arrangement
of the leaves around the stem of plants needs only to be referred
to. * * * The heart commences as a spiral turn,
296and in its perfect form a manifest spiral may be traced through
the left ventricle, right ventricle, right auricle, left auricle
and appendix. And what is the spiral turn in which the
heart commences but a necessary result of the lengthening,
under a limit, of the cellular mass of which it then consists?”
* * *
“Every one must have noticed the peculiar curling up of
the young leaves of the common fern. The appearance is as
if the leaf were rolled up, but in truth this form is merely a
phenomenon of growth. The curvature results from the increase
of the leaf, it is only another form of the wrinkling up,
or turning at right angles by extension under limit.”
“The rolling up or imbrication of the petals in many flower-buds
is a similar thing; at an early period the small petals
may be seen lying side by side, afterwards growing within the
capsule, they become folded round one another.” * * *
“If a flower-bud be opened at a sufficiently early period,
the stamens will be found as if moulded in the cavity between
the pistil and the corolla, which cavity the antlers exactly
fill; the stalks lengthen at an after period. I have noticed
also in a few instances, that in those flowers in which the
petals are imbricated, or twisted together, the pistil is tapering
as growing up between the petals; in some flowers which
have the petals so arranged in the bud as to form a dome (as
the hawthorn; e. g.), the pistil is flattened at the apex, and
in the bud occupies a space precisely limited by the stamens
below, and the enclosing petals above and at the sides. I
have not, however, satisfied myself that this holds good in all
cases.”
Without endorsing all Mr. Hinton’s illustrations, to
some of which exception might be taken, his conclusion
may be accepted as a large instalment of the truth. It is,
however, to be remarked, that in the case of organic growth,
as in all other cases, the line of movement is in strictness
the resultant of tractive and resistant forces; and that
the tractive forces here form so considerable an element
297that the formula is scarcely complete without them. The
shapes of plants are manifestly modified by gravitation:
the direction of each branch is not what it would have been
were the tractive force of the Earth absent; and every flower
and leaf is somewhat altered in the course of development by
the weight of its parts. Though in animals such effects are
less conspicuous, yet the instances in which flexible organs
have their directions in great measure determined by gravity,
justify the assertion that throughout the whole organism the
forms of parts must be affected by this force.
The organic movements which constitute growth, are not,
however, the only organic movements to be interpreted.
There are also those which constitute function. And throughout
these the same general principles are discernible. That
the vessels along which blood, lymph, bile, and all the
secretions, find their ways, are channels of least resistance,
is a fact almost too conspicuous to be named as an illustration.
Less conspicuous, however, is the truth, that the currents setting
along these vessels are affected by the tractive force of
the Earth: witness varicose veins; witness the relief to an
inflamed part obtained by raising it; witness the congestion
of head and face produced by stooping. And in the fact that
dropsy in the legs gets greater by day and decreases at night,
while, conversely, that œdematous fullness under the eyes
common in debility, grows worse during the hours of reclining
and decreases after getting up, shows us how the transudation
of fluid through the walls of the capillaries, varies according
as change of position changes the effect of gravity in
different parts of the body.
It may be well in passing just to note the bearing of the
principle on the development of species. From a dynamic
point of view, “natural selection” is the evolution of Life
along lines of least resistance. The multiplication of any kind
of plant or animal in localities that are favourable to it, is a
growth where the antagonistic forces are less than elsewhere.
And the preservation of varieties that succeed better than their
298allies in coping with surrounding conditions, is the continuance
of vital movement in those directions where the obstacles
to it are most eluded.
§ 90. Throughout the phenomena of mind the law enunciated
is not so readily established. In a large part of them,
as those of thought and emotion, there is no perceptible movement.
Even in sensation and volition, which show us in one
part of the body an effect produced by a force applied to another
part, the intermediate movement is inferential rather
than visible. Such indeed are the difficulties that it is not
possible here to do more than briefly indicate the proofs which
might be given did space permit.
Supposing the various forces throughout an organism to be
previously in equilibrium, then any part which becomes the
seat of a further force, added or liberated, must be one from
which the force, being resisted by smaller forces around, will
initiate motion towards some other part of the organism. If
elsewhere in the organism there is a point at which force is
being expended, and which so is becoming minus a force which
it before had, instead of plus a force which it before had not,
and thus is made a point at which the re-action against surrounding
forces is diminished; then, manifestly, a motion taking
place between the first and the last of these points is a
motion along the line of least resistance. Now a sensation
implies a force added to, or evolved in, that part of the organism
which is its seat; while a mechanical movement implies
an expenditure or loss of force in that part of the organism
which is its seat. Hence if, as we find to be the fact, motion is
habitually propagated from those parts of an organism to which
the external world adds forces in the shape of nervous impressions,
to those parts of an organism which react on the external
world through muscular contractions, it is simply a fulfilment
of the law above enunciated. From this general
conclusion we may pass to a more special one. When there
is anything in the circumstances of an animal’s life, involving
299that a sensation in one particular place is habitually followed
by a contraction in another particular place—when there is
thus a frequently-repeated motion through the organism between
these places; what must be the result as respects the
line along which the motions take place? Restoration of equilibrium
between the points at which the forces have been
increased and decreased, must take place through some channel.
If this channel is affected by the discharge—if the
obstructive action of the tissues traversed, involves any
reaction upon them, deducting from their obstructive
power; then a subsequent motion between these two points
will meet with less resistance along this channel than the previous
motion met with; and will consequently take this
channel still more decidedly. If so, every repetition will still
further diminish the resistance offered by this route; and
hence will gradually be formed between the two a permanent
line of communication, differing greatly from the surrounding
tissue in respect of the ease with which force traverses it. We
see, therefore, that if between a particular impression and a
particular motion associated with it, there is established a
connexion producing what is called reflex action, the law that
motion follows the line of least resistance, and that, if the
conditions remain constant, resistance in any direction is diminished
by motion occurring in that direction, supplies an explanation.
Without further details it will be manifest that
a like interpretation may be given to the succession of all
other nervous changes. If in the surrounding world there
are objects, attributes, or actions, that usually occur together,
the effects severally produced by them in the organism will become
so connected by those repetitions which we call experience,
that they also will occur together. In proportion to the frequency
with which any external connexion of phenomena is
experienced, will be the strength of the answering internal connexion
of nervous states. Thus there will arise all degrees of
cohesion among nervous states, as there are all degrees of commonness
among the surrounding co-existences and sequences
300that generate them: whence must result a general correspondence
between associated ideas and associated actions in the
environment.[13]
The relation between emotions and actions may be similarly
construed. As a first illustration let us observe what happens
with emotions that are undirected by volitions. These, like
feelings in general, expend themselves in generating organic
changes, and chiefly in muscular contractions. As was
pointed out in the last chapter, there result movements of
the involuntary and voluntary muscles, that are great in proportion
as the emotions are strong. It remains here to be
pointed out, however, that the order in which these muscles
are affected is explicable only on the principle above set forth.
Thus, a pleasurable or painful state of mind of but slight
intensity, does little more than increase the pulsations of the
heart. Why? For the reason that the relation between
nervous excitement and vascular contraction, being common
to every genus and species of feeling, is the one of most
frequent repetition; that hence the nervous connexion is, in
the way above shown, the one which offers the least resistance
to a discharge; and is therefore the one along which a feeble
force produces motion. A sentiment or passion that is somewhat
stronger, affects not only the heart but the muscles of
the face, and especially those around the mouth. Here the
like explanation applies; since these muscles, being both comparatively
small, and, for purposes of speech, perpetually
used, offer less resistance than other voluntary muscles
to the nerve-motor force. By a further increase of emotion
the respiratory and vocal muscles become perceptibly excited.
Finally, under strong passion, the muscles in general of the
trunk and limbs are violently contracted. Without saying
that the facts can be thus interpreted in all their details (a
301task requiring data impossible to obtain) it may be safely said
that the order of excitation is from muscles that are small and
frequently acted on, to those which are larger and less frequently
acted on. The single instance of laughter, which is
an undirected discharge of feeling that affects first the
muscles round the mouth, then those of the vocal and respiratory
apparatus, then those of the limbs, and then those of
the spine;[14] suffices to show that when no special route is
opened for it, a force evolved in the nervous centres produces
motion along channels which offer the least resistance, and if
it is too great to escape by these, produces motion along
channels offering successively greater resistance.
Probably it will be thought impossible to extend this
reasoning so as to include volitions. Yet we are not without
evidence that the transition from special desires to special
muscular acts, conforms to the same principle. It may be
shown that the mental antecedents of a voluntary movement,
are antecedents which temporarily make the line along which
this movement takes place, the line of least resistance. For
a volition, suggested as it necessarily is by some previous
thought connected with it by associations that determine the
transition, is itself a representation of the movements that are
willed, and of their sequences. But to represent in consciousness
certain of our own movements, is partially to arouse the
sensations accompanying such movements, inclusive of those
of muscular tension—is partially to excite the appropriate
motor-nerves and all the other nerves implicated. That is to
say, the volition is itself an incipient discharge along a line
which previous experiences have rendered a line of least resistance.
And the passing of volition into action is simply a
completion of the discharge.
One corollary from this must be noted before proceeding;
namely, that the particular set of muscular movements by
which any object of desire is reached, are movements implying
302the smallest total of forces to be overcome. As each feeling
generates motion along the line of least resistance, it is
tolerably clear that a group of feelings, constituting a more
or less complex desire, will generate motion along a series of
lines of least resistance. That is to say, the desired end will
be achieved with the smallest expenditure of effort. Should
it be objected that through want of knowledge or want of
skill, a man often pursues the more laborious of two courses,
and so overcomes a larger total of opposing forces than was
necessary; the reply is, that relatively to his mental state the
course he takes is that which presents the fewest difficulties.
Though there is another which in the abstract is easier, yet
his ignorance of it, or inability to adopt it, is, physically considered,
the existence of an insuperable obstacle to the discharge
of his energies in that direction. Experience obtained
by himself, or communicated by others, has not established
in him such channels of nervous communication as are required
to make this better course the course of least resistance
to him.
§ 91. As in individual animals, inclusive of man, motion
follows lines of least resistance, it is to be inferred that among
aggregations of men, the like will hold good. The changes
in a society, being due to the joint actions of its members, the
courses of such changes will be determined as are those of all
other changes wrought by composition of forces.
Thus when we contemplate a society as an organism, and
observe the direction of its growth, we find this direction to
be that in which the average of opposing forces is the least.
Its units have energies to be expended in self-maintenance
and reproduction. These energies are met by various
environing energies that are antagonistic to them—those of
geological origin, those of climate, of wild animals, of other
human races with whom they are at enmity or in competition.
And the tracts the society spreads over, are those in
which there is the smallest total antagonism. Or, reducing
303the matter to its ultimate terms, we may say that these social
units have jointly and severally to preserve themselves and
their offspring from those inorganic and organic forces which
are ever tending to destroy them (either indirectly by oxidation
and by undue abstraction of heat, or directly by bodily
mutilation); that these forces are either counteracted by
others which are available in the shape of food, clothing,
habitations, and appliances of defence, or are, as far as may
be, eluded; and that population spreads in whichever directions
there is the readiest escape from these forces, or the
least exertion in obtaining the materials for resisting them,
or both. For these reasons it happens that fertile
valleys where water and vegetal produce abound, are early
peopled. Sea-shores, too, supplying a large amount of easily-gathered
food, are lines along which mankind have commonly
spread. The general fact that, so far as we can judge from
the traces left by them, large societies first appeared in those
tropical regions where the fruits of the earth are obtainable
with comparatively little exertion, and where the cost of
maintaining bodily heat is but slight, is a fact of like meaning.
And to these instances may be added the allied one
daily furnished by emigration; which we see going on towards
countries presenting the fewest obstacles to the
self-preservation of individuals, and therefore to national
growth. Similarly with that resistance to the movements
of a society which neighbouring societies offer. Each
of the tribes or nations inhabiting any region, increases in
numbers until it outgrows its means of subsistence. In each
there is thus a force ever pressing outwards on to adjacent
areas—a force antagonized by like forces in the tribes or
nations occupying those areas. And the ever-recurring wars
that result—the conquests of weaker tribes or nations, and
the over-running of their territories by the victors, are
instances of social movements taking place in the directions
of least resistance. Nor do the conquered peoples, when
they escape extermination or enslavement, fail to show us
304movements that are similarly determined. For migrating as
they do to less fertile regions—taking refuge in deserts or
among mountains—moving in a direction where the resistance
to social growth is comparatively great; they still do
this only under an excess of pressure in all other directions:
the physical obstacles to self-preservation they encounter,
being really less than the obstacles offered by the enemies
from whom they fly.
Internal social movements may also be thus interpreted.
Localities naturally fitted for producing particular commodities—that
is, localities in which such commodities are got at
the least cost of force—that is, localities in which the desires
for these commodities meet with the least resistance; become
localities especially devoted to the obtainment of these commodities.
Where soil and climate render wheat a profitable
crop, or a crop from which the greatest amount of life-sustaining
power is gained by a given quantity of effort, the growth
of wheat becomes the dominant industry. Where wheat cannot
be economically produced, oats, or rye, or maize, or rice,
or potatoes, is the agricultural staple. Along sea-shores men
support themselves with least effort by catching fish; and
hence choose fishing as an occupation. And in places that
are rich in coal or metallic ores, the population, finding that
labour devoted to the raising of these materials brings a
larger return of food and clothing than when otherwise directed,
becomes a population of miners. This last
instance introduces us to the phenomena of exchange; which
equally illustrate the general law. For the practice of
barter begins as soon as it facilitates the fulfilment of men’s
desires, by diminishing the exertion needed to reach the objects
of those desires. When instead of growing his own
corn, weaving his own cloth, sewing his own shoes, each man
began to confine himself to farming, or weaving, or shoemaking;
it was because each found it more laborious to make
everything he wanted, than to make a great quantity of one
thing and barter the surplus for the rest: by exchange, each
305procured the necessaries of life without encountering so much
resistance. Moreover, in deciding what commodity to produce,
each citizen was, as he is at the present day, guided in
the same manner. For besides those local conditions which
determine whole sections of a society towards the industries
easiest for them, there are also individual conditions and individual
aptitudes which to each citizen render certain occupations
preferable; and in choosing those forms of activity
which their special circumstances and faculties dictate,
these social units are severally moving towards the objects
of their desires in the directions which present to them the
fewest obstacles. The process of transfer which commerce
pre-supposes, supplies another series of examples. So
long as the forces to be overcome in procuring any necessary
of life in the district where it is consumed, are less than the
forces to be overcome in procuring it from an adjacent district,
exchange does not take place. But when the adjacent
district produces it with an economy that is not out-balanced
by cost of transit—when the distance is so small and the
route so easy that the labour of conveyance plus the labour
of production is less than the labour of production in the consuming
district, transfer commences. Movement in the direction
of least resistance is also seen in the establishment of
the channels along which intercourse takes place. At the
outset, when goods are carried on the backs of men and
horses, the paths chosen are those which combine shortness
with levelness and freedom from obstacles—those which are
achieved with the smallest exertion. And in the subsequent
formation of each highway, the course taken is that which
deviates horizontally from a straight line so far only as is
needful to avoid vertical deviations entailing greater labour
in draught. The smallest total of obstructive forces determines
the route, even in seemingly exceptional cases; as
where a detour is made to avoid the opposition of a landowner.
All subsequent improvements, ending in macadamized
roads, canals, and railways, which reduce the antagonism
306of friction and gravity to a minimum, exemplify
the same truth. After there comes to be a choice of roads
between one point and another, we still see that the road
chosen is that along which the cost of transit is the least:
cost being the measure of resistance. Even where, time being
a consideration, the more expensive route is followed, it is so
because the loss of time involves loss of force. When,
division of labour having been carried to a considerable extent
and means of communication made easy, there arises a
marked localization of industries, the relative growths of the
populations devoted to them may be interpreted on the same
principle. The influx of people to each industrial centre, as
well as the rate of multiplication of those already inhabiting
it, is determined by the payment for labour; that is—by the
quantity of commodities which a given amount of effort will
obtain. To say that artisans flock to places where, in consequence
of facilities for production, an extra proportion of produce
can be given in the shape of wages; is to say that they
flock to places where there are the smallest obstacles to the
support of themselves and families. Hence, the rapid increase
of number which occurs in such places, is really a
social growth at points where the opposing forces are the
least.
Nor is the law less clearly to be traced in those functional
changes daily going on. The flow of capital into businesses
yielding the largest returns; the buying in the cheapest
market and selling in the dearest; the introduction of more
economical modes of manufacture; the development of better
agencies for distribution; and all those variations in the
currents of trade that are noted in our newspapers and telegrams
from hour to hour; exhibit movement taking place in
directions where it is met by the smallest total of opposing
forces. For if we analyze each of these changes—if instead
of interest on capital we read surplus of products which remains
after maintenance of labourers; if we so interpret
large interest or large surplus to imply labour expended with
307the greatest results; and if labour expended with the greatest
results means muscular action so directed as to evade obstacles
as far as possible; we see that all these commercial
phenomena are complicated motions set up along lines of
least resistance.
Objections of two opposite kinds will perhaps be made to
these sociological applications of the law. By some it may
be said that the term force as here used, is used metaphorically—that
to speak of men as impelled in certain directions
by certain desires, is a figure of speech and not the statement
of a physical fact. The reply is, that the foregoing illustrations
are to be interpreted literally, and that the processes described
are physical ones. The pressure of hunger is an
actual force—a sensation implying some state of nervous tension;
and the muscular action which the sensation prompts
is really a discharge of it in the shape of bodily motion—a
discharge which, on analyzing the mental acts involved, will
be found to follow lines of least resistance. Hence the
motions of a society whose members are impelled by this or
any other desire, are actually, and not metaphorically, to be
understood in the manner shown. An opposite objection
may possibly be, that the several illustrations given
are elaborated truisms; and that the law of direction of motion
being once recognized, the fact that social movements,
in common with all others, must conform to it, follows inevitably.
To this it may be rejoined, that a mere abstract assertion
that social movements must do this, would carry no conviction
to the majority; and that it is needful to show how
they do it. For social evolution to be interpreted after the
method proposed, it is requisite that such generalisations as
those of political economy shall be reduced to equivalent propositions
expressed in terms of force and motion.
Social movements of these various orders severally conform
to the two derivative principles named at the outset. In the
first place we may observe how, once set up in given directions,
such movements, like all others, tend to continue in
308these directions. A commercial mania or panic, a current
of commodities, a social custom, a political agitation, or a
popular delusion, maintains its course for a long time after its
original source has ceased; and requires antagonistic forces
to arrest it. In the second place it is to be noted that in
proportion to the complexity of social forces is the tortuousness
of social movements. The involved series of muscular
contractions gone through by the artizan, that he may get
the wherewithal to buy a loaf lying at the baker’s next door,
show us how extreme becomes the indirectness of motion
when the agencies at work become very numerous—a truth
still better illustrated by the more public social actions; as
those which end in bringing a successful man of business,
towards the close of his life, into parliament.
§ 92. And now of the general truth set forth in this
chapter, as of that dealt with in the last, let us ask—what is
our ultimate evidence? Must we accept it simply as an empirical
generalization? or is it to be established as a corollary
from a still deeper truth? The reader will anticipate the
answer. We shall find it deducible from that datum of
consciousness which underlies all science.
Suppose several tractive forces, variously directed, to be acting
on a given body. By what is known among mathematicians
as the composition of forces, there may be found for
any two of these, a single force of such amount and direction
as to produce on the body an exactly equal effect. If in the
direction of each of them there be drawn a straight line,
and if the lengths of these two straight lines be made proportionate
to the amounts of the forces; and if from the end
of each line there be drawn a line parallel to the other, so
as to complete a parallelogram; then the diagonal of this
parallelogram represents the amount and direction of a force
that is equivalent to the two. Such a resultant force, as it is
called, may be found for any pair of forces throughout the
group. Similarly, for any pair of such resultants a single
309resultant may be found. And by repeating this course, all of
them may be reduced to two. If these two are equal and
opposite—that is, if there is no line of greatest traction,
motion does not take place. If they are opposite but not
equal, motion takes place in the direction of the greater.
And if they are neither equal nor opposite, motion takes
place in the direction of their resultant. For in either of
these cases there is an unantagonized force in one direction.
And this residuary force that is not neutralized by an opposing
one, must move the body in the direction in which it is
acting. To assert the contrary is to assert that a force can
be expended without effect—without generating an equivalent
force; and by so implying that force can cease to exist,
this involves a denial of the persistence of force. It
needs scarcely be added that if in place of tractions we take
resistances, the argument equally holds; and that it holds also
where both tractions and resistances are concerned. Thus
the law that motion follows the line of greatest traction, or
the line of least resistance, or the resultant of the two, is a
necessary deduction from that primordial truth which transcends
proof.
Reduce the proposition to its simplest form, and it becomes
still more obviously consequent on the persistence of force.
Suppose two weights suspended over a pulley or from the ends
of an equal-armed lever; or better still—suppose two men
pulling against each other. In such cases we say that the
heavier weight will descend, and that the stronger man
will draw the weaker towards him. But now, if we are asked
how we know which is the heavier weight or the stronger
man; we can only reply that it is the one producing motion
in the direction of its pull. Our only evidence of excess of
force is the movement it produces. But if of two opposing
tractions we can know one as greater than the other only by
the motion it generates in its own direction, then the assertion
that motion occurs in the direction of greatest traction is a
truism. When, going a step further back, we seek a warrant
310for the assumption that of the two conflicting forces, that is
the greater which produces motion in its own direction, we
find no other than the consciousness that such part of the
greater force as is unneutralized by the lesser, must produce
its effect—the consciousness that this residuary force cannot
disappear, but must manifest itself in some equivalent change—the
consciousness that force is persistent. Here too,
as before, it may be remarked that no amount of varied illustrations,
like those of which this chapter mainly consists, can
give greater certainty to the conclusion thus immediately
drawn from the ultimate datum of consciousness. For in all
cases, as in the simple ones just given, we can identify the
greatest force only by the resulting motion. It is impossible
for us ever to get evidence of the occurrence of motion in any
other direction than that of the greatest force; since our
measure of relative greatness among forces is their relative
power of generating motion. And clearly, while the comparative
greatness of forces is thus determined, no multiplication
of instances can add certainty to a law of direction of movement
which follows immediately from the persistence of force.
From this same primordial truth, too, may be deduced the
principle that motion once set up along any line, becomes itself
a cause of subsequent motion along that line. The mechanical
axiom that, if left to itself, matter moving in any direction
will continue in that direction with undiminished
velocity, is but an indirect assertion of the persistence of
force; since it is an assertion that the force manifested in
the transfer of a body along a certain length of a certain
line in a certain time, cannot disappear without producing
some equal manifestation—a manifestation which, in the absence
of conflicting forces, must be a further transfer in the
same direction at the same velocity. In the case of
matter traversing matter the like inference is necessitated.
Here indeed the actions are much more complicated. A liquid
that follows a certain channel through or over a solid, as water
along the Earth’s surface, loses part of its motion in the shape
311of heat, through friction and collision with the matters forming
its bed. A further amount of its motion may be absorbed
in overcoming forces which it liberates; as when it loosens a
mass which falls into, and blocks up, its channel. But after
these deductions by transformation into other modes of force,
any further deduction from the motion of the water is at the
expense of a reaction on the channel, which by so much diminishes
its obstructive power: such reaction being shown in
the motion acquired by the detached portions which are carried
away. The cutting out of river-courses is a perpetual
illustration of this truth. Still more involved is the
case of motion passing through matter by impulse from part
to part; as a nervous discharge through animal tissue. Some
chemical change may be wrought along the route traversed,
which may render it less fit than before for conveying a current.
Or the motion may itself be in part metamorphosed into some
obstructive form of force; as in metals, the conducting power
of which is, for the time, decreased by the heat which the
passage of electricity itself generates. The real question is,
however, what structural modification, if any, is produced
throughout the matter traversed, apart from incidental disturbing
forces—apart from everything but the necessary resistance
of the matter: that, namely, which results from the
inertia of its units. If we confine our attention to that
part of the motion which, escaping transformation, continues
its course, then it is a corollary from the persistence of
force that as much of this remaining motion as is taken
up in changing the positions of the units, must leave these by
so much less able to obstruct subsequent motion in the same
direction.
Thus in all the changes heretofore and at present displayed
by the Solar System; in all those that have gone on and are
still going on in the Earth’s crust; in all processes of organic
development and function; in all mental actions and the
effects they work on the body; and in all modifications of
structure and activity in societies; the implied movements are
312of necessity determined in the manner above set forth. Every
alteration in the arrangement of parts, constituting Evolution
under each of its phases, must conform to this universal principle.
Wherever we see motion, its direction must be that of
the greatest force. And wherever we see the greatest force
to be acting in a given direction, in that direction motion must
ensue.
313
§ 93. When the pennant of a vessel lying becalmed first
shows the coming breeze, it does so by gentle undulations
that travel from its fixed to its free end. Presently the sails
begin to flap; and their blows against the mast increase in
rapidity as the breeze rises. Even when, being fully bellied
out, they are in great part steadied by the strain of the yards
and cordage, their free edges tremble with each stronger
gust. And should there come a gale, the jar that is felt on
laying hold of the shrouds shows that the rigging vibrates;
while the rush and whistle of the wind prove that in it, also,
rapid undulations are generated. Ashore the conflict between
the current of air and the things it meets results in a like
rhythmical action. The leaves all shiver in the blast; each
branch oscillates; and every exposed tree sways to and fro.
The blades of grass and dried bents in the meadows, and still
better the stalks in the neighbouring corn-fields, exhibit the
same rising and falling movement. Nor do the more stable
objects fail to do the like, though in a less manifest fashion;
as witness the shudder that may be felt throughout a house
during the paroxysms of a violent storm. Streams of
water produce in opposing objects the same general effects as
do streams of air. Submerged weeds growing in the middle
of a brook, undulate from end to end. Branches brought
down by the last flood, and left entangled at the bottom
314where the current is rapid, are thrown into a state of up and
down movement that is slow or quick in proportion as they
are large or small; and where, as in great rivers like the
Mississippi, whole trees are thus held, the name “sawyers,”
by which they are locally known, sufficiently describes the
rhythm produced in them. Note again the effect of the
antagonism between the current and its channel. In shallow
places, where the action of the bottom on the water flowing
over it is visible, we see a ripple produced—a series of undulations.
And if we study the action and re-action going on
between the moving fluid and its banks, we still find the
principle illustrated, though in a different way. For in every
rivulet, as in the mapped-out course of every great river, the
bends of the stream from side to side throughout its tortuous
course constitute a lateral undulation—an undulation so inevitable
that even an artificially straightened channel is
eventually changed into a serpentine one. Analogous phenomena
may be observed where the water is stationary and
the solid matter moving. A stick drawn laterally through
the water with much force, proves by the throb which it
communicates to the hand that it is in a state of vibration.
Even where the moving body is massive, it only requires that
great force should be applied to get a sensible effect of like
kind: instance the screw of a screw-steamer, which instead
of a smooth rotation falls into a rapid rhythm that sends a
tremor through the whole vessel. The sound which
results when a bow is drawn over a violin-string, shows us
vibrations produced by the movement of a solid over a solid.
In lathes and planing machines, the attempt to take off a
thick shaving causes a violent jar of the whole apparatus, and
the production of a series of waves on the iron or wood that
is cut. Every boy in scraping his slate-pencil finds it
scarcely possible to help making a ridged surface. If you
roll a ball along the ground or over the ice, there is always
more or less up and down movement—a movement that is
visible while the velocity is considerable, but becomes too
315small and rapid to be seen by the unaided eye as the velocity
diminishes. However smooth the rails, and however perfectly
built the carriages, a railway-train inevitably gets into
oscillations, both lateral and vertical. Even where moving
matter is suddenly arrested by collision, the law is still illustrated;
for both the body striking and the body struck are
made to tremble; and trembling is rhythmical movement.
Little as we habitually observe it, it is yet certain that the
impulses our actions impress from moment to moment on
surrounding objects, are propagated through them in vibrations.
It needs but to look through a telescope of high
power, to be convinced that each pulsation of the heart gives
a jar to the whole room. If we pass to motions of
another order—those namely which take place in the etherial
medium—we still find the same thing. Every fresh discovery
confirms the hypothesis that light consists of undulations.
The rays of heat, too, are now found to have a like
fundamental nature; their undulations differing from those
of light only in their comparative length. Nor do the movements
of electricity fail to furnish us with an illustration;
though one of a different order. The northern aurora may
often be observed to pulsate with waves of greater brightness;
and the electric discharge through a vacuum shows us by its
stratified appearance that the current is not uniform, but
comes in gushes of greater and lesser intensity. Should
it be said that at any rate there are some motions, as those of
projectiles, which are not rhythmical, the reply is, that the
exception is apparent only; and that these motions would be
rhythmical if they were not interrupted. It is common to
assert that the trajectory of a cannon ball is a parabola; and
it is true that (omitting atmospheric resistance) the curve described
differs so slightly from a parabola that it may practically
be regarded as one. But, strictly speaking, it is a portion
of an extremely eccentric ellipse, having the Earth’s
centre of gravity for its remoter focus; and but for its arrest
by the substance of the Earth, the cannon ball would travel
316round that focus and return to the point whence it started;
again to repeat this slow rhythm. Indeed, while seeming at
first sight to do the reverse, the discharge of a cannon
furnishes one of the best illustrations of the principle enunciated.
The explosion produces violent undulations in the
surrounding air. The whizz of the shot, as it flies towards
its mark, is due to another series of atmospheric undulations.
And the movement to and from the Earth’s centre, which the
cannon ball is beginning to perform, being checked by solid
matter, is transformed into a rhythm of another order;
namely, the vibration which the blow sends through neighbouring
bodies.[15]
Rhythm is very generally not simple but compound.
There are usually at work various forces, causing undulations
differing in rapidity; and hence it continually happens that
besides the primary rhythms there are secondary rhythms,
produced by the periodic coincidence and antagonism of the
primary ones. Double, triple, and even quadruple rhythms,
are thus generated. One of the simplest instances is afforded
by what in acoustics are known as “beats:” recurring intervals
of sound and silence which are perceived when two notes
of nearly the same pitch are struck together; and which are
due to the alternate correspondence and antagonism of the
atmospheric waves. In like manner the various phenomena
due to what is called interference of light, severally result
from the periodic agreement and disagreement of etherial
undulations—undulations which, by alternately intensifying
and neutralizing each other, produce intervals of
increased and diminished light. On the sea-shore may be
noted sundry instances of compound rhythm. We have
that of the tides, in which the daily rise and fall undergoes
a fortnightly increase and decrease, due to the alternate
coincidence and antagonism of the solar and lunar
317attractions. We have again that which is perpetually
furnished by the surface of the sea: every large wave bearing
smaller ones on its sides, and these still smaller ones;
with the result that each flake of foam, along with the portion
of water bearing it, undergoes minor ascents and descents
of several orders while it is being raised and lowered by the
greater billows. A quite different and very interesting
example of compound rhythm, occurs in the little rills which,
at low tide, run over the sand out of the shingle banks above.
Where the channel of one of these is narrow, and the stream
runs strongly, the sand at the bottom is raised into a series
of ridges corresponding to the ripple of the water. On
watching for a short time, it will be seen that these ridges
are being raised higher and the ripple growing stronger;
until at length, the action becoming violent, the whole series
of ridges is suddenly swept away, the stream runs smoothly,
and the process commences afresh. Instances of still more
complex rhythms might be added; but they will come more
appropriately in connexion with the several forms of Evolution,
hereafter to be dealt with.
From the ensemble of the facts as above set forth, it will be
seen that rhythm results wherever there is a conflict of forces
not in equilibrium. If the antagonist forces at any point are
balanced, there is rest; and in the absence of motion there
can of course be no rhythm. But if instead of a balance
there is an excess of force in one direction—if, as necessarily
follows, motion is set up in that direction; then for that
motion to continue uniformly in that direction, it is requisite
that the moving matter should, notwithstanding its unceasing
change of place, present unchanging relations to the sources
of force by which its motion is produced and opposed. This
however is impossible. Every further transfer through space
must alter the ratio between the forces concerned—must increase
or decrease the predominance of one force over the
other—must prevent uniformity of movement. And if the
movement cannot be uniform, then, in the absence of acceleration
318or retardation continued through infinite time and space,
(results which cannot be conceived) the only alternative is
rhythm.
A secondary conclusion must not be omitted. In the last
chapter we saw that motion is never absolutely rectilinear;
and here it remains to be added that, as a consequence, rhythm
is necessarily incomplete. A truly rectilinear rhythm can
arise only when the opposing forces are in exactly the same
line; and the probabilities against this are infinitely great.
To generate a perfectly circular rhythm, the two forces concerned
must be exactly at right angles to each other, and
must have exactly a certain ratio; and against this the probabilities
are likewise infinitely great. All other proportions
and directions of the two forces will produce an ellipse of
greater or less eccentricity. And when, as indeed always
happens, above two forces are engaged, the curve described
must be more complex; and cannot exactly repeat itself. So
that in fact throughout nature, this action and re-action of
forces never brings about a complete return to a previous
state. Where the movement is very involved, and especially
where it is that of some aggregate whose units are partially
independent, anything like a regular curve is no longer
traceable; we see nothing more than a general oscillation.
And on the completion of any periodic movement, the degree
in which the state arrived at differs from the state departed
from, is usually marked in proportion as the influences
at work are numerous.
§ 94. That spiral arrangement so general among the more
diffused nebulæ—an arrangement which must be assumed by
matter moving towards a centre of gravity through a resisting
medium—shows us the progressive establishment of
revolution, and therefore of rhythm; in those remote spaces
which the nebulæ occupy. Double stars, moving round common
centres of gravity in periods some of which are now
ascertained, exhibit settled rhythmical actions in distant parts
319of our sidereal system. And another fact which, though of a
different order, has a like general significance, is furnished by
variable stars—stars which alternately brighten and fade.
The periodicities of the planets, satellites, and comets, are
so familiar that it would be inexcusable to name them, were
it not needful here to point out that they are so many grand
illustrations of this general law of movement. But besides
the revolutions of these bodies in their orbits (all more or less
excentric) and their rotations on their axes, the Solar System
presents us with various rhythms of a less manifest and more
complex kind. In each planet and satellite there is the revolution
of the nodes—a slow change in the position of the
orbit-plane, which after completing itself commences afresh.
There is the gradual alteration in the length of the axis
major of the orbit; and also of its excentricity: both of
which are rhythmical alike in the sense that they alternate
between maxima and minima, and in the sense that the progress
from one extreme to the other is not uniform, but is
made with fluctuating velocity. Then, too, there is the revolution
of the line of apsides, which in course of time moves
round the heavens—not regularly, but through complex
oscillations. And further we have variations in the directions
of the planetary axes—that known as nutation, and that
larger gyration which, in the case of the Earth, causes the
precession of the equinoxes. These rhythms, already
more or less compound, are compounded with each other.
Such an instance as the secular acceleration and retardation
of the moon, consequent on the varying excentricity of the
Earth’s orbit, is one of the simplest. Another, having more
important consequences, results from the changing direction
of the axes of rotation in planets whose orbits are decidedly
excentric. Every planet, during a certain long period, presents
more of its northern than of its southern hemisphere to
the sun at the time of its nearest approach to him; and then
again, during a like period, presents more of its southern
hemisphere than of its northern—a recurring coincidence
320which, though causing in some planets no sensible alterations
of climate, involves in the case of the Earth an epoch of
21,000 years, during which each hemisphere goes through a
cycle of temperate seasons, and seasons that are extreme in
their heat and cold. Nor is this all. There is even a variation
of this variation. For the summers and winters of the
whole Earth become more or less strongly contrasted, as the
excentricity of its orbit increases and decreases. Hence
during increase of the excentricity, the epochs of moderately
contrasted seasons and epochs of strongly contrasted seasons,
through which alternately each hemisphere passes, must grow
more and more different in the degrees of their contrasts;
and contrariwise during decrease of the excentricity. So
that in the quantity of light and heat which any portion of
the Earth receives from the sun, there goes on a quadruple
rhythm: that of day and night; that of summer and winter;
that due to the changing position of the axis at perihelion
and aphelion, taking 21,000 years to complete; and that
involved by the variation of the orbit’s excentricity, gone
through in millions of years.
§ 95. Those terrestrial processes whose dependence on the
solar heat is direct, of course exhibit a rhythm that corresponds
to the periodically changing amount of heat which
each part of the Earth receives. The simplest, though the
least obtrusive, instance is supplied by the magnetic variations.
In these there is a diurnal increase and decrease, an annual
increase and decrease, and a decennial increase and decrease;
the latter answering to a period during which the solar spots
become alternately abundant and scarce: besides which known
variations there are probably others corresponding with the
astronomical cycles just described. More obvious examples
are furnished by the movements of the ocean and the atmosphere.
Marine currents from the equator to the poles above,
and from the poles to the equator beneath, show us an unceasing
backward and forward motion throughout this vast
321mass of water—a motion varying in amount according to the
seasons, and compounded with smaller like motions of local
origin. The similarly-caused general currents in the air, have
similar annual variations similarly modified. Irregular as
they are in detail, we still see in the monsoons and other tropical
atmospheric disturbances, or even in our own equinoctial
gales and spring east winds, a periodicity sufficiently decided.
Again, we have an alternation of times during
which evaporation predominates with times during which condensation
predominates: shown in the tropics by strongly
marked rainy seasons and seasons of drought, and in the
temperate zones by corresponding changes of which the periodicity,
though less definite, is still traceable. The diffusion
and precipitation of water, besides the slow alternations
answering to different parts of the year, furnish us with examples
of rhythm of a more rapid kind. During wet
weather, lasting, let us say, over some weeks, the tendency
to condense, though greater than the tendency to evaporate,
does not show itself in continuous rain; but the period is
made up of rainy days and days that are wholly or partially
fair. Nor is it in this rude alternation only that the law is
manifested. During any day throughout this wet weather a
minor rhythm is traceable; and especially so when the tendencies
to evaporate and to condense are nearly balanced.
Among mountains this minor rhythm and its causes may be
studied to great advantage. Moist winds, which do not precipitate
their contained water in passing over the comparatively
warm lowlands, lose so much heat when they reach
the cold mountain peaks, that condensation rapidly takes
place. Water, however, in passing from the gaseous to the
fluid state, gives out a considerable amount of heat; and
hence the resulting clouds are warmer than the air that precipitates
them, and much warmer than the high rocky surfaces
round which they fold themselves. Hence in the
course of the storm, these high rocky surfaces are raised in
temperature, partly by radiation from the enwrapping cloud,
322partly by contact of the falling rain-drops. Giving off more
heat than before, they no longer lower so greatly the temperature
of the air passing over them; and so cease to precipitate
its contained water. The clouds break; the sky begins
to clear; and a gleam of sunshine promises that the day is
going to be fine. But the small supply of heat which the
cold mountain’s sides have received, is soon lost: especially
when the dispersion of the clouds permits free radiation into
space. Very soon, therefore, these elevated surfaces, becoming
as cold as at first, (or perhaps even colder in virtue of the
evaporation set up,) begin again to condense the vapour in
the air above; and there comes another storm, followed by
the same effects as before. In lowland regions this action
and reaction is usually less conspicuous, because the contrast
of temperatures is less marked. Even here, however, it may
be traced; and that not only on showery days, but on days
of continuous rain; for in these we do not see uniformity:
always there are fits of harder and gentler rain that are probably
caused as above explained.
Of course these meteorologic rhythms involve something
corresponding to them in the changes wrought by wind and
water on the Earth’s surface. Variations in the quantities of
sediment brought down by rivers that rise and fall with the
seasons, must cause variations in the resulting strata—alternations
of colour or quality in the successive laminæ. Beds
formed from the detritus of shores worn down and carried
away by the waves, must similarly show periodic differences
answering to the periodic winds of the locality. In so far as
frost influences the rate of denudation, its recurrence is a
factor in the rhythm of sedimentary deposits. And the
geological changes produced by glaciers and icebergs must
similarly have their alternating periods of greater and less
intensity.
There is evidence also that modifications in the Earth’s
crust due to igneous action have a certain periodicity. Volcanic
eruptions are not continuous but intermittent, and as
323far as the data enable us to judge, have a certain average
rate of recurrence; which rate of recurrence is complicated
by rising into epochs of greater activity and falling into
epochs of comparative quiescence. So too is it with earthquakes
and the elevations or depressions caused by them. At
the mouth of the Mississippi, the alternation of strata gives
decisive proof of successive sinkings of the surface, that
have taken place at tolerably equal intervals. Everywhere,
in the extensive groups of conformable strata that imply
small subsidences recurring with a certain average frequency,
we see a rhythm in the action and reaction between the
Earth’s crust and its molten contents—a rhythm compounded
with those slower ones shown in the termination of groups of
strata, and the commencement of other groups not conformable
to them. There is even reason for suspecting
a geological periodicity that is immensely slower and far
wider in its effects; namely, an alternation of those vast upheavals
and submergencies by which continents are produced
where there were oceans, and oceans where there were continents.
For supposing, as we may fairly do, that the Earth’s
crust is throughout of tolerably equal thickness, it is manifest
that such portions of it as become most depressed below the
average level, must have their inner surfaces most exposed
to the currents of molten matter circulating within, and will
therefore undergo a larger amount of what may be called
igneous denudation; while, conversely, the withdrawal of the
inner surfaces from these currents where the Earth’s crust is
most elevated, will cause a thickening more or less compensating
the aqueous denudation going on externally. Hence
those depressed areas over which the deepest oceans lie, being
gradually thinned beneath and not covered by much sedimentary
deposit above, will become areas of least resistance,
and will then begin to yield to the upward pressure of the
Earth’s contents; whence will result, throughout such areas,
long-continued elevations, ceasing only when the reverse state
of things has been brought about. Whether this speculation
324be well or ill founded, does not however affect the general
conclusion. Apart from it we have sufficient evidence that
geologic processes are rhythmical.
§ 96. Perhaps nowhere are the illustrations of rhythm
so numerous and so manifest as among the phenomena of life.
Plants do not, indeed, usually show us any decided periodicities,
save those determined by day and night and by the
seasons. But in animals we have a great variety of movements
in which the alternation of opposite extremes goes on
with all degrees of rapidity. The swallowing of food is
effected by a wave of constriction passing along the œsophagus;
its digestion is accompanied by a muscular action of the
stomach that is also undulatory; and the peristaltic motion of
the intestines is of like nature. The blood obtained from this
food is propelled not in a uniform current but in pulses; and
it is aerated by lungs that alternately contract and expand. All
locomotion results from oscillating movements: even where it
is apparently continuous, as in many minute forms, the microscope
proves the vibration of cilia to be the agency by
which the creature is moved smoothly forwards.
Primary rhythms of the organic actions are compounded
with secondary ones of longer duration. These various
modes of activity have their recurring periods of increase and
decrease. We see this in the periodic need for food, and in the
periodic need for repose. Each meal induces a more rapid
rhythmic action of the digestive organs; the pulsation of
the heart is accelerated; and the inspirations become more
frequent. During sleep, on the contrary, these several
movements slacken. So that in the course of the twenty-four
hours, those small undulations of which the different
kinds of organic action are constituted, undergo one long
wave of increase and decrease, complicated with several
minor waves. Experiments have shown that there
are still slower rises and falls of functional activity.
Waste and assimilation are not balanced by every meal, but
325one or other maintains for some time a slight excess; so that
a person in ordinary health is found to undergo an increase
and decrease of weight during recurring intervals of tolerable
equality. Besides these regular periods there are still longer
and comparatively irregular ones; namely, those alternations
of greater and less vigour, which even healthy people experience.
So inevitable are these oscillations that even men in
training cannot be kept stationary at their highest power, but
when they have reached it begin to retrograde. Further
evidence of rhythm in the vital movements is furnished
by invalids. Sundry disorders are named from the
intermittent character of their symptoms. Even where the
periodicity is not very marked, it is mostly traceable. Patients
rarely if ever get uniformly worse; and convalescents have
usually their days of partial relapse or of less decided advance.
Aggregates of living creatures illustrate the general truth
in other ways. If each species of organism be regarded as a
whole, it displays two kinds of rhythm. Life as it exists in
all the members of such species, is an extremely complex kind
of movement, more or less distinct from the kinds of movement
which constitutes life in other species. In each individual
of the species, this extremely complex kind of movement
begins, rises to its climax, declines, and ceases in
death. And every successive generation thus exhibits a wave
of that peculiar activity characterizing the species as a
whole. The other form of rhythm is to be traced in
that variation of number which each tribe of animals and
plants is ever undergoing. Throughout the unceasing conflict
between the tendency of a species to increase and the
antagonistic tendencies, there is never an equilibrium: one
always predominates. In the case even of a cultivated plant
or domesticated animal, where artificial means are used to
maintain the supply at a uniform level, we still see that oscillations
of abundance and scarcity cannot be avoided. And
among the creatures uncared for by man, such oscillations
326are usually more marked. After a race of organisms has
been greatly thinned by enemies or lack of food, its surviving
members become more favourably circumstanced than usual.
During the decline in their numbers their food has grown
relatively more abundant; while their enemies have diminished
from want of prey. The conditions thus remain for
some time favourable to their increase; and they multiply
rapidly. By and by their food is rendered relatively scarce,
at the same time that their enemies have become more
numerous; and the destroying influences being thus in excess,
their number begins to diminish again. Yet one
more rhythm, extremely slow in its action, may be traced in
the phenomena of Life, contemplated under their most general
aspect. The researches of palæontologists show, that there
have been going on, during the vast period of which our sedimentary
rocks bear record, successive changes of organic
forms. Species have appeared, become abundant, and then
disappeared. Genera, at first constituted of but few species,
have for a time gone on growing more multiform; and then
have begun to decline in the number of their subdivisions;
leaving at last but one or two representatives, or none at all.
During longer epochs whole orders have thus arisen, culminated,
and dwindled away. And even those wider divisions containing
many orders have similarly undergone a gradual rise,
a high tide, and a long-continued ebb. The stalked Crinoidea,
for example, which, during the carboniferous epoch, became
abundant, have almost disappeared: only a single species
being extant. Once a large family of molluscs, the Brachiopoda
have now become rare. The shelled Cephalopods, at
one time dominant among the inhabitants of the ocean, both in
number of forms and of individuals, are in our day nearly
extinct. And after an “age of reptiles,” there has come an
age in which reptiles have been in great measure supplanted
by mammals. Whether these vast rises and falls of different
kinds of life ever undergo anything approaching to repetitions,
(which they may possibly do in correspondence with those
327vast cycles of elevation and subsidence that produce continents
and oceans,) it is sufficiently clear that Life on the Earth has
not progressed uniformly, but in immense undulations.
§ 97. It is not manifest that the changes of consciousness
are in any sense rhythmical. Yet here, too, analysis proves
both that the mental state existing at any moment is not
uniform, but is decomposable into rapid oscillations; and also
that mental states pass through longer intervals of increasing
and decreasing intensity.
Though while attending to any single sensation, or any
group of related sensations constituting the consciousness of
an object, we seem to remain for the time in a persistent and
homogeneous condition of mind, a careful self-examination
shows that this apparently unbroken mental state is in truth
traversed by a number of minor states, in which various other
sensations and perceptions are rapidly presented and disappear.
From the admitted fact that thinking consists in the establishment
of relations, it is a necessary corollary that the maintenance
of consciousness in any one state to the entire exclusion
of other states, would be a cessation of thought, that is, of
consciousness. So that any seemingly continuous feeling, say
of pressure, really consists of portions of that feeling perpetually
recurring after the momentary intrusion of other feelings
and ideas—quick thoughts concerning the place where it is
felt, the external object producing it, its consequences, and
other things suggested by association. Thus there is going
on an extremely rapid departure from, and return to, that particular
mental state which we regard as persistent. Besides
the evidence of rhythm in consciousness which direct analysis
thus affords, we may gather further evidence from the correlation
between feeling and movement. Sensations and emotions
expend themselves in producing muscular contractions. If a
sensation or emotion were strictly continuous, there would be a
continuous discharge along those motor nerves acted upon. But
so far as experiments with artificial stimuli enable us to judge,
a continuous discharge along the nerve leading to a muscle,
328does not contract it: a broken discharge is required—a rapid
succession of shocks. Hence muscular contraction pre-supposes
that rhythmic state of consciousness which direct observation
discloses. A much more conspicuous rhythm, having
longer waves, is seen during the outflow of emotion into
dancing, poetry, and music. The current of mental energy
that shows itself in these modes of bodily action, is not continuous,
but falls into a succession of pulses. The measure of
a dance is produced by the alternation of strong muscular
contractions with weaker ones; and, save in measures of the
simplest order such as are found among barbarians and
children, this alternation is compounded with longer rises and
falls in the degree of muscular excitement. Poetry is a form of
speech which results when the emphasis is regularly recurrent;
that is, when the muscular effort of pronunciation has definite
periods of greater and less intensity—periods that are
complicated with others of like nature answering to the successive
verses. Music, in still more various ways, exemplifies
the law. There are the recurring bars, in each of which there
is a primary and a secondary beat. There is the alternate
increase and decrease of muscular strain, implied by the
ascents and descents to the higher and lower notes—ascents
and descents composed of smaller waves, breaking the
rises and falls of the larger ones, in a mode peculiar to each
melody. And then we have, further, the alternation of piano
and forte passages. That these several kinds of rhythm,
characterizing æsthetic expression, are not, in the common
sense of the word, artificial, but are intenser forms of an undulatory
movement habitually generated by feeling in its
bodily discharge, is shown by the fact that they are all traceable
in ordinary speech; which in every sentence has its
primary and secondary emphases, and its cadence containing
a chief rise and fall complicated with subordinate rises
and falls; and which is accompanied by a more or less
oscillatory action of the limbs when the emotion is
great. Still longer undulations may be observed by
every one, in himself and in others, on occasions of extreme
329pleasure or extreme pain. Note, in the first place, that pain
having its origin in bodily disorder, is nearly always perceptibly
rhythmical. During hours in which it never actually
ceases, it has its variations of intensity—fits or paroxysms; and
then after these hours of suffering there usually come hours
of comparative ease. Moral pain has the like smaller and
larger waves. One possessed by intense grief does not utter
continuous moans, or shed tears with an equable rapidity;
but these signs of passion come in recurring bursts. Then
after a time during which such stronger and weaker waves
of emotion alternate, there comes a calm—a time of comparative
deadness; to which again succeeds another interval,
when dull sorrow rises afresh into acute anguish, with its
series of paroxysms. Similarly in great delight, especially as
manifested by children who have its display less under control,
there are visible variations in the intensity of feeling shown—fits
of laughter and dancing about, separated by pauses in
which smiles, and other slight manifestations of pleasure,
suffice to discharge the lessened excitement. Nor are
there wanting evidences of mental undulations greater in
length than any of these—undulations which take weeks, or
months, or years, to complete themselves. We continually
hear of moods which recur at intervals. Very many persons
have their epochs of vivacity and depression. There are periods
of industry following periods of idleness; and times at which
particular subjects or tastes are cultivated with zeal, alternating
with times at which they are neglected. Respecting
which slow oscillations, the only qualification to be made is,
that being affected by numerous influences, they are comparatively
irregular.
§ 98. In nomadic societies the changes of place, determined
as they usually are by exhaustion or failure of the
supply of food, are periodic; and in many cases show a
recurrence answering to the seasons. Each tribe that has
become in some degree fixed in its locality, goes on increasing,
330till under the pressures of unsatisfied desires, there results
migration of some part of it to a new region—a process repeated
at intervals. From such excesses of population, and such
successive waves of migration, come conflicts with other
tribes; which are also increasing and tending to diffuse
themselves. This antagonism, like all others, results not in an
uniform motion, but in an intermittent one. War, exhaustion,
recoil—peace, prosperity, and renewed aggression:—see
here the alternation more or less discernible in the military
activities of both savage and civilized nations. And irregular
as is this rhythm, it is not more so than the different sizes
of the societies, and the extremely involved causes of variation
in their strengths, would lead us to anticipate.
Passing from external to internal changes, we meet with
this backward and forward movement under many forms. In
the currents of commerce it is especially conspicuous.
Exchange during early times is almost wholly carried on at
fairs, held at long intervals in the chief centres of population.
The flux and reflux of people and commodities which each of
these exhibits, becomes more frequent as national development
leads to greater social activity. The more rapid rhythm
of weekly markets begins to supersede the slow rhythm of
fairs. And eventually the process of exchange becomes at
certain places so active, as to bring about daily meetings of
buyers and sellers—a daily wave of accumulation and distribution
of cotton, or corn, or capital. If from
exchange we turn to production and consumption, we see
undulations, much longer indeed in their periods, but almost
equally obvious. Supply and demand are never completely
adapted to each other; but each of them from time to time
in excess, leads presently to an excess of the other. Farmers
who have one season produced wheat very abundantly, are
disgusted with the consequent low price; and next season,
sowing a much smaller quantity, bring to market a deficient
crop; whence follows a converse effect. Consumption
undergoes parallel undulations that need not be specified.
331The balancing of supplies between different districts, too,
entails analogous oscillations. A place at which some necessary
of life is scarce, becomes a place to which currents of it
are set up from other places where it is relatively abundant;
and these currents from all sides lead to a wave of accumulation
where they meet—a glut: whence follows a recoil—a
partial return of the currents. But the undulatory
character of these actions is perhaps best seen in the rises and
falls of prices. These, given in numerical measures which
may be tabulated and reduced to diagrams, show us in the
clearest manner how commercial movements are compounded
of oscillations of various magnitudes. The price of consols or
the price of wheat, as thus represented, is seen to undergo
vast ascents and descents whose highest and lowest points are
reached only in the course of years. These largest waves of
variation are broken by others extending over periods of
perhaps many months. On these again come others having
a week or two’s duration. And were the changes marked in
greater detail, we should have the smaller undulations that
take place each day, and the still smaller ones which brokers
telegraph from hour to hour. The whole outline would show
a complication like that of a vast ocean-swell, on whose surface
there rise large billows, which themselves bear waves of
moderate size, covered by wavelets, that are roughened by a
minute ripple. Similar diagrammatic representations of births,
marriages, and deaths, of disease, of crime, of pauperism,
exhibit involved conflicts of rhythmical motions throughout
society under these several aspects.
There are like characteristics in social changes of a more
complex kind. Both in England and among continental
nations, the action and reaction of political progress have
come to be generally recognized. Religion, besides its occasional
revivals of smaller magnitude, has its long periods of
exaltation and depression—generations of belief and self-mortification,
following generations of indifference and laxity.
There are poetical epochs, and epochs in which the sense of the
332beautiful seems almost dormant. Philosophy, after having
been awhile predominant, lapses for a long season into neglect;
and then again slowly revives. Each science has its eras of
deductive reasoning, and its eras when attention is chiefly
directed to collecting and colligating facts. And how in such
minor but more obtrusive phenomena as those of fashion,
there are ever going on oscillations from one extreme to the
other, is a trite observation.
As may be foreseen, social rhythms well illustrate the
irregularity that results from combination of many causes.
Where the variations are those of one simple element in national
life, as the supply of a particular commodity, we do indeed
witness a return, after many involved movements, to a
previous condition—the price may become what it was before:
implying a like relative abundance. But where the action is
one into which many factors enter, there is never a recurrence
of exactly the same state. A political reaction never
brings round just the old form of things. The rationalism
of the present day differs widely from the rationalism of the
last century. And though fashion from time to time revives
extinct types of dress, these always re-appear with decided
modifications.
§ 99. The universality of this principle suggests a question
like that raised in foregoing cases. Rhythm being manifested
in all forms of movement, we have reason to suspect that it
is determined by some primordial condition to action in
general. The tacit implication is that it is deducible from
the persistence of force. This we shall find to be the fact.
When the prong of a tuning-fork is pulled on one side by
the finger, a certain extra tension is produced among its cohering
particles; which resist any force that draws them out
of their state of equilibrium. As much force as the finger
exerts in pulling the prong aside, so much opposing force is
brought into play among the cohering particles. Hence,
when the prong is liberated, it is urged back by a force equal
333to that used in deflecting it. When, therefore, the prong
reaches its original position, the force impressed on it during
its recoil, has generated in it a corresponding amount of momentum—an
amount of momentum nearly equivalent, that
is, to the force originally impressed (nearly, we must say,
because a certain portion has gone in communicating motion
to the air, and a certain other portion has been transformed
into heat). This momentum carries the prong beyond the
position of rest, nearly as far as it was originally drawn in
the reverse direction; until at length, being gradually used
up in producing an opposing tension among the particles, it
is all lost. The opposing tension into which the expended
momentum has been transformed, then generates a second recoil;
and so on continually—the vibration eventually ceasing
only because at each movement a certain amount of force
goes in creating atmospheric and etherial undulations.
Now it needs but to contemplate this repeated action and reaction,
to see that it is, like every action and reaction, a
consequence of the persistence of force. The force exerted
by the finger in bending the prong cannot disappear.
Under what form then does it exist? It exists under the
form of that cohesive tension which it has generated among
the particles. This cohesive tension cannot cease without an
equivalent result. What is its equivalent result? The
momentum generated in the prong while being carried back
to its position of rest. This momentum too—what becomes
of it? It must either continue as momentum, or produce
some correlative force of equal amount. It cannot continue
as momentum, since change of place is resisted by the cohesion
of the parts; and thus it gradually disappears by being
transformed into tension among these parts. This is re-transformed
into the equivalent momentum; and so on continuously.
If instead of motion that is directly antagonized
by the cohesion of matter, we consider motion through
space, the same truth presents itself under another form.
Though here no opposing force seems at work, and therefore
334no cause of rhythm is apparent, yet its own accumulated
momentum must eventually carry the moving body beyond
the body attracting it; and so must become a force at variance
with that which generated it. From this conflict,
rhythm necessarily results as in the foregoing case. The
force embodied as momentum in a given direction, cannot be
destroyed; and if it eventually disappears, it re-appears in
the reaction on the retarding body; which begins afresh to
draw the now arrested mass back from its aphelion. The
only conditions under which there could be absence of rhythm—the
only conditions, that is, under which there could be a
continuous motion through space in the same straight line
for ever, would be the existence of an infinity void of everything
but the moving body. And neither of these conditions
can be represented in thought. Infinity is inconceivable;
and so also is a motion which never had a commencement in
some pre-existing source of power. Thus, then, rhythm
is a necessary characteristic of all motion. Given the coexistence
everywhere of antagonist forces—a postulate which,
as we have seen, is necessitated by the form of our experience—and
rhythm is an inevitable corollary from the persistence
of force.
Hence, throughout that re-arrangement of parts which
constitutes Evolution, we must nowhere expect to see the
change from one position of things to another, effected by
continuous movement in the same direction. Be it in that
kind of Evolution which the inorganic creation presents, or
in that presented by the organic creation, we shall everywhere
find a periodicity of action and reaction—a backward
and forward motion, of which progress is a differential result.
335
§ 100. One more preliminary is needful before proceeding.
We have still to study the conditions under which alone,
Evolution can take place.
The process to be interpreted is, as already said, a certain
change in the arrangement of parts. That increase of heterogeneity
commonly displayed throughout Evolution, is not an
increase in the number of kinds of ultimate or undecomposable
units which an aggregate contains; but it is a change
in the distribution of such units. If it be assumed that
what we call chemical elements, are absolutely simple (which
is, however, an hypothesis having no better warrant than the
opposite one); then it must be admitted that in respect to the
number of kinds of matter contained in it, the Earth is not
more heterogeneous at present than it was at first—that in this
respect, it would be as heterogeneous were all its undecomposable
parts uniformly mixed, as it is now, when they are
arranged and combined in countless different ways. But the
increase of heterogeneity with which we have to deal, and of
which alone our senses can take cognizance, is that produced
by the passage from unity of distribution to variety of distribution.
Given an aggregate consisting of several orders of
primitive units that are unchangeable; then, these units may
be so uniformly dispersed among each other, that any portion
of the mass shall be like any other portion in its sensible properties;
336or they may be so segregated, simply and in endless
combinations, that the various portions of the mass shall not
be like each other in their sensible properties. A transformation
of one of these arrangements into the other, is that
which constitutes Evolution. We have to analyze the process
through which structural uniformity becomes structural
multiformity—to ascertain how the originally equal relations
of position among the mixed units, pass into relations of position
that are more and more unequal, and more and more
numerous in their kinds of inequality; and how this
takes place throughout all the ascending grades of compound
units, until we come even to those of which societies
are made up.
Change in the relations of position among the component
units, simple or complex, being the phenomenon we have to
interpret; we must first inquire what are the circumstances
which prevent its occurrence, and what are the circumstances
which facilitate it.
§ 101. The constituents of an aggregate cannot be re-arranged,
unless they are moveable: manifestly, they must
not be so firmly bound together that the incident force fails
to alter their positions. No bodies are, indeed, possessed of
this absolute rigidity; since an incident force in being propagated
through a body, always produces temporary alterations
in the relative positions of its units, if not permanent alterations.
It is true also, that even permanent re-arrangements of
the units may be thus wrought throughout the interiors of
comparatively dense masses, without any outward sign: as
happens with certain crystals, which, on exposure to sunlight,
undergo molecular changes so great as to alter their
planes of cleavage. Nevertheless, since total immobility of the
parts must totally negative their re-arrangement; and since
that comparative immobility which we see in very coherent
matter, is a great obstacle to re-arrangement; it is self-evident
that Evolution can be exhibited in any considerable
337degree, only where there is comparative mobility of
parts. On the other hand, those definite distributive
changes which constitute Evolution, cannot be extensively
or variously displayed, where the mobility of the parts is
extreme. In liquids, the cohesion of the units is so slight
that there is no permanency in their relations of position to
each other. Such re-arrangement as any incident force
generates, is immediately destroyed again by the momentum
of the constituents moved; and so, nothing but that
temporary heterogeneity seen in circulating currents, can
be produced. The like still more obviously holds of
gases. Thus, while the theoretical limits between
which Evolution is possible, are absolute immobility of parts
and absolute mobility of parts; we may say that practically,
Evolution cannot go on to any considerable extent where the
mobility is very great or very little. A few examples will
facilitate the realization of this truth.
The highest degrees of Evolution are found in semi-solid
bodies, or bodies that come midway between the two extremes
specified. Even semi-solid bodies of the inorganic class, exhibit
the segregation of mixed units with comparative readiness:
witness the fact to which attention was first drawn by
Mr. Babbage, that when the pasty mixture of ground flints
and kaolin, prepared for the manufacture of porcelain, is kept
some time, it becomes gritty and unfit for use, in consequence
of the particles of silica separating themselves from the rest,
and uniting together in grains; or witness the fact known to
every housewife, that in long-kept currant-jelly the sugar
takes the shape of imbedded crystals. While throughout the
immense majority of the semi-solid bodies, namely, the
organic bodies, the proclivity to a re-arrangement of parts is
so comparatively great, as to be usually taken for a distinctive
characteristic of them. Among organic bodies
themselves, we may trace contrasts having a like significance.
It is an accepted generalization that, other things equal, the
rate of Evolution is greatest where the plasticity is most
338marked. In that portion of an egg which displays the
formative processes during the early stages of incubation, the
changes of arrangement are more rapid than those which an
equal portion of the body of a hatched chick undergoes. As
may be inferred from their respective powers to acquire habits
and aptitudes, the structural modifiability of a child is greater
than that of an adult man; and the structural modifiability of
an adult man is greater than that of an old man: contrasts
which are accompanied by corresponding contrasts in the
densities of the tissues; since the ratio of water to solid matter
diminishes with advancing age. The most decisive
proof, however, is furnished by those marked retardations or
arrests of organic change, that take place when the tissues
suffer a great loss of water. Certain of the lower animals, as
the Rotifera, may be rendered apparently lifeless by desiccation,
and will yet revive when wetted: as their substance
passes from the fluid-solid to the solid state, it ceases to be
the seat of those changes which constitute functional activity
and cause structural advance; and such changes recommence
as their substance passes from the solid to the fluid-solid
state. Analogous instances occur among much higher animals.
When the African rivers which it inhabits are
dried up, the Lepidosiren remains torpid in the hardened
mud, until the return of the rainy season brings water.
Humboldt states that during the summer drought, the alligators
of the Pampas lie buried in a state of suspended animation
beneath the parched surface, and struggle up out of
the earth as soon as it becomes humid. Now though we
have no proof that these partial arrests of vital activity, are
consequent on the reduction of the fluid-solid tissues to a more
solid form; yet their occurrence along with a cessation in the
supply of water, is reason for suspecting that this is the case.
And similarly, though in the more numerous instances where
loss of water leads to complete arrest of vital activity, we are
unable to say that the immediate cause is a stoppage of molecular
changes that results from a diminution of molecular
339mobility; yet it seems not improbable that this is the
rationale of death by thirst.
Probably few will expect to find this same condition to
Evolution, illustrated in aggregates so widely different in
kind as societies. Yet even here it may be shown that no
considerable degree of Evolution is exhibited, where there is
either great mobility of the parts, or great immobility of
them. In such tribes as those inhabiting Australia, we see
extremely little cohesion among the units: there is neither
that partial fixity of relative positions which results from the
commencement of agriculture, nor that partial fixity of relative
positions implied by the establishment of social grades.
And along with this want of cohesion, we find an absence of
permanent differentiations. Conversely, in societies of the
oriental type, where accumulated traditions, laws, and
usages, and long-fixed class-arrangements, exercise great
restraining power over individual actions, we find Evolution
almost stopped. Through the medium of institutions and
opinions, the forces brought to bear on each unit by the rest,
are so great as to prevent the units from sensibly yielding to
forces tending to re-arrange them. The condition most
favourable to increase of social heterogeneity, is a medium
coherence among the parts—a moderate facility of change in
the relations of citizens, joined with a moderate resistance to
such change—a considerable freedom of individual actions,
qualified by a considerable restraint over individual actions—a
certain attachment to pre-established arrangements, and a
certain readiness to be impelled by new influences into new
arrangements—a compromise between fixity and unfixity such
as that which we, perhaps as much as any nation, exhibit.
§ 102. Another condition to Evolution, of the same order
as the last though of a different genus, must be noted. We
have found that permanent re-arrangement among the units
of an aggregate, can take place only when they have neither
340extreme immobility nor extreme mobility. The mobility and
immobility thus far considered (at least in all aggregates
except social ones) are those due to mechanical cohesion.
There is, however, what we must call chemical cohesion,
which also influences the mobility of the units, and consequently
the re-arrangement of them. Manifestly, if two or
more kinds of units contained in any aggregate, are united
by powerful affinities, an incident force, failing to destroy
their cohesions, will not cause such various re-arrangements
as it would, could it produce new chemical combinations as
well as new mechanical adjustments. On the other hand,
chemical affinities that are easily overcome, must be favourable
to multiplied re-arrangements of the units.
This condition, as well as the preceding one, is fulfilled in
the highest degree, by those aggregates which most variously
display the transformation of the uniform into the multiform.
Organic bodies are on the average distinguished from inorganic
bodies, by the readiness with which the compounds
they consist of undergo decomposition, and recomposition:
the chemical cohesions of their components are so comparatively
small, that small incident forces suffice to overcome
them and cause transpositions of the components. Further,
between the two great divisions of organisms, we find a
contrast in the degree of Evolution co-existing with a contrast
in the degree of chemical modifiability. As a class, the
nitrogenous compounds are peculiarly unstable; and, speaking
generally, these are present in much larger quantities in
animal tissues than they are in vegetal tissues; while, speaking
generally, animals are much more heterogeneous than
plants.
Under this head it may be well also to point out that, other
things equal, the structural variety which is possible in any
aggregate, must bear a relation to the number of kinds of
units contained in the aggregate. A body made up of units
of one order, cannot admit of so many different re-arrangements,
341as one made up of units of two orders. And each
additional order of units must increase, in a geometrical proportion,
the number of re-arrangements that may be made.
§ 103. Yet one more condition to be specified, is the state
of agitation in which the constituents of an aggregate are
kept. A familiar expedience will introduce us to this condition.
When a vessel has been filled to the brim with loose
fragments, shaking the vessel causes them to settle down
into less space, so that more may be put in. And when
among these fragments, there are some of much greater
specific gravity than the rest, these will, in the course of a
prolonged shaking, find their way to the bottom. What
now is the meaning of these two results, when expressed in
general terms? We have a group of units acted on by an
incident force—the attraction of the Earth. So long as
these units are not agitated, this incident force produces no
changes in their relative positions; agitate them, and immediately
their loose arrangement passes into a more compact
arrangement. Again, so long as they are not agitated,
the incident force cannot separate the heavier units from the
lighter; agitate them, and immediately the heavier units
begin to segregate. By these illustrations, a rude idea will
be conveyed of the effect which vibration has in facilitating
those re-arrangements which constitute Evolution. What
here happens with visible units subject to visible oscillations,
happens also with invisible units subject to invisible oscillations.
One or two cases in which these oscillations are of mechanical
origin, may first be noted. When a bar of steel is
suspended in the magnetic meridian, and repeatedly so struck
as to send vibrations through it, it becomes magnetized: the
magnetic force of the Earth, which does not permanently
affect it while undisturbed, alters its internal state when a
mechanical agitation is propagated among its particles; and
the alteration is believed by physicists, to be a molecular re-arrangement.
342It may be fairly objected that this re-arrangement
is hypothetical; and did the fact stand alone, it would
be of little worth. It gains significance, however, when
joined with the fact that in the same substance, long-continued
mechanical vibrations are followed by molecular
re-arrangements that are abundantly visible. A piece of iron
which, when it leaves the workshop, is fibrous in structure,
will become crystalline if exposed to a perpetual jar.
Though the polar forces mutually exercised by the atoms,
fail to change their disorderly arrangement into an orderly
arrangement while the atoms are relatively quiescent, these
forces produce this change when the atoms are kept in a
state of intestine disturbance.
But the effects which visible oscillations and oscillations
sensible to touch, have in facilitating the re-arrangement of
parts by an incident force, are insignificant compared with
the effects which insensible oscillations have in aiding such
change of structure. It is a doctrine now generally accepted
among men of science, that the particles of tangible matter,
as well as the particles of ether, undulate. As interpreted in
conformity with this doctrine, the heat of a body is simply
its state of molecular motion. A mass which feels cold,
is one having but slight molecular motion, and conveying
but slight molecular motion to the surrounding medium or to
the hand touching it. A mass hot enough to radiate a sensible
warmth, is one of which the more violently agitated molecules,
communicate increased undulations to the surrounding
ethereal medium; while the burn inflicted by it on the skin,
is the expression of increased undulations of the organic
molecules. Such further heat as produces softening and a
consequent distortion of the mass, is an agitation so much
augmented that the units can no longer completely maintain
their relative positions. Fusion is an agitation so extreme,
that the relative positions of the units are changeable
with ease. When, finally, at a still higher temperature,
the liquid is transformed into a gas, the explanation
343is, that the oscillations are so violent as to overbalance
that force which held the units in close contiguity—so violent
as to keep the units at those relatively great distances
apart to which they are now thrown. Since
the establishment of the correlation between heat and motion
first gave probability to this hypothesis, it has been receiving
various confirmations—especially by recent remarkable discoveries
respecting the absorption of heat by gases. Prof.
Tyndall has proved that the quantity of heat which any gas
takes up from rays of heat passing through it, has a distinct
relation to the complexity of the atoms composing the gas.
The simple gases abstract but little; the gases composed of
binary atoms abstract, say in round numbers, a hundred times
as much; while the gases composed of atoms severally containing
three, four, or more simple ones, abstract something
like a thousand times as much. These differences Prof. Tyndall
regards as due to the different abilities of the different
atoms to take up, in the increase of their own undulations,
those undulations of the ethereal medium which constitute
heat—an interpretation in perfect accordance with the late
results of spectrum-analysis; which go to show that the
various elementary atoms, when in an aeriform state, intercept
those luminiferous vibrations of the ether which are in
unison or harmony with their own. And since it holds of
solid as of gaseous matters, that those consisting of simple
units transmit heat far more readily than those consisting of
complex units; we get confirmation of the inference otherwise
reached, that the units of matter in whatever state of aggregation
they exist, oscillate, and that variations of temperature
are variations in the amounts of their oscillations.
Proceeding on this hypothesis, which it would be out of
place here to defend at greater length, we have now to note
how the re-arrangement of parts is facilitated by these insensible
vibrations, as we have seen it to be by sensible vibrations.
One or two cases of physical re-arrangement may first
be noted. When some molten glass is dropped into
344water, and when its outside is thus, by sudden solidification,
prevented from partaking in that contraction which the subsequent
cooling of the inside tends to produce; the units are
left in such a state of tension, that the mass flies into fragments
if a small portion of it be broken off. But now, if this
mass be kept for a day or two at a considerable heat, though
a heat not sufficient to alter its form or produce any sensible
diminution of hardness, this extreme brittleness disappears:
the component particles being thrown into greater agitation,
the tensile forces are enabled to re-arrange them into a state
of equilibrium. An illustration of another order is furnished
by the subsidence of fine precipitates. These sink down very
slowly from solutions that are cold; while warm solutions
deposit them with comparative rapidity. That is to say, an
increase of molecular vibration throughout the mass, allows
the suspended particles to separate more readily from the
particles of fluid. The effect of heat on chemical re-arrangement
is so familiar, that examples are scarcely needed.
Be the substances concerned gaseous, liquid, or solid, it
equally holds that their chemical unions and disunions are
aided by a rise of temperature. Affinities which do not
suffice to effect the re-arrangement of mixed units that are in
a state of feeble agitation, suffice to effect it when the agitation
is raised to a certain point. And so long as this molecular
motion is not great enough to prevent those chemical
cohesions which the affinities tend to produce, increase of it
gives increased facility of chemical re-arrangement.
This condition, in common with the preceding ones, is
fulfilled most completely in those aggregates which exhibit
the phenomena of Evolution in the highest degree; namely,
the organic aggregates. And throughout the various orders
and states of these, we find minor contrasts showing the relation
between amount of molecular vibration and activity of
the metamorphic changes. Such contrasts may be arranged
in the several following groups. Speaking generally,
the phenomena of Evolution are manifested in a much lower
345degree throughout the vegetal kingdom than throughout the
animal kingdom; and speaking generally, the heat of plants
is less than that of animals. Among plants themselves, the
organic changes vary in rate as the temperature varies.
Though light is the agent which effects those molecular
changes causing vegetal growth, yet we see that in the absence
of heat, such changes are not effected: in winter there
is enough light, but the heat being insufficient, plant-life is
suspended. That this is the sole cause of the suspension, is
proved by the fact that at the same season, plants contained
in hot-houses, where they receive even a smaller amount of
light, go on producing leaves and flowers. A comparison
of the several divisions of the animal kingdom with
each other, shows among them parallel relations. Regarded
as a whole, vertebrate animals are higher in temperature than
invertebrate ones; and they are as a whole higher in organic
activity and development. Between subdivisions of the vertebrata
themselves, like differences in the state of molecular
vibration, accompany like differences in the degree of evolution.
The least heterogeneous of the vertebrata are the
fishes; and in most cases, the heat of fishes is nearly the
same as that of the water in which they swim: only some
of them being decidedly warmer. Though we habitually speak
of reptiles as cold-blooded; and though they have not much
more power than fishes of maintaining a temperature above
that of their medium; yet since their medium (which is, in
the majority of cases, the air of warm climates) is on the
average warmer than the medium inhabited by fishes, the
temperature of the class of reptiles is higher than that of the
class of fishes; and we see in them a correspondingly higher
complexity. The much more active molecular agitation in
mammals and birds, is associated with a considerably greater
multiformity of structure and a very much greater vivacity.
And though birds, which are hotter blooded than mammals,
do not show us a greater multiformity; yet, judging
from their apparently greater locomotive powers, we may
346infer more rapid functional changes, which, equally with structural
changes, imply molecular re-arrangement. The
most instructive contrasts, however, are those presented by
the same organic aggregates at different temperatures.
Thus we see that ova undergoing development, must be kept
more or less warm—that in the absence of a certain molecular
vibration, the re-arrangement of parts does not go on.
We see, again, that in hybernating animals, loss of heat carried
to a particular point, results in extreme retardation of
the organic changes. Yet further, we see that in animals
which do not hybernate, as in man, prolonged exposure to
extreme cold, produces an irresistible tendency to sleep
(which implies a lowering of the functional activity); and
then, if the abstraction of heat continues, this sleep ends in
death, or arrest of functional activity. Lastly, we see that
when the temperature is lowered till the contained water
solidifies, there is a stoppage not only of those molecular re-arrangements
which constitute life and development, but also
of those molecular re-arrangements which constitute decomposition.
Evidently then, both sensible and insensible agitations
among the components of an aggregate, facilitate any re-distributions
to which there may be a tendency. When that
rhythmic change in the relative positions of the units which
constitutes vibration, is considerable, the relative positions of
the units more readily undergo permanent changes through
the action of incident forces.
§ 104. These special conditions to Evolution, are clearly
but different forms of one general condition. The abstract
proposition, that a permanent re-arrangement of units is possible
only when they have neither absolute immobility nor
absolute mobility with respect to each other, we saw to be
practically equivalent to the proposition, that extreme cohesion
and extreme want of cohesion among the units are unfavourable
to Evolution. Be this cohesion or want of cohesion
347that which physically characterizes the matter as we
ordinarily know it; be it that cohesion or want of cohesion
distinguished as chemical; or be it that cohesion or want of
cohesion consequent on the degree of molecular vibration;
matters not, in so far as the general conclusion is concerned.
Inductively as well as deductively, we find that the genesis
of such permanent changes in the relative positions of parts,
as can be effected without destroying the continuity of the
aggregate, implies a medium stability in the relative positions
of the parts: be this stability physical, chemical, or
that which varies with the state of agitation. And as might
be anticipated à priori, it is proved à posteriori, that this re-arrangement
of parts goes on most actively in those aggregates
whose units are moderately influenced by all these
forces which affect their mobility.
Here also may properly be added the remark, that to effect
these changes in the relative positions of parts, the incident
forces must range within certain limits. It is wholly a
question of the ratio between those agencies which hold the
units in their positions, and those agencies which tend to
change their positions. Having given intensities in the
powers that oppose re-arrangement, there need proportionate
intensities in the powers that work re-arrangement. As
there must be neither too great nor too little cohesion; so
there must be neither too little nor too great amounts of the
influences antagonistic to cohesion. While a slight mechanical
strain produces no lasting alterations in the relative positions
of parts, an excessive mechanical strain causes disruption—causes
so great an alteration in the relative positions of
parts as to destroy their union in one aggregate. While a
very feeble chemical affinity brought to bear on the associated
units, fails to work any re-arrangement of them; a chemical
affinity that is extremely intense, destroys their structural
continuity, and reduces such complex re-arrangements as
have been made, to comparatively simple ones. And while
in the absence of adequate thermal undulations, the units
348have not freedom enough to obey the re-arranging influences
impressed on them, the incidence of violent thermal undulations
gives them such extreme freedom that they break their
connexions, and the aggregate lapses into a liquid or gaseous
form.
On the one hand, therefore, the statical forces which uphold
the state of aggregation must not be so great as wholly
to prevent those changes of relative position among the
units which the dynamical forces tend to produce; and, on
the other hand, the dynamical forces must not be so great as
wholly to overcome the statical forces, and destroy the state
of aggregation. The excess of the dynamical forces must
be sufficient to produce Evolution, but not sufficient to produce
Dissolution.
§ 105. And now we are naturally introduced to a consideration
which, though it does not come quite within the limits
of this chapter as expressed in its title, may yet be more
conveniently dealt with here than elsewhere. Hitherto we
have studied the metamorphosis of things, only as exhibited
in the changed distribution of matter. It remains to look at
it as exhibited in the changed distribution of motion. The
definition of Evolution in its material aspect, has to be
supplemented by a definition of Evolution in its dynamical
aspect.
On inquiring the source of the sensible motions seen in
every kind of Evolution, we find them all traceable to insensible
motions; either of that tangible matter which we perceive as
constituting the objects around us, or of that intangible matter
which we infer as occupying space. A brief reconsideration
of the facts will make this obvious. The formation of
celestial bodies, supposing it caused by the union of dispersed
units, must, from the beginning, have involved a diminished
motion of these units with respect to each other; and such
motion as each resulting body acquired, must previously
have existed in the motions of its units. If concrete matter
349has arisen by the aggregation of diffused matter, then
concrete motion has arisen by the aggregation of diffused
motion. That which now exists as the movement of masses,
implies the cessation of an equivalent molecular movement.
Those transpositions of matter which constitute
geological changes, are clearly referable to the same
source. As before shown, the denudation of lands and deposit
of new strata, are effected by water in the course of its descent
from the clouds to the sea, or during the arrest of those undulations
produced on it by winds; and, as before shown, the
elevation of water to the height whence it fell, is due to solar
heat, as is also the genesis of those aerial currents which drift
it about when evaporated and agitate its surface when condensed.
That is to say, the molecular motion of the etherial
medium, is transformed into the motion of gases, thence into
the motion of liquids, and thence into the motion of solids—stages
in each of which, successively, a certain amount of
molecular motion is lost and an equivalent motion of masses
produced. If we seek the origin of vital movements,
we soon reach a like conclusion. The actinic rays issuing
from the Sun, enable the plant to reduce special elements existing
in gaseous combination around it, to a solid form,—enable
the plant, that is, to grow and carry on its functional changes.
And since growth, equally with circulation of sap, is a mode of
sensible motion, while those rays which have been expended in
generating it consist of insensible motions, we have here, too, a
transformation of the kind alleged. Animals, derived as their
forces are, directly or indirectly, from plants, carry this transformation
a step further. The automatic movements of the
viscera, together with the voluntary movements of the limbs
and body at large, arise at the expense of certain molecular
movements throughout the nervous and muscular tissues; and
these originally arose at the expense of certain other molecular
movements propagated by the Sun to the Earth; so that
both the structural and functional motions which organic
Evolution displays, are motions of aggregates generated by
350the arrested motions of units. Even with the aggregates
of these aggregates the same rule holds. For among
associated men, the progress is ever towards a merging of individual
actions in the actions of corporate bodies. An undeveloped
society is composed of members between whom
there is little concert: they fulfil their several wants without
mutual aid; and only on occasions of aggression or defence,
act together—occasions on which their combination, small as
it is in extent, frequently fails because it is so imperfect.
In the course of civilization, however, co-operation becomes
step by step more decided. As tribes grow into nations, there
result larger aggregates, each of which has a joint political
life—a common policy and movement with respect to other
aggregates. Legislative and administrative progress, involves
an increase in the number of restraining agents
brought into united and simultaneous action. In military
organization, we see an advance from small undisciplined hordes
of armed men, to vast bodies of regular troops, so drilled
that the movements of the units are entirely subordinated to
the movements of the masses. Nor does industrial development
fail to show parallel changes. Beginning with independent
workers, and passing step by step to the employment
of several assistants by one master, there has ever been, and
still is, a progress towards the co-operation of greater masses
of labourers in the same establishment, and towards the union
of capitalists into more numerous and larger companies: in
both which kinds of combined action, equivalent amounts of
individual action disappear. Under all its forms,
then, Evolution, considered dynamically, is a decrease in the
relative movements of parts, and an increase in the relative
movements of wholes—using the words parts and wholes in
their widest senses. From the infinitesimal motions of those
infinitesimal units composing the etherial medium, to the
larger though still insensible motions of the larger though
still insensible units composing gaseous, fluid, and solid
matter, and thence to the visible motions of visible aggregates,
351the advance is from molecular motion to the motion of
masses.
But now what of the converse process? If the foregoing
proposition is true, then a change from the motion of masses
to molecular motion, is the opposite to Evolution—is Dissolution.
Is this so? Of inorganic dissolution we
have but little experience; or at least, our experience of it is
on too small a scale to exhibit it as the antithesis of Evolution.
We know, indeed, that when solids are dissolved in
liquids, their dissolution implies increased movements of
their units, at the expense of diminished movements among
the units of their solvents; and we know that when a liquid
evaporates, its dissipation or dissolution similarly implies greater
relative movements of the units, and decrease of such combined
movement as they before had. But since these small
aggregates of inorganic matter, do not exhibit the phenomena
of Evolution, save in the form of simple integration; so they
do not exhibit the phenomena of dissolution, save in the
form of simple disintegration. Of organic dissolution,
however, our experience suffices to show that it is a decrease
of combined motion, and an increase in the motion of
uncombined parts. The gradual cessation of functions,
vegetal or animal, is a cessation of the sensible movements of
fluids and solids. In animals, the impulsions of the body
from place to place, first cease; presently the limbs cannot
be stirred; later still the respiratory actions stop; finally the
heart becomes stationary, and, with it, the circulating fluids.
That is, the transformation of molecular motion into the
motion of masses, comes to an end. What next takes place?
We cannot say that sensible movements are transformed into
insensible movements; for sensible movements no longer exist.
Nevertheless, the process of decay involves an increase of insensible
movements; since this is far greater in the gases
generated by decomposition, than it is in the fluid-solid
matters generating them. Indeed, it might be contended
that as, during Dissolution, there is a change from the vibration
352of large compound atoms to the vibration of small and
comparatively simple ones, the process is strictly antithetical
to that of Evolution. In conformity with the now current
conception lately explained, each of the highly complex
chemical units composing an organic body, possesses a
rhythmic movement—a movement in which its many component
units jointly partake. When decomposition breaks
up these highly complex atoms, and their constituents
assume a gaseous form, there is both an increase of
molecular motion implied by the diffusion, and a further
increase implied by the resolving of such motions as the
aggregate atoms possessed, into motions of their constituent
atoms. So that in organic dissolution we have, first, an end
put to that transformation of the motion of units into the
motion of aggregates, which constitutes Evolution, dynamically
considered; and we have also, though in a subtler
sense, a transformation of the motion of aggregates into the
motion of units. The formula equally applies to the
dissolution of a society. When social ties, be they governmental
or industrial, are destroyed, the combined actions of
citizens lapse into uncombined actions. Those general forces
which restrained individual doings, having disappeared, the
only remaining restraints are those separately exercised by
individuals on each other. There are no longer any of the
joint operations by which men satisfy their wants; and, in so
far as they can, they satisfy their wants by separate operations.
That is to say, the movement of parts replaces the
movement of wholes.
Under its dynamical aspect then, Evolution, so far as we
can trace it, is a change from molecular motion to the motion
of masses; while Dissolution, so far as we can trace it, is a
change from the motion of masses to molecular motion.
§ 106. To these abstract definitions may be added concrete
ones. Besides an integration of motions corresponding to
the integration of masses, Evolution involves an increase in
353the multiformity of the motions, corresponding to the increase
in the multiformity of the masses. If, contemplating it as
materially displayed, we find Evolution to consist in the
change from an indefinite, homogeneous distribution of parts
to a definite, heterogeneous distribution of parts; then, contemplating
Evolution as dynamically displayed, it consists in
a change from indefinite, homogeneous motions to definite,
heterogeneous motions.
This change takes place under the form of an increased
variety of rhythms. We have already seen that all motion
is rhythmical, from the infinitesimal vibrations of infinitesimal
molecules, up to those vast oscillations between perihelion
and aphelion performed by vast celestial bodies. And
as the contrast between these extreme cases suggests, a multiplication
of rhythms must accompany a multiplication in
the degrees and modes of aggregation, and in the relations
of the aggregated masses to incident forces. The degree or
mode of aggregation will not, indeed, affect the rate or
extent of rhythm where the incident force increases as the
aggregate increases, which is the case with gravitation: here
the only cause of variation in rhythm, is difference of relation
to the incident forces; as we see in a pendulum, which,
though unaffected in its movements by a change in the
weight of the bob, alters its rate of oscillation when taken
to the equator. But in all cases where the incident forces do
not vary as the masses, every new order of aggregation
initiates a new order of rhythm: witness the conclusion
drawn from the recent researches into radiant heat and light,
that the atoms of different gases have different rates of undulation.
So that increased multiformity in the arrangement
of matter, has necessarily generated increased multiformity
of rhythm; both through increased variety in the
sizes and forms of aggregates, and through increased variety
in their relations to the forces which move them. The
advancing heterogeneity of motion, thus entailed by advancing
heterogeneity in the distribution of matter, does not, however,
354end here. Besides multiplication in the kinds of rhythm,
there is a progressing complexity in their combinations. As
there arise wholes composed of heterogeneous parts, each of
which has its own rhythm, there must arise compound
rhythms proportionately heterogeneous. We before saw
that this is visible even in the cyclical perturbations of the
Solar System—simple as are its structure and movements.
And when we contemplate highly-developed organic bodies,
we find the complication of rhythms so great, that it defies
definite analysis, and from moment to moment works out in
resultants that are incalculable.
This conception of Evolution forms a needful complement
to that on which we have hitherto chiefly dwelt. To comprehend
the phenomena in their entirety, we have to contemplate
both the increasing multiformity of parts, and the
increasing multiformity of the actions simultaneously assumed
by these parts. At the same time that there are differentiations
and integrations of the matter, there are differentiations
and integrations of its motion. And this increasingly heterogeneous
distribution of motion, constitutes Evolution functionally
considered; as distinguished from that increasingly
heterogeneous distribution of matter, which constitutes Evolution
structurally considered. While of course, Dissolution
exhibits the transition to a reverse distribution, both structurally
and functionally.
§ 107. One other preliminary must be set down. When
specifically interpreting Evolution, we shall have to consider
under their concrete forms, the various resolutions of force that
follow its conflict with matter. Here it will be well to contemplate
such resolutions under their most general or abstract
forms.
Any incident force is primarily resolvable or divisible into
its effective and non-effective portions. In mechanical impact,
the entire momentum of a striking body is never communicated
to the body struck: even under those most favourable
355conditions in which the striking body loses all its sensible
motion, there still remains with it a portion of the original
momentum, under the shape of that insensible motion produced
among its particles by the collision. Of the light or
heat falling on any mass, a part, more or less considerable, is
reflected; and only the remaining part works molecular
changes in the mass. Next it is to be noted that the
effective force, is itself divisible into the temporarily effective
and the permanently effective. The units of an aggregate
acted on, may undergo those rhythmical changes of relative
position which constitute increased vibration, as well as
other changes of relative position which are not from instant
to instant neutralized by opposite ones. Of these, the first,
disappearing in the shape of radiating undulations, leave the
molecular arrangement as it originally was; while the
second conduce to that re-arrangement constituting Evolution.
Yet a further distinction has to be made.
The permanently effective force works out changes of relative
position of two kinds—the insensible and the sensible. The
insensible transpositions among the units are those constituting
what we call chemical composition and decomposition;
and it is these which we recognize as the qualitative differences
that arise in an aggregate. The sensible transpositions
are such as result when certain of the units, instead of
being put into different relations with their immediate neighbours,
are carried away from them and united together elsewhere.
Concerning these divisions and sub-divisions of any force
affecting an aggregate, the fact which it chiefly concerns us
to observe, is, that they are complementary to each other.
Of the whole incident force, the effective must be that which
remains after deducting the non-effective. The two parts of
the effective force must vary inversely as each other: where
much of it is temporarily effective, little of it can be permanently
effective; and vice versâ. Lastly, the permanently
effective force, being expended in working both the insensible
356re-arrangements which constitute chemical modification, and
the sensible re-arrangements which result in structure, must
generate of either kind an amount that is great or small in
proportion as it has generated a small or great amount of the
other.
§ 108. And now of the propositions grouped together in
this chapter, it may be well to remark that, in common with
foregoing propositions, they have for their warrant the fundamental
truth with which our synthesis set out.
That when a given force falls on any aggregate, the permanently
effective part of it will produce an amount of re-arrangement
that is inversely proportional to the cohesion
existing among the parts of the aggregate, is demonstrable
à priori. Whether the cohesion be mechanical or chemical,
or whether it be temporarily modified by a changed degree
of molecular vibration, matters not to the general conclusion.
In all these cases it follows from the persistence of force, that
in proportion as the units offer great resistance to alteration
in their relative positions, must the amount of motion which
a given force impresses on them be small. The proposition
is in fact an identical one; since the cohesion of units is
known to be great or small, only by the smallness or greatness
of the re-arrangement which a given incident force
produces.
The continuity of motion we found to be a corollary from
the persistence of force; and from the continuity of motion,
it follows that molecular motion and the motion of masses
can be respectively increased only at each other’s expense.
Hence, if in the course of Evolution there arises a motion of
masses that did not before exist, there must have ceased an
equivalent molecular motion; and if in the course of Dissolution
there arises a molecular motion that did not before
exist, an equivalent motion of masses must have disappeared.
Equally necessary is the conclusion that the several results
of the force expended on any aggregate, must be complementary
357to each other. It is not less obviously a corollary
from the persistence of force, that of the whole incident force
the effective is the part which remains after deducting the
non-effective; than it is, that of the effective force, whatever
does not work permanent results, works temporary results,
and that such amount of the permanently effective force as is
not absorbed in producing insensible re-arrangements, will
produce sensible re-arrangements.
358
§ 109. Thus far our steps towards the interpretation of
Evolution have been preparatory. We have dealt with the
factors of the process, rather than the process itself. After
the ultimate truth that, Matter, Motion, and Force, as
cognizable by human intelligence, can neither come into
existence nor cease to exist, we have considered certain other
ultimate truths concerning the modes in which Force and
Motion are manifested during the changes they produce in
Matter. Now we have to study the changes themselves.
We have here to analyze that re-arrangement in the parts of
Matter, which occurs under the influence of Force, that is unchangeable
in quantity though changeable in form, through
the medium of Motion taking place rhythmically along lines
of least resistance. The proposition which comes first in
logical order, is, that some re-arrangement must result; and
this proposition may be best dealt with under the more
specific shape, that the condition of homogeneity is a condition
of unstable equilibrium.
First, as to the meaning of the terms; respecting which
some readers may need explanation. The phrase unstable
equilibrium is one used in mechanics to express a balance of
forces of such kind, that the interference of any further force,
however minute, will destroy the arrangement previously
359subsisting; and bring about a totally different arrangement.
Thus, a stick poised on its lower end is in unstable equilibrium:
however exactly it may be placed in a perpendicular
position, as soon as it is left to itself it begins, at first imperceptibly,
to lean on one side, and with increasing rapidity
falls into another attitude. Conversely, a stick suspended
from its upper end is in stable equilibrium: however much
disturbed, it will return to the same position. The proposition
is, then, that the state of homogeneity, like the state of
the stick poised on its lower end, is one that cannot be maintained.
Let us take a few illustrations.
Of mechanical ones the most familiar is that of the scales.
If they be accurately made, and not clogged by dirt or rust,
it is impossible to keep a pair of scales perfectly balanced:
eventually one scale will descend and the other ascend—they
will assume a heterogeneous relation. Again, if we sprinkle
over the surface of a fluid a number of equal-sized particles,
having an attraction for each other, they will, no matter how
uniformly distributed, by and by concentrate irregularly into
one or more groups. Were it possible to bring a mass of
water into a state of perfect homogeneity—a state of complete
quiescence, and exactly equal density throughout—yet the
radiation of heat from neighbouring bodies, by affecting
differently its different parts, would inevitably produce inequalities
of density and consequent currents; and would so
render it to that extent heterogeneous. Take a piece of red-hot
matter, and however evenly heated it may at first be, it
will quickly cease to be so: the exterior, cooling faster than
the interior, will become different in temperature from it.
And the lapse into heterogeneity of temperature, so obvious
in this extreme case, takes place more or less in all
cases. The action of chemical forces supplies other
illustrations. Expose a fragment of metal to air or water,
and in course of time it will be coated with a film of oxide,
carbonate, or other compound: that is—its outer parts will
become unlike its inner parts. Usually the heterogeneity
360produced by the action of chemical forces on the surfaces of
masses, is not striking; because the changed portions are
soon washed away, or otherwise removed. But if this is prevented,
comparatively complex structures result. Quarries
of trap-rock contain some striking examples. Not unfrequently
a piece of trap may be found reduced, by the
action of the weather, to a number of loosely-adherent coats,
like those of an onion. Where the block has been quite undisturbed,
we may trace the whole series of these, from the
angular, irregular outer one, through successively included
ones in which the shape becomes gradually rounded, ending
finally in a spherical nucleus. On comparing the original
mass of stone with this group of concentric coats, each of
which differs from the rest in form, and probably in the state
of decomposition at which it has arrived, we get a marked
illustration of the multiformity to which, in lapse of time,
a uniform body may be brought by external chemical
action. The instability of the homogeneous is equally
seen in the changes set up throughout the interior of a mass,
when it consists of units that are not rigidly bound together.
The atoms of a precipitate never remain separate, and equably
distributed through the fluid in which they make their appearance.
They aggregate either into crystalline grains,
each containing an immense number of atoms, or they aggregate
into flocculi, each containing a yet larger number; and
where the mass of fluid is great, and the process prolonged,
these flocculi do not continue equidistant, but break up into
groups. That is to say, there is a destruction of the balance
at first subsisting among the diffused particles, and also of
the balance at first subsisting among the groups into which
these particles unite. Certain solutions of non-crystalline
substances in highly volatile liquids, exhibit in
the course of half an hour a whole series of changes that are
set up in the alleged way. If for example a little shell-lac-varnish
(made by dissolving shell-lac in coal-naphtha until it
is of the consistence of cream) be poured on a piece of paper,
361the surface of the varnish will shortly become marked by
polygonal divisions, which, first appearing round the edge of
the mass, spread towards its centre. Under a lense these
irregular polygons of five or more sides, are seen to be severally
bounded by dark lines, on each side of which there are
light-coloured borders. By the addition of matter to their
inner edges, the borders slowly broaden, and thus encroach
on the areas of the polygons; until at length there remains
nothing but a dark spot in the centre of each. At
the same time the boundaries of the polygons become curved;
and they end by appearing like spherical sacs pressed together;
strangely simulating (but only simulating) a group of
nucleated cells. Here a rapid loss of homogeneity is exhibited
in three ways:—First, in the formation of the film,
which is the seat of these changes; second, in the formation
of the polygonal sections into which this film divides; and
third, in the contrast that arises between the polygonal sections
round the edge, where they are small and early formed,
and those in the centre which are larger and formed later.
The instability thus variously illustrated is obviously consequent
on the fact, that the several parts of any homogeneous
aggregation are necessarily exposed to different forces—forces
that differ either in kind or amount; and being exposed
to different forces they are of necessity differently
modified. The relations of outside and inside, and of comparative
nearness to neighbouring sources of influence, imply
the reception of influences that are unlike in quantity or
quality, or both; and it follows that unlike changes will be
produced in the parts thus dissimilarly acted upon.
For like reasons it is manifest that the process must repeat
itself in each of the subordinate groups of units that are
differentiated by the modifying forces. Each of these subordinate
groups, like the original group, must gradually, in
obedience to the influences acting upon it, lose its balance of
parts—must pass from a uniform into a multiform state.
And so on continuously. Whence indeed it is clear
362that not only must the homogeneous lapse into the non-homogeneous,
but that the more homogeneous must tend
ever to become less homogeneous. If any given whole, instead
of being absolutely uniform throughout, consist of parts
distinguishable from each other—if each of these parts, while
somewhat unlike other parts, is uniform within itself; then,
each of them being in unstable equilibrium, it follows that
while the changes set up within it must render it multiform,
they must at the same time render the whole more multiform
than before. The general principle, now to be followed
out in its applications, is thus somewhat more comprehensive
than the title of the chapter implies. No demurrer to
the conclusions drawn, can be based on the ground that perfect
homogeneity nowhere exists; since, whether that state with
which we commence be or be not one of perfect homogeneity,
the process must equally be towards a relative heterogeneity.
§ 110. The stars are distributed with a three-fold irregularity.
There is first the marked contrast between the
plane of the milky way and other parts of the heavens, in
respect of the quantities of stars within given visual areas.
There are secondary contrasts of like kind in the milky way
itself, which has its thick and thin places; as well as
throughout the celestial spaces in general, which are much
more closely strewn in some regions than in others. And
there is a third order of contrasts produced by the aggregation
of stars into small clusters. Besides this heterogeneity
of distribution of the stars in general, considered without
distinction of kinds, a further such heterogeneity is disclosed
when they are classified by their differences of colour, which
doubtless answer to differences of physical constitution.
While the yellow stars are found in all parts of the heavens,
the red and blue stars are not so: there are wide regions in
which both red and blue stars are rare; there are regions in
which the blue occur in considerable numbers, and there
are other regions in which the red are comparatively abundant.
363Yet one more irregularity of like significance is presented
by the nebulæ,—aggregations of matter which, whatever
be their nature, most certainly belong to our sidereal
system. For the nebulæ are not dispersed with anything
like uniformity; but are abundant around the poles of the
galactic circle and rare in the neighbourhood of its
plane. No one will expect that anything like a definite
interpretation of this structure can be given on the
hypothesis of Evolution, or any other hypothesis. The most
that can be looked for is some reason for thinking that irregularities,
not improbably of these kinds, would occur in the
course of Evolution, supposing it to have taken place. Any
one called on to assign such reason might argue, that if the
matter of which stars and all other celestial bodies consist, be
assumed to have originally existed in a diffused form throughout
a space far more vast even than that which our sidereal
system now occupies, the instability of the homogeneous
would negative its continuance in that state. In default of
an absolute balance among the forces with which the dispersed
particles acted on each other (which could not exist in
any aggregation having limits) he might show that motion
and consequent changes of distribution would necessarily
result. The next step in the argument would be that in
matter of such extreme tenuity and feeble cohesion there
would be motion towards local centres of gravity, as well as
towards the general centre of gravity; just as, to use a
humble illustration, the particles of a precipitate aggregate
into flocculi at the same time that they sink towards the
earth. He might urge that in the one case as in the other,
these smallest and earliest local aggregations must gradually
divide into groups, each concentrating to its own centre of
gravity,—a process which must repeat itself on a larger and
larger scale. In conformity with the law that motion once
set up in any direction becomes itself a cause of subsequent
motion in that direction, he might further infer that the
heterogeneities thus set up would tend ever to become more
364pronounced. Established mechanical principles would
justify him in the conclusion that the motions of these irregular
masses of slightly aggregated nebular matter towards
their common centre of gravity must be severally rendered
curvelinear, by the resistance of the medium from which they
were precipitated; and that in consequence of the irregularities
of distribution already set up, such conflicting curvelinear
motions must, by composition of forces, end in a rotation
of the incipient sidereal system. He might without difficulty
show that the resulting centrifugal force must so far modify the
process of general aggregation, as to prevent anything like
uniform distribution of the stars eventually formed—that
there must arise a contrast such as we see between the galactic
circle and the rest of the heavens. He might draw the
further not unwarrantable inference, that differences in the
process of local concentration would probably result from the
unlikeness between the physical conditions existing around
the general axis of rotation and those existing elsewhere.
To which he might add, that after the formation of distinct
stars, the ever-increasing irregularities of distribution due to
continuance of the same causes would produce that patchiness
which distinguishes the heavens in both its larger and
smaller areas. We need not here however commit
ourselves to such far-reaching speculations. For the purposes
of the general argument it is needful only to show, that
any finite mass of diffused matter, even though vast enough
to form our whole sidereal system, could not be in stable
equilibrium; that in default of absolute sphericity, absolute
uniformity of composition, and absolute symmetry of relation
to all forces external to it; its concentration must go on with
an ever-increasing irregularity; and that thus the present
aspect of the heavens is not, so far as we can judge, incongruous
with the hypothesis of a general evolution consequent
on the instability of the homogeneous.
Descending to that more limited form of the nebular hypothesis
which regards the solar system as having resulted
365by gradual concentration; and assuming this concentration
to have advanced so far as to produce a rotating spheroid of
nebulous matter; let us consider what further consequence
the instability of the homogeneous necessitates. Having
become oblate in figure, unlike in the densities of its centre
and surface, unlike in their temperatures, and unlike in the
velocities with which its parts move round their common axis,
such a mass can no longer be called homogeneous; and
therefore any further changes exhibited by it as a whole, can
illustrate the general law, only as being changes from a
more homogeneous to a less homogeneous state. Changes of
this kind are to be found in the transformations of such of its
parts as are still homogeneous within themselves. If we
accept the conclusion of Laplace, that the equatorial portion
of this rotating and contracting spheroid will at successive
stages acquire a centrifugal force great enough to prevent
any nearer approach to the centre round which it rotates,
and will so be left behind by the inner parts of the spheroid
in its still-continued contraction; we shall find, in the fate of
the detached ring, a fresh exemplification of the principle we
are following out. Consisting of gaseous matter, such a
ring, even if absolutely uniform at the time of its detachment,
cannot continue so. To maintain its equilibrium there
must be an almost perfect uniformity in the action of all
external forces upon it (almost, we must say, because the
cohesion, even of extremely attenuated matter, might suffice
to neutralize very minute disturbances); and against this the
probabilities are immense. In the absence of equality among
the forces, internal and external, acting on such a ring,
there must be a point or points at which the cohesion of
its parts is less than elsewhere—a point or points at which
rupture will therefore take place. Laplace assumed that
the ring would rupture at one place only; and would then
collapse on itself. But this is a more than questionable
assumption—such at least I know to be the opinion of an
authority second to none among those now living. So
366vast a ring, consisting of matter having such feeble cohesion,
must break up into many parts. Nevertheless, it is
still inferrable from the instability of the homogeneous,
that the ultimate result which Laplace predicted would
take place. For even supposing the masses of nebulous
matter into which such a ring separated, were so equal in
their sizes and distances as to attract each other with
exactly equal forces (which is infinitely improbable); yet
the unequal action of external disturbing forces would
inevitably destroy their equilibrium—there would be one or
more points at which adjacent masses would begin to part
company. Separation once commenced, would with ever-accelerating
speed lead to a grouping of the masses. And
obviously a like result would eventually take place with the
groups thus formed; until they at length aggregated into a
single mass.
Leaving the region of speculative astronomy, let us consider
the Solar System as it at present exists. And here it
will be well, in the first place, to note a fact which may be
thought at variance with the foregoing argument—namely,
the still-continued existence of Saturn’s rings; and especially
of the internal nebulous ring lately discovered. To the
objection that the outer rings maintain their equilibrium, the
reply is that the comparatively great cohesion of liquid
or solid substance would suffice to prevent any slight tendency
to rupture from taking effect. And that a nebulous
ring here still preserves its continuity, does not really negative
the foregoing conclusion; since it happens under the quite
exceptional influence of those symmetrically disposed forces
which the external rings exercise on it. Here indeed
it deserves to be noted, that though at first sight the Saturnian
system appears at variance with the doctrine that a
state of homogeneity is one of unstable equilibrium, it does
in reality furnish a curious confirmation of this doctrine. For
Saturn is not quite concentric with his rings; and it has
been proved mathematically that were he and his rings concentrically
367situated, they could not remain so: the homogeneous
relation being unstable, would gravitate into a
heterogeneous one. And this fact serves to remind us of the
allied one presented throughout the whole Solar System. All
orbits, whether of planets or satellites, are more or less excentric—none
of them are perfect circles; and were they
perfect circles they would soon become ellipses. Mutual perturbations
would inevitably generate excentricities. That is
to say, the homogeneous relations would lapse into heterogeneous
ones.
§ 111. Already so many references have been made to the
gradual formation of a crust over the originally incandescent
Earth, that it may be thought superfluous again to name it.
It has not, however, been before considered in connexion with
the general principle under discussion. Here then it must
be noted as a necessary consequence of the instability of the
homogeneous. In this cooling down and solidification of
the Earth’s surface, we have one of the simplest, as well as
one of the most important, instances, of that change from
a uniform to a multiform state which occurs in any mass
through exposure of its different parts to different conditions.
To the differentiation of the Earth’s exterior
from its interior thus brought about, we must add one of the
most conspicuous differentiations which the exterior itself
afterwards undergoes, as being similarly brought about. Were
the conditions to which the surface of the Earth is exposed,
alike in all directions, there would be no obvious reason why
certain of its parts should become permanently unlike the rest.
But being unequally exposed to the chief external centre of
force—the Sun—its main divisions become unequally modified:
as the crust thickens and cools, there arises that contrast,
now so decided, between the polar and equatorial regions.
Along with these most marked physical differentiations of
the Earth, which are manifestly consequent on the instability
of the homogeneous, there have been going on numerous
368chemical differentiations, admitting of similar interpretation.
Without raising the question whether, as some think,
the so-called simple substances are themselves compounded of
unknown elements (elements which we cannot separate by
artificial heat, but which existed separately when the heat of
the Earth was greater than any which we can produce),—without
raising this question, it will suffice the present purpose
to show how, in place of that comparative homogeneity
of the Earth’s crust, chemically considered, which must have
existed when its temperature was high, there has arisen,
during its cooling, an increasing chemical heterogeneity:
each element or compound, being unable to maintain its
homogeneity in presence of various surrounding affinities,
having fallen into heterogeneous combinations. Let us contemplate
this change somewhat in detail. There is
every reason to believe that at an extreme heat, the bodies
we call elements cannot combine. Even under such heat as
can be generated artificially, some very strong affinities yield;
and the great majority of chemical compounds are decomposed
at much lower temperatures. Whence it seems not
improbable that, when the Earth was in its first state of incandescence,
there were no chemical combinations at all.
But without drawing this inference, let us set out with the
unquestionable fact that the compounds which can exist at
the highest temperatures, and which must therefore have
been the first formed as the Earth cooled, are those of the
simplest constitutions. The protoxides—including under
that head the alkalies, earths, &c.—are, as a class, the most
fixed compounds known: the majority of them resisting decomposition
by any heat we can generate. These, consisting
severally of one atom of each component element, are combinations
of the simplest order—are but one degree less
homogeneous than the elements themselves. More heterogeneous
than these, more decomposable by heat, and therefore
later in the Earth’s history, are the deutoxides, tritoxides,
peroxides, &c.; in which two, three, four, or more atoms of
369oxygen are united with one atom of metal or other base.
Still less able to resist heat, are the salts; which present us
with compound atoms each made up of five, six, seven, eight,
ten, twelve, or more atoms, of three, if not more, kinds.
Then there are the hydrated salts, of a yet greater heterogeneity,
which undergo partial decomposition at much lower
temperatures. After them come the further-complicated
supersalts and double salts, having a stability again decreased;
and so throughout. After making a few unimportant qualifications
demanded by peculiar affinities, I believe no chemist
will deny it to be a general law of these inorganic combinations
that, other things equal, the stability decreases as the
complexity increases. And then when we pass to the compounds
that make up organic bodies, we find this general law
still further exemplified: we find much greater complexity
and much less stability. An atom of albumen, for instance,
consists of 482 ultimate atoms of five different kinds. Fibrine,
still more intricate in constitution, contains in each atom, 298
atoms of carbon, 49 of nitrogen, 2 of sulphur, 228 of hydrogen,
and 92 of oxygen—in all, 660 atoms; or, more strictly
speaking—equivalents. And these two substances are so unstable
as to decompose at quite moderate temperatures; as
that to which the outside of a joint of roast meat is
exposed. Possibly it will be objected that some inorganic
compounds, as phosphuretted hydrogen and chloride of nitrogen,
are more decomposable than most organic compounds.
This is true. But the admission may be made without damage
to the argument. The proposition is not that all simple combinations
are more fixed than all complex ones. To establish
our inference it is necessary only to show that, as an average
fact, the simple combinations can exist at a higher temperature
than the complex ones. And this is wholly beyond
question. Thus it is manifest that the present chemical
heterogeneity of the Earth’s surface has arisen by degrees
as the decrease of heat has permitted; and that it has shown
itself in three forms—first, in the multiplication of chemical
370compounds; second, in the greater number of different elements
contained in the more modern of these compounds; and
third, in the higher and more varied multiples in which these
more numerous elements combine.
Without specifying them, it will suffice just to name the
meteorologic processes eventually set up in the Earth’s atmosphere,
as further illustrating the alleged law. They
equally display that destruction of a homogeneous state which
results from unequal exposure to incident forces.
§ 112. Take a mass of unorganized but organizable matter—either
the body of one of the lowest living forms, or the
germ of one of the higher. Consider its circumstances.
Either it is immersed in water or air, or it is contained within
a parent organism. Wherever placed, however, its outer
and inner parts stand differently related to surrounding
agencies—nutriment, oxygen, and the various stimuli. But
this is not all. Whether it lies quiescent at the bottom of
the water or on the leaf of a plant; whether it moves through
the water preserving some definite attitude; or whether it is
in the inside of an adult; it equally results that certain parts
of its surface are more exposed to surrounding agencies than
other parts—in some cases more exposed to light, heat, or
oxygen, and in others to the maternal tissues and their contents.
Hence must follow the destruction of its original
equilibrium. This may take place in one of two ways. Either
the disturbing forces may be such as to overbalance the
affinities of the organic elements, in which case there result
those changes which are known as decomposition; or, as is
ordinarily the case, such changes are induced as do not destroy
the organic compounds, but only modify them: the
parts most exposed to the modifying forces being most modified.
To elucidate this, suppose we take a few cases.
Note first what appear to be exceptions. Certain minute
animal forms present us either with no appreciable differentiations
or with differentiations so obscure as to be made out
371with great difficulty. In the Rhizopods, the substance of the
jelly-like body remains throughout life unorganized, even to
the extent of having no limiting membrane; as is proved by
the fact that the thread-like processes protruded by the mass,
coalesce on touching each other. Whether or not the nearly
allied Amœba, of which the less numerous and more bulky
processes do not coalesce, has, as lately alleged, something
like a cell-wall and a nucleus, it is clear that the distinction
of parts is very slight; since particles of food pass bodily into
the inside through any part of the periphery, and since when
the creature is crushed to pieces, each piece behaves as the
whole did. Now these cases, in which there is either no contrast
of structure between exterior and interior or very little, though
seemingly opposed to the above inference, are really very
significant evidences of its truth. For what is the peculiarity
of this division of the Protozoa? Its members undergo perpetual
and irregular changes of form—they show no persistent
relation of parts. What lately formed a portion of
the interior is now protruded, and, as a temporary limb, is
attached to some object it happens to touch. What is now a
part of the surface will presently be drawn, along with the
atom of nutriment sticking to it, into the centre of the mass.
Either the relations of inner and outer have no permanent
existence, or they are very slightly marked. But by the
hypothesis, it is only because of their unlike positions with
respect to modifying forces, that the originally like units of a
living mass become unlike. We must therefore expect no
established differentiation of parts in creatures which exhibit
no established differences of position in their parts; and we
must expect extremely little differentiation of parts where the
differences of position are but little determined—which is
just what we find. This negative evidence is borne
out by positive evidence. When we turn from these proteiform
specks of living jelly to organisms having an unchanging
distribution of substance, we find differences of tissue
corresponding to differences of relative position. In all
372the higher Protozoa, as also in the Protophyta, we meet with
a fundamental differentiation into cell-membrane and cell-contents;
answering to that fundamental contrast of conditions
implied by the terms outside and inside. On
passing from what are roughly classed as unicellular organisms,
to the lowest of those which consist of aggregated cells,
we equally observe the connection between structural differences
and differences of circumstance. Negatively, we see
that in the sponge, permeated throughout by currents of sea-water,
the indefiniteness of organization corresponds with the
absence of definite unlikeness of conditions: the peripheral
and central portions are as little contrasted in structure as in
exposure to surrounding agencies. While positively, we see
that in a form like the Thalassicolla, which, though equally
humble, maintains its outer and inner parts in permanently
unlike circumstances, there is displayed a rude structure
obviously subordinated to the primary relations of centre and
surface: in all its many and important varieties, the parts
exhibit a more or less concentric arrangement.
After this primary modification, by which the outer tissues
are differentiated from the inner, the next in order of constancy
and importance is that by which some part of the
outer tissues is differentiated from the rest; and this corresponds
with the almost universal fact that some part of the
outer tissues is more exposed to certain environing influences
than the rest. Here, as before, the apparent exceptions are
extremely significant. Some of the lowest vegetal organisms,
as the Hematococci and Protococci, evenly imbedded in a
mass of mucus, or dispersed through the Arctic snow, display
no differentiations of surface; the several parts of their surfaces
being subjected to no definite contrasts of conditions.
Ciliated spheres such as the Volvox have no parts of their
periphery unlike other parts; and it is not to be expected
that they should have; since, as they revolve in all directions,
they do not, in traversing the water, permanently expose any
part to special conditions. But when we come to organisms
373that are either fixed, or while moving preserve definite attitudes,
we no longer find uniformity of surface. The most
general fact which can be asserted with respect to the structures
of plants and animals, is, that however much alike in
shape and texture the various parts of the exterior may at
first be, they acquire unlikenesses corresponding to the unlikenesses
of their relations to surrounding agencies. The ciliated
germ of a Zoophyte, which, during its locomotive stage,
is distinguishable only into outer and inner tissues, no sooner
becomes fixed, than its upper end begins to assume a different
structure from its lower. The disc-shaped gemmæ of the
Marchantia, originally alike on both surfaces, and falling at
random with either side uppermost, immediately begin to
develop rootlets on the under side, and stomata on the upper
side: a fact proving beyond question, that this primary differentiation
is determined by this fundamental contrast of conditions.
Of course in the germs of higher organisms, the metamorphoses
immediately due to the instability of the homogeneous,
are soon masked by those due to the assumption of the hereditary
type. Such early changes, however, as are common to
all classes of organisms, and so cannot be ascribed to heredity,
entirely conform to the hypothesis. A germ which has undergone
no developmental modifications, consists of a spheroidal
group of homogeneous cells. Universally, the first step
in its evolution is the establishment of a difference between
some of the peripheral cells and the cells which form the interior—some
of the peripheral cells, after repeated spontaneous
fissions, coalesce into a membrane; and by continuance
of the process this membrane spreads until it speedily invests
the entire mass, as in mammals, or, as in birds, stops short of
that for some time. Here we have two significant facts.
The first is, that the primary unlikeness arises between the
exterior and the interior. The second is, that the change
which thus initiates development, does not take place simultaneously
over the whole exterior; but commences at one
374place, and gradually involves the rest. Now these facts
are just those which might be inferred from the instability of
the homogeneous. The surface must, more than any other
part, become unlike the centre, because it is most dissimilarly
conditioned; and all parts of the surface cannot
simultaneously exhibit this differentiation, because they cannot
be exposed to the incident forces with absolute uniformity.
One other general fact of like implication remains.
Whatever be the extent of this peripheral layer of
cells, or blastoderm as it is called, it presently divides into
two layers—the serous and mucous; or, as they have been
otherwise called, the ectoderm and the endoderm. The first
of these is formed from that portion of the layer which lies
in contact with surrounding agents; and the second of them
is formed from that portion of the layer which lies in contact
with the contained mass of yelk. That is to say, after the
primary differentiation, more or less extensive, of surface
from centre, the resulting superficial portion undergoes a
secondary differentiation into inner and outer parts—a
differentiation which is clearly of the same order with the
preceding, and answers to the next most marked contrast of
conditions.
But, as already hinted, this principle, understood in the
simple form here presented, supplies no key to the detailed
phenomena of organic development. It fails entirely to explain
generic and specific peculiarities; and indeed leaves us
equally in the dark respecting those more important distinctions
by which families and orders are marked out.
Why two ova, similarly exposed in the same pool, should
become the one a fish, and the other a reptile, it cannot tell
us. That from two different eggs placed under the same
hen, should respectively come forth a duckling and a chicken,
is a fact not to be accounted for on the hypothesis above
developed. We have here no alternative but to fall back
upon the unexplained principle of hereditary transmission.
The capacity possessed by an unorganized germ of unfolding
375into a complex adult, which repeats ancestral traits in the
minutest details, and that even when it has been placed in
conditions unlike those of its ancestors, is a capacity we cannot
at present understand. That a microscopic portion of seemingly
structureless matter should embody an influence of such
kind, that the resulting man will in fifty years after become
gouty or insane, is a truth which would be incredible were it
not daily illustrated. Should it however turn out, as
we shall hereafter find reason for suspecting, that these complex
differentiations which adults exhibit, are themselves the
slowly accumulated and transmitted results of a process like
that seen in the first changes of the germ; it will follow that
even those embryonic changes due to hereditary influence,
are remote consequences of the alleged law. Should it be
shown that the slight modifications wrought during life on
each adult, and bequeathed to offspring along with all like
preceding modifications, are themselves unlikenesses of parts
that are produced by unlikenesses of conditions; then it will
follow that the modifications displayed in the course of embryonic
development, are partly direct consequences of the
instability of the homogeneous, and partly indirect consequences
of it. To give reasons for entertaining this
hypothesis, however, is not needful for the justification of the
position here taken. It is enough that the most conspicuous
differentiations which incipient organisms universally display,
correspond to the most marked differences of conditions to
which their parts are subject. It is enough that the habitual
contrast between outside and inside, which we know is produced
in inorganic masses by unlikeness of exposure to incident
forces, is strictly paralleled by the first contrast that
makes its appearance in all organic masses.
It remains to point out that in the assemblage of organisms
constituting a species, the principle enunciated is equally
traceable. We have abundant materials for the induction
that each species will not remain uniform, but is ever becoming
to some extent multiform; and there is ground for the
376deduction that this lapse from homogeneity to heterogeneity is
caused by the subjection of its members to unlike sets of
circumstances. The fact that in every species, animal and
vegetal, the individuals are never quite alike; joined with
the fact that there is in every species a tendency to the production
of differences marked enough to constitute varieties;
form a sufficiently wide basis for the induction. While the
deduction is confirmed by the familiar experience that varieties
are most numerous and decided where, as among cultivated
plants and domestic animals, the conditions of life depart
from the original ones, most widely and in the most numerous
ways. Whether we regard “natural selection” as wholly,
or only in part, the agency through which varieties are
established, matters not to the general conclusion. For as
the survival of any variety proves its constitution to be in
harmony with a certain aggregate of surrounding forces—as
the multiplication of a variety and the usurpation by it of an
area previously occupied by some other part of the species,
implies different effects produced by such aggregate of forces
on the two, it is clear that this aggregate of forces is the
real cause of the differentiation—it is clear that if the variety
supplants the original species in some localities but not in
others, it does so because the aggregate of forces in the one
locality is unlike that in the other—it is clear that the lapse
of the species from a state of homogeneity to a state of heterogeneity
arises from the exposure of its different parts to
different aggregates of forces.
§ 113. Among mental phenomena it is difficult to establish
the alleged law without an analysis too extensive for the
occasion. To show satisfactorily how states of consciousness,
originally homogeneous, become heterogeneous through differences
in the changes wrought by different forces, would
require us carefully to trace out the organization of early
experiences. Were this done it would become manifest that
the development of intelligence, is, under one of its chief
377aspects, a dividing into separate classes, the unlike things
previously confounded together in one class—a formation of
sub-classes and sub-sub-classes, until the once confused aggregate
of objects known, is resolved into an aggregate which
unites extreme heterogeneity among its multiplied groups,
with complete homogeneity among the members of each
group. If, for example, we followed, through ascending grades
of creatures, the genesis of that vast structure of knowledge
acquired by sight, we should find that in the first stage,
where eyes suffice for nothing beyond the discrimination of
light from darkness, the only possible classifications of objects
seen, must be those based on the manner in which light is
obstructed, and the degree in which it is obstructed. We
should find that by such undeveloped visual organs, the
shadows traversing the rudimentary retina would be merely
distinguished into those of the stationary objects which
the creature passed during its own movements, and those
of the moving objects which came near the creature while
it was at rest; and that so the extremely general classification
of visible things into stationary and moving, would
be the earliest formed. We should find that whereas the
simplest eyes are not fitted to distinguish between an obstruction
of light caused by a small object close to, and an obstruction
caused by a large object at some distance, eyes a little
more developed must be competent to such a distinction;
whence must result a vague differentiation of the class of
moving objects, into the nearer and the more remote. We
should find that such further improvements in vision as those
which make possible a better estimation of distances by
adjustment of the optic axes, and those which, through enlargement
and subdivision of the retina, make possible the discrimination
of shapes, must have the effects of giving greater
definiteness to the classes already formed, and of sub-dividing
these into smaller classes, consisting of objects less unlike. And
we should find that each additional refinement of the perceptive
organs, must similarly lead to a multiplication of divisions
378and a sharpening of the limits of each division. In every infant
might be traced the analogous transformation of a confused
aggregate of impressions of surrounding objects, not recognized
as differing in their distances, sizes, and shapes, into separate
classes of objects unlike each other in these and various other
respects. And in the one case as in the other, it might be
shown that the change from this first indefinite, incoherent
and comparatively homogeneous consciousness, to a definite,
coherent, and heterogeneous one, is due to differences in the
actions of incident forces on the organism. These
brief indications of what might be shown, did space permit,
must here suffice. Probably they will give adequate clue to
an argument by which each reader may satisfy himself that
the course of mental evolution offers no exception to the
general law. In further aid of such an argument, I will here
add an illustration that is comprehensible apart from the
process of mental evolution as a whole.
It has been remarked (I am told by Coleridge, though I
have been unable to find the passage) that with the advance
of language, words which were originally alike in their
meanings acquire unlike meanings—a change which he
expresses by the formidable word “desynonymization.”
Among indigenous words this loss of equivalence cannot
be clearly shown; because in them the divergencies of
meaning began before the dawn of literature. But among
words that have been coined, or adopted from other
languages, since the writing of books commenced, it is
demonstrable. In the old divines, miscreant is used in
its etymological sense of unbeliever; but in modern speech it
has entirely lost this sense. Similarly with evil-doer and
malefactor: exactly synonymous as these are by derivation,
they are no longer synonymous by usage: by a malefactor
we now understand a convicted criminal, which is far from
being the acceptation of evil-doer. The verb produce, bears in
Euclid its primary meaning—to prolong, or draw out; but
the now largely developed meanings of produce have little in
379common with the meanings of prolong, or draw out. In the
Church of England liturgy, an odd effect results from the
occurrence of prevent in its original sense—to come before,
instead of its modern specialized sense—to come before with the
effect of arresting. But the most conclusive cases are those
in which the contrasted words consist of the same parts differently
combined; as in go under and undergo. We go under
a tree, and we undergo a pain. But though, if analytically
considered, the meanings of these expressions would be the
same were the words transposed, habit has so far modified
their meanings that we could not without absurdity speak of
undergoing a tree and going under a pain. Countless
such instances might be brought to show that between two
words which are originally of like force, an equilibrium cannot
be maintained. Unless they are daily used in exactly
equal degrees, in exactly similar relations (against which
there are infinite probabilities), there necessarily arises a habit
of associating one rather than the other with particular acts,
or objects. Such a habit, once commenced, becomes confirmed;
and gradually their homogeneity of meaning disappears.
In each individual we may see the tendency which inevitably
leads to this result. A certain vocabulary and a certain set
of phrases, distinguish the speech of each person: each person
habitually uses certain words in places where other words
are habitually used by other persons; and there is a continual
recurrence of favourite expressions. This inability to
maintain a balance in the use of verbal symbols, which characterizes
every man, characterizes, by consequence, aggregates
of men; and the desynonymization of words is the ultimate
effect.
Should any difficulty be felt in understanding how these
mental changes exemplify a law of physical transformations
that are wrought by physical forces, it will disappear on contemplating
acts of mind as nervous functions. It will be
seen that each loss of equilibrium above instanced, is a loss of
functional equality between some two elements of the nervous
380system. And it will be seen that, as in other cases, this loss
of functional equality is due to differences in the incidence of
forces.
§ 114. Masses of men, in common with all other masses,
show a like proclivity similarly caused. Small combinations
and large societies equally manifest it; and in the one, as in
the other, both governmental and industrial differentiations
are initiated by it. Let us glance at the facts under these
two heads.
A business partnership, balanced as the authorities of its
members may theoretically be, practically becomes a union in
which the authority of one partner is tacitly recognized as
greater than that of the other or others. Though the shareholders
have given equal powers to the directors of their
company, inequalities of power soon arise among them; and
usually the supremacy of some one director grows so marked,
that his decisions determine the course which the board takes.
Nor in associations for political, charitable, literary, or other
purposes, do we fail to find a like process of division into
dominant and subordinate parties; each having its leader, its
members of less influence, and its mass of uninfluential members.
These minor instances in which unorganized groups of
men, standing in homogeneous relations, may be watched
gradually passing into organized groups of men standing in
heterogeneous relations, give us the key to social inequalities.
Barbarous and civilized communities are alike characterized
by separation into classes, as well as by separation of each
class into more important and less important units; and this
structure is manifestly the gradually-consolidated result of a
process like that daily exemplified in trading and other combinations.
So long as men are constituted to act on one another,
either by physical force or by force of character, the
struggles for supremacy must finally be decided in favour of
some one; and the difference once commenced must tend to
become ever more marked. Its unstable equilibrium being destroyed,
381the uniform must gravitate with increasing rapidity
into the multiform. And so supremacy and subordination
must establish themselves, as we see they do, throughout the
whole structure of a society, from the great class-divisions
pervading its entire body, down to village cliques, and even
down to every posse of school-boys. Probably it will
be objected that such changes result, not from the homogeneity
of the original aggregations, but from their non-homogeneity—from
certain slight differences existing among their
units at the outset. This is doubtless the proximate cause.
In strictness, such changes must be regarded as transformations
of the relatively homogeneous into the relatively heterogeneous.
But it is abundantly clear that an aggregation of
men, absolutely alike in their endowments, would eventually
undergo a similar transformation. For in the absence of
perfect uniformity in the lives severally led by them—in
their occupations, physical conditions, domestic relations, and
trains of thought and feeling—there must arise differences
among them; and these must finally initiate social differentiations.
Even inequalities of health caused by accidents,
must, by entailing inequalities of physical and mental power,
disturb the exact balance of mutual influences among the
units; and the balance once disturbed, must inevitably be
lost. Whence, indeed, besides seeing that a body of men
absolutely homogeneous in their governmental relations, must,
like all other homogeneous bodies, become heterogeneous,
we also see that it must do this from the same ultimate cause—unequal
exposure of its parts to incident forces.
The first industrial divisions of societies are much more
obviously due to unlikenesses of external circumstances.
Such divisions are absent until such unlikenesses are established.
Nomadic tribes do not permanently expose any
groups of their members to special local conditions; nor does
a stationary tribe, when occupying only a small area, maintain
from generation to generation marked contrasts in the
local conditions of its members; and in such tribes there are
382no decided economical differentiations. But a community
which, growing populous, has overspread a large tract, and
has become so far settled that its members live and die in their
respective districts, keeps its several sections in different
physical circumstances; and then they no longer remain alike
in their occupations. Those who live dispersed continue to
hunt or cultivate the earth; those who spread to the sea-shore
fall into maritime occupations; while the inhabitants of some
spot chosen, perhaps for its centrality, as one of periodical
assemblage, become traders, and a town springs up. Each
of these classes undergoes a modification of character consequent
on its function, and better fitting it to its function.
Later in the process of social evolution these local adaptations
are greatly multiplied. A result of differences in
soil and climate, is that the rural inhabitants in different
parts of the kingdom have their occupations partially specialized;
and become respectively distinguished as chiefly producing
cattle, or sheep, or wheat, or oats, or hops, or cyder.
People living where coal-fields are discovered are transformed
into colliers; Cornishmen take to mining because Cornwall
is metalliferous; and the iron-manufacture is the dominant
industry where ironstone is plentiful. Liverpool
has assumed the office of importing cotton, in consequence of
its proximity to the district where cotton goods are made;
and for analogous reasons, Hull has become the chief port at
which foreign wools are brought in. Even in the establishment
of breweries, of dye-works, of slate-quarries, of brickyards,
we may see the same truth. So that both in general
and in detail, the specializations of the social organism which
characterize separate districts, primarily depend on local
circumstances. Those divisions of labour which under another
aspect were interpreted as due to the setting up of motion
in the directions of least resistance (§ 91), are here interpreted
as due to differences in the incident forces; and
the two interpretations are quite consistent with each
other. For that which in each case determines the direction
383of least resistance, is the distribution of the forces to be overcome;
and hence unlikenesses of distribution in separate
localities, entails unlikenesses in the course of human action
in those localities—entails industrial differentiations.
§ 115. In common with the general truths set forth in
preceding chapters, the instability of the homogeneous is demonstrable
à priori. It, like each of them, is a corollary from
the persistence of force. Already this has been tacitly implied
by assigning unlikeness in the exposure of its part to
surrounding agencies, as the reason why a uniform mass loses
its uniformity. But here it will be proper to expand this
tacit implication into definite proof.
On striking a mass of matter with such force as either to
indent it or make it fly to pieces, we see both that the blow
affects differently its different parts, and that the differences
are consequent on the unlike relations of its parts to the
force impressed. The part with which the striking body
comes in contact, receiving the whole of the communicated
momentum, is driven in towards the centre of the mass.
It thus compresses and tends to displace the more centrally
situated portions of the mass. These, however, cannot be
compressed or thrust out of their places without pressing on
all surrounding portions. And when the blow is violent
enough to fracture the mass, we see, in the radial dispersion
of its fragments, that the original momentum, in being distributed
throughout it, has been divided into numerous minor
momenta, unlike in their directions. We see that these directions
are determined by the positions of the parts with respect
to each other, and with respect to the point of impact.
We see that the parts are differently affected by the disruptive
force, because they are differently related to it in their
directions and attachments—that the effects being the joint
products of the cause and the conditions, cannot be alike in
parts which are differently conditioned. A body on
which radiant heat is falling, exemplifies this truth still more
384clearly. Taking the simplest case (that of a sphere) we see
that while the part nearest to the radiating centre receives
the rays at right angles, the rays strike the other parts of the
exposed side at all angles from 90° down to 0°. Again, the
molecular vibrations propagated through the mass from the
surface which receives the heat, must proceed inwards at angles
differing for each point. Further, the interior parts of
the sphere affected by the vibrations proceeding from all
points of the heated side, must be dissimilarly affected in proportion
as their positions are dissimilar. So that whether
they be on the recipient area, in the middle, or at the remote
side, the constituent atoms are all thrown into states of vibration
more or less unlike each other.
But now, what is the ultimate meaning of the conclusion
that a uniform force produces different changes throughout a
uniform mass, because the parts of the mass stand in different
relations to the force? Fully to understand this, we must
contemplate each part as simultaneously subject to other
forces—those of gravitation, of cohesion, of molecular motion,
&c. The effect wrought by an additional force, must be a
resultant of it and the forces already in action. If the forces
already in action on two parts of any aggregate, are different in
their directions, the effects produced on these two parts by like
forces must be different in their directions. Why must they be
different? They must be different because such unlikeness as
exists between the two sets of factors, is made by the presence
in the one of some specially-directed force that is not present
in the other; and that this force will produce an
effect, rendering the total result in the one case unlike that
in the other, is a necessary corollary from the persistence of
force. Still more manifest does it become that the dissimilarly-placed
parts of any aggregate must be dissimilarly
modified by an incident force, when we remember that the
quantities of the incident force to which they are severally
subject, are not equal, as above supposed; but are nearly always
very unequal. The outer parts of masses are usually
385alone exposed to chemical actions; and not only are their
inner parts shielded from the affinities of external elements,
but such affinities are brought to bear unequally on their
surfaces; since chemical action sets up currents through the
medium in which it takes place, and so brings to the various
parts of the surface unequal quantities of the active agent.
Again, the amounts of any external radiant force which the
different parts of an aggregate receive, are widely contrasted:
we have the contrast between the quantity falling on the
side next the radiating centre, and the quantity, or rather no
quantity, falling on the opposite side; we have contrasts in
the quantities received by differently-placed areas on the
exposed side; and we have endless contrasts between the
quantities received by the various parts of the interior. Similarly
when mechanical force is expended on any aggregate,
either by collision, continued pressure, or tension, the amounts
of strain distributed throughout the mass are manifestly
unlike for unlike positions. But to say the different parts of
an aggregate receive different quantities of any incident force,
is to say that their states are modified by it in different
degrees—is to say that if they were before homogeneous in
their relations they must be rendered to a proportionate
extent heterogeneous; since, force being persistent, the
different quantities of it falling on the different parts,
must work in them different quantities of effect—different
changes. Yet one more kindred deduction is required
to complete the argument. We may, by parallel reasoning,
reach the conclusion that, even apart from the action of any external
force, the equilibrium of a homogeneous aggregate must
be destroyed by the unequal actions of its parts on each other.
That mutual influence which produces aggregation (not to
mention other mutual influences) must work different effects
on the different parts; since they are severally exposed to it
in unlike amounts and directions. This will be clearly seen
on remembering that the portions of which the whole is made
up, may be severally regarded as minor wholes; that on each of
386these minor wholes, the action of the entire aggregate then
becomes an external incident force; that such external incident
force must, as above shown, work unlike changes in the
parts of any such minor whole; and that if the minor wholes
are severally thus rendered heterogeneous, the entire aggregate
is rendered heterogeneous.
The instability of the homogeneous is thus deducible from
that primordial truth which underlies our intelligence. One
stable homogeneity only, is hypothetically possible. If centres
of force, absolutely uniform in their powers, were diffused
with absolute uniformity through unlimited space, they would
remain in equilibrium. This however, though a verbally
intelligible supposition, is one that cannot be represented in
thought; since unlimited space is inconceivable. But all
finite forms of the homogeneous—all forms of it which we
can know or conceive, must inevitably lapse into heterogeneity.
In three several ways does the persistence of force
necessitate this. Setting external agencies aside, each unit
of a homogeneous whole must be differently affected from
any of the rest by the aggregate action of the rest upon it.
The resultant force exercised by the aggregate on each unit,
being in no two cases alike in both amount and direction, and
usually not in either, any incident force, even if uniform in
amount and direction, cannot produce like effects on the units.
And the various positions of the parts in relation to any incident
force, preventing them from receiving it in uniform
amounts and directions, a further difference in the effects
wrought on them is inevitably produced.
One further remark is needed. To the conclusion that
the changes with which Evolution commences, are thus necessitated,
remains to be added the conclusion that these
changes must continue. The absolutely homogeneous must
lose its equilibrium; and the relatively homogeneous must
lapse into the relatively less homogeneous. That which
is true of any total mass, is true of the parts into which
it segregates. The uniformity of each such part must
387as inevitably be lost in multiformity, as was that of the
original whole; and for like reasons. And thus the continued
changes which characterize Evolution, in so far as they are
constituted by the lapse of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous,
and of the less heterogeneous into the more heterogeneous,
are necessary consequences of the persistence of
force.
388
§ 116. To the cause of increasing complexity set forth in
the last chapter, we have in this chapter to add another.
Though secondary in order of time, it is scarcely secondary in
order of importance. Even in the absence of the cause
already assigned, it would necessitate a change from the
homogeneous to the heterogeneous; and joined with it, it
makes this change both more rapid and more involved. To
come in sight of it, we have but to pursue a step further,
that conflict between force and matter already delineated.
Let us do this.
When a uniform aggregate is subject to a uniform force,
we have seen that its constituents, being differently conditioned,
are differently modified. But while we have contemplated
the various parts of the aggregate as thus undergoing
unlike changes, we have not yet contemplated the unlike
changes simultaneously produced on the various parts of the
incident force. These must be as numerous and important as
the others. Action and re-action being equal and opposite, it
follows that in differentiating the parts on which it falls in
unlike ways, the incident force must itself be correspondingly
differentiated. Instead of being as before, a uniform
force, it must thereafter be a multiform force—a group of
dissimilar forces. A few illustrations will make this truth
manifest.
389A single force is divided by conflict with matter into
forces that widely diverge. In the case lately cited, of a
body shattered by violent collision, besides the change of the
homogeneous mass into a heterogeneous group of scattered
fragments, there is a change of the homogeneous momentum
into a group of momenta, heterogeneous in both amounts
and directions. Similarly with the forces we know as light
and heat. After the dispersion of these by a radiating body
towards all points, they are re-dispersed towards all points
by the bodies on which they fall. Of the Sun’s rays, issuing
from him on every side, some few strike the Moon.
These being reflected at all angles from the Moon’s surface,
some few of them strike the Earth. By a like
process the few which reach the Earth are again diffused
through surrounding space. And on each occasion,
such portions of the rays as are absorbed instead of reflected,
undergo refractions that equally destroy their
parallelism. More than this is true. By conflict
with matter, a uniform force is in part changed into forces
differing in their directions; and in part it is changed into
forces differing in their kinds. When one body is struck
against another, that which we usually regard as the effect,
is a change of position or motion in one or both bodies. But
a moment’s thought shows that this is a very incomplete
view of the matter. Besides the visible mechanical result,
sound is produced; or, to speak accurately, a vibration in
one or both bodies, and in the surrounding air: and under
some circumstances we call this the effect. Moreover, the
air has not simply been made to vibrate, but has had currents
raised in it by the transit of the bodies. Further, if there is
not that great structural change which we call fracture, there
is a disarrangement of the particles of the two bodies around
their point of collision; amounting in some cases to a visible
condensation. Yet more, this condensation is accompanied
by disengagement of heat. In some cases a spark—that is,
light—results, from the incandescence of a portion struck
390off; and occasionally this incandescence is associated with
chemical combination. Thus, by the original mechanical
force expended in the collision, at least five, and often more,
different kinds of forces have been produced. Take, again,
the lighting of a candle. Primarily, this is a chemical
change consequent on a rise of temperature. The process of
combination having once been set going by extraneous heat,
there is a continued formation of carbonic acid, water, &c.—in
itself a result more complex than the extraneous heat that
first caused it. But along with this process of combination
there is a production of heat; there is a production of light;
there is an ascending column of hot gases generated; there
are currents established in the surrounding air. Nor does
the decomposition of one force into many forces end here.
Each of the several changes worked becomes the parent of
further changes. The carbonic acid formed, will by and by
combine with some base; or under the influence of sunshine
give up its carbon to the leaf of a plant. The water will
modify the hygrometric state of the air around; or, if the
current of hot gases containing it come against a cold body,
will be condensed: altering the temperature, and perhaps
the chemical state, of the surface it covers. The heat given
out melts the subjacent tallow, and expands whatever it
warms. The light, falling on various substances, calls forth
from them reactions by which it is modified; and so divers
colours are produced. Similarly even with these secondary
actions, which may be traced out into ever-multiplying
ramifications, until they become too minute to be appreciated.
Universally, then, the effect is more complex
than the cause. Whether the aggregate on which it falls be
homogeneous or otherwise, an incident force is transformed
by the conflict into a number of forces that differ in their
amounts, or directions, or kinds; or in all these respects.
And of this group of variously-modified forces, each ultimately
undergoes a like transformation.
Let us now mark how the process of evolution is furthered
391by this multiplication of effects. An incident force decomposed
by the reactions of a body into a group of unlike forces—a
uniform force thus reduced to a multiform force—becomes
the cause of a secondary increase of multiformity in
the body which decomposes it. In the last chapter we saw
that the several parts of an aggregate are differently modified
by any incident force. It has just been shown that by the
reactions of the differently modified parts, the incident force
itself must be divided into differently modified parts. Here
it remains to point out that each differentiated division of
the aggregate, thus becomes a centre from which a differentiated
division of the original force is again diffused. And
since unlike forces must produce unlike results, each of these
differentiated forces must produce, throughout the aggregate,
a further series of differentiations. This secondary
cause of the change from homogeneity to heterogeneity,
obviously becomes more potent in proportion as the heterogeneity
increases. When the parts into which any evolving
whole has segregated itself, have diverged widely in nature,
they will necessarily react very diversely on any incident
force—they will divide an incident force into so many
strongly contrasted groups of forces. And each of them becoming
the centre of a quite distinct set of influences, must
add to the number of distinct secondary changes wrought
throughout the aggregate. Yet another corollary
must be added. The number of unlike parts of which an
aggregate consists, as well as the degree of their unlikeness,
is an important factor in the process. Every additional
specialized division is an additional centre of specialized
forces. If a uniform whole, in being itself made multiform
by an incident force, makes the incident force multiform; if
a whole consisting of two unlike sections, divides an incident
force into two unlike groups of multiform forces; it is clear
that each new unlike section must be a further source of complication
among the forces at work throughout the mass—a
further source of heterogeneity. The multiplication of
392effects must proceed in geometrical progression. Each stage
of evolution must initiate a higher stage.
§ 117. The force of aggregation acting on irregular masses
of rare matter, diffused through a resisting medium, will not
cause such masses to move in straight lines to their common
centre of gravity; but, as before said, each will take a curvilinear
path, directed to one or other side of the centre of
gravity. All of them being differently conditioned, gravitation
will impress on each a motion differing in direction, in
velocity, and in the degree of its curvature—uniform aggregative
force will be differentiated into multiform momenta.
The process thus commenced, must go on till it produces a
single mass of nebulous matter; and these independent curvilinear
motions must result in a movement of this mass round
its axis: a simultaneous condensation and rotation in which
we see how two effects of the aggregative force, at first but
slightly divergent, become at last widely differentiated. A
gradual increase of oblateness in this revolving spheroid, must
take place through the joint action of these two forces, as the
bulk diminishes and the rotation grows more rapid; and this
we may set down as a third effect. The genesis of heat, which
must accompany augmentation of density, is a consequence
of yet another order—a consequence by no means simple;
since the various parts of the mass, being variously condensed,
must be variously heated. Acting throughout a gaseous
spheroid, of which the parts are unlike in their temperatures,
the forces of aggregation and rotation must work a further
series of changes: they must set up circulating currents,
both general and local. At a later stage light as well as heat
will be generated. Thus without dwelling on the likelihood
of chemical combinations and electric disturbances, it is sufficiently
manifest that, supposing matter to have originally
existed in a diffused state, the once uniform force which
caused its aggregation, must have become gradually divided
into different forces; and that each further stage of complication
393in the resulting aggregate, must have initiated further
subdivisions of this force—a further multiplication of effects,
increasing the previous heterogeneity.
This section of the argument may however be adequately
sustained, without having recourse to any such hypothetical
illustrations as the foregoing. The astronomical attributes
of the Earth, will even alone suffice our purpose. Consider
first the effects of its momentum round its axis. There is the
oblateness of its form; there is the alternation of day and
night; there are certain constant marine currents; and
there are certain constant aërial currents. Consider next
the secondary series of consequences due to the divergence
of the Earth’s plane of rotation from the plane of its orbit.
The many differences of the seasons, both simultaneous
and successive, which pervade its surface, are thus caused.
External attraction acting on this rotating oblate spheroid
with inclined axis, produces the motion called nutation, and
that slower and larger one from which follows the precession of
the equinoxes, with its several sequences. And then by this
same force are generated the tides, aqueous and atmospheric.
Perhaps, however, the simplest way of showing the multiplication
of effects among phenomena of this order, will be to
set down the influences of any member of the Solar System on
the rest. A planet directly produces in neighbouring planets
certain appreciable perturbations, complicating those otherwise
produced in them; and in the remoter planets it directly
produces certain less visible perturbations. Here is a first
series of effects. But each of the perturbed planets is itself a
source of perturbations—each directly affects all the others.
Hence, planet A having drawn planet B out of the position
it would have occupied in A’s absence, the perturbations
which B causes are different from what they would else
have been; and similarly with C, D, E, &c. Here then is a
secondary series of effects: far more numerous though far
smaller in their amounts. As these indirect perturbations
must to some extent modify the movements of each planet,
394there results from them a tertiary series; and so on continually.
Thus the force exercised by any planet works a different
effect on each of the rest; this different effect is from
each as a centre partially broken up into minor different
effects on the rest; and so on in ever multiplying and diminishing
waves throughout the entire system.
§ 118. If the Earth was formed by the concentration of
diffused matter, it must at first have been incandescent; and
whether the nebular hypothesis be accepted or not, this original
incandescence of the Earth must now be regarded as inductively
established—or, if not established, at least rendered
so probable that it is a generally admitted geological doctrine.
Several results of the gradual cooling of the Earth—as the
formation of a crust, the solidification of sublimed elements,
the precipitation of water, &c., have been already noticed—and
I here again refer to them merely to point out that they
are simultaneous effects of the one cause, diminishing heat.
Let us now, however, observe the multiplied changes afterwards
arising from the continuance of this one cause. The
Earth, falling in temperature, must contract. Hence the solid
crust at any time existing, is presently too large for the
shrinking nucleus; and being unable to support itself, inevitably
follows the nucleus. But a spheroidal envelope cannot
sink down into contact with a smaller internal spheroid, without
disruption: it will run into wrinkles, as the rind of an
apple does when the bulk of its interior decreases from evaporation.
As the cooling progresses and the envelope thickens,
the ridges consequent on these contractions must become
greater; rising ultimately into hills and mountains; and the
later systems of mountains thus produced must not only be
higher, as we find them to be, but they must be longer, as we
also find them to be. Thus, leaving out of view other modifying
forces, we see what immense heterogeneity of surface
arises from the one cause, loss of heat—a heterogeneity which
the telescope shows us to be paralleled on the Moon, where aqueous
395and atmospheric agencies have been absent. But
we have yet to notice another kind of heterogeneity of
surface, similarly and simultaneously caused. While the
Earth’s crust was still thin, the ridges produced by its contraction
must not only have been small, but the tracts between
them must have rested with comparative smoothness on the
subjacent liquid spheroid; and the water in those arctic and
antarctic regions where it first condensed, must have been
evenly distributed. But as fast as the crust grew thicker
and gained corresponding strength, the lines of fracture from
time to time caused in it, necessarily occurred at greater distances
apart; the intermediate surfaces followed the contracting
nucleus with less uniformity; and there consequently
resulted larger areas of land and water. If any one, after
wrapping an orange in wet tissue paper, and observing both
how small are the wrinkles and how evenly the intervening
spaces lie on the surface of the orange, will then wrap it in
thick cartridge-paper, and note both the greater height of the
ridges and the larger spaces throughout which the paper does
not touch the orange, he will realize the fact, that as the
Earth’s solid envelope thickened, the areas of elevation and
depression became greater. In place of islands more or less
homogeneously scattered over an all-embracing sea, there must
have gradually arisen heterogeneous arrangements of continent
and ocean, such as we now know. This double
change in the extent and in the elevation of the lands, involved
yet another species of heterogeneity—that of coast-line.
A tolerably even surface raised out of the ocean will have a
simple, regular sea-margin; but a surface varied by table-lands
and intersected by mountain-chains, will, when raised
out of the ocean, have an outline extremely irregular, alike
in its leading features and in its details. Thus endless is the
accumulation of geological and geographical results slowly
brought about by this one cause—the escape of the Earth’s
primitive heat.
When we pass from the agency which geologists term igneous,
396to aqueous and atmospheric agencies, we see a like
ever-growing complication of effects. The denuding actions
of air and water have, from the beginning, been modifying
every exposed surface: everywhere working many different
changes. As already shown (§ 80) the original source of those
gaseous and fluid motions which effect denudation, is the solar
heat. The transformation of this into various modes of force,
according to the nature and condition of the matter on which
it falls, is the first stage of complication. The sun’s rays,
striking at all angles a sphere, that from moment to moment
presents and withdraws different parts of its surface, and each
of them for a different time daily throughout the year, would
produce a considerable variety of changes even were the
sphere uniform. But falling as they do on a sphere surrounded
by an atmosphere in some parts of which wide areas
of cloud are suspended, and which here unveils vast tracts of
sea, there of level land, there of mountains, there of snow and
ice, they initiate in its several parts countless different movements.
Currents of air of all sizes, directions, velocities, and
temperatures, are set up; as are also marine currents similarly
contrasted in their characters. In this region the surface
is giving off water in the state of vapour; in that, dew
is being precipitated; and in the other rain is descending—differences
that arise from the ever-changing ratio between
the absorption and radiation of heat in each place. At one
hour, a rapid fall in temperature leads to the formation of ice,
with an accompanying expansion throughout the moist
bodies frozen; while at another, a thaw unlocks the dislocated
fragments of these bodies. And then, passing to a second
stage of complication, we see that the many kinds of motion
directly or indirectly caused by the sun’s rays, severally produce
results that vary with the conditions. Oxidation,
drought, wind, frost, rain, glaciers, rivers, waves, and other
denuding agents effect disintegrations that are determined in
their amounts and qualities by local circumstances. Acting
upon a tract of granite, such agents here work scarcely an
397appreciable effect; there cause exfoliations of the surface, and
a resulting heap of débris and boulders; and elsewhere, after
decomposing the feldspar into a white clay, carry away this
with the accompanying quartz and mica, and deposit them
in separate beds, fluviatile and marine. When the exposed
land consists of several unlike formations, sedimentary and
igneous, changes proportionably more heterogeneous are
wrought. The formations being disintegrable in different degrees,
there follows an increased irregularity of surface. The
areas drained by different rivers being differently constituted,
these rivers carry down to the sea unlike combinations of
ingredients; and so sundry new strata of distinct composition
arise. And here indeed we may see very simply illustrated,
the truth, that the heterogeneity of the effects increases in a
geometrical progression, with the heterogeneity of the object
acted upon. A continent of complex structure, presenting
many strata irregularly distributed, raised to various levels,
tilted up at all angles, must, under the same denuding agencies,
give origin to immensely multiplied results: each district
must be peculiarly modified; each river must carry
down a distinct kind of detritus; each deposit must be differently
distributed by the entangled currents, tidal and other,
which wash the contorted shores; and every additional complication
of surface must be the cause of more than one additional
consequence. But not to dwell on these, let us,
for the fuller elucidation of this truth in relation to the inorganic
world, consider what would presently follow from some
extensive cosmical revolution—say the subsidence of Central
America. The immediate results of the disturbance would
themselves be sufficiently complex. Besides the numberless
dislocations of strata, the ejections of igneous matter, the
propagation of earthquake vibrations thousands of miles
around, the loud explosions, and the escape of gases, there
would be the rush of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans to supply
the vacant space, the subsequent recoil of enormous
waves, which would traverse both these oceans and produce
398myriads of changes along their shores, the corresponding atmospheric
waves complicated by the currents surrounding each
volcanic vent, and the electrical discharges with which such
disturbances are accompanied. But these temporary effects
would be insignificant compared with the permanent ones.
The complex currents of the Atlantic and Pacific would be
altered in directions and amounts. The distribution of heat
achieved by these currents would be different from what it is.
The arrangement of the isothermal lines, not only on the
neighbouring continents, but even throughout Europe, would
be changed. The tides would flow differently from what
they do now. There would be more or less modification of
the winds in their periods, strengths, directions, qualities.
Rain would fall scarcely anywhere at the same times and in
the same quantities as at present. In short, the meteorological
conditions thousands of miles off, on all sides, would be
more or less revolutionized. In these many changes, each of
which comprehends countless minor ones, the reader will see
the immense heterogeneity of the results wrought out by one
force, when that force expends itself on a previously complicated
area; and he will readily draw the corollary that from
the beginning the complication has advanced at an increasing
rate.
§ 119. We have next to trace throughout organic evolution,
this same all-pervading principle. And here, where
the transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous
was first observed, the production of many changes by one
cause is least easy to demonstrate. The development of a seed
into a plant, or an ovum into an animal, is so gradual; while
the forces which determine it are so involved, and at the same
time so unobtrusive; that it is difficult to detect the multiplication
of effects which is elsewhere so obvious. Nevertheless,
by indirect evidence we may establish our proposition; spite
of the lack of direct evidence.
Observe, first, how numerous are the changes which any
399marked stimulus works on an adult organism—a human being,
for instance. An alarming sound or sight, besides impressions
on the organs of sense and the nerves, may produce a start, a
scream, a distortion of the face, a trembling consequent on
general muscular relaxation, a burst of perspiration, an excited
action of the heart, a rush of blood to the brain, followed
possibly by arrest of the heart’s action and by syncope; and
if the system be feeble, an illness with its long train of
complicated symptoms may set in. Similarly in cases of
disease. A minute portion of the small-pox virus introduced
into the system, will, in a severe case, cause, during the first
stage, rigors, heat of skin, accelerated pulse, furred tongue,
loss of appetite, thirst, epigastric uneasiness, vomiting, headache,
pains in the back and limbs, muscular weakness, convulsions,
delirium, &c.; in the second stage, cutaneous eruption,
itching, tingling, sore throat, swelled fauces, salivation,
cough, hoarseness, dyspnœa, &c.; and in the third stage,
œdematous inflammations, pneumonia, pleurisy, diarrhœa,
inflammation of the brain, ophthalmia, erysipelas, &c.: each
of which enumerated symptoms is itself more or less complex.
Medicines, special foods, better air, might in like manner be
instanced as producing multiplied results. Now it
needs only to consider that the many changes thus wrought
by one force on an adult organism, must be partially paralleled
in an embryo-organism, to understand how here also
the production of many effects by one cause is a source of
increasing heterogeneity. The external heat and other
agencies which determine the first complications of the germ,
will, by acting on these, superinduce further complications;
on these still higher and more numerous ones; and so on
continually: each organ as it is developed, serving, by its
actions and reactions on the rest, to initiate new complexities.
The first pulsations of the fœtal heart must simultaneously
aid the unfolding of every part. The growth of each tissue,
by taking from the blood special proportions of elements,
must modify the constitution of the blood; and so must
400modify the nutrition of all the other tissues. The distributive
actions, implying as they do a certain waste, necessitate an
addition to the blood of effete matters, which must influence
the rest of the system, and perhaps, as some think, initiate
the formation of excretory organs. The nervous connections
established among the viscera must further multiply their
mutual influences. And so with every modification of
structure—every additional part and every alteration in the
ratios of parts. Still stronger becomes the proof when
we call to mind the fact, that the same germ may be evolved
into different forms according to circumstances. Thus, during
its earlier stages, every embryo is sexless—becomes either
male or female as the balance of forces acting on it determines.
Again, it is well-known that the larva of a working-bee
will develop into a queen-bee, if, before a certain period,
its food be changed to that on which the larvæ of queen-bees
are fed. Even more remarkable is the case of certain
entozoa. The ovum of a tape-worm, getting into the intestine
of one animal, unfolds into the form of its parent; but
if carried into other parts of the system, or into the intestine
of some unlike animal, it becomes one of the sac-like creatures,
called by naturalists Cysticerci, or Cœnuri, or Echinococci—creatures
so extremely different from the tape-worm
in aspect and structure, that only after careful investigations
have they been proved to have the same origin.
All which instances imply that each advance in embryonic
complication results from the action of incident forces on the
complication previously existing. Indeed, the now
accepted doctrine of epigenesis necessitates the conclusion that
organic evolution proceeds after this manner. For since it is
proved that no germ, animal or vegetal, contains the slightest
rudiment, trace, or indication of the future organism—since
the microscope has shown us that the first process set up in
every fertilized germ is a process of repeated spontaneous
fissions, ending in the production of a mass of cells, not one
of which exhibits any special character; there seems no
401alternative but to conclude that the partial organization at
any moment subsisting in a growing embryo, is transformed
by the agencies acting on it into the succeeding phase of
organization, and this into the next, until, through ever-increasing
complexities, the ultimate form is reached.
Thus, though the subtlety of the forces and the
slowness of the metamorphosis, prevent us from directly
tracing the genesis of many changes by one cause, throughout
the successive stages which every embryo passes through;
yet, indirectly, we have strong evidence that this is a source
of increasing heterogeneity. We have marked how multitudinous
are the effects which a single agency may generate
in an adult organism; that a like multiplication of effects
must happen in the unfolding organism, we have inferred
from sundry illustrative cases; further, it has been pointed
out that the ability which like germs have to originate unlike
forms, implies that the successive transformations result
from the new changes superinduced on previous changes;
and we have seen that structureless as every germ originally
is, the development of an organism out of it is otherwise incomprehensible.
Doubtless we are still in the dark respecting
those mysterious properties which make the germ, when
subject to fit influences, undergo the special changes beginning
this series of transformations. All here contended is,
that given a germ possessing these mysterious properties, the
evolution of an organism from it depends, in part, on that
multiplication of effects which we have seen to be a cause of
evolution in general, so far as we have yet traced it.
When, leaving the development of single plants and animals,
we pass to that of the Earth’s flora and fauna, the
course of the argument again becomes clear and simple.
Though, as before admitted, the fragmentary facts Palæontology
has accumulated, do not clearly warrant us in saying
that, in the lapse of geologic time, there have been evolved
more heterogeneous organisms, and more heterogeneous
assemblages of organisms; yet we shall now see that there
402must ever have been a tendency towards these results. We
shall find that the production of many effects by one cause,
which, as already shown, has been all along increasing
the physical heterogeneity of the Earth, has further necessitated
an increasing heterogeneity in its flora and fauna,
individually and collectively. An illustration will make this
clear. Suppose that by a series of upheavals, occurring,
as they are now known to do, at long intervals, the East
Indian Archipelago were to be raised into a continent, and a
chain of mountains formed along the axis of elevation. By
the first of these upheavals, the plants and animals inhabiting
Borneo, Sumatra, New Guinea, and the rest, would be
subjected to slightly-modified sets of conditions. The climate
in general would be altered in temperature, in humidity, and
in its periodical variations; while the local differences would
be multiplied. These modifications would affect, perhaps
inappreciably, the entire flora and fauna of the region. The
change of level would produce additional modifications;
varying in different species, and also in different members of
the same species, according to their distance from the axis of
elevation. Plants, growing only on the sea-shore in special
localities, might become extinct. Others, living only in
swamps of a certain humidity, would, if they survived at all,
probably undergo visible changes of appearance. While
more marked alterations would occur in some of the
plants that spread over the lands newly raised above the
sea. The animals and insects living on these modified plants,
would themselves be in some degree modified by change of
food, as well as by change of climate; and the modification
would be more marked where, from the dwindling or disappearance
of one kind of plant, an allied kind was eaten. In
the lapse of the many generations arising before the next upheaval,
the sensible or insensible alterations thus produced in
each species, would become organized—in all the races that
survived there would be a more or less complete adaptation
to the new conditions. The next upheaval would superinduce
403further organic changes, implying wider divergences
from the primary forms; and so repeatedly. Now however
let it be observed that this revolution would not be a substitution
of a thousand modified species for the thousand
original species; but in place of the thousand original species
there would arise several thousand species, or varieties, or
changed forms. Each species being distributed over an area
of some extent, and tending continually to colonize the new
area exposed, its different members would be subject to different
sets of changes. Plants and animals migrating towards
the equator would not be affected in the same way
with others migrating from it. Those which spread towards
the new shores, would undergo changes unlike the changes
undergone by those which spread into the mountains. Thus,
each original race of organisms would become the root from
which diverged several races, differing more or less from it and
from each other; and while some of these might subsequently
disappear, probably more than one would survive in the next
geologic period: the very dispersion itself increasing the
chances of survival. Not only would there be certain modifications
thus caused by changes of physical conditions and
food; but also in some cases other modifications caused by
changes of habit. The fauna of each island, peopling, step
by step, the newly-raised tracts, would eventually come in
contact with the faunas of other islands; and some members
of these other faunas would be unlike any creatures before
seen. Herbivores meeting with new beasts of prey, would,
in some cases, be led into modes of defence or escape differing
from those previously used; and simultaneously the
beasts of prey would modify their modes of pursuit and
attack. We know that when circumstances demand it, such
changes of habit do take place in animals; and we know
that if the new habits become the dominant ones, they
must eventually in some degree alter the organization.
Observe now, however, a further consequence.
There must arise not simply a tendency towards the differentiation
404of each race of organisms into several races; but also
a tendency to the occasional production of a somewhat higher
organism. Taken in the mass, these divergent varieties,
which have been caused by fresh physical conditions and
habits of life, will exhibit alterations quite indefinite in kind
and degree; and alterations that do not necessarily constitute
an advance. Probably in most cases the modified type
will be not appreciably more heterogeneous than the original
one. But it must now and then occur, that some division of
a species, falling into circumstances which give it rather
more complex experiences, and demand actions somewhat
more involved, will have certain of its organs further differentiated
in proportionately small degrees—will become
slightly more heterogeneous. Hence, there will from time
to time arise an increased heterogeneity both of the Earth’s
flora and fauna, and of individual races included in them.
Omitting detailed explanations, and allowing for the qualifications
which cannot here be specified, it is sufficiently clear
that geological mutations have all along tended to complicate
the forms of life, whether regarded separately or collectively.
That multiplication of effects which has been a part-cause of
the transformation of the Earth’s crust from the simple into
the complex, has simultaneously led to a parallel transformation
of the Life upon its surface.[17]
The deduction here drawn from the established truths of
405geology and the general laws of life, gains immensely in weight
on finding it to be in harmony with an induction drawn from
direct experience. Just that divergence of many races from
one race, which we inferred must have been continually occurring
during geologic time, we know to have occurred during
the pre-historic and historic periods, in man and domestic
animals. And just that multiplication of effects which we
concluded must have been instrumental to the first, we see
has in a great measure wrought the last. Single causes, as
famine, pressure of population, war, have periodically led to
further dispersions of mankind and of dependent creatures:
each such dispersion initiating new modifications, new varieties
of type. Whether all the human races be or be not derived
from one stock, philology makes it clear that whole groups of
races, now easily distinguishable from each other, were originally
one race—that the diffusion of one race into different
climates and conditions of existence has produced many
altered forms of it. Similarly with domestic animals. Though
in some cases (as that of dogs) community of origin will perhaps
be disputed, yet in other cases (as that of the sheep or
the cattle of our own country) it will not be questioned that
local differences of climate, food, and treatment, have transformed
one original breed into numerous breeds, now become
so far distinct as to produce unstable hybrids. Moreover,
through the complication of effects flowing from single causes,
we here find, what we before inferred, not only an increase of
general heterogeneity, but also of special heterogeneity.
While of the divergent divisions and subdivisions of the human
race, many have undergone changes not constituting an
advance; others have become decidedly more heterogeneous.
The civilized European departs more widely from the vertebrate
archetype than does the savage.
§ 120. A sensation does not expend itself in arousing some
single state of consciousness; but the state of consciousness
aroused is made up of various represented sensations connected
406by co-existence, or sequence with the presented sensation.
And that, in proportion as the grade of intelligence is high,
the number of ideas suggested is great, may be readily inferred.
Let us, however, look at the proof that here too, each change
is the parent of many changes; and that the multiplication
increases in proportion as the area affected is complex.
Were some hitherto unknown bird, driven say by stress of
weather from the remote north, to make its appearance on
our shores, it would excite no speculation in the sheep or cattle
amid which it alighted: a perception of it as a creature
like those constantly flying about, would be the sole interruption
of that dull current of consciousness which accompanies
grazing and rumination. The cow-herd, by whom we
may suppose the exhausted bird to be presently caught, would
probably gaze at it with some slight curiosity, as being unlike
any he had before seen—would note its most conspicuous
markings, and vaguely ponder on the questions, where it
came from, and how it came. The village bird-stuffer would
have suggested to him by the sight of it, sundry forms to
which it bore a little resemblance; would receive from it more
numerous and more specific impressions respecting structure
and plumage; would be reminded of various instances of
birds brought by storms from foreign parts—would tell who
found them, who stuffed them, who bought them. Supposing
the unknown bird taken to a naturalist of the old school,
interested only in externals, (one of those described by the
late Edward Forbes, as examining animals as though they were
merely skins filled with straw,) it would excite in him a more
involved series of mental changes: there would be an elaborate
examination of the feathers, a noting of all their technical
distinctions, with a reduction of these perceptions to certain
equivalent written symbols; reasons for referring the new
form to a particular family, order, and genus would be sought
out and written down; communications with the secretary of
some society, or editor of some journal, would follow; and
probably there would be not a few thoughts about the addition
407of the ii to the describer’s name, to form the name of the
species. Lastly, in the mind of a comparative anatomist, such
a new species, should it happen to have any marked internal
peculiarity, might produce additional sets of changes—might
very possibly suggest modified views respecting the relationships
of the division to which it belonged; or, perhaps, alter
his conceptions of the homologies and developments of certain
organs; and the conclusions drawn might not improbably
enter as elements into still wider inquiries concerning the
origin of organic forms.
From ideas let us turn to emotions. In a young child, a
father’s anger produces little else than vague fear—a disagreeable
sense of impending evil, taking various shapes of physical
suffering or deprivation of pleasures. In elder children,
the same harsh words will arouse additional feelings: sometimes
a sense of shame, of penitence, or of sorrow for having
offended; at other times, a sense of injustice, and a
consequent anger. In the wife, yet a further range of feelings
may come into existence—perhaps wounded affection,
perhaps self-pity for ill-usage, perhaps contempt for groundless
irritability, perhaps sympathy for some suffering which
the irritability indicates, perhaps anxiety about an unknown
misfortune which she thinks has produced it. Nor are we
without evidence that among adults, the like differences of development
are accompanied by like differences in the number
of emotions that are aroused, in combination or rapid succession—the
lower natures being characterized by that impulsiveness
which results from the uncontrolled action of a few
feelings; and the higher natures being characterized by the
simultaneous action of many secondary feelings, modifying
those first awakened.
Possibly it will be objected that the illustrations here given,
are drawn from the functional changes of the nervous system,
not from its structural changes; and that what is proved
among the first, does not necessarily hold among the last.
This must be admitted. Those, however, who recognize the
408truth that the structural changes are the slowly accumulated
results of the functional changes, will readily draw the corollary,
that a part-cause of the evolution of the nervous system,
as of other evolution, is this multiplication of effects which
becomes ever greater as the development becomes higher.
§ 121. If the advance of Man towards greater heterogeneity
in both body and mind, is in part traceable to the production
of many effects by one cause, still more clearly may the
advance of Society towards greater heterogeneity be so explained.
Consider the growth of an industrial organization.
When, as must occasionally happen, some individual of a
tribe displays unusual aptitude for making an article of general
use (a weapon, for instance) which was before made by
each man for himself, there arises a tendency towards the
differentiation of that individual into a maker of weapons.
His companions (warriors and hunters all of them) severally
wish to have the best weapons that can be made; and are
therefore certain to offer strong inducements to this skilled
individual to make weapons for them. He, on the other hand,
having both an unusual faculty, and an unusual liking, for
making weapons (the capacity and the desire for any occupation
being commonly associated), is predisposed to fulfil
these commissions on the offer of adequate rewards: especially
as his love of distinction is also gratified. This first
specialization of function, once commenced, tends ever to become
more decided. On the side of the weapon-maker, continued
practice gives increased skill—increased superiority to
his products. On the side of his clients, cessation of practice
entails decreased skill. Thus the influences that determine
this division of labour grow stronger in both ways: this
social movement tends ever to become more decided in the
direction in which it was first set up; and the incipient
heterogeneity is, on the average of cases, likely to become
permanent for that generation, if no longer. Such a
process, besides differentiating the social mass into two parts,
409the one monopolizing, or almost monopolizing, the performance
of a certain function, and the other having lost the
habit, and in some measure the power, of performing that
function, has a tendency to initiate other differentiations. The
advance described implies the introduction of barter: the
maker of weapons has, on each occasion, to be paid in such
other articles as he agrees to take in exchange. Now he will
not habitually take in exchange one kind of article, but many
kinds. He does not want mats only, or skins, or fishing-gear;
but he wants all these; and on each occasion will bargain
for the particular things he most needs. What follows? If
among the members of the tribe there exist any slight differences
of skill in the manufacture of these various things, as
there are almost sure to do, the weapon-maker will take from
each one the thing which that one excels in making: he will
exchange for mats with him whose mats are superior, and
will bargain for the fishing-gear of whoever has the best.
But he who has bartered away his mats or his fishing-gear,
must make other mats or fishing-gear for himself; and in so
doing must, in some degree, further develop his aptitude.
Thus it results that the small specialities of faculty possessed
by various members of the tribe will tend to grow more decided.
If such transactions are from time to time repeated,
these specializations may become appreciable. And whether
or not there ensue distinct differentiations of other individuals
into makers of particular articles, it is clear that incipient
differentiations take place throughout the tribe: the one
original cause produces not only the first dual effect, but a
number of secondary dual effects, like in kind but minor in
degree. This process, of which traces may be seen
among groups of school-boys, cannot well produce a lasting
distribution of functions in an unsettled tribe; but where
there grows up a fixed and multiplying community, such
differentiations become permanent, and increase with each
generation. An addition to the number of citizens, involving
a greater demand for every commodity, intensifies the
410functional activity of each specialized person or class; and
this renders the specialization more definite where it already
exists, and establishes it where it is but nascent. By
increasing the pressure on the means of subsistence, a larger
population again augments these results; since every individual
is forced more and more to confine himself to that which
he can do best, and by which he can gain most. And this
industrial progress, by aiding future production, opens the
way for further growth of population, which reacts as before.
Presently, under the same stimuli, new occupations
arise. Competing workers, severally aiming to produce
improved articles, occasionally discover better processes
or better materials. In weapons and cutting-tools, the substitution
of bronze for stone entails on him who first makes it, a
great increase of demand—so great an increase that he presently
finds all his time occupied in making the bronze for the
articles he sells, and is obliged to depute the fashioning of
these articles to others; and eventually the making of bronze,
thus gradually differentiated from a pre-existing occupation,
becomes an occupation by itself. But now mark the ramified
changes which follow this change. Bronze soon replaces stone,
not only in the articles it was first used for, but in many others;
and so affects the manufacture of them. Further, it affects the
processes which such improved utensils subserve, and the resulting
products—modifies buildings, carvings, dress, personal
decorations. Yet again, it sets going sundry manufactures
which were before impossible, from lack of a material fit for
the requisite tools. And all these changes react on the people—increase
their manipulative skill, their intelligence, their
comfort—refine their habits and tastes.
It is out of the question here to follow through its successive
complications, this increasing social heterogeneity that
results from the production of many effects by one cause.
But leaving the intermediate phases of social development,
let us take an illustration from its passing phase. To trace
the effects of steam-power, in its manifold applications to
411mining, navigation, and manufactures, would carry us into
unmanageable detail. Let us confine ourselves to the latest
embodiment of steam-power—the locomotive engine. This,
as the proximate cause of our railway-system, has changed
the face of the country, the course of trade, and the habits of
the people. Consider, first, the complicated sets of changes
that precede the making of every railway—the provisional
arrangements, the meetings, the registration, the trial-section,
the parliamentary survey, the lithographed plans, the books
of reference, the local deposits and notices, the application to
Parliament, the passing Standing-Orders Committee, the first,
second, and third readings: each of which brief heads indicates
a multiplicity of transactions, and the further development
of sundry occupations, (as those of engineers, surveyors,
lithographers, parliamentary agents, share-brokers,) and the
creation of sundry others (as those of traffic-takers, reference-takers).
Consider, next, the yet more marked changes
implied in railway construction—the cuttings, em-bankings,
tunnellings, diversions of roads; the building of bridges and
stations; the laying down of ballast, sleepers, and rails; the
making of engines, tenders, carriages, and wagons: which
processes, acting upon numerous trades, increase the importation
of timber, the quarrying of stone, the manufacture of
iron, the mining of coal, the burning of bricks; institute a
variety of special manufactures weekly advertised in the
Railway Times; and call into being some new classes of
workers—drivers, stokers, cleaners, plate-layers, &c. &c.
Then come the changes, more numerous and involved still,
which railways in action produce on the community at large.
The organization of every business is more or less modified:
ease of communication makes it better to do directly what
was before done by proxy; agencies are established where
previously they would not have paid; goods are obtained
from remote wholesale houses instead of near retail ones; and
commodities are used which distance once rendered inaccessible.
The rapidity and small cost of carriage, tend to specialize
412more than ever the industries of different districts—to
confine each manufacture to the parts in which, from local
advantages, it can be best carried on. Economical distribution
equalizes prices, and also, on the average, lowers prices:
thus bringing divers articles within the means of those before
unable to buy them, and so increasing their comforts and
improving their habits. At the same time the practice of
travelling is immensely extended. Classes who before could
not afford it, take annual trips to the sea; visit their distant
relations; make tours; and so we are benefited in body,
feelings, and intellect. The more prompt transmission of
letters and of news produces further changes—makes the
pulse of the nation faster. Yet more, there arises a wide
dissemination of cheap literature through railway book-stalls,
and of advertisements in railway carriages: both of them
aiding ulterior progress. And the innumerable changes here
briefly indicated are consequent on the invention of the locomotive
engine. The social organism has been rendered more
heterogeneous, in virtue of the many new occupations introduced,
and the many old ones further specialized; prices in
all places have been altered; each trader has, more or less,
modified his way of doing business; and every person has
been affected in his actions, thoughts, emotions.
The only further fact demanding notice, is, that we here
see more clearly than ever, that in proportion as the area over
which any influence extends, becomes heterogeneous, the
results are in a yet higher degree multiplied in number and
kind. While among the primitive tribes to whom it was
first known, caoutchouc caused but few changes, among ourselves
the changes have been so many and varied that the
history of them occupies a volume. Upon the small, homogeneous
community inhabiting one of the Hebrides, the
electric telegraph would produce, were it used, scarcely any
results; but in England the results it produces are multitudinous.
Space permitting, the synthesis might here be pursued
413in relation to all the subtler products of social life. It might
be shown how, in Science, an advance of one division presently
advances other divisions—how Astronomy has been
immensely forwarded by discoveries in Optics, while other
optical discoveries have initiated Microscopic Anatomy, and
greatly aided the growth of Physiology—how Chemistry has
indirectly increased our knowledge of Electricity, Magnetism,
Biology, Geology—how Electricity has reacted on Chemistry
and Magnetism, developed our views of Light and Heat, and
disclosed sundry laws of nervous action. In Literature the
same truth might be exhibited in the still-multiplying forms
of periodical publications that have descended from the first
newspaper, and which have severally acted and reacted on
other forms of literature and on each other; or in the bias
given by each book of power to various subsequent books.
The influence which a new school of Painting (as that of the
pre-Raphaelites) exercises on other schools; the hints which
all kinds of pictorial art are deriving from Photography; the
complex results of new critical doctrines; might severally be
dwelt on as displaying the like multiplication of effects. But
it would needlessly tax the reader’s patience to detail, in
their many ramifications, these various changes: here become
so involved and subtle as to be followed with some
difficulty.
§ 122. After the argument which closed the last chapter, a
parallel one seems here scarcely required. For symmetry’s
sake, however, it will be proper briefly to point out how the
multiplication of effects, like the instability of the homogeneous,
is a corollary from the persistence of force.
Things which we call different are things which react in
different ways; and we can know them as different only by
the differences in their reactions. When we distinguish
bodies as hard and soft, rough and smooth, we simply mean
that certain like muscular forces expended on them are
followed by unlike sets of sensations—unlike re-active forces.
414Objects that are classed as red, blue, yellow, &c., are objects
that decompose light in strongly-contrasted ways; that is, we
know contrasts of colour as contrasts in the changes produced
in a uniform incident force. Manifestly, any two things
which do not work unequal effects on consciousness, either by
unequally opposing our own energies, or by impressing our
senses with unequally modified forms of certain external
energies, cannot be distinguished by us. Hence the proposition
that the different parts of any whole must react differently
on a uniform incident force, and must so reduce it to
a group of multiform forces, is in essence a truism. A
further step will reduce this truism to its lowest terms.
When, from unlikeness between the effects they produce
on consciousness, we predicate unlikeness between two objects,
what is our warrant? and what do we mean by the
unlikeness, objectively considered? Our warrant is the persistence
of force. Some kind or amount of change has been
wrought in us by the one, which has not been wrought by
the other. This change we ascribe to some force exercised by
the one which the other has not exercised. And we have no
alternative but to do this, or to assert that the change had
no antecedent; which is to deny the persistence of force.
Whence it is further manifest that what we regard as the
objective unlikeness is the presence in the one of some force,
or set of forces, not present in the other—something in the
kinds or amounts or directions of the constituent forces of the
one, which those of the other do not parallel. But now if
things or parts of things which we call different, are those of
which the constituent forces differ in one or more respects;
what must happen to any like forces, or any uniform force,
falling on them? Such like forces, or parts of a uniform
force, must be differently modified. The force which is present
in the one and not in the other, must be an element in
the conflict—must produce its equivalent reaction; and must
so affect the total reaction. To say otherwise is to say that
415this differential force will produce no effect; which is to say
that force is not persistent.
I need not develop this corollary further. It manifestly
follows that a uniform force, falling on a uniform aggregate,
must undergo dispersion; that falling on an aggregate
made up of unlike parts, it must undergo dispersion from
each part, as well as qualitative differentiations; that in proportion
as the parts are unlike, these qualitative differentiations
must be marked; that in proportion to the number of
the parts, they must be numerous; that the secondary forces
so produced, must undergo further transformations while
working equivalent transformations in the parts that change
them; and similarly with the forces they generate. Thus the
conclusions that a part-cause of Evolution is the multiplication
of effects; and that this increases in geometrical progression
as the heterogeneity becomes greater; are not only to be
established inductively, but are deducible from the deepest
of all truths.
416
§ 123. The general interpretation of Evolution is far from
being completed in the preceding chapters. We must contemplate
its changes under yet another aspect, before we can
form a definite conception of the process constituted by them.
Though the laws already set forth, furnish a key to the re-arrangement
of parts which Evolution exhibits, in so far as
it is an advance from the uniform to the multiform; they
furnish no key to this re-arrangement in so far as it is an
advance from the indefinite to the definite. On studying the
actions and re-actions everywhere going on, we have found
it to follow inevitably from a certain primordial truth, that
the homogeneous must lapse into the heterogeneous, and that
the heterogeneous must become more heterogeneous; but we
have not discovered why the differently-affected parts of any
simple whole, become clearly marked off from each other, at
the same time that they become unlike. Thus far no reason
has been assigned why there should not ordinarily arise a
vague chaotic heterogeneity, in place of that orderly heterogeneity
displayed in Evolution. It still remains to find out
the cause of that integration of parts which accompanies
their differentiation—that gradually-completed segregation
of like units into a group, distinctly separated from neighbouring
groups which are severally made up of other kinds
of units. The rationale will be conveniently introduced by a
417few instances in which we may watch this segregative process
taking place.
When towards the end of September, the trees are gaining
their autumn colours, and we are hoping shortly to see a
further change increasing still more the beauty of the landscape,
we are not uncommonly disappointed by the occurrence
of an equinoxial gale. Out of the mixed mass of
foliage on each branch, the strong current of air carries
away the decaying and brightly-tinted leaves, but fails to
detach those which are still green. And while these last,
frayed and seared by long-continued beatings against each
other, and the twigs around them, give a sombre colour to
the woods, the red and yellow and orange leaves are collected
together in ditches and behind walls and in corners where
eddies allow them to settle. That is to say, by the action of
that uniform force which the wind exerts on both kinds, the
dying leaves are picked out from among their still living companions
and gathered in places by themselves. Again, the
separation of particles of different sizes, as dust and sand
from pebbles, may be similarly effected; as we see on every
road in March. And from the days of Homer downwards,
the power of currents of air, natural and artificial, to part
from one another units of unlike specific gravities, has
been habitually utilized in the winnowing of chaff from
wheat. In every river we see how the mixed materials
carried down, are separately deposited—how in rapids
the bottom gives rest to nothing but boulders and pebbles;
how where the current is not so strong, sand is let fall; and
how, in still places, there is a sediment of mud. This selective
action of moving water, is commonly applied in the arts
to obtain masses of particles of different degrees of fineness.
Emery, for example, after being ground, is carried by a slow
current through successive compartments; in the first of
which the largest grains subside; in the second of which
the grains that reach the bottom before the water has
escaped, are somewhat smaller; in the third smaller still;
418until in the last there are deposited only those finest
particles which fall so slowly through the water, that they
have not previously been able to reach the bottom. And in
a way that is different though equally significant, this segregative
effect of water in motion, is exemplified in the carrying
away of soluble from insoluble matters—an application
of it hourly made in every laboratory. The effects of
the uniform forces which aerial and aqueous currents exercise,
are paralleled by those of uniform forces of other orders. Electric
attraction will separate small bodies from large, or light
bodies from heavy. By magnetism, grains of iron may be
selected from among other grains; as by the Sheffield
grinder, whose magnetized gauze mask filters out the steel-dust
which his wheel gives off, from the stone-dust that
accompanies it. And how the affinity of any agent acting
differently on the components of a given body, enables us to
take away some component and leave the rest behind, is
shown in almost every chemical experiment.
What now is the general truth here variously presented?
How are these several facts and countless similar ones, to be
expressed in terms that embrace them all? In each case we
see in action a force which may be regarded as simple or uniform—fluid
motion in a certain direction at a certain velocity;
electric or magnetic attraction of a given amount; chemical
affinity of a particular kind: or rather, in strictness, the acting
force is compounded of one of these and certain other
uniform forces, as gravitation, etc. In each case we have an
aggregate made up of unlike units—either atoms of different
substances combined or intimately mingled, or fragments of
the same substance of different sizes, or other constituent
parts that are unlike in their specific gravities, shapes, or
other attributes. And in each case these unlike units, or
groups of units, of which the aggregate consists, are, under
the influence of some resultant force acting indiscriminately
on them all, separated from each other—segregated
into minor aggregates, each consisting of units that are
419severally like each other and unlike those of the other minor
aggregates. Such being the common aspect of these changes,
let us look for the common interpretation of them.
In the chapter on “The Instability of the Homogeneous,”
it was shown that a uniform force falling on any aggregate,
produces unlike modifications in its different parts—turns the
uniform into the multiform and the multiform into the more
multiform. The transformation thus wrought, consists of
either insensible or sensible changes of relative position
among the units, or of both—either of those molecular re-arrangements
which we call chemical, or of those larger
transpositions which are distinguished as mechanical, or of
the two united. Such portion of the permanently effective
force as reaches each different part, or differently-conditioned
part, may be expended in modifying the mutual relations of
its constituents; or it may be expended in moving the part
to another place; or it may be expended partially in the first
and partially in the second. Hence, so much of the permanently
effective force as does not work the one kind of effect,
must work the other kind. It is manifest that if of the
permanently effective force which falls on some compound
unit of an aggregate, little, if any, is absorbed in re-arranging
the ultimate components of such compound unit, much
or the whole, must show itself in motion of such compound
unit to some other place in the aggregate; and conversely,
if little or none of this force is absorbed in generating mechanical
transposition, much or the whole must go to produce
molecular alterations. What now must follow
from this? In cases where none or only part of the force
generates chemical re-distributions, what physical re-distributions
must be generated? Parts that are similar to each
other will be similarly acted on by the force; and will similarly
react on it. Parts that are dissimilar will be dissimilarly
acted on by the force; and will dissimilarly react on
it. Hence the permanently effective incident force, when
wholly or partially transformed into mechanical motion
420of the units, will produce like motions in units that are
alike, and unlike motions in units that are unlike. If
then, in an aggregate containing two or more orders of mixed
units, those of the same order will be moved in the same way,
and in a way that differs from that in which units of other
orders are moved, the respective orders must segregate. A
group of like things on which are impressed motions that are
alike in amount and direction, must be transferred as a group
to another place, and if they are mingled with some group of
other things, on which the motions impressed are like each
other, but unlike those of the first group in amount or direction
or both, these other things must be transferred as a
group to some other place—the mixed aggregate must undergo
a simultaneous differentiation and integration.
In further elucidation of this process, it will be well here
to set down a few instances in which we may see that, other
things equal, the definiteness of the separation is in proportion
to the definiteness of the difference between the units.
Take a handful of any pounded substance, containing fragments
of all sizes; and let it fall to the ground while a
gentle breeze is blowing. The large fragments will be
collected together on the ground almost immediately under
the hand; somewhat smaller fragments will be carried a
little to the leeward; still smaller ones a little further; and
those minute particles which we call dust, will be drifted a
long way before they reach the earth: that is, the integration
is indefinite where the difference among the fragments is
indefinite, though the divergence is greatest where the
difference is greatest. If, again, the handful be made up of
quite distinct orders of units—as pebbles, coarse sand, and
dust—these will, under like conditions, be segregated with
comparative definiteness: the pebbles will drop almost vertically;
the sand will fall in an inclined direction, and deposit
itself within a tolerably circumscribed space beyond the
pebbles; while the dust will be blown almost horizontally to
a great distance. A case in which another kind of force
421comes into play, will still better illustrate this truth.
Through a mixed aggregate of soluble and insoluble substances,
let water slowly percolate. There will in the first
place be a distinct parting of the substances that are the most
widely contrasted in their relations to the acting forces: the
soluble will be carried away; the insoluble will remain behind.
Further, some separation, though a less definite one,
will be effected among the soluble substances; since the first
part of the current will remove the most soluble substances in
the largest amounts, and after these have been all dissolved,
the current will still continue to bring out the remaining less
soluble substances. Even the undissolved matters will have
simultaneously undergone a certain segregation; for the
percolating fluid will carry down the minute fragments from
among the large ones, and will deposit those of small specific
gravity in one place, and those of great specific gravity in
another. To complete the elucidation we must glance
at the obverse fact; namely, that mixed units which differ but
slightly, are moved in but slightly-different ways by incident
forces, and can therefore be separated only by such adjustments
of the incident forces as allow slight differences to become
appreciable factors in the result. This truth is made
manifest by antithesis in the instances just given; but it may
be made much more manifest by a few such instances as
those which chemical analysis supplies in abundance. The
parting of alcohol from water by distillation is a good one.
Here we have atoms consisting of oxygen and hydrogen,
mingled with atoms consisting of oxygen, hydrogen, and
carbon. The two orders of atoms have a considerable
similarity of nature: they similarly maintain a fluid form at
ordinary temperatures; they similarly become gaseous more
and more rapidly as the temperature is raised; and they boil
at points not very far apart. Now this comparative likeness
of the atoms is accompanied by difficulty in segregating
them. If the mixed fluid is unduly heated, much water distils
over with the alcohol: it is only within a narrow range
422of temperature, that the one set of atoms are driven off rather
than the others; and even then not a few of the others accompany
them. The most interesting and instructive
example, however, is furnished by certain phenomena of
crystallization. When several salts that have little analogy
of constitution, are dissolved in the same body of water, they
are separated without much trouble, by crystallization: their
respective units moved towards each other, as physicists suppose,
by polar forces, segregate into crystals of their respective
kinds. The crystals of each salt do, indeed, usually contain
certain small amounts of the other salts present in the
solution—especially when the crystallization has been rapid;
but from these other salts they are severally freed by repeated
resolutions and crystallizations. Mark now, however, that the
reverse is the case when the salts contained in the same body
of water are chemically homologous. The nitrates of baryta
and lead, or the sulphates of zinc, soda, and magnesia, unite
in the same crystals; nor will they crystallize separately if
these crystals be dissolved afresh, and afresh crystallized,
even with great care. On seeking the cause of this anomaly,
chemists found that such salts were isomorphous—that their
atoms, though not chemically identical, were identical in the
proportions of acid, base, and water, composing them, and in
their crystalline forms: whence it was inferred that their
atoms are nearly alike in structure. Thus is clearly illustrated
the truth, that units of unlike kinds are differentiated and
integrated with a readiness proportionate to the degree of
their unlikeness. In the first case we see that being dissimilar
in their forms, but similar in so far as they are
soluble in water of a certain temperature, the atoms segregate,
though imperfectly. In the second case we see that the
atoms, having not only the likeness implied by solubility in
the same menstruum, but also a great likeness of structure,
do not segregate—are differentiated and integrated only
under quite special conditions, and then very incompletely.
That is, the incident force of mutual polarity impresses unlike
423motions on the mixed units in proportion as they are unlike;
and therefore, in proportion as they are unlike, tends to deposit
them in separate places.
There is a converse cause of segregation, which it is needless
here to treat of with equal fulness. If different units
acted on by the same force, must be differently moved; so,
too, must units of the same kind be differently moved by
different forces. Supposing some group of units forming part
of a homogeneous aggregate, are unitedly exposed to a force
that is unlike in amount or direction to the force acting on
the rest of the aggregate; then this group of units will
separate from the rest, provided that, of the force so acting
on it, there remains any portion not dissipated in molecular
vibrations, nor absorbed in producing molecular re-arrangements.
After all that has been said above, this proposition
needs no defence.
Before ending our preliminary exposition, a complementary
truth must be specified; namely, that mixed forces
are segregated by the reaction of uniform matters, just as
mixed matters are segregated by the action of uniform
forces. Of this truth a complete and sufficient illustration
is furnished by the dispersion of refracted light. A beam
of light, made up of ethereal undulations of different orders,
is not uniformly deflected by a homogeneous refracting
body; but the different orders of undulations it contains, are
deflected at different angles: the result being that these
different orders of undulations are separated and integrated,
and so produce what we know as the colours of the spectrum.
A segregation of another kind occurs when rays of light
traverse an obstructing medium. Those rays which consist
of comparatively short undulations, are absorbed before those
which consist of comparatively long ones; and the red rays,
which consist of the longest undulations, alone penetrate
when the obstruction is very great. How, conversely, there
is produced a separation of like forces by the reaction of unlike
matters, is also made manifest by the phenomena of
424refraction: since adjacent and parallel beams of light, falling
on, and passing through, unlike substances, are made to
diverge.
§ 124. On the assumption of their nebular origin, stars and
planets exemplify that cause of material integration last
assigned—the action of unlike forces on like units.
In a preceding chapter (§ 110) we saw that if matter
ever existed in a diffused form, it could not continue uniformly
distributed, but must break up into masses. It was
shown that in the absence of a perfect balance of mutual attractions
among atoms dispersed through unlimited space,
there must arise breeches of continuity throughout the aggregate
formed by them, and a concentration of it towards
centres of dominant attraction. Where any such breech of
continuity occurs, and the atoms that were before adjacent
separate from each other; they do so in consequence of a
difference in the forces to which they are respectively subject.
The atoms on the one side of the breech are exposed
to a certain surplus attraction in the direction in which they
begin to move; and those on the other to a surplus attraction
in the opposite direction. That is, the adjacent groups
of like units are exposed to unlike resultant forces; and accordingly
separate and integrate.
The formation and detachment of a nebulous ring, illustrates
the same general principle. To conclude, as Laplace
did, that the equatorial portion of a rotating nebulous
spheroid, will, during concentration, acquire a centrifugal
force sufficient to prevent it from following the rest of the
contracting mass, is to conclude that such portions will
remain behind as are in common subject to a certain differential
force. The line of division between the ring and
the spheroid, must be a line inside of which the aggregative
force is greater than the force resisting aggregation; and
outside of which the force resisting aggregation is greater
than the aggregative force. Hence the alleged process
425conforms to the law that among like units, separation and
integration is produced by the action of unlike forces.
Astronomical phenomena do not furnish any other than
these hypothetical examples. In its present comparatively
settled condition, the Solar System exhibits no direct evidence
of progressing integration: unless indeed under the
insignificant form of the union of meteoric masses with the
Earth, and, occasionally perhaps, of cometary matter with
the Sun.
§ 125. Those geologic changes usually classed as aqueous,
display under numerous forms the segregation of unlike
units by a uniform incident force. On sea-shores, the waves
are ever sorting-out and separating the mixed materials
against which they break. From each mass of fallen cliff,
the rising and ebbing tide carries away all those particles
which are so small as to remain long suspended in the
water; and, at some distance from shore, deposits them in
the shape of fine sediment. Large particles, sinking with
comparative rapidity, are accumulated into beds of sand
near low water-mark. The coarse grit and small pebbles
collect together on the incline up which the breakers rush.
And on the top lie the larger stones and boulders. Still
more specific segregations may occasionally be observed.
Flat pebbles, produced by the breaking down of laminated
rock, are sometimes separately collected in one part of a
shingle bank. On this shore the deposit is wholly of mud;
on that it is wholly of sand. Here we find a sheltered cove
filled with small pebbles almost of one size; and there, in a
curved bay one end of which is more exposed than the other,
we see a progressive increase in the massiveness of the stones
as we walk from the less exposed to the more exposed end.
Indeed, our sedimentary strata form one vast series of illustrations
of the alleged law. Trace the history of each deposit,
and we are quickly led down to the fact, that mixed
fragments of matter, differing in their sizes or weights, are,
426when exposed to the momentum and friction of water, joined
with the attraction of the Earth, selected from each other,
and united into groups of comparatively like fragments.
We see that, other things equal, the separation is definite in
proportion as the differences of the units are marked; and
that, under the action of the same aggregate of forces, the
most widely unlike units are most widely removed from each
other.
Among igneous changes we do not find so many examples
of the process described. When specifying the conditions
to Evolution, it was pointed out (§ 104) that molecular
vibration exceeding a certain intensity, does not permit those
integrations which result from the action of minor differential
forces. Nevertheless, geological phenomena of this
order are not barren of illustrations. Where the mixed
matters composing the Earth’s crust have been raised to a
very high temperature, segregation habitually takes place
as the temperature diminishes. Sundry of the substances
that escape in a gaseous form from volcanoes, sublime into
crystals on coming against cool surfaces; and solidifying, as
these substances do, at different temperatures, they are deposited
at different parts of the crevices through which they
are emitted together. The best illustration, however, is
furnished by the changes that occur during the slow cooling
of igneous rock. When, through one of the fractures from
time to time made in the solid shell which forms the Earth’s
crust, a portion of the molten nucleus is extruded; and when
this is cooled with comparative rapidity, through free radiation
and contact with cold masses; it forms a substance
known as trap or basalt—a substance that is uniform in
texture, though made up of various ingredients. But when,
not escaping through the superficial strata, such a portion of
the molten nucleus is slowly cooled, it becomes what we
know as granite: the mingled particles of quartz, feldspar,
and mica, being kept for a long time in a fluid and semi-fluid
state—a state of comparative mobility—undergo those
427changes of position which the forces impressed on them by
their fellow units necessitate. Having time in which to
generate the requisite motions of the atoms, the differential
forces arising from mutual polarity, segregate the quartz,
feldspar, and mica, into crystals. How completely this is dependent
on the long-continued agitation of the mixed particles,
and consequent long-continued mobility by small differential
forces, is proved by the fact that in granite dykes,
the crystals in the centre of the mass, where the fluidity or
semi-fluidity continued for a longer time, are much larger
than those at the sides, where contact with the neighbouring
rock caused more rapid cooling and solidification.
§ 126. The actions going on throughout an organism are so
involved and subtle, that we cannot expect to identify the particular
forces by which particular integrations are effected.
Among the few instances admitting of tolerably definite interpretation,
the best are those in which mechanical pressures
and tensions are the agencies at work. We shall discover
several on studying the bony frame of the higher animals.
The vertebral column of a man, is subject, as a whole, to
certain general strains—the weight of the body, together
with the reactions involved by all considerable muscular
efforts; and in conformity with this, it has a certain general
integration. At the same time, being exposed to different
forces in the course of those lateral bendings which the
movements necessitate, its parts retain a certain separateness.
And if we trace up the development of the vertebral column
from its primitive form of a cartilaginous cord in the lowest
fishes, we see that, throughout, it maintains an integration
corresponding to the unity of the incident forces, joined with
a division into segments corresponding to the variety of
the incident forces. Each segment, considered apart,
exemplifies the truth more simply. A vertebra is not a single
bone, but consists of a central mass with sundry appendages
or processes; and in rudimentary types of vertebræ,
428those appendages are quite separate from the central mass,
and, indeed, exist before it makes its appearance. But these
several independent bones, constituting a primitive spinal
segment, are subject to a certain aggregate of forces
which agree more than they differ: as the fulcrum to
a group of muscles habitually acting together, they perpetually
undergo certain reactions in common. And accordingly,
we see that in the course of development they
gradually coalesce. Still clearer is the illustration
furnished by spinal segments that become fused together
where they are together exposed to some predominant strain.
The sacrum consists of a group of vertebræ firmly united.
In the ostrich and its congeners there are from seventeen to
twenty sacral vertebræ; and besides being confluent with each
other, these are confluent with the iliac bones, which run on
each side of them. If now we assume these vertebræ to have
been originally separate, as they still are in the embryo bird;
and if we consider the mechanical conditions to which they
must in such case have been exposed; we shall see that their
union results in the alleged way. For through these vertebræ
the entire weight of the body is transferred to the legs: the
legs support the pelvic arch; the pelvic arch supports the
sacrum; and to the sacrum is articulated the rest of the
spine, with all the limbs and organs attached to it. Hence,
if separate, the sacral vertebræ must be held firmly together
by strongly-contracted muscles; and must, by implication, be
prevented from partaking in those lateral movements which
the other vertebræ undergo—they must be subject to a common
strain, while they are preserved from strains which
would affect them differently; and so they fulfil the conditions
under which integration occurs. But the cases
in which cause and effect are brought into the most obvious
relation, are supplied by the limbs. The metacarpal bones
(those which in man support the palm of the hand) are separate
from each other in the majority of mammalia: the separate
actions of the toes entailing on them slight amounts of
429separate movements. This is not so however in the ox-tribe
and the horse-tribe. In the ox-tribe, only the middle metacarpals
(third and fourth) are developed; and these, attaining
massive proportions, coalesce to form the cannon bone.
In the horse-tribe, the integration is what we may distinguish
as indirect: the second and fourth metacarpals are
present only as rudiments united to the sides of the third,
while the third is immensely developed; thus forming a
cannon bone which differs from that of the ox in being a
single cylinder, instead of two cylinders fused together.
The metatarsus in these quadrupeds exhibits parallel
changes. Now each of these metamorphoses occurs where
the different bones grouped together have no longer any
different functions, but retain only a common function. The
feet of oxen and horses are used solely for locomotion—are
not put like those of unguiculate mammals to purposes
which involve some relative movements of the metacarpals.
Thus there directly or indirectly results a single mass of bone
where the incident force is single. And for the inference
that these facts have a causal connexion, we find confirmation
throughout the entire class of birds; in the wings
and legs of which, like integrations are found under like
conditions. While this sheet is passing through the
press, a fact illustrating this general truth in a yet more
remarkable manner, has been mentioned to me by Prof.
Huxley; who kindly allows me to make use of it while still
unpublished by him. The Glyptodon, an extinct mammal
found fossilized in South America, has long been known as a
large uncouth creature allied to the Armadillo, but having a
massive dermal armour consisting of polygonal plates closely
fitted together so as to make a vast box, inclosing the body
in such way as effectually to prevent it from being bent,
laterally or vertically, in the slightest degree. This bony
box, which must have weighed several hundred-weight, was
supported on the spinous processes of the vertebræ, and on
the adjacent bones of the pelvic and thoracic arches. And
430the significant fact now to be noted, is, that here, where the
trunk vertebræ were together exposed to the pressure of this
heavy dermal armour, at the same time that, by its rigidity,
they were preserved from all relative movements, the entire
series of them were united into one solid, continuous bone.
The formation and maintenance of a species, considered
as an assemblage of similar organisms, is interpretable in
an analogous way. We have already seen that in so far as
the members of a species are subject to different sets of incident
forces, they are differentiated, or divided into varieties.
And here it remains to add that in so far as they are subject
to like sets of incident forces, they are integrated, or reduced
to, and kept in, the state of a uniform aggregate. For by the
process of “natural selection,” there is a continual purification
of each species from those individuals which depart
from the common type in ways that unfit them for the conditions
of their existence. Consequently, there is a continual
leaving behind of those individuals which are in all respects
fit for the conditions of their existence; and are therefore
very nearly alike. The circumstances to which any species
is exposed, being, as we before saw, an involved combination
of incident forces; and the members of the species having
mixed with them some that differ more than usual from the
average structure required for meeting these forces; it results
that these forces are constantly separating such divergent
individuals from the rest, and so preserving the uniformity
of the rest—keeping up its integrity as a species.
Just as the changing autumn leaves are picked out by the
wind from among the green ones around them, or just as,
to use Prof. Huxley’s simile, the smaller fragments pass
through the sieve while the larger are kept back; so, the
uniform incidence of external forces affects the members of a
group of organisms similarly in proportion as they are similar,
and differently in proportion as they are different; and thus is
ever segregating the like by parting the unlike from them.
Whether these separated members are killed off, as mostly
431happens, or whether, as otherwise happens, they survive and
multiply into a distinct variety, in consequence of their
fitness to certain partially unlike conditions, matters not to
the argument. The one case conforms to the law, that the
unlike units of an aggregate are differentiated and integrated
when uniformly subject to the same incident forces;
and the other to the converse law, that the like units of an
aggregate are differentiated and integrated when subject to
different incident forces. And on consulting Mr. Darwin’s
remarks on divergence of character, it will be seen that the
segregations thus caused tend ever to become more definite.
§ 127. Mental evolution under one of its leading aspects,
we found to consist in the formation of groups of like objects
and like relations—a differentiation of the various
things originally confounded together in one assemblage,
and an integration of each separate order of things into a
separate group (§ 113). Here it remains to point out that
while unlikeness in the incident forces is the cause of such
differentiations, likeness in the incident forces is the cause of
such integrations. For what is the process through which
classifications are established? At first, in common with
the uninitiated, the botanist recognizes only such conventional
divisions as those which agriculture has established—distinguishes
a few vegetables and cereals, and groups the
rest together into the one miscellaneous aggregate of wild
plants. How do these wild plants become grouped in his mind
into orders, genera, and species? Each plant he examines
yields him a certain complex impression. Every now and
then he picks up a plant like one before seen; and the recognition
of it is the production in him of a like connected
group of sensations, by a like connected group of attributes.
That is to say, there is produced throughout the nerves concerned,
a combined set of changes, similar to a combined set
of changes before produced. Considered analytically, each
such combined set of changes is a combined set of molecular
432modifications wrought in the affected part of the organism.
On every repetition of the impression, a like combined set of
molecular modifications is superposed on the previous ones,
and makes them greater: thus generating an internal idea
corresponding to these similar external objects. Meanwhile,
another kind of plant produces in the brain of the botanist
another set of combined changes or molecular modifications—a
set which does not agree with and deepen the one we
have been considering, but disagrees with it; and by repetition
of such there is generated a different idea answering to
a different species. What now is the nature of this
process expressed in general terms? On the one hand there
are the like and unlike things from which severally emanate
the groups of forces by which we perceive them. On the
other hand, there are the organs of sense and percipient
centres, through which, in the course of observation, these
groups of forces pass. In passing through these organs of
sense and percipient centres, the like groups of forces are segregated,
or separated from the unlike groups of forces; and
each such differentiated and integrated series of groups of
forces, answering to an external genus or species, constitutes
a state of consciousness which we call our idea of the genus
or species. We before saw that as well as a separation of
mixed matters by the same force, there is a separation of
mixed forces by the same matter; and here we may further
see that the unlike forces so separated, work unlike structural
changes in the aggregate that separates them—structural
changes each of which thus represents, and is equivalent
to, the integrated series of motions that has produced it.
By a parallel process, the connexions of co-existence and
sequence among impressions, become differentiated and integrated
simultaneously with the impressions themselves.
When two phenomena that have been experienced in a
given order, are repeated in the same order, those nerves
which before were affected by the transition are again affected;
and such molecular modification as they received
433from the first motion propagated through them, is increased
by this second motion along the same route. Each such motion
works a structural alteration, which, in conformity with
the general law set forth in Chapter X., involves a diminution
of the resistance to all such motions that afterwards
occur. The integration of these successive motions (or more
strictly, the permanently effective portions of them expended
in overcoming resistance) thus becomes the cause of, and the
measure of, the mental connexion between the impressions
which the phenomena produce. Meanwhile, phenomena that
are recognized as different from these, being phenomena that
therefore affect different nervous elements, will have their
connexions severally represented by motions along other
routes; and along each of these other routes, the nervous discharges
will severally take place with a readiness proportionate
to the frequency with which experience repeats the connexion
of phenomena. The classification of relations must
hence go on pari passu with the classification of the related
things. In common with the mixed sensations received
from the external world, the mixed relations it presents,
cannot be impressed on the organism without more or less
segregation of them resulting. And through this continuous
differentiation and integration of changes or motions,
which constitutes nervous function, there is gradually
wrought that differentiation and integration of matter,
which constitutes nervous structure.
§ 128. In social evolution, the collecting together of the
like and the separation of the unlike, by incident forces, is
primarily displayed in the same manner as we saw it to be
among groups of inferior creatures. The human races tend
to differentiate and integrate, as do races of other living
forms. Of the forces which effect and maintain the
segregations of mankind, may first be named those external
ones which we class as physical conditions. The climate and
food that are favourable to an indigenous people, are more or
434less detrimental to a people of different bodily constitution,
coming from a remote part of the Earth. In tropical regions
the northern races cannot permanently exist: if not
killed off in the first generation, they are so in the second;
and, as in India, can maintain their footing only by the
artificial process of continuous immigration and emigration.
That is to say, the external forces acting equally on the inhabitants
of a given locality, tend to expel all who are not
of a certain type; and so to keep up the integration of those
who are of that type. Though elsewhere, as among European
nations, we see a certain amount of permanent intermixture,
otherwise brought about, we still see that this takes
place between races of not very different types, that are
naturalized to not very different conditions. The
other forces conspiring to produce these national integrations,
are those mental ones which show themselves in the
affinities of men for others like themselves. Emigrants
usually desire to get back among their own people; and
where their desire does not take effect, it is only because the
restraining ties are too great. Units of one society who
are obliged to reside in another, very generally form
colonies in the midst of that other—small societies of their
own. Races which have been artificially severed, show
strong tendencies to re-unite. Now though these integrations
that result from the mutual affinities of kindred men,
do not seem interpretable as illustrations of the general
principle above enunciated, they really are thus interpretable.
When treating of the direction of motion (§ 91),
it was shown that the actions performed by men for the
satisfaction of their wants, were always motions along lines
of least resistance. The feelings characterizing a member
of a given race, are feelings which get complete satisfaction
only among other members of that race—a satisfaction
partly derived from sympathy with those having like feelings,
but mainly derived from the adapted social conditions
which grow up where such feelings prevail. When, therefore,
435a citizen of any nation is, as we see, attracted towards
others of his nation, the rationale is, that certain agencies
which we call desires, move him in the direction of least
resistance. Human motions, like all other motions, being
determined by the distribution of forces, it follows that
such integrations of races as are not produced by incident
external forces, are produced by forces which the units of
the races exercise on each other.
During the development of each society, we see analogous
segregations caused in analogous ways. A few of them result
from minor natural affinities; but those most important
ones which constitute political and industrial organization,
result from the union of men in whom similarities have been
produced by education—using education in its widest sense,
as comprehending all processes by which citizens are moulded
to special functions. Men brought up to bodily labour,
are men who have had wrought in them a certain likeness—a
likeness which, in respect of their powers of action, obscures
and subordinates their natural differences. Those trained to
brain-work, have acquired a certain other community of
character which makes them, as social units, more like each
other than like those trained to manual occupations. And
there arise class-integrations answering to these superinduced
likenesses. Much more definite integrations take
place among the much more definitely assimilated members
of any class who are brought up to the same calling. Even
where the necessities of their work forbid concentration in one
locality, as among artizans happens with masons and brick-layers,
and among traders happens with the retail distributors,
and among professionals happens with the medical
men; there are not wanting Operative Builders Unions, and
Grocers Societies, and Medical Associations, to show that
these artificially-assimilated citizens become integrated as
much as the conditions permit. And where, as among the
manufacturing classes, the functions discharged do not require
the dispersion of the citizens thus artificially assimilated,
436there is a progressive aggregation of them in special
localities; and a consequent increase in the definiteness of
the industrial divisions. If now we seek the causes
of these integrations, considered as results of force and motion,
we find ourselves brought to the same general principle
as before. This likeness generated in any class or subclass
by training, is an aptitude acquired by its members
for satisfying their wants in like ways. That is, the
occupation to which each man has been brought up, has become
to him, in common with those similarly brought up, a
line of least resistance. Hence under that pressure which
determines all men to activity, these similarly-modified
social units are similarly affected, and tend to take similar
courses. If then there be any locality which, either by its
physical peculiarities or by peculiarities wrought on it
during social evolution, is rendered a place where a certain
kind of industrial action meets with less resistance than elsewhere;
it follows from the law of direction of motion that
those social units who have been moulded to this kind of
industrial action, will move towards this place, or become
integrated there. If, for instance, the proximity of coal and
iron mines to a navigable river, gives to Glasgow a certain
advantage in the building of iron ships—if the total labour
required to produce the same vessel, and get its equivalent
in food and clothing, is less there than elsewhere; a concentration
of iron-ship builders is produced at Glasgow:
either by keeping there the population born to iron-ship
building; or by immigration of those elsewhere engaged in
it; or by both—a concentration that would be still more
marked did not other districts offer counter-balancing facilities.
The principle equally holds where the occupation is
mercantile instead of manufacturing. Stock-brokers cluster
together in the city, because the amount of effort to be
severally gone through by them in discharging their functions,
and obtaining their profits, is less there than in other
localities. A place of exchange having once been established,
becomes a place where the resistance to be overcome
437by each is less than elsewhere; and the pursuit of the course
of least resistance by each, involves their aggregation around
this place.
Of course, with units so complicated as those which constitute
a society, and with forces so involved as those which
move them, the resulting differentiations and integrations
must be far more entangled, or far less definite, than those we
have hitherto considered. But though there may be pointed
out many anomalies which at first sight seem inconsistent
with the alleged law, a closer study shows that they are but
subtler illustrations of it. For men’s likenesses being of
various kinds, lead to various order of integration. There
are likenesses of disposition, likenesses of taste, likenesses
produced by intellectual culture, likenesses that result from
class-training, likenesses of political feeling; and it needs
but to glance round at the caste-divisions, the associations
for philanthropic, scientific, and artistic purposes, the religious
parties and social cliques; to see that some species of
likeness among the component members of each body
determines their union. Now these different integrations,
by traversing each other, and often by their indirect antagonism,
more or less obscure each other; and prevent any one
kind of integration from becoming complete. Hence the
anomalies referred to. But if this cause of incompleteness
be duly borne in mind, social segregations will be seen to
conform entirely to the same principle as all other segregations.
Analysis will show that either by external incident
forces, or by what we may in a sense regard as mutual
polarity, there are ever being produced in society integrations
of those units which have either a natural likeness or a
likeness generated by training.
§ 129. Can the general truth thus variously illustrated be
deduced from the persistence of force, in common with foregoing
ones? Probably the exposition at the beginning of
the chapter will have led most readers to conclude that it
can be so deduced.
438The abstract propositions involved are these:—First, that
like units, subject to a uniform force capable of producing
motion in them, will be moved to like degrees in the same
direction. Second, that like units if exposed to unlike forces
capable of producing motion in them, will be differently
moved—moved either in different directions or to different
degrees in the same direction. Third, that unlike units if
acted on by a uniform force capable of producing motion in
them, will be differently moved—moved either in different
directions or to different degrees in the same direction.
Fourth, that the incident forces themselves must be affected
in analogous ways: like forces falling on like units must be
similarly modified by the conflict; unlike forces falling on
like units must be dissimilarly modified; and like forces falling
on unlike units must be dissimilarly modified. These
propositions admit of reduction to a still more abstract form.
They all of them amount to this:—that in the actions and
reactions of force and matter, an unlikeness in either of
the factors necessitates an unlikeness in the effects; and that
in the absence of unlikeness in either of the factors the
effects must be alike.
When thus generalized, the immediate dependence of these
propositions on the persistence of force, becomes obvious.
Any two forces that are not alike, are forces which differ
either in their amounts or directions or both; and by what
mathematicians call the resolution of forces, it may be proved
that this difference is constituted by the presence in the one
of some force not present in the other. Similarly, any two
units or portions of matter which are unlike in size, weight,
form, or other attribute, can be known by us as unlike only
through some unlikeness in the forces they impress on our
consciousness; and hence this unlikeness also, is constituted by
the presence in the one of some force or forces not present in
the other. Such being the common nature of these unlikenesses,
what is the inevitable corollary? Any unlikeness in
the incident forces, where the things acted on are alike, must
generate a difference between the effects; since otherwise,
439the differential force produces no effect, and force is not persistent.
Any unlikeness in the things acted on, where the
incident forces are alike, must generate a difference between
the effects; since otherwise, the differential force whereby
these things are made unlike, produces no effect, and force is
not persistent. While, conversely, if the forces acting and
the things acted on, are alike, the effects must be alike;
since otherwise, a differential effect can be produced without
a differential cause, and force is not persistent.
Thus these general truths being necessary implications of
the persistence of force, all the re-distributions above traced
out as characterizing Evolution in its various phases, are also
implications of the persistence of force. Such portions of
the permanently effective forces acting on any aggregate, as
produce sensible motions in its parts, cannot but work the
segregations which we see take place. If of the mixed units
making up such aggregate, those of the same kind have like
motions impressed on them by a uniform force, while units of
another kind are moved by this uniform force in ways more
or less unlike the ways in which those of the first kind are
moved, the two kinds must separate and integrate. If the
units are alike and the forces unlike, a division of the differently
affected units is equally necessitated. Thus there inevitably
arises the demarcated grouping which we everywhere
see. By virtue of this segregation that grows ever more
decided while there remains any possibility of increasing it,
the change from uniformity to multiformity is accompanied
by a change from indistinctness in the relations of parts to
distinctness in the relations of parts. As we before saw that
the transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous
is inferrable from that ultimate truth which transcends
proof; so we here see, that from this same truth is inferrable
the transformation of an indefinite homogeneity into a definite
heterogeneity.
440
§ 130. And now towards what do these changes tend?
Will they go on for ever? or will there be an end to them?
Can things increase in heterogeneity through all future time?
or must there be a degree which the differentiation and integration
of Matter and Motion cannot pass? Is it possible
for this universal metamorphosis to proceed in the same general
course indefinitely? or does it work towards some ultimate
state, admitting no further modification of like kind?
The last of these alternative conclusions is that to which we
are inevitably driven. Whether we watch concrete processes,
or whether we consider the question in the abstract, we are
alike taught that Evolution has an impassable limit.
The re-distributions of matter that go on around us, are
ever being brought to conclusions by the dissipation of the
motions which effect them. The rolling stone parts with
portions of its momentum to the things it strikes, and finally
comes to rest; as do also, in like manner, the various things
it has struck. Descending from the clouds and trickling
over the Earth’s surface till it gathers into brooks and rivers,
water, still running towards a lower level, is at last arrested
by the resistance of other water that has reached the lowest
level. In the lake or sea thus formed, every agitation raised
by a wind or the immersion of a solid body, propagates itself
around in waves that diminish as they widen, and gradually
441become lost to observation in motions communicated to the
atmosphere and the matter on the shores. The impulse
given by a player to the harp-string, is transformed through
its vibrations into aerial pulses; and these, spreading on all
sides, and weakening as they spread, soon cease to be perceptible;
and finally die away in generating thermal undulations
that radiate into space. Equally in the cinder that falls
out of the fire, and in the vast masses of molten lava ejected
by a volcano, we see that the molecular agitation known to
us as heat, disperses itself by radiation; so that however
great its amount, it inevitably sinks at last to the same degree
as that existing in surrounding bodies. And if the actions
observed be electrical or chemical, we still find that they work
themselves out in producing sensible or insensible movements,
that are dissipated as before; until quiescence is eventually
reached. The proximate rationale of the process
exhibited under these several forms, lies in the fact
dwelt on when treating of the Multiplication of Effects, that
motions are ever being decomposed into divergent motions,
and these into re-divergent motions. The rolling stone
sends off the stones it hits in directions differing more or less
from its own; and they do the like with the things they hit.
Move water or air, and the movement is quickly resolved into
radiating movements. The heat produced by pressure in a
given direction, diffuses itself by undulations in all directions;
and so do the light and electricity similarly generated.
That is to say, these motions undergo division and subdivision;
and by continuance of this process without limit, they
are, though never lost, gradually reduced to insensible motions.
In all cases then, there is a progress toward equilibration.
That universal co-existence of antagonist forces which, as we
before saw, necessitates the universality of rhythm, and
which, as we before saw, necessitates the decomposition of
every force into divergent forces, at the same time necessitates
the ultimate establishment of a balance. Every motion
442being motion under resistance, is continually suffering deductions;
and these unceasing deductions finally result in the
cessation of the motion.
The general truth thus illustrated under its simplest
aspect, we must now look at under those more complex
aspects it usually presents throughout Nature. In nearly all
cases, the motion of an aggregate is compound; and the equilibration
of each of its components, being carried on independently,
does not affect the rest. The ship’s bell that has
ceased to vibrate, still continues those vertical and lateral
oscillations caused by the ocean-swell. The water of the
smooth stream on whose surface have died away the undulations
caused by the rising fish, moves as fast as before
onward to the sea. The arrested bullet travels with
undiminished speed round the Earth’s axis. And were the
rotation of the Earth destroyed, there would not be implied
any diminution of the Earth’s movement with respect to the
Sun and other external bodies. So that in every case, what
we regard as equilibration is a disappearance of some one or
more of the many movements which a body possesses, while
its other movements continue as before. That this
process may be duly realized and the state of things towards
which it tends fully understood, it will be well here to cite a
case in which we may watch this successive equilibration of
combined movements more completely than we can do in
those above instanced. Our end will best be served, not by
the most imposing, but by the most familiar example. Let
us take that of the spinning top. When the string which
has been wrapped round a top’s axis is violently drawn off,
and the top falls on to the table, it usually happens that besides
the rapid rotation, two other movements are given to it.
A slight horizontal momentum, unavoidably impressed on it
when leaving the handle, carries it away bodily from the
place on which it drops; and in consequence of its axis being
more or less inclined, it falls into a certain oscillation,
described by the expressive though inelegant word—“wabbling.”
443These two subordinate motions, variable in
their proportions to each other and to the chief motion, are
commonly soon brought to a close by separate processes of
equilibration. The momentum which carries the top bodily
along the table, resisted somewhat by the air, but mainly by
the irregularities of the surface, shortly disappears; and the
top thereafter continues to spin on one spot. Meanwhile, in
consequence of that opposition which the axial momentum of
a rotating body makes to any change in the plane of rotation,
(so beautifully exhibited by the gyroscope,) the “wabbling”
diminishes; and like the other is quickly ended. These
minor motions having been dissipated, the rotatory motion,
interfered with only by atmospheric resistance and the friction
of the pivot, continues some time with such uniformity
that the top appears stationary: there being thus temporarily
established a condition which the French mathematicians
have termed equilibrium mobile. It is true that when the
axial velocity sinks below a certain point, new motions commence,
and increase till the top falls; but these are merely
incidental to a case in which the centre of gravity is above
the point of support. Were the top, having an axis of
steel, to be suspended from a surface adequately magnetized,
all the phenomena described would be displayed, and the
moving equilibrium having been once arrived at, would continue
until the top became motionless, without any further
change of position. Now the facts which it behoves
us here to observe, are these. First, that the various motions
which an aggregate possesses are separately equilibrated:
those which are smallest, or which meet with the greatest
resistance, or both, disappearing first; and leaving at last,
that which is greatest, or meets with least resistance, or both.
Second, that when the aggregate has a movement of its parts
with respect to each other, which encounters but little external
resistance, there is apt to be established an equilibrium
mobile. Third, that this moving equilibrium eventually
lapses into complete equilibrium.
444Fully to comprehend the process of equilibration, is not
easy; since we have simultaneously to contemplate various
phases of it. The best course will be to glance separately at
what we may conveniently regard as its four different
orders. The first order includes the comparatively
simple motions, as those of projectiles, which are not prolonged
enough to exhibit their rhythmical character; but
which, being quickly divided and subdivided into motions
communicated to other portions of matter, are presently dissipated
in the rhythm of ethereal undulations. In
the second order, comprehending the various kinds of vibration
or oscillation as usually witnessed, the motion is used
up in generating a tension which, having become equal to it or
momentarily equilibrated with it, thereupon produces a motion
in the opposite direction, that is subsequently equilibrated
in like manner: thus causing a visible rhythm, that
is, however, soon lost in invisible rhythms. The third
order of equilibration, not hitherto noticed, obtains in those
aggregates which continually receive as much motion as they
expend. The steam engine (and especially that kind which
feeds its own furnace and boiler) supplies an example. Here
the force from moment to moment dissipated in overcoming
the resistance of the machinery driven, is from moment to
moment replaced from the fuel; and the balance of the
two is maintained by a raising or lowering of the expenditure
according to the variation of the supply: each increase or
decrease in the quantity of steam, resulting in a rise or fall
of the engine’s movement, such as brings it to a balance with
the increased or decreased resistance. This, which we may
fitly call the dependent moving equilibrium, should be
specially noted; since it is one that we shall commonly meet
with throughout various phases of Evolution. The
equilibration to be distinguished as of the fourth order, is the
independent or perfect moving equilibrium. This we see
illustrated in the rhythmical motions of the Solar System;
which, being resisted only by a medium of inappreciable
445density, undergo no sensible diminution in such periods of
time as we can measure.
All these kinds of equilibration may, however, from the
highest point of view, be regarded as different modes of one
kind. For in every case the balance arrived at is relative,
and not absolute—is a cessation of the motion of some particular
body in relation to a certain point or points, involving
neither the disappearance of the relative motion lost,
which is simply transformed into other motions, nor a diminution
of the body’s motions with respect to other points.
Thus understanding equilibration, it manifestly includes that
equilibrium mobile, which at first sight seems of another
nature. For any system of bodies exhibiting, like those of
the Solar System, a combination of balanced rhythms, has
this peculiarity;—that though the constituents of the system
have relative movements, the system as a whole has no
movement. The centre of gravity of the entire group remains
fixed. Whatever quantity of motion any member
of it has in any direction, is from moment to moment
counter-balanced by an equivalent motion in some other
part of the group in an opposite direction; and so the
aggregate matter of the group is in a state of rest. Whence
it follows that the arrival at a state of moving equilibrium,
is the disappearance of some movement which the aggregate
had in relation to external things, and a continuance
of those movements only which the different parts
of the aggregate have in relation to each other. Thus
generalizing the process, it becomes clear that all forms of
equilibration are intrinsically the same; since in every
aggregate, it is the centre of gravity only that loses its
motion: the constituents always retaining some motion with
respect to each other—the motion of molecules if none else.
Those readers who happen to bear in mind a proposition
concerning the functional characteristics of Evolution, which
was set forth in Chapter XII, will probably regard it as
wholly at variance with that set forth in this Chapter. It
446was there alleged that throughout Evolution, integration of
matter is accompanied by integration of such motion as
the matter previously had; and that thus there is a transformation
of diffused motion into aggregated motion, parallel
to the transformation of diffused matter into aggregated
matter. Here however, it is asserted that every aggregate
motion is constantly undergoing diffusion—every integrated
motion undergoing perpetual disintegration. And so the
motion of masses, which before was said gradually to arise
out of molecular motion, is here said to be gradually lost in
molecular motion. Doubtless these statements, if severally
accepted without qualification, are contradictory. Neither
of them, however, expresses the whole truth. Each needs the
other as its indispensable complement. It is quite true, as
before alleged, that there goes on an integration of motion
corresponding to the integration of matter; and that this
essential characteristic of Evolution, functionally considered,
is clearly displayed in proportion as the Evolution is
active. But the disintegration of motion, which, as we
before saw, constitutes Dissolution, functionally considered,
is all along going on; and though at first it forms but
a small deduction from the change constituting Evolution,
it gradually becomes equal to it, and eventually exceeding
it, entails reverse changes. The aggregation of matter
never being complete, but leaving behind less aggregated
or unaggregated matter, in the shape of liquid, aeriform,
or ethereal media; it results that from the beginning, the
integrated motion of integrated masses, is ever being obstructed
by these less integrated or unintegrated media. So
that though while the integration of matter is rapidly going
on, there is an increase of integrated motion, spite of the
deductions thus continually made from it, there comes a time
when the integration of matter and consequently of motion,
ceases to increase, or increases so slowly that the deductions
counterbalance it; and thenceforth these begin to decrease
it, and, by its perpetual diffusion, to bring about a relative
447equilibration. From the beginning, the process of Evolution
is antagonized by a process of Dissolution; and while the
first for a long time predominates, the last finally arrests
and reverses it.
Returning from this parenthetical explanation, we must
now especially note two leading truths brought out by the
foregoing exposition: the one concerning the ultimate, or
rather the penultimate, state of motion which the processes described
tend to bring about; the other concerning the concomitant
distribution of matter. This penultimate state
of motion is the moving equilibrium; which, as we have seen,
tends to arise in an aggregate having compound motions, as a
transitional state on the way towards complete equilibrium.
Throughout Evolution of all kinds, there is a continual approximation
to, and more or less complete maintenance of, this
moving equilibrium. As in the Solar System there has been
established an independent moving equilibrium—an equilibrium
such that the relative motions of the constituent parts
are continually so counter-balanced by opposite motions,
that the mean state of the whole aggregate never varies; so
is it, though in a less distinct manner, with each form of dependent
moving equilibrium. The state of things exhibited
in the cycles of terrestrial changes, in the balanced functions
of organic bodies that have reached their adult forms, and in
the acting and re-acting processes of fully-developed societies,
is similarly one characterized by compensating oscillations.
The involved combination of rhythms seen in each
of these cases, has an average condition which remains practically
constant during the deviations ever taking place on
opposite sides of it. And the fact which we have here particularly
to observe, is, that as a corollary from the general
law of equilibration above set forth, the evolution of every
aggregate must go on until this equilibrium mobile is established;
since, as we have seen, an excess of force which
the aggregate possesses in any direction, must eventually
be expended in overcoming resistances to change in that
448direction: leaving behind only those movements which
compensate each other, and so form a moving equilibrium.
Respecting the structural state simultaneously
reached, it must obviously be one presenting an arrangement
of forces that counterbalance all the forces to
which the aggregate is subject. So long as there remains a
residual force in any direction—be it excess of a force exercised
by the aggregate on its environment, or of a force
exercised by its environment on the aggregate, equilibrium
does not exist; and therefore the re-distribution of matter
must continue. Whence it follows that the limit of heterogeneity
towards which every aggregate progresses, is the
formation of as many specializations and combinations of
parts, as there are specialized and combined forces to be met.
§ 131. Those successively changed forms which, if the
nebular hypothesis be granted, must have arisen during
the evolution of the Solar System, were so many transitional
kinds of moving equilibrium; severally giving place to more
permanent kinds on the way towards complete equilibration.
Thus the assumption of an oblate spheroidal figure by condensing
nebulous matter, was the assumption of a temporary
and partial moving equilibrium among the component parts—a
moving equilibrium that must have slowly grown
more settled, as local conflicting movements were dissipated.
In the formation and detachment of the
nebulous rings, which, according to this hypothesis, from time
to time took place, we have instances of progressive equilibration
ending in the establishment of a complete moving
equilibrium. For the genesis of each such ring, implies a
perfect balancing of that aggregative force which the
whole spheroid exercises on its equatorial portion, by that
centrifugal force which the equatorial portion has acquired
during previous concentration: so long as these two forces
are not equal, the equatorial portion follows the contracting
mass; but as soon as the second force has increased up to an
449equality with the first, the equatorial portion can follow no
further, and remains behind. While, however, the resulting
ring, regarded as a whole connected by forces with external
wholes, has reached a state of moving equilibrium; its parts
are not balanced with respect to each other. As we
before saw (§ 110) the probabilities against the maintenance
of an annular form by nebulous matter, are immense:
from the instability of the homogeneous, it is inferrable that
nebulous matter so distributed must break up into portions;
and eventually concentrate into a single mass. That is to
say, the ring must progress towards a moving equilibrium
of a more complete kind, during the dissipation of that
motion which maintained its particles in a diffused form:
leaving at length a planetary body, attended perhaps by a
group of minor bodies, severally having residuary relative
motions that are no longer resisted by sensible media; and
there is thus constituted an equilibrium mobile that is all but
absolutely perfect.[18]
Hypothesis aside, the principle of equilibration is still
perpetually illustrated in those minor changes of state which
the Solar System is undergoing. Each planet, satellite,
and comet, exhibits to us at its aphelion a momentary equilibrium
450between that force which urges it further away from
its primary, and that force which retards its retreat; since
the retreat goes on until the last of these forces exactly
counterpoises the first. In like manner at perihelion a converse
equilibrium is momentarily established. The variation
of each orbit in size, in eccentricity, and in the position
of its plane, has similarly a limit at which the forces producing
change in the one direction, are equalled by those
antagonizing it; and an opposite limit at which an opposite
arrest takes place. Meanwhile, each of these simple perturbations,
as well as each of the complex ones resulting from
their combination, exhibits, besides the temporary equilibration
at each of its extremes, a certain general equilibration
of compensating deviations on either side of a mean
state. That the moving equilibrium thus constituted,
tends, in the course of indefinite time, to lapse into a complete
equilibrium, by the gradual decrease of planetary motions
and eventually integration of all the separate masses composing
the Solar System, is a belief suggested by certain
observed cometary retardations, and entertained by some of
high authority. The received opinion that the appreciable
diminution in the period of Encke’s comet, implies a loss of momentum
caused by resistance of the ethereal medium, commits
astronomers who hold it, to the conclusion that this same resistance
must cause a loss of planetary motions—a loss which,
infinitesimal though it may be in such periods as we can
measure, will, if indefinitely continued, bring these motions
to a close. Even should there be, as Sir John Herschel suggests,
a rotation of the ethereal medium in the same direction
with the planets, this arrest, though immensely postponed,
would not be absolutely prevented. Such an eventuality,
however, must in any case be so inconceivably remote as
to have no other than a speculative interest for us. It is
referred to here, simply as illustrating the still-continued
tendency towards complete equilibrium, through the still-continued
451dissipation of sensible motion, or transformation of
it into insensible motion.
But there is another species of equilibration going on in
the Solar System, with which we are more nearly concerned—the
equilibration of that molecular motion known as heat.
The tacit assumption hitherto current, that the Sun can continue
to give off an undiminished amount of light and heat
through all future time, is fast being abandoned. Involving
as it does, under a disguise, the conception of power produced
out of nothing, it is of the same order as the belief that
misleads perpetual-motion schemers. The spreading recognition
of the truth that force is persistent, and that consequently
whatever force is manifested under one shape must
previously have existed under another shape, is carrying with
it a recognition of the truth that the force known to us in
solar radiations, is the changed form of some other force of
which the Sun is the seat; and that by the gradual dissipation
of these radiations into space, this other force is being
slowly exhausted. The aggregative force by which the Sun’s
substance is drawn to his centre of gravity, is the only one
which established physical laws warrant us in suspecting to be
the correlate of the forces thus emanating from him: the only
source of a known kind that can be assigned for the insensible
motions constituting solar light and heat, is the sensible motion
which disappears during the progressing concentration of the
Sun’s substance. We before saw it to be a corollary from the
nebular hypothesis, that there is such a progressing concentration
of the Sun’s substance. And here remains to be added the
further corollary, that just as in the case of the smaller members
of the Solar System, the heat generated by concentration,
long ago in great part radiated into space, has left only a central
residue that now escapes but slowly; so in the case of that immensely
larger mass forming the Sun, the immensely greater
quantity of heat generated and still in process of rapid diffusion,
must, as the concentration approaches its limit, diminish in
452amount, and eventually leave only an inappreciable internal
remnant. With or without the accompaniment of
that hypothesis of nebular condensation, whence, as we see,
it naturally follows, the doctrine that the Sun is gradually
losing his heat, has now gained considerable currency; and
calculations have been made, both respecting the amount of
heat and light already radiated, as compared with the amount
that remains, and respecting the period during which active
radiation is likely to continue. Prof. Helmholtz estimates,
that since the time when, according to the nebular hypothesis,
the matter composing the Solar System extended to the orbit
of Neptune, there has been evolved by the arrest of sensible
motion, an amount of heat 454 times as great as that which
the Sun still has to give out. He also makes an approximate
estimate of the rate at which this remaining 1
454th is being
diffused: showing that a diminution of the Sun’s diameter to
the extent of 1
10,000, would produce heat, at the present rate,
for more than 2000 years; or in other words, that a contraction
of 1
20,000,000 of his diameter, suffices to generate the
amount of light and heat annually emitted; and that thus, at
the present rate of expenditure, the Sun’s diameter will diminish
by something like 1
20 in the lapse of the next million
years.[19] Of course these conclusions are not to be considered
as more than rude approximations to the truth. Until quite
recently, we have been totally ignorant of the Sun’s chemical
composition; and even now have obtained but a superficial
knowledge of it. We know nothing of his internal structure;
and it is quite possible (probable, I believe,) that the
assumptions respecting central density, made in the foregoing
estimates, are wrong. But no uncertainty in the data on
which these calculations proceed, and no consequent error in
the inferred rate at which the Sun is expending his reserve
of force, militates against the general proposition that this
453reserve of force is being expended; and must in time be exhausted.
Though the residue of undiffused motion in the Sun,
may be much greater than is above concluded; though the
rate of radiation cannot, as assumed, continue at a uniform
rate, but must eventually go on with slowly-decreasing
rapidity; and though the period at which the Sun will cease
to afford us adequate light and heat, is very possibly far more
distant than above implied; yet such a period must some
time be reached, and this is all which it here concerns us
to observe.
Thus while the Solar System, if evolved from diffused matter,
has illustrated the law of equilibration in the establishment
of a complete moving equilibrium; and while, as at present constituted,
it illustrates the law of equilibration in the balancing
of all its movements; it also illustrates this law in the processes
which astronomers and physicists infer are still going
on. That motion of masses produced during Evolution, is
being slowly re-diffused in molecular motion of the ethereal
medium; both through the progressive integration of each
mass, and the resistance to its motion through space. Infinitely
remote as may be the state when all the motions of masses shall
be transformed into molecular motion, and all the molecular
motion equilibrated; yet such a state of complete integration
and complete equilibration, is that towards which the changes
now going on throughout the Solar System inevitably tend.
§ 132. A spherical figure is the one which can alone equilibrate
the forces of mutually-gravitating atoms. If the aggregate
of such atoms has a rotatory motion, the form of
equilibrium becomes a spheroid of greater or less oblateness,
according to the rate of rotation; and it has been ascertained
that the Earth is an oblate spheroid, diverging just as much
from sphericity as is requisite to counterbalance the centrifugal
force consequent on its velocity round its axis. That is to
say, during the evolution of the Earth, there has been reached
a complete equilibrium of those forces which affect its general
454outline. The only other process of equilibration
which the Earth as a whole can exhibit, is the loss of its axial
motion; and that any such loss is going on, we have no
direct evidence. It has been contended, however, by Prof.
Helmholtz, that inappreciable as may be its effect within
known periods of time, the friction of the tidal wave must
be slowly diminishing the Earth’s rotatory motion, and must
eventually destroy it. Now though it seems an oversight
to say that the Earth’s rotation can thus be destroyed, since
the extreme effect, to be reached only in infinite time by such
a process, would be an extension of the Earth’s day to the
length of a lunation; yet it seems clear that this friction
of the tidal wave is a real cause of decreasing rotation. Slow
as its action is, we must recognize it as exemplifying, under
another form, the universal progress towards equilibrium.
It is needless to point out, in detail, how those movements
which the Sun’s rays generate in the air and water on the
Earth’s surface, and through them in the Earth’s solid substance,[20]
one and all teach the same general truth. Evidently
the winds and waves and streams, as well as the denudations and
depositions they effect, perpetually illustrate on a grand scale,
and in endless modes, that gradual dissipation of motions
described in the first section; and the consequent tendency
towards a balanced distribution of forces. Each of these
sensible motions, produced directly or indirectly by integration
of those insensible motions communicated from the Sun,
becomes, as we have seen, divided and subdivided into
motions less and less sensible; until it is finally reduced to
insensible motions, and radiated from the Earth in the shape
of thermal undulations. In their totality, these complex
455movements of aerial, liquid, and solid matter on the
Earth’s crust, constitute a dependent moving equilibrium. As
we before saw, there is traceable throughout them an involved
combination of rhythms. The unceasing circulation
of water from the ocean to the land, and from the land
back to the ocean, is a type of these various compensating
actions; which, in the midst of all the irregularities produced
by their mutual interferences, maintain an average. And in
this, as in other equilibrations of the third order, we see that
the power from moment to moment in course of dissipation,
is from moment to moment renewed from without: the rises
and falls in the supply, being balanced by rises and falls in the
expenditure; as witness the correspondence between the magnetic
variations and the cycle of the solar spots. But
the fact it chiefly concerns us to observe, is, that this process
must go on bringing things ever nearer to complete rest.
These mechanical movements, meteorologic and geologic,
which are continually being equilibrated, both temporarily
by counter-movements and permanently by the dissipation of
such movements and counter-movements, will slowly diminish
as the quantity of force received from the Sun diminishes.
As the insensible motions propagated to us from the centre
of our system become feebler, the sensible motions here produced
by them must decrease; and at that remote period
when the solar heat has ceased to be appreciable, there will
no longer be any appreciable re-distributions of matter on the
surface of our planet.
Thus from the highest point of view, all terrestrial changes
are incidents in the course of cosmical equilibration. It was
before pointed out, (§ 80) that of the incessant alterations
which the Earth’s crust and atmosphere undergo, those which
are not due to the still-progressing motion of the Earth’s substance
towards its centre of gravity, are due to the still-progressing
motion of the Sun’s substance towards its centre of
gravity. Here it is to be remarked, that this continuance of
integration in the Earth and in the Sun, is a continuance of
456that transformation of sensible motion into insensible motion
which we have seen ends in equilibration; and that the arrival
in each case at the extreme of integration, is the arrival
at a state in which no more sensible motion remains to be
transformed into insensible motion—a state in which the
forces producing integration and the forces opposing integration,
have become equal.
§ 133. Every living body exhibits, in a four-fold form,
the process we are tracing out—exhibits it from moment to
moment in the balancing of mechanical forces; from hour to
hour in the balancing of functions; from year to year in the
changes of state that compensate changes of condition; and
finally in the complete arrest of vital movements at death.
Let us consider the facts under these heads.
The sensible motion constituting each visible action of an
organism, is soon brought to a close by some adverse force
within or without the organism. When the arm is raised, the
motion given to it is antagonized partly by gravity and partly
by the internal resistances consequent on structure; and its
motion, thus suffering continual deduction, ends when the arm
has reached a position at which the forces are equilibrated. The
limits of each systole and diastole of the heart, severally show
us a momentary equilibrium between muscular strains that produce
opposite movements; and each gush of blood requires
to be immediately followed by another, because the rapid
dissipation of its momentum would otherwise soon bring
the mass of circulating fluid to a stand. As much in the
actions and re-actions going on among the internal organs,
as in the mechanical balancing of the whole body, there is at
every instant a progressive equilibration of the motions at
every instant produced. Viewed in their aggregate,
and as forming a series, the organic functions constitute
a dependent moving equilibrium—a moving equilibrium,
of which the motive power is ever being dissipated through
the special equilibrations just exemplified, and is ever
457being renewed by the taking in of additional motive power.
Food is a store of force which continually adds to the momentum
of the vital actions, as much as is continually deducted
from them by the forces overcome. All the functional movements
thus maintained, are, as we have seen, rhythmical (§ 96);
by their union compound rhythms of various lengths and
complexities are produced; and in these simple and compound
rhythms, the process of equilibration, besides being
exemplified at each extreme of every rhythm, is seen in the
habitual preservation of a constant mean, and in the re-establishment
of that mean when accidental causes have produced
divergence from it. When, for instance, there is a great expenditure
of motion through muscular activity, there arises a
re-active demand on those stores of latent motion which are laid
up in the form of consumable matter throughout the tissues:
increased respiration and increased rapidity of circulation,
are instrumental to an extra genesis of force, that counter-balances
the extra dissipation of force. This unusual transformation
of molecular motion into sensible motion, is presently
followed by an unusual absorption of food—the source of molecular
motion; and in proportion as there has been a prolonged
draft upon the spare capital of the system, is there a tendency
to a prolonged rest, during which that spare capital is replaced.
If the deviation from the ordinary course of the functions has
been so great as to derange them, as when violent exertion
produces loss of appetite and loss of sleep, an equilibration is
still eventually effected. Providing the disturbance is not
such as to overturn the balance of the functions, and destroy
life (in which case a complete equilibration is suddenly effected),
the ordinary balance is by and by re-established: the returning
appetite is keen in proportion as the waste has been large;
while sleep, sound and prolonged, makes up for previous wakefulness.
Not even in those extreme cases where some excess
has wrought a derangement that is never wholly rectified, is
there an exception to the general law; for in such cases the
cycle of the functions is, after a time, equilibrated about a new
458mean state, which thenceforth becomes the normal state of
the individual. Thus, among the involved rhythmical changes
constituting organic life, any disturbing force that works an
excess of change in some direction, is gradually diminished
and finally neutralized by antagonistic forces; which thereupon
work a compensating change in the opposite direction,
and so, after more or less of oscillation, restore the medium
condition. And this process it is, which constitutes what
physicians call the vis medicatrix naturæ. The third
form of equilibration displayed by organic bodies, is a necessary
sequence of that just illustrated. When through a
change of habit or circumstance, an organism is permanently
subject to some new influence, or different amount of an old
influence, there arises, after more or less disturbance of the
organic rhythms, a balancing of them around the new average
condition produced by this additional influence. As temporary
divergences of the organic rhythms are counteracted by temporary
divergences of a reverse kind; so there is an equilibration
of their permanent divergences by the genesis of opposing
divergences that are equally permanent. If the quantity
of motion to be habitually generated by a muscle, becomes
greater than before, its nutrition becomes greater than before.
If the expenditure of the muscle bears to its nutrition, a
greater ratio than expenditure bears to nutrition in other parts
of the system; the excess of nutrition becomes such that the
muscle grows. And the cessation of its growth is the establishment
of a balance between the daily waste and the daily
repair—the daily expenditure of force, and the amount of
latent force daily added. The like must manifestly be the
case with all organic modifications consequent on change of
climate or food. This is a conclusion which we may safely
draw without knowing the special re-arrangements that effect
the equilibration. If we see that a different mode of
life is followed, after a period of functional derangement,
by some altered condition of the system—if we see that this
altered condition, becoming by and by established, continues
459without further change; we have no alternative but to say,
that the new forces brought to bear on the system, have
been compensated by the opposing forces they have evoked.
And this is the interpretation of the process which we call
adaptation. Finally, each organism illustrates the
law in the ensemble of its life. At the outset it daily absorbs
under the form of food, an amount of force greater than it
daily expends; and the surplus is daily equilibrated by
growth. As maturity is approached, this surplus diminishes;
and in the perfect organism, the day’s absorption of potential
motion balances the day’s expenditure of actual motion. That
is to say, during adult life, there is continuously exhibited an
equilibration of the third order. Eventually, the daily loss,
beginning to out-balance the daily gain, there results a diminishing
amount of functional action; the organic rhythms
extend less and less widely on each side of the medium
state; and there finally results that complete equilibration
which we call death.
The ultimate structural state accompanying that ultimate
functional state towards which an organism tends, both individually
and as a species, may be deduced from one of the propositions
set down in the opening section of this chapter.
We saw that the limit of heterogeneity is arrived at whenever
the equilibration of any aggregate becomes complete—that
the re-distribution of matter can continue so long only as
there continues any motion unbalanced. Whence we found it
to follow that the final structural arrangements, must be such
as will meet all the forces acting on the aggregate, by equivalent
antagonist forces. What is the implication in the case
of organic aggregates; the equilibrium of which is a moving
one? We have seen that the maintenance of such a moving
equilibrium, requires the habitual genesis of internal forces
corresponding in number, directions, and amounts to the external
incident forces—as many inner functions, single or
combined, as there are single or combined outer actions to be
met. But functions are the correlatives of organs; amounts
460of functions are, other things equal, the correlatives of sizes
of organs; and combinations of functions the correlatives of
connections of organs. Hence the structural complexity
accompanying functional equilibration, is definable as one in
which there are as many specialized parts as are capable,
separately and jointly, of counteracting the separate and
joint forces amid which the organism exists. And this is the
limit of organic heterogeneity; to which man has approached
more nearly than any other creature.
Groups of organisms display this universal tendency towards
a balance very obviously. In § 96, every species of
plant and animal was shown to be perpetually undergoing a
rhythmical variation in number—now from abundance of
food and absence of enemies rising above its average; and
then by a consequent scarcity of food and abundance of enemies
being depressed below its average. And here we have
to observe that there is thus maintained an equilibrium between
the sum of those forces which result in the increase of
each race, and the sum of those forces which result in its decrease.
Either limit of variation is a point at which the one
set of forces, before in excess of the other, is counterbalanced
by it. And amid these oscillations produced by their conflict,
lies that average number of the species at which its
expansive tendency is in equilibrium with surrounding
repressive tendencies. Nor can it be questioned that this
balancing of the preservative and destructive forces which
we see going on in every race, must necessarily go on. Since
increase of number cannot but continue until increase of
mortality stops it; and decrease of number cannot but continue
until it is either arrested by fertility or extinguishes the
race entirely.
§ 134. The equilibrations of those nervous actions which
constitute what we know as mental life, may be classified in
like manner with those which constitute what we distinguish
461as bodily life. We may deal with them in the
same order.
Each pulse of nervous force from moment to moment generated,
(and it was shown in § 97 that nervous currents are not
continuous but rhythmical) is met by counteracting forces; in
overcoming which it is dispersed and equilibrated. When
tracing out the correlation and equivalence of forces, we saw
that each sensation and emotion, or rather such part of it as
remains after the excitation of associated ideas and feelings,
is expended in working bodily changes—contractions of the
involuntary muscles, the voluntary muscles, or both; as also
in a certain stimulation of secreting organs. That the movements
thus initiated are ever being brought to a close by the
opposing forces they evoke, was pointed out above; and here it
is to be observed that the like holds with the nervous changes
thus initiated. Various facts prove that the arousing of a
thought or feeling, always involves the overcoming of a certain
resistance: instance the fact that where the association
of mental states has not been frequent, a sensible effort is
needed to call up the one after the other; instance the fact
that during nervous prostration there is a comparative inability
to think—the ideas will not follow one another with the
habitual rapidity; instance the converse fact that at times of
unusual energy, natural or artificial, the friction of thought
becomes relatively small, and more numerous, more remote,
or more difficult connections of ideas are formed. That is to
say, the wave of nervous energy each instant generated, propagates
itself throughout body and brain, along those channels
which the conditions at the instant render lines of least
resistance; and spreading widely in proportion to its amount,
ends only when it is equilibrated by the resistances it everywhere
meets. If we contemplate mental actions us
extending over hours and days, we discover equilibrations
analogous to those hourly and daily established among the
bodily functions. In the one case as in the other, there are
462rhythms which exhibit a balancing of opposing forces at each
extreme, and the maintenance of a certain general balance.
This is seen in the daily alternation of mental activity and
mental rest—the forces expended during the one being compensated
by the forces acquired during the other. It is also seen in
the recurring rise and fall of each desire: each desire reaching a
certain intensity, is equilibrated either by expenditure of the
force it embodies, in the desired actions, or, less completely, in
the imagination of such actions: the process ending in that satiety,
or that comparative quiescence, forming the opposite limit
of the rhythm. And it is further manifest under a two-fold
form, on occasions of intense joy or grief: each paroxysm of
passion, expressing itself in vehement bodily actions, presently
reaches an extreme whence the counteracting forces produce
a return to a condition of moderate excitement; and the successive
paroxysms finally diminishing in intensity, end in a
mental equilibrium either like that before existing, or partially
differing from it in its medium state. But
the species of mental equilibration to be more especially noted,
is that shown in the establishment of a correspondence between
relations among our states of consciousness and relations
in the external world. Each outer connection of phenomena
which we are capable of perceiving, generates, through accumulated
experiences, an inner connection of mental states;
and the result towards which this process tends, is the formation
of a mental connection having a relative strength that
answers to the relative constancy of the physical connection
represented. In conformity with the general law that
motion pursues the line of least resistance, and that, other
things equal, a line once taken by motion is made a line that
will be more readily pursued by future motion; we have seen
that the ease with which nervous impressions follow one another,
is, other things equal, great in proportion to the number
of times they have been repeated together in experience.
Hence, corresponding to such an invariable relation as that between
the resistance of an object and some extension possessed
463by it, there arises an indissoluble connection in consciousness;
and this connection, being as absolute internally as the answering
one is externally, undergoes no further change—the inner
relation is in perfect equilibrium with the outer relation.
Conversely, it hence happens that to such uncertain relations
of phenomena as that between clouds and rain, there arise
relations of ideas of a like uncertainty; and if, under given
aspects of the sky, the tendencies to infer fair or foul weather,
correspond to the frequencies with which fair or foul
weather follow such aspects, the accumulation of experiences
has balanced the mental sequences and the physical sequences.
When it is remembered that between these extremes there
are countless orders of external connections having different
degrees of constancy, and that during the evolution of intelligence
there arise answering internal associations having
different degrees of cohesion; it will be seen that there is a
progress towards equilibrium between the relations of thought
and the relations of things. This equilibration can end
only when each relation of things has generated in us a relation
of thought, such that on the occurrence of the conditions,
the relation in thought arises as certainly as the relation in
things. Supposing this state to be reached (which however it
can be only in infinite time) experience will cease to produce
any further mental evolution—there will have been reached a
perfect correspondence between ideas and facts; and the intellectual
adaptation of man to his circumstances will be
complete. The like general truths are exhibited in
the process moral of adaptation; which is a continual approach
to equilibrium between the emotions and the kinds of conduct
necessitated by surrounding conditions. The connections
of feelings and actions, are determined in the same way
as the connections of ideas: just as repeating the association
of two ideas, facilitates the excitement of the one by the
other; so does each discharge of feeling into action, render
the subsequent discharge of such feeling into such action
more easy. Hence it happens that if an individual is placed
464permanently in conditions which demand more action of a
special kind than has before been requisite, or than is natural
to him—if the pressure of the painful feelings which these
conditions entail when disregarded, impels him to perform
this action to a greater extent—if by every more frequent or
more lengthened performance of it under such pressure, the
resistance is somewhat diminished; then, clearly, there
is an advance towards a balance between the demand for
this kind of action and the supply of it. Either in himself,
or in his descendants continuing to live under these
conditions, enforced repetition must eventually bring about
a state in which this mode of directing the energies will be
no more repugnant than the various other modes previously
natural to the race. Hence the limit towards which emotional
modification perpetually tends, and to which it must approach
indefinitely near (though it can absolutely reach it only in
infinite time) is a combination of desires that correspond to
all the different orders of activity which the circumstances of
life call for—desires severally proportionate in strength to
the needs for these orders of activity; and severally satisfied
by these orders of activity. In what we distinguish as
acquired habits, and in the moral differences of races and
nations produced by habits that are maintained through successive
generations, we have countless illustrations of this
progressive adaptation; which can cease only with the establishment
of a complete equilibrium between constitution and
conditions.
Possibly some will fail to see how the equilibrations described
in this section, can be classed with those preceding
them; and will be inclined to say that what are here set
down as facts, are but analogies. Nevertheless such equilibrations
are as truly physical as the rest. To show this
fully, would require a more detailed analysis than can now be
entered on. For the present it must suffice to point out, as
before (§ 82), that what we know subjectively as states of
465consciousness, are, objectively, modes of force; that so much
feeling is the correlate of so much motion; that the performance
of any bodily action is the transformation of a certain amount
of feeling into its equivalent amount of motion; that this
bodily action is met by forces which it is expended in overcoming;
and that the necessity for the frequent repetition of
this action, implies the frequent recurrence of forces to be so
overcome. Hence the existence in any individual of an
emotional stimulus that is in equilibrium with certain external
requirements, is literally the habitual production of a
certain specialized portion of nervous energy, equivalent in
amount to a certain order of external resistances that are
habitually met. And thus the ultimate state, forming the
limit towards which Evolution carries us, is one in which the
kinds and quantities of mental energy daily generated and
transformed into motions, are equivalent to, or in equilibrium
with, the various orders and degrees of surrounding forces
which antagonize such motions.
§ 135. Each society taken as a whole, displays the process
of equilibration in the continuous adjustment of its population
to its means of subsistence. A tribe of men living on wild
animals and fruits, is manifestly, like every tribe of inferior
creatures, always oscillating about that average number which
the locality can support. Though by artificial production, and
by successive improvements in artificial production, a superior
race continually alters the limit which external conditions
put to population; yet there is ever a checking of population
at the temporary limit reached. It is true that where the
limit is being so rapidly changed as among ourselves, there
is no actual stoppage: there is only a rhythmical variation
in the rate of increase. But in noting the causes of this
rhythmical variation—in watching how, during periods of
abundance, the proportion of marriages increases, and how
it decreases during periods of scarcity; it will be seen that the
466expansive force produces unusual advance whenever the repressive
force diminishes, and vice versâ; and thus there is as
near a balancing of the two as the changing conditions permit.
The internal actions constituting social functions, exemplify
the general principle no less clearly. Supply and demand
are continually being adjusted throughout all industrial processes;
and this equilibration is interpretable in the same way
as preceding ones. The production and distribution of a
commodity, is the expression of a certain aggregate of forces
causing special kinds and amounts of motion. The price of
this commodity, is the measure of a certain other aggregate
of forces expended by the labourer who purchases it, in other
kinds and amounts of motion. And the variations of price
represent a rhythmical balancing of these forces. Every rise
or fall in the rate of interest, or change in the value of a
particular security, implies a conflict of forces in which some,
becoming temporarily predominant, cause a movement that
is presently arrested or equilibrated by the increase of opposing
forces; and amid these daily and hourly oscillations, lies a
more slowly-varying medium, into which the value ever tends
to settle; and would settle but for the constant addition of new
influences. As in the individual organism so in the
social organism, functional equilibrations generate structural
equilibrations. When on the workers in any trade there
comes an increased demand, and when in return for the increased
supply, there is given to them an amount of other commodities
larger than was before habitual—when, consequently,
the resistances overcome by them in sustaining life are less
than the resistances overcome by other workers; there
results a flow of other workers into this trade. This
flow continues until the extra demand is met, and the
wages so far fall again, that the total resistance overcome
in obtaining a given amount of produce, is as great in
this newly-adopted occupation as in the occupations whence
it drew recruits. The occurrence of motion along lines of
least resistance, was before shown to necessitate the growth
467of population in those places where the labour required for
self-maintenance is the smallest; and here we further see
that those engaged in any such advantageous locality, or
advantageous business, must multiply till there arises an
approximate balance between this locality or business and
others accessible to the same citizens. In determining
the career of every youth, we see an estimation by parents of
the respective advantages offered by all that are available,
and a choice of the one which promises best; and through
the consequent influx into trades that are at the time most
profitable, and the withholding of recruits from over-stocked
trades, there is insured a general equipoise between the
power of each social organ and the function it has to perform.
The various industrial actions and re-actions thus continually
alternating, constitute a dependent moving equilibrium
like that which is maintained among the functions
of an individual organism. And this dependent moving
equilibrium parallels those already contemplated, in its tendency
to become more complete. During early stages of
social evolution, while yet the resources of the locality inhabited
are unexplored, and the arts of production undeveloped,
there is never anything more than a temporary and partial
balancing of such actions, under the form of acceleration or
retardation of growth. But when a society approaches the
maturity of that type on which it is organized, the various
industrial activities settle down into a comparatively
constant state. Moreover, it is observable that advance in
organization, as well as advance in growth, is conducive to a
better equilibrium of industrial functions. While the diffusion
of mercantile information is slow, and the means of
transport deficient, the adjustment of supply to demand is
extremely imperfect: great over-production of each commodity
followed by great under-production, constitute a
rhythm having extremes that depart very widely from the
mean state in which demand and supply are equilibrated.
But when good roads are made, and there is a rapid diffusion of
468printed or written intelligence, and still more when railways
and telegraphs come into existence—when the periodical
fairs of early days lapse into weekly markets, and these into
daily markets; there is gradually produced a better balance
of production and consumption. Extra demand is much
more quickly followed by augmented supply; and the rapid
oscillations of price within narrow limits on either side of a
comparatively uniform mean, indicate a near approach to
equilibrium. Evidently this industrial progress has
for its limit, that which Mr. Mill has called “the stationary
state.” When population shall have become dense
over all habitable parts of the globe; when the resources of
every region have been fully explored; and when the productive
arts admit of no further improvements; there must result
an almost complete balance, both between the fertility and
mortality of each society, and between its producing and
consuming activities. Each society will exhibit only minor
deviations from its average number, and the rhythm of its
industrial functions will go on from day to day and year
to year with comparatively insignificant perturbations. This
limit, however, though we are inevitably advancing towards
it, is indefinitely remote; and can never indeed be absolutely
reached. The peopling of the Earth up to the point supposed,
cannot take place by simple spreading. In the future,
as in the past, the process will be carried on rhythmically,
by waves of emigration from new and higher centres of
civilization successively arising; and by the supplanting of
inferior races by the superior races they beget; and the
process so carried on must be extremely slow. Nor does
it seem to me that such an equilibration will, as Mr. Mill
suggests, leave scope for further mental culture and moral
progress; but rather that the approximation to it must
be simultaneous with the approximation to complete equilibrium
between man’s nature and the conditions of his
existence.
One other kind of social equilibration has still to be considered:—that
469which results in the establishment of governmental
institutions, and which becomes complete as these
institutions fall into harmony with the desires of the people.
There is a demand and supply in political affairs as in industrial
affairs; and in the one case as in the other, the antagonist
forces produce a rhythm which, at first extreme in its
oscillations, slowly settles down into a moving equilibrium of
comparative regularity. Those aggressive impulses inherited
from the pre-social state—those tendencies to seek self-satisfaction
regardless of injury to other beings, which are essential
to a predatory life, constitute an anti-social force, tending
ever to cause conflict and eventual separation of citizens.
Contrariwise, those desires whose ends can be achieved
only by union, as well as those sentiments which find satisfaction
through intercourse with fellow-men, and those resulting
in what we call loyalty, are forces tending to keep the
units of a society together. On the one hand, there is in
each citizen, more or less of resistance against all restraints
imposed on his actions by other citizens: a resistance which,
tending continually to widen each individual’s sphere of
action, and reciprocally to limit the spheres of action
of other individuals, constitutes a repulsive force mutually
exercised by the members of a social aggregate. On the
other hand, the general sympathy of man for man, and
the more special sympathy of each variety of man for others
of the same variety, together with sundry allied feelings
which the social state gratifies, act as an attractive force,
tending ever to keep united those who have a common ancestry.
And since the resistances to be overcome in satisfying
the totality of their desires when living separately, are greater
than the resistances to be overcome in satisfying the totality
of their desires when living together, there is a residuary
force that prevents their separation. Like all other opposing
forces, those exerted by citizens on each other, are ever
producing alternating movements, which, at first extreme,
undergo a gradual diminution on the way to ultimate equilibrium.
470In small, undeveloped societies, marked rhythms
result from these conflicting tendencies. A tribe whose
members have held together for a generation or two, reaches
a size at which it will not hold together; and on the occurrence
of some event causing unusual antagonism among its
members, divides. Each primitive nation, depending largely
for its continued union on the character of its chief, exhibits
wide oscillations between an extreme in which the subjects
are under rigid restraint, and an extreme in which the
restraint is not enough to prevent disorder. In more
advanced nations of like type, we always find violent actions
and reactions of the same essential nature—“despotism
tempered by assassination,” characterizing a political state
in which unbearable repression from time to time brings
about a bursting of all bonds. In this familiar fact, that a
period of tyranny is followed by a period of license and
vice versâ, we see how these opposing forces are ever equilibrating
each other; and we also see, in the tendency of such
movements and counter-movements to become more moderate,
how the equilibration progresses towards completeness.
The conflicts between Conservatism (which stands for the
restraints of society over the individual) and Reform (which
stands for the liberty of the individual against society), fall
within slowly approximating limits; so that the temporary
predominance of either, produces a less marked deviation
from the medium state. This process, now so far
advanced among ourselves that the oscillations are comparatively
unobtrusive, must go on till the balance between the
antagonist forces approaches indefinitely near perfection.
For, as we have already seen, the adaptation of man’s nature
to the conditions of his existence, cannot cease until the internal
forces which we know as feelings are in equilibrium
with the external forces they encounter. And the establishment
of this equilibrium, is the arrival at a state of human
nature and social organization, such that the individual has
no desires but those which may be satisfied without exceeding
471his proper sphere of action, while society maintains no
restraints but those which the individual voluntarily respects.
The progressive extension of the liberty of citizens,
and the reciprocal removal of political restrictions, are the
steps by which we advance towards this state. And the ultimate
abolition of all limits to the freedom of each, save those
imposed by the like freedom of all, must result from the
complete equilibration between man’s desires and the conduct
necessitated by surrounding conditions.
Of course in this case, as in the preceding ones, there is
thus involved a limit to the increase of heterogeneity. A
few pages back, we reached the conclusion that each advance
in mental evolution, is the establishment of some further
internal action, corresponding to some further external
action—some additional connection of ideas or feelings,
answering to some before unknown or unantagonized connection
of phenomena. We inferred that each such new
function, involving some new modification of structure,
implies an increase of heterogeneity; and that thus, increase
of heterogeneity must go on, while there remain any
outer relations affecting the organism which are unbalanced
by inner relations. Whence we saw it to follow that increase
of heterogeneity can come to an end only as equilibration
is completed. Evidently the like must simultaneously
take place with society. Each increment of heterogeneity
in the individual, must directly or indirectly involve, as
cause or consequence, some increment of heterogeneity in
the arrangements of the aggregate of individuals. And the
limit to social complexity can be arrived at, only with the
establishment of the equilibrium, just described, between
social and individual forces.
§ 136. Here presents itself a final question, which has probably
been taking a more or less distinct shape in the minds
of many, while reading this chapter. “If Evolution of every
kind, is an increase in complexity of structure and function
472that is incidental to the universal process of equilibration—if
equilibration, passing through the gradually-perfected forms
of moving equilibrium, must end in complete rest; what is
the fate towards which all things tend? If the bodies
constituting our Solar System are slowly dissipating the
forces they possess—if the Sun is losing his heat at a rate
which, though insignificant as stated in terms of our chronology,
will tell in millions of years—if geologic and meteorologic
processes cannot but diminish in activity as the Sun’s
radiations diminish—if with the diminution of these radiations
there must also go on a diminution in the quantity of
vegetal and animal existence—if Man and Society, however
high the degree of evolution at which they arrive, are similarly
dependent on this supply of force that is gradually
coming to an end—if thus the highest, equally with the
lowest, terrestrial life, must eventually dwindle and disappear;
are we not manifestly progressing towards omnipresent
death? And have we thus to contemplate, as the
out-come of things, a universe of extinct suns round which
circle planets devoid of life?”
That such a state must be the proximate end of the processes
everywhere going on, seems beyond doubt. But the further
question tacitly involved, whether this state will continue
eternally, is quite a different one. To give a positive answer
to this further question would be quite illegitimate; since to
affirm any proposition into which unlimited time enters as
one of the terms, is to affirm a proposition of which one term
cannot be represented in consciousness—is to affirm an unthinkable
proposition. At a first glance it may appear that
the reverse conclusion must be equally illegitimate; and that
so the question is altogether insoluble. But further consideration
will show that this is not true. So long as the
terms to which we confine our reasonings are finite, the finite
conclusions reached are not necessarily illegitimate. Though,
if the general argument, when carried out, left no apparent
escape from the inference that the state of rest to
473which Evolution is carrying things, must, when arrived
at, last for ever, this inference would be invalid, as transcending
the scope of human intelligence; yet if, on pushing
further the general argument, we bring out the inference
that such a state will not last for ever, this inference is
not necessarily invalid: since, by the hypothesis, it contains
no terms necessarily transcending the scope of human
intelligence. It is permissible therefore, to inquire, what
are the probable ulterior results of this process which must
bring Evolution to a close in Universal Death. Without
being so rash as to form anything like a positive conclusion
on a matter so vast and so far beyond the boundaries of
exact science; we may still inquire what seems to be the
remote future towards which the facts point.
It has been already shown that all equilibration, so far
as we can trace it, is relative. The dissipation of a body’s
motion by communication of it to surrounding matter, solid,
liquid, gaseous, and ethereal, tends to bring the body to
a fixed position in relation to the matter that abstracts its
motion. But all its other motions continue as before. The
arrest of a cannon-shot does not diminish its movement
towards the East at a thousand miles an hour, along with the
wall it has struck; and a gradual dispersion of the Earth’s
rotatory motion, would abstract nothing from the million
and a half miles per day through which the Earth speeds in
its orbit. Further, we have to bear in mind that this
motion, the disappearance of which causes relative equilibration,
is not lost but simply transferred; and by continual
division and subdivision finally reduced to ethereal undulations
and radiated through space. Whether the sensible
motion dissipated during relative equilibration, is directly
transformed into insensible motion, as happens in the case of
the Sun; or whether, as in the sensible motions going on
around us, it is directly transformed into smaller sensible
motions, and these into still smaller, until they become insensible,
matters not. In every instance the ultimate result
474is, that whatever motion of masses is lost, re-appears as
molecular motion pervading space. Thus the questions we
have to consider, are—Whether after the completion of all
the relative equilibrations above contemplated as bringing
Evolution to a close, there remain any further equilibrations
to be effected?—Whether there are any other motions of
masses that must eventually be transformed into molecular
motion?—And if there are such other motions, what must
be the consequence when the molecular motion generated by
their transformation, is added to that which already exists?
To the first of these questions the answer is, that there do
remain motions which are undiminished by all the relative
equilibrations thus far considered; namely, the motions of
translation possessed by those vast masses of incandescent
matter called stars—masses now known to be suns that are
in all probability, like our own, surrounded by circling
groups of planets. The belief that the stars are literally
fixed, has long since been exploded: observation has proved
many of them to have sensible proper motions. Moreover, it
has been ascertained by measurement, that in relation to the
stars nearest to us, our own star is moving at the rate of
about half a million miles per day; and if, as is admitted to
be not improbable by sundry astronomers, our own star is
traversing space in the same direction with adjacent stars,
its absolute velocity may be, and most likely is, immensely
greater than this. Now no such changes as those taking
place within the Solar System, even when carried to the
extent of integrating the whole of its matter into one mass,
and diffusing all its relative movements in an insensible
form through space, can affect these sidereal movements.
Hence, there appears no alternative but to infer, that these
sidereal movements must remain to be equilibrated by some
subsequent process.
The next question that arises, if we venture to inquire the
probable nature of this process, is—To what law do sidereal
motions conform? And to this question Astronomy replies—the
475law of gravitation. The relative motions of binary stars
have proved this. When it was discovered that certain of
the double stars are not optically double but physically
double, and move round each other, it was at once suspected
that their revolutions might be regulated by a mutual attraction
like that which regulates the revolutions of planets
and satellites. The requisite measurements having been
from time to time made, the periodic times of sundry
binary stars were calculated on this assumption; and the
subsequent performances of their revolutions in the predicted
periods, have completely verified the assumption.
If, then, it is demonstrated that these remote bodies are
centres of gravitation—if we infer that all other stars are
centres of gravitation, as we may fairly do—and if we draw
the unavoidable corollary, that this gravitative force which so
conspicuously affects stars that are comparatively near each
other, must affect remote stars; we find ourselves led to the
conclusion that all the members of our Sidereal System gravitate,
individually and as an aggregate.
But if these widely-dispersed moving masses mutually
gravitate, what must happen? There appears but one tenable
answer. Even supposing they were all absolutely equal
in weight, and arranged into an annulus with absolute regularity,
and endowed with exactly the amounts of centrifugal
force required to prevent nearer approach to their common
centre of gravity; the condition would still be one which the
slightest disturbing force would destroy. Much more then
are we driven to the inference, that our actual Sidereal System
cannot preserve its present arrangement: the irregularities
of its distribution being such as to render even a temporary
moving equilibrium impossible. If the stars are so many
centres of an attractive force that varies inversely as the
square of the distance, there appears to be no escape from the
conclusion, that the structure of our galaxy must be undergoing
change; and must continue to undergo change.
Thus, in the absence of tenable alternatives, we are brought
476to the positions:—1, that the stars are in motion;—2, that they
move in conformity with the law of gravitation;—3, that,
distributed as they are, they cannot move in conformity
with the law of gravitation, without undergoing change of
arrangement. If now we permit ourselves to take a further
step, and ask the nature of this change of arrangement, we
find ourselves obliged to infer a progressive concentration.
Whether we do or do not suppose the clustering which is
now visible, to have been caused by mutual gravitation acting
throughout past eras, as the hypothesis of Evolution implies,
we are equally compelled to conclude that this clustering
must increase throughout future eras. Stars at present
dispersed, must become locally aggregated; existing aggregations,
at the same time that they are enlarged by the
drawing in of adjacent stars, must grow more dense; and
aggregations must coalesce with each other: each greater
degree of concentration augmenting the force by which
further concentration is produced.
And now what must be the limit of this concentration?
The mutual attraction of two individual stars, when it so far
predominates over other attractions as to cause approximation,
almost certainly ends in the formation of a binary
star; since the motions generated by other attractions, prevent
the two stars from moving in straight lines to their
common centre of gravity. Between small clusters, too,
having also certain proper motions as clusters, mutual attraction
may lead, not to complete union, but to the formation
of binary clusters. As the process continues however,
and the clusters become larger, it seems clear that they must
move more directly towards each other, thus forming clusters
of increasing density; and that eventually all clusters must
unite into one comparatively close aggregation. While,
therefore, during the earlier stages of concentration, the
probabilities are immense against the actual contact of these
mutually-gravitating masses; it is tolerably manifest, that as
the concentration increases, collision must become probable,
477and ultimately certain. This is an inference not lacking the
support of high authority. Sir John Herschel, treating of
those numerous and variously-aggregated clusters of stars
revealed by the telescope, and citing with apparent approval
his father’s opinion, that the more diffused and irregular of
these, are “globular clusters in a less advanced state of condensation;”
subsequently remarks, that “among a crowd of
solid bodies of whatever size, animated by independent and
partially opposing impulses, motions opposite to each other
must produce collision, destruction of velocity, and subsidence
or near approach towards the centre of preponderant attraction;
while those which conspire, or which remain outstanding
after such conflicts, must ultimately give rise to circulation
of a permanent character.” Now what is here alleged
of these minor sidereal aggregations, cannot be denied of the
large aggregations; and thus the above-described process of
concentration, appears certain to bring about an increasingly-frequent
integration of masses.
We have next to consider the consequences of the accompanying
loss of velocity. The sensible motion which disappears,
cannot be destroyed; but must be transformed into
insensible motion. What will be the effect of this insensible
motion? Some approach to a conception of it, will be made
by considering what would happen were the comparatively insignificant
motion of our planet thus transformed. In his essay
on “The Inter-action of Natural Forces,” Prof. Helmholtz
states the thermal equivalent of the Earth’s movement
through space; as calculated on the now received datum of
Mr. Joule. “If our Earth,” he says, “were by a sudden
shock brought to rest in her orbit,—which is not to be feared
in the existing arrangement of our system—by such a shock
a quantity of heat would be generated equal to that produced
by the combustion of fourteen such Earths of solid
coal. Making the most unfavourable assumption as to its
capacity for heat, that is, placing it equal to that of water,
the mass of the Earth would thereby be heated 11,200 degrees;
478it would therefore be quite fused, and for the most
part reduced to vapour. If then the Earth, after having
been thus brought to rest, should fall into the Sun, which of
course would be the case, the quantity of heat developed by
the shock would be 400 times greater.” Now so relatively
small a momentum as that acquired by the Earth in falling
through 95,000,000 of miles to the Sun, being equivalent to
a molecular motion such as would reduce the Earth to gases
of extreme rarity; what must be the molecular motion generated
by the mutually-arrested momenta of two stars, that
have moved to their common centre of gravity through spaces
immeasurably greater? There seems no alternative but to
conclude, that this molecular motion must be so great, as to
reduce the matter of the stars to an almost inconceivable tenuity—a
tenuity like that which we ascribe to nebular matter.
Such being the immediate effect of the integration
of any two stars in a concentrating aggregate, what must
be the ulterior effect on the aggregate as a whole? Sir John
Herschel, in the passage above quoted, describing the collisions
that must arise in a mutually-gravitating group of stars, adds
that those stars “which remain outstanding after such conflicts,
must ultimately give rise to circulation of a permanent
character.” The problem, however, is here dealt with purely
as a mechanical one: the assumption being, that the mutually-arrested
masses will continue as masses—an assumption
to which no objection was apparent at the time when Sir
John Herschel wrote this passage; since the doctrine of the
correlation of forces was not then recognized. But obliged
as we now are to conclude, that stars moving at the high
velocities acquired during concentration, will, by mutual
arrest, be dissipated into gases of great tenuity, the problem
becomes different; and a different inference appears unavoidable.
For the diffused matter produced by such conflicts,
must form a resisting medium, occupying that central region
of the aggregate through which its members from time to
time pass in describing their orbits—a resisting medium
479which they cannot move through without having their velocities
diminished. Every further such collision, by augmenting
this resisting medium, and making the losses of
velocity greater, must further aid in preventing the establishment
of that equilibrium which would else arise; and so
must conspire to produce more frequent collisions. And the
nebulous matter thus formed, presently enveloping and extending
beyond the whole aggregate, must, by continuing to
shorten their gyrations, entail an increasingly-active integration
and re-active disintegration of the moving masses; until
they are all finally dissipated. This, indeed, is the
conclusion which, leaving out all consideration of the process
gone through, presents itself as a simple deduction from
the persistence of force. If the stars have been, and still
are, concentrating however indirectly on their common centre
of gravity, and must eventually reach it; it is a corollary
from the persistence of force, that the quantities of motion
they have severally acquired, must suffice to carry them away
from the common centre of gravity to those remote regions
whence they originally began to move towards it. And since,
by the conditions of the case, they cannot return to these
remote regions in the shape of concrete masses, they must
return in the shape of diffused masses. Action and reaction
being equal and opposite, the momentum producing dispersion,
must be as great as the momentum acquired by aggregation;
and being spread over the same quantity of matter,
must cause an equivalent distribution through space, whatever
be the form of the matter. One condition,
however, essential to the literal fulfilment of this result, must
be specified; namely, that the quantity of molecular motion
produced and radiated into space by each star in the course
of its formation from diffused matter, shall be compensated
by an equal quantity of molecular motion radiated from other
parts of space into the space which our Sidereal System occupies.
In other words, if we set out with that amount of
molecular motion implied by the existence of the matter of
480our Sidereal System in a nebulous form; then it follows from
the persistence of force, that if this matter undergoes the re-distribution
constituting Evolution, the quantity of molecular
motion given out during the integration of each mass,
plus the quantity of molecular motion given out during the
integration of all the masses, must suffice again to reduce it
to the same nebulous form. Here indeed we arrive at
an impassable limit to our reasonings; since we cannot know
whether this condition is or is not fulfilled. On the hypothesis
of an unlimited space, containing, at certain intervals,
Sidereal Systems like our own, it may be that the quantity of
molecular motion radiated into the region occupied by our
Sidereal System, is equal to that which our Sidereal System
radiates; in which case the quantity of motion possessed by
it, remaining undiminished, our Sidereal System may continue
during unlimited time, to repeat this alternate concentration
and diffusion. But if, on the other hand, throughout boundless
space there exist no other Sidereal Systems subject to like
changes, or if such other Sidereal Systems exist at more than
a certain average distance from each other; then it seems an
unavoidable conclusion that the quantity of motion possessed,
must diminish by radiation into unoccupied space; and that
so, on each successive resumption of the nebulous form, the
matter of our Sidereal System will occupy a less space;
until at the end of an infinite time it reaches either a state
in which its concentrations and diffusions are relatively small,
or a state of complete aggregation and rest. Since, however,
we have no evidence showing the existence or non-existence
of Sidereal Systems throughout remote space; and since, even
had we such evidence, a legitimate conclusion could not be
drawn from premises of which one element (unlimited space)
is inconceivable; we must be for ever without answer to this
transcendent question. All we can say is, that so far as the
data enable us to judge, the integration of our Sidereal System
will be followed by disintegration; that such integration
and disintegration will be repeated; and that, for anything
481we know to the contrary, the alternation of them may continue
without limit.
But leaving this ultimate insoluble problem, and confining
ourselves to the proximate and not necessarily insoluble one,
we find reason for thinking that after the completion of those
various equilibrations which bring to a close all the forms of
Evolution we have contemplated, there must still continue
an equilibration of a far wider kind. When that integration
everywhere in progress throughout our Solar System, has
reached its climax, there will remain to be effected the immeasurably
greater integration of our Solar System, with all
other such systems. As in those minor forms now going on
around us, this integration with its concomitant equilibration,
involves the change of aggregate motion into diffused
motion; so in those vaster forms hereafter to be carried out,
there must similarly be gained in molecular motion what is
lost in the motion of masses; and the inevitable transformation
of this motion of masses into molecular motion, cannot
take place without reducing the masses to a nebulous form.
Thus we seem led to the conclusion that the entire process of
things, as displayed in the aggregate of the visible Universe,
is analogous to the entire process of things as displayed in
the smallest aggregates. Where, as in organic bodies, the whole
series of changes constituting Evolution can be traced, we
saw that, dynamically considered, Evolution is a change from
molecular motion to the motion of masses; and this change,
becoming more active during the ascending phase of Evolution
while the masses increase in bulk and heterogeneity,
eventually begins to get less active; until, passing through
stages in which the integration grows greater, and the equilibrium
more definite, it finally ceases; whereupon there
arises, by an ulterior process, an increase of molecular motion,
ending in the more or less complete dissolution of the
aggregate. And here we find reason to believe that, along
with each of the thousands of similar ones dispersed through
the heavens, our Solar System, after passing through stages
482during which the motion of masses is produced at the expense
of lost molecular motion, and during which there goes
on an increasingly active differentiation and integration,
arrives at a climax whence these changes, beginning to decline
in activity, slowly bring about that complete integration and
equilibration which in other cases we call death; and that
there afterwards comes a time, when the still-remaining motions
of masses are transformed into a molecular motion which
causes dissolution of the masses. Motion as well as Matter
being fixed in quantity, it would seem that the change in the
distribution of Matter which Motion effects, coming to a limit
in whichever direction it is carried, the indestructible Motion
thereupon necessitates a reverse distribution. Apparently,
the universally-coexistent forces of attraction and repulsion,
which, as we have seen, necessitate rhythm in all minor
changes throughout the Universe, also necessitate rhythm
in the totality of its changes—produce now an immeasurable
period during which the attractive forces predominating,
cause universal concentration, and then an immeasurable
period during which the repulsive forces predominating,
cause universal diffusion—alternate eras of Evolution and
Dissolution. And thus there is suggested the conception
of a past during which there have been successive Evolutions
similar to that which is now going on; and a
future during which successive other such Evolutions may
go on.
Let none suppose, however, that this is to be taken as anything
more than a speculation. In dealing with times and
spaces and forces so immensely transcending those of which
we have definite experience, we are in danger of passing the
limits to human intelligence. Though these times and
spaces and forces cannot literally be classed as infinite; yet
they are so utterly beyond the possibility of definite conception,
as to be almost equally unthinkable with the infinite.
What has been above said, should therefore be regarded simply
as a possible answer to a possible doubt. When, pushing
483to its extreme the argument that Evolution must come
to a close in complete equilibrium or rest, the reader suggests
that for aught which appears to the contrary, the Universal
Death thus implied will continue indefinitely; it is legitimate
to point out how, on carrying the argument still further,
we are led to infer a subsequent Universal Life. But while
this last inference may fitly be accepted as a demurrer to the
first, it would be unwise to accept it in any more positive
sense.
§ 137. Returning from this parenthetical discussion, concerning
the probable or possible state of things that may
arise after Evolution has run its course; and confining ourselves
to the changes constituting Evolution, with which
alone we are immediately concerned; we have now to inquire
whether the cessation of these changes, in common with all
their transitional characteristics, admits of à priori proof. It
will soon become apparent that equilibration, not less than
the preceding general principles, is deducible from the persistence
of force.
We have seen (§ 85) that phenomena are interpretable
only as the results of universally-coexistent forces of attraction
and repulsion. These universally-coexistent forces of attraction
and repulsion, are, indeed, the complementary aspects
of that absolutely persistent force which is the ultimate datum
of consciousness. Just in the same way that the equality of
action and re-action is a corollary from the persistence of
force, since their inequality would imply the disappearance
of the differential force into nothing, or its appearance out of
nothing; so, we cannot become conscious of an attractive
force without becoming simultaneously conscious of an equal
and opposite repulsive force. For every experience of a
muscular tension, (under which form alone we can immediately
know an attractive force,) presupposes an equivalent
resistance—a resistance shown in the counter-balancing pressure
of the body against neighbouring objects, or in that
484absorption of force which gives motion to the body, or in
both—a resistance which we cannot conceive as other than
equal to the tension, without conceiving force to have either
appeared or disappeared, and so denying the persistence of
force. And from this necessary correlation, results our inability,
before pointed out, of interpreting any phenomena
save in terms of these correlatives—an inability shown alike
in the compulsion we are under to think of the statical forces
which tangible matter displays, as due to the attraction and
repulsion of its atoms, and in the compulsion we are under to
think of dynamical forces exercised through space, by regarding
space as filled with atoms similarly endowed. Thus from
the existence of a force that is for ever unchangeable in quantity,
there follows, as a necessary corollary, the co-extensive
existence of these opposite forms of force—forms under
which the conditions of our consciousness oblige us to represent
that absolute force which transcends our knowledge.
But the forces of attraction and repulsion being universally
co-existent, it follows, as before shown, that all motion
is motion under resistance. Units of matter, solid, liquid,
aëriform, or ethereal, filling the space which any moving
body traverses, offer to such body the resistance consequent
on their cohesion, or their inertia, or both. In other words,
the denser or rarer medium which occupies the places from
moment to moment passed through by such moving body,
having to be expelled from them, as much motion is abstracted
from the moving body as is given to the medium in
expelling it from these places. This being the condition
under which all motion occurs, two corollaries result. The
first is, that the deductions perpetually made by the communication
of motion to the resisting medium, cannot but
bring the motion of the body to an end in a longer or shorter
time. The second is, that the motion of the body cannot
cease until these deductions destroy it. In other words,
movement must continue till equilibration takes place; and
equilibration must eventually take place. Both these are
485manifest deductions from the persistence of force. To say
that the whole or part of a body’s motion can disappear, save
by transfer to something which resists its motion, is to say
that the whole or part of its motion can disappear without
effect; which is to deny the persistence of force. Conversely,
to say that the medium traversed can be moved out of
the body’s path, without deducting from the body’s motion,
is to say that motion of the medium can arise out of nothing;
which is to deny the persistence of force. Hence
this primordial truth is our immediate warrant for the conclusions,
that the changes which Evolution presents, cannot
end until equilibrium is reached; and that equilibrium must
at last be reached.
Equally necessary, because equally deducible from this
same truth that transcends proof, are the foregoing propositions
respecting the establishment and maintenance of moving
equilibria, under their several aspects. It follows from
the persistence of force, that the various motions possessed
by any aggregate, either as a whole or among its parts, must
be severally dissipated by the resistances they severally encounter;
and that thus, such of them as are least in amount,
or meet with greatest opposition, or both, will be brought to
a close while the others continue. Hence in every diversely
moving aggregate, there results a comparatively early dissipation
of motions which are smaller and much resisted; followed
by long-continuance of the larger and less-resisted
motions; and so there arise dependent and independent
moving equilibria. Hence also may be inferred the tendency
to conservation of such moving equilibria; since,
whenever the new motion given to the parts of a moving
equilibrium by a disturbing force, is not of such kind and
amount that it cannot be dissipated before the pre-existing
motions (in which case it brings the moving equilibrium to
an end) it must be of such kind and amount that it can be
dissipated before the pre-existing motions (in which case the
moving equilibrium is re-established).
486Thus from the persistence of force follow, not only the
various direct and indirect equilibrations going on around,
together with that cosmical equilibration which brings Evolution
under all its forms to a close; but also those less
manifest equilibrations shown in the re-adjustments of
moving equilibria that have been disturbed. By this
ultimate principle is proveable the tendency of every
organism, disordered by some unusual influence, to return to
a balanced state. To it also may be traced the capacity,
possessed in a slight degree by individuals, and in a greater
degree by species, of becoming adapted to new circumstances.
And not less does it afford a basis for the inference, that
there is a gradual advance towards harmony between man’s
mental nature and the conditions of his existence. After
finding that from it are deducible the various characteristics
of Evolution, we finally draw from it a warrant for the
belief, that Evolution can end only in the establishment of
the greatest perfection and the most complete happiness.
487
§ 138. In the chapter on “Laws in general,” after delineating
the progress of mankind in recognizing uniformities
of relation among surrounding phenomena—after showing
how the actual succession in the establishment of different
orders of co-existences and sequences, corresponds with the
succession deducible à priori from the conditions to human
knowledge—after showing how, by the ever-multiplying experiences
of constant connections among phenomena, there
has been gradually generated the conception of universal
conformity to law; it was suggested that this conception
will become still clearer, when it is perceived that there
are laws of wider generality than any of those at present
accepted.
The existence of such more general laws, is, indeed, almost
implied by the ensemble of the facts set forth in the above-named
chapter; since they make it apparent, that the process
hitherto carried on, of bringing phenomena under fewer and
wider laws, has not ceased, but is advancing with increasing
rapidity. Apart, however, from evidence of this kind, the
man of science, hourly impressed with new proof of uniformity
in the relations of things, until the conception of
uniformity has become with him a necessity of thought,
tacitly entertains the conclusion that the minor uniformities
which Science has thus far established, will eventually be
488merged in uniformities that are universal. Taught as he
is by every observation and experiment, to regard phenomena
as manifestations of Force; and learning as he does
to contemplate Force as unchangeable in amount; there tends
to grow up in him a belief in unchangeable laws common to
Force under all its manifestations. Though he may not have
formulated it to himself, he is prepared to recognize the
truth, that, being fixed in quantity, fixed in its two ultimate
modes of presentation (Matter and Motion), and fixed in the
conditions under which it is presented (Time and Space);
Force must have certain equally fixed laws of action, common
to all the changes it produces.
Hence to the classes who alone are likely to read these
pages, the hypothesis of a fundamental unity, extending
from the simplest inorganic actions up to the most complex
associations of thought and the most involved social
processes, will have an à priori probability. All things being
recognized as having one source, will be expected to exhibit
one method. Even in the absence of a clue to uniformities
co-extensive with all modes of Force, as the mathematical
uniformities are co-extensive with Space and Time, it will be
inferred that such uniformities exist. And thus a certain
presumption will result in favour of any formula, of a generality
great enough to include concrete phenomena of every
order.
§ 139. In the chapters on the “Law of Evolution,” there
was set forth a principle, which, so far as accessible evidence
enables us to judge, possesses this universality. The order
of material changes, first perceived to have certain constant
characteristics in cases where it could be readily traced from
beginning to end, we found to have these same characteristics
in cases where it could be less readily traced; and we saw
numerous indications that these same characteristics were
displayed during past changes of which we have no direct
knowledge. The transformation of the homogeneous into
489the heterogeneous, first observed by naturalists to be exhibited
during the development of every plant and animal,
proved to be also exhibited during the development of every
society; both in its political and industrial organization, and
in all the products of social life,—language, science, art,
and literature. From the disclosures of geology, we drew
adequate support for the conclusion, that in the structure of
the Earth there has similarly been a progress from uniformity,
through ever-increasing degrees of multiformity, to
the complex state which we now see. And on the assumption
of that nebular origin to which so many facts point, we
inferred that a like transition from unity to variety of distribution,
must have been undergone by our Solar System;
as well as by that vast assemblage of such systems constituting
the visible Universe. This definition of the metamorphosis,
first asserted by physiologists of organic aggregates
only, but which we thus found reason to think, holds of all
other aggregates, proved on further inquiry to be too wide.
Its undue width was shown to arise from the omission of
certain other characteristics, that are, not less than the foregoing
one, displayed throughout all kinds of Evolution. We
saw that simultaneously with the change from homogeneity
to heterogeneity, there takes place a change from indefiniteness
of arrangement to definiteness of arrangement—a
change everywhere equally traceable with that which it accompanies.
Further consideration made it apparent, that
the increasing definiteness thus manifested along with increasing
heterogeneity, necessarily results from increasing
integration of the parts severally rendered unlike. And
thus we finally reached the conclusion, that there has been
going on throughout an immeasurable past, is still going on,
and will continue to go on, an advance from a diffused, indeterminate,
and uniform distribution of Matter, to a concentrated,
determinate, and multiform distribution of it.
At a subsequent stage of our inquiry, we discovered that
this progressive change in the arrangement of Matter, is accompanied
490by a parallel change in the arrangement of
Motion—that every increase in the structural complexity of
things, involves a corresponding increase in their functional
complexity. It was shown that along with the integration of
molecules into masses, there arises an integration of molecular
motion into the motion of masses; and that as fast as
there results variety in the sizes and forms of aggregates and
their relations to incident forces, there also results variety in
their movements. Whence it became manifest, that the
general process of things is from a confused simplicity to an
orderly complexity, in the distribution of both Matter and
Motion.
It was pointed out, however, that though this species of
transformation is universal, in the sense of holding throughout
all classes of phenomena, it is not universal in the sense
of being continued without limit in all classes of phenomena.
Those aggregates which exhibit the entire change from uniformity
to multiformity of structure and function, in comparatively
short periods, eventually show us a reverse set of
changes: Evolution is followed by Dissolution. The differentiations
and integrations of Matter and Motion, finally reach
a degree which the conditions do not allow them to pass;
and there then sets in a process of disintegration and assimilation,
of both the parts and the movements that were before
growing more united and more distinct.
But under one or the other of these processes, all observable
modifications in the arrangement of things may be
classed. Every change comes under the head of integration
or disintegration, material or dynamical; or under the head
of differentiation or assimilation, material or dynamical; or
under both. Each inorganic mass is either undergoing increase
by the combination with it of surrounding elements
for which its parts have affinity; or undergoing decrease by
the solvent and abraiding action of surrounding elements; or
both one and the other in varied succession and combination.
By perpetual additions and losses of heat, it is having its
491parts temporarily differentiated from each other, or temporarily
assimilated to each other, in molecular state. And
through the actions of divers agents, it is also undergoing
certain permanent molecular re-arrangements; rendering it
either more uniform or more multiform in structure. These
opposite kinds of change, thus vaguely typified in every
surrounding fragment of matter, are displayed in all aggregates
with increasing distinctness in proportion as the conditions
essential to re-arrangement of parts are fulfilled. So
that universally, the process of things is either in the one
direction or the other. There is in all cases going on that
ever-complicating distribution of Matter and Motion which
we call Evolution; save in those cases where it has been
brought to a close and reversed by what we call Dissolution.
§ 140. Whether this omnipresent metamorphosis admits
of interpretation, was the inquiry on which we next entered.
Recognizing the changes thus formulated as consisting in
Motions of Matter that are produced by Force, we saw that
if they are interpretable at all, it must be by the affiliation
of them on certain ultimate laws of Matter, Motion, and
Force. We therefore proceeded to inquire what these ultimate
laws are.
We first contemplated under its leading aspects, the principle
of correlation and equivalence among forces. The
genesis of sensible motion by insensible motion, and of insensible
motion by sensible motion, as well as the like reciprocal
production of those forms of insensible motion which constitute
Light, Heat, Electricity, Magnetism, and Chemical
Action, was shown to be a now accepted doctrine, that involves
certain corollaries respecting the processes everywhere
going on around us. Setting out with the probability that
the insensible motion radiated by the Sun, is the transformed
product of the sensible motion lost during the progressive
concentration of the solar mass; we saw that by this insensible
motion, are in turn produced the various kinds of sensible
492motion on the Earth’s surface. Besides the inorganic
terrestrial changes, we found that the changes constituting
organic life are thus originated. We were obliged to conclude
that within this category, come the vital phenomena
classed as mental, as well as those classed as physical. And
it appeared inevitably to follow that of social changes, too,
the like must be said. We next saw that phenomena
being cognizable by us only as products of Force, manifested
under the two-fold form of attraction and repulsion, there
results the general law that all Motion must occur in the
direction of least resistance, or in the direction of greatest
traction, or in the direction of their resultant. It was
pointed out that this law is every instant illustrated in the
movements of the celestial bodies. The innumerable transpositions
of matter, gaseous, liquid, and solid, going on over
the Earth’s surface, were shown to conform to it. Evidence
was given that this same ultimate principle of motion underlies
the structural and functional changes of organisms.
Throughout the succession of those nervous actions which
constitute thought and feeling, as also in the discharge of
feeling into action, we no less found this principle conspicuous.
Nor did we discover any exception to it in the
movements, temporary and permanent, that go on in
societies. From the universal coexistence of opposing
forces, there also resulted the rhythm of motion. It was
shown that this is displayed from the infinitesimal vibrations
of molecules up to the enormous revolutions and
gyrations of planets; that it is traceable throughout all
meteorologic and geologic changes; that the functions of every
organic body exemplify it in various forms; that mental
activities too, intellectual and emotional, exhibit periodicities
of sundry kinds; and that actions and reactions illustrating
this law under a still more complex form, pervade social
processes.
Such being the principles to which conform all changes
produced by Force on the distribution of Matter, and all
493changes re-actively produced by Matter on the distribution
of Force, we proceeded to inquire what must be the consequent
nature of any re-distributions produced: having first
noted the limiting conditions between which such re-distributions
are possible, and the medium conditions that are most
favourable to them. The first conclusion arrived at,
was, that any finite homogeneous aggregate must inevitably
lose its homogeneity, through the unequal exposure of its
parts to incident forces. We observed how this was shown
in surrounding things, by the habitual establishment of differences
between inner and outer parts, and parts otherwise
dissimilarly circumstanced. It was pointed out that the
production of diversities of structure by forces acting under
diverse conditions, has been illustrated in astronomic evolution,
supposing such evolution to have taken place; and
that a like connection of cause and effect is seen in the large
and small modifications undergone by our globe. In the
early changes of organic germs, we discovered further evidence
that unlikenesses of structure follow unlikenesses of
relations to surrounding agencies—evidence enforced by the
tendency of the differently-placed members of each species to
diverge into varieties. We found that the principle is also
conformed to in the establishment of distinctions among our
ideas; and that the contrasts, political and industrial, that
arise between the parts of societies are no less in harmony
with it. The instability of the homogeneous thus caused,
and thus everywhere exemplified, we also saw must hold of
the unlike parts into which any uniform whole lapses; and
that so the less heterogeneous must tend continually to become
more heterogeneous—an inference which we also found
to be everywhere confirmed by fact. Carrying a step
further our inquiry into these actions and reactions between
Force and Matter, there was disclosed a secondary cause of
increasing multiformity. Every differentiated part becomes,
we found, a parent of further differentiations; not only in
the sense that it must lose its own homogeneity in heterogeneity,
494but also in the sense that it must, in growing unlike
other parts, become a centre of unlike reactions on incident
forces; and by so adding to the diversity of forces at work,
must add to the diversity of effects produced. This multiplication
of effects, likewise proved to be manifest throughout
all Nature. That forces modified in kind and direction by
every part of every aggregate, are gradually expended in
working changes that grow more numerous and more varied
as the forces are subdivided, is shown in the actions and reactions
going on throughout the Solar System, in the never-ceasing
geologic complications, in the involved symptoms
produced in organisms by disturbing influences, in the many
thoughts and feelings generated by single impressions, and
in the ever-ramifying results of each new agency brought to
bear on a society. To which add the corollary, confirmed
by abundant facts, that the multiplication of effects must increase
in a geometrical progression, as the heterogeneity
increases. Completely to interpret the structural
changes constituting Evolution, there remained to assign a
reason for that increasingly-distinct demarcation of parts,
which accompanies the production of differences between
parts. This reason we discovered to be, the segregation of
mixed units under the action of forces capable of moving
them. We saw that when the parts of an aggregate have
been made qualitatively unlike by unlike incident forces—that
is, when they have become contrasted in the natures of
their component units; there necessarily arises a tendency
to separation of the dissimilar orders of units from each
other, and to aggregation of those units which are similar.
This cause of the integration that accompanies differentiation,
turned out to be likewise exemplified by all kinds of
Evolution—by the formation of celestial bodies, by the
moulding of the Earth’s crust, by organic modifications, by
the establishment of mental distinctions, by the genesis of
social divisions. And we inferred, what we may everywhere
see, that the segregation thus produced goes on so
495long as there remains a possibility of making it more complete.
At length, to the query whether the processes
thus traced out have any limit, there came the answer that
they must end in equilibration. That continual division and
subdivision of forces, which is instrumental in changing the
uniform into the multiform and the multiform into the more
multiform, we saw to be at the same time a process by which
force is perpetually dissipated; and that dissipation, continuing
as long as there remains any force unbalanced by an opposing
force, must end in rest. It was shown that when, as
happens with aggregates of various orders, a number of
movements are going on in combination, the earlier dispersion
of the smaller and more resisted movements, entails the
establishment of different kinds of moving equilibria: forming
transitional stages on the way to complete equilibrium.
And further inquiry made it apparent that for the same
reason, these moving equilibria have a certain self-conserving
power; shown in the neutralization of perturbations, and the
adjustment to new conditions. This general principle, like
the preceding ones, proved to be traceable throughout all
forms of Evolution—astronomic, geologic, biologic, mental
and social. And our concluding inference was, that the
penultimate stage of this process, in which the extremest
degree of multiformity and completest form of moving
equilibrium is established, must be one implying the highest
conceivable state of humanity.
Thus it became apparent that this transformation of on
indefinite, incoherent homogeneity into a definite coherent
heterogeneity, which goes on everywhere, until it brings
about a reverse transformation, is consequent on certain
simple laws of force. Given those universal modes of action
which are from moment to moment illustrated in the commonest
changes around us, and it follows that there cannot
but result the observed metamorphosis of an indeterminate
uniformity into a determinate multiformity.
496§ 141. Finally, we have asked whether, for these universal
modes of action, any common cause is assignable—whether
these wide truths are dependent on any single widest truth.
And to this question we found a positive answer. These
several principles are corollaries from that primordial principle
which transcends human intelligence by underlying it.
In the first part of this work it was shown, by analysis of
both our religious and our scientific ideas, that while knowledge
of the cause which produces effects on our consciousness
is impossible, the existence of a cause for these effects is
a datum of consciousness. Though Being is cognizable by
us only under limits of Time and Space, yet Being without
limits of Time and Space was proved to be the indefinite
cognition forming the necessary basis of our definite cognitions.
We saw that the belief in an Omnipresent Power of
which no commencement or cessation can be conceived, is
that fundamental element in Religion which survives all its
changes of form. We saw that all Philosophies avowedly or
tacitly recognize this same ultimate truth:—that while the
Relativist rightly repudiates those definite assertions which
the Absolutist makes respecting real existence, he is yet at
last compelled to unite with him in predicating real existence.
And this inexpugnable consciousness in which Religion and
Philosophy are at one with Common Sense, proved to be likewise
that on which all exact Science is founded. We found
that subjective Science can give no account of those conditioned
modes of existence which constitute consciousness,
without postulating unconditioned existence. And we found
that objective Science can give no account of the existence
which we know as external, without regarding its changes
of form as manifestations of an existence that continues constant
under all forms. Absolute Being, or Being which
persists without beginning or end, was shown to be the
common datum of all human thought; for the sufficient
reason that the consciousness of it cannot be suppressed,
without the suppression of consciousness itself.
497From this truth which transcends proof, we have seen that
the general principles above set down, are deducible. That the
power or force manifested to us in all phenomena, continues
unaltered in quantity, however its mode of manifestation be
altered, is a proposition in which these several propositions
are involved. It was shown that on the Persistence of Force
are based the demonstrations that Matter is indestructible
and Motion continuous. When its proofs were examined,
the correlation and equivalence of forces was found to follow
from the Persistence of Force. The necessity we are under
of conceiving Force under the two-fold form of attraction
and repulsion, turns out to be but an implication of the
necessity we are under of conceiving Force as persistent.
On the Persistence of Force, we saw that the law of direction
of Motion is dependent; and from it also we saw that the
rhythm of Motion necessarily results. Passing to those
changes of distribution which, by the Motion it generates,
Force produces in Matter, it was pointed out that from the
Persistence of Force are severally deducible, the instability of
the homogeneous, the multiplication of effects, and that
increasing definiteness of structure to which continuous
differentiation and integration leads. And lastly we saw
that Force being persistent, Evolution cannot cease until
equilibrium is reached; and that equilibrium must eventually
be reached.
So that given Force manifested in Time and Space, under
the forms of Matter and Motion; and it is demonstrable, à
priori, that there must go on such transformations as we find
going on.
§ 142. See then the accumulation of proofs. The advance
of human intelligence in establishing laws continually wider
in generality, raises the presumption that there are all-comprehensive
laws. Turning to the facts, we discern a pervading
uniformity in the general course of things where this
can be watched, and indications of such uniformity where it
498cannot be watched. Considering this uniformity analytically,
we find it to result from certain simpler uniformities
in the actions of Force. And these uniformities prove to be
so many necessary implications of that primordial truth
which underlies all knowledge—the Persistence of Force.
The aspect of things raises a presumption; extended observations
lead to an induction that fulfils this presumption;
this induction is deductively confirmed; and the laws
whence it is deduced are corollaries from that datum without
which thought is impossible.
No higher degree of verification than this can be imagined.
An induction based on facts so numerous and varied, and
falling short of universality only where the facts are beyond
observation, possesses of itself a validity greater than that of
most scientific inductions. When it is shown that the proposition
thus arrived at à posteriori, may also be arrived at
à priori, starting from certain simple laws of force; it is
raised to a level with those generalizations of concrete science
which are accepted as proved. And when these simple laws
of force are affiliated upon that ultimate truth which transcends
proof; this dependent proposition takes rank with
those propositions of abstract science which are our types of
the greatest conceivable certainty.
Let no one suppose that any such degree of certainty is
alleged of the various minor propositions brought in illustration
of the general argument. Such an assumption would be
so manifestly absurd, that it seems scarcely needful to disclaim
it. But the truth of the doctrine as a whole, is unaffected
by errors in the details of its presentation. As the
first principles of mathematics are not invalidated by mistakes
made in working out particular equations; so the first
principles set forth in the foregoing pages, do not stand or
fall with each special statement made in them. If it can be
shown that the Persistence of Force is not a datum of consciousness;
or if it can be shown that the several laws of
force above specified are not corollaries from it; then, indeed,
499it will be shown that the theory of Evolution has not the
certainty here claimed for it. But nothing short of this can
invalidate the general conclusions arrived at.
§ 143. If these conclusions be accepted—if it be admitted
that they inevitably follow from the truth transcending all
others in authority—if it be agreed that the phenomena
going on everywhere are parts of the general process of
Evolution, save where they are parts of the reverse process
of Dissolution; then it must be inferred that all phenomena
receive their complete interpretation, only when recognized
as parts of these processes. Regarded from the point of
view here reached, each change that takes place, is an incident
in the course of the ever-complicating distribution of
Matter and Motion, except where it is an incident in the
course of the reverse distribution; and each such change is
fully understood, only when brought under those universal
principles of change, to which these transformations necessarily
conform. Whence, indeed, it appears to be
an unavoidable conclusion, that the limit towards which
Science is advancing, must be reached when these formulæ
are made all-comprehensive. Manifestly, the perfection
of Science, is a state in which all phenomena are seen
to be necessary implications of the Persistence of Force. In
such a state, the dependence of each phenomenon on the
Persistence of Force, must be proved either directly or indirectly—either
by showing that it is a corollary of the Persistence
of Force, or by showing that it is a corollary from
some general proposition deduced from the Persistence of
Force. And since all phenomena are incidents in the re-distributions
of Matter and Motion; and since there are certain
general principles, deducible from the Persistence of Force,
to which all these re-distributions conform; it seems inferrable
that ultimately all phenomena, where not classed as
consequences of the Persistence of Force, must be classed as
consequences of these derivative principles.
500§ 144. Of course this development of Science into an
organized aggregate of direct and indirect deductions from
the Persistence of Force, can be achieved only in the remote
future; and indeed cannot be completely achieved even
then. Scientific progress, is progress in that equilibration of
thought and things which we saw is going on, and must continue
to go on; but which cannot arrive at perfection in any
finite period, because it advances more slowly the further
it advances. But though Science can never be entirely reduced
to this form; and though only at a far distant time
can it be brought nearly to this form; yet much may even
now be done in the way of rude approximation. Those who
are familiar with the present aspects of Science, must recognize
in them the broken outlines of a general organization.
The possibility of arranging the facts already accumulated,
into the order rudely exhibited in the foregoing
pages, will itself incline them to the belief that our knowledge
may be put into a more connected shape than it at
present has. They will see the probability that many
now isolated inductions, may be reduced to the form of deductions
from first principles. They will suspect that inferences
drawn from the ultimate laws of force, will lead to
the investigation and generalization of classes of facts hitherto
unexamined. And they will feel, not only that a greater
degree of certainty must be acquired by Science, as fast as its
propositions are directly or indirectly deduced from the
highest of all truths; but also that it must so be rendered a
more efficient agent of further inquiry.
To bring scientific knowledge to such degree of logical coherence
as is at present possible, is a task to be achieved
only by the combined efforts of many. No one man can
possess that encyclopedic information required for rightly
arranging even the truths already established. But as progress
is effected by increments—as all organization, beginning
in faint and blurred outlines, is completed by successive
modifications and additions; advantage may accrue from an
501attempt, however rude, to reduce the facts already accumulated—or
rather certain classes of them—to something like
co-ordination. Such must be the plea for the several volumes
which are to succeed this.
§ 145. A few closing words must be said, concerning the
general bearings of the doctrines that are now to be further
developed. Before proceeding to interpret the detailed phenomena
of Life, and Mind, and Society, in terms of Matter,
Motion, and Force, the reader must be reminded in what
sense the interpretations are to be accepted. In spite of
everything said at the outset, there are probably some who
have gained the impression that those most general truths
set forth in the preceding chapters, together with the truths
deducible from them, claim to be something more than relative
truths. And, notwithstanding all evidence to the
contrary, there will probably have arisen in not a few minds,
the conviction that the solutions which have been given,
along with those to be derived from them, are essentially
materialistic. Let none persist in these misconceptions.
As repeatedly shown in various ways, the deepest truths
we can reach, are simply statements of the widest uniformities
in our experience of the relations of Matter, Motion, and
Force; and Matter, Motion, and Force are but symbols of
the Unknown Reality. That Power of which the nature
remains for ever inconceivable, and to which no limits in
Time or Space can be imagined, works in us certain effects.
These effects have certain likenesses of kind, the most general
of which we class together under the names of Matter,
Motion, and Force; and between these effects there are
likenesses of connection, the most constant of which we class
as laws of the highest certainty. Analysis reduces these
several kinds of effect to one kind of effect; and these
several kinds of uniformity to one kind of uniformity. And
the highest achievement of Science is the interpretation of
all orders of phenomena, as differently-conditioned manifestations
502of this one kind of effect, under differently-conditioned
modes of this one kind of uniformity. But when Science
has done this, it has done nothing more than systematize our
experience; and has in no degree extended the limits of our
experience. We can say no more than before, whether the
uniformities are as absolutely necessary, as they have become
to our thought relatively necessary. The utmost possibility
for us, is an interpretation of the process of things as it presents
itself to our limited consciousness; but how this process
is related to the actual process, we are unable to conceive,
much less to know.
Similarly, it must be remembered that while the connection
between the phenomenal order and the ontological order is
for ever inscrutable; so is the connection between the conditioned
forms of being and the unconditioned form of being,
for ever inscrutable. The interpretation of all phenomena
in terms of Matter, Motion, and Force, is nothing more than
the reduction of our complex symbols of thought, to the
simplest symbols; and when the equation has been brought
to its lowest terms the symbols remain symbols still. Hence
the reasonings contained in the foregoing pages, afford no
support to either of the antagonist hypotheses respecting the
ultimate nature of things. Their implications are no more
materialistic than they are spiritualistic; and no more
spiritualistic than they are materialistic. Any argument
which is apparently furnished to either hypothesis, is neutralized
by as good an argument furnished to the other. The
Materialist, seeing it to be a necessary deduction from the
law of correlation, that what exists in consciousness under
the form of feeling, is transformable into an equivalent of
mechanical motion, and by consequence into equivalents of
all the other forces which matter exhibits; may consider it
therefore demonstrated that the phenomena of consciousness
are material phenomena. But the Spiritualist, setting out
with the same data, may argue with equal cogency, that if
the forces displayed by matter are cognizable only under the
503shape of those equivalent amounts of consciousness which
they produce, it is to be inferred that these forces, when
existing out of consciousness, are of the same intrinsic
nature as when existing in consciousness; and that so is
justified the spiritualistic conception of the external world,
as consisting of something essentially identical with what
we call mind. Manifestly, the establishment of correlation
and equivalence between the forces of the outer and the
inner worlds, may be used to assimilate either to the other;
according as we set out with one or other term. But he
who rightly interprets the doctrine contained in this work,
will see that neither of these terms can be taken as ultimate.
He will see that though the relation of subject and object
renders necessary to us these antithetical conceptions of
Spirit and Matter; the one is no less than the other to be
regarded as but a sign of the Unknown Reality which underlies
both.
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.