THE LIBRARY X OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES IN MEMORY OF MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER " PHILOSOPHY AND WAR PHILOSOPHY & WAR EMILE BOUTROUX MEMBRE DE l/ACADliMJE FKANfAISF. AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION BY FRED ROTHWELL NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 1916 Printed in England PREFACE Is the rapprochement of these two words, philosophy and war, a legitimate one? Do not war and philosophy belong to two en- tirely different worlds ? Should we not regard as artificial and incongruous all attempts to find any relation between the manifestations of force and the serene untrammelled specula- tions of the spirit ? Assuredly, this is not the point of view of the Germans. The official representatives of German science and art have insisted on de- claring before the whole of the civilized world that the present war was entered upon and has been waged by Germany in full conformity with the principles of such men as Kant and Goethe, whilst their generals state that the German officer is nothing else than the visible representative, the incarnation, of the cate- gorical imperative. Open one of those numer- ous and magnificent tear-off calendars for the year 1916, one of the methods of propagand- ism employed in Germany, and you will find, V 2041312 vi PREFACE on every page, quotations from German thinkers, intended to explain and justify the conduct of their country in this war. It is but just, also, to state that the Germans themselves regard the war as the culmination of their philosophy. It would none the less be wholly out of place to render the German philosophers of the past responsible for the use which is now being made of their doctrines. " The same thoughts," said Pascal, " do not always grow and develop in others as they do in their creator." Though the categorical imperative of Kant is at the present time advanced as proof that cruelty ceases to be cruelty when practised on behalf of German discipline, manifestly a like misinterpretation of his ideas cannot be imputed to Kant himself. There have been world-wide protests against the assumption of the Germans that their present-day doctrines are to be found in the works of their great philosophers. How, for instance, are we to reconcile the doctrine of a head-nation (Herrenvolk) , destined by provi- dence to have dominion over all others, with the conclusion reached in the political philo- sophy of Kant: " International right must be based on a federalism of free States " (auf PREFACE vii einen Foderalismus freier Staaten) ? It cannot be repeated too often that the masters of German thought were idealists, enamoured of truth and devoted to the cause of the spirit, and that their work offers an anticipatory dis- avowal of the consequences which present-day Germans claim to deduce from it. Nevertheless, does it follow that to fall back upon the authority of their great thinkers is purely arbitrary on the part of the Germans, and that there is nothing in the writings of these great men to afford the slightest pretext for the present aberrations ? Assuredly, one of the doctrines which con- tribute most effectively to foster the unre- strained ambitions of the German nation is the belief in the altogether unique and quasi- divine excellence of the German race, of Germanism (Deutschheit). Now, there is no doubt that this doctrine was philosophically deduced by Fichte himself, for, in his Reden an die deutsche Nation, he proves that the German people is that very self of the world which is interchangeable with God in his previous writings, and also that nothing but Germanism is capable of producing in this world of ours any real or genuine science or morality at all. viii PREFACE If we examine, along these lines, a number of the great ideas of German philosophy, such as the Hegelian identity of the rational and the real, the Hegelian theory of the State, the Fichtean doctrine of the unreality of a right unprotected by force, the conclusion of Goethe's Faust: " He alone merits life and freedom, who has to win them anew, day by day"; the great Kantian and German prin- ciple: the self is constituted only by contrast, the being only realizes itself by struggling against its contrary; or even the doctrine, so general amongst German philosophers, that sin is the first form of activity, that evil is the condition, or even the generator, of good, as night is the mother of light ; if we meditate on such principles, we note that whilst, of themselves, they express only metaphysical views, they all the same lend themselves to applications more or less similar to those which the Germans are now making of them. The Greeks set up the principle that all truth becomes error when exaggerated and not kept within bounds i.e., when no account is taken of the equally certain truths which limit it. The German mind, however, en- amoured of unity and systematization, scorns moderation, and, unchecked, sets forth the PREFACE ix consequences of the principle it has once established as fundamental. The common people believe that, if we would pass from the simple formulae of theory to the endless com- plexities of practice, it is always necessary to appeal to good sense. But the German philo- sopher, who holds the principles of science itself, is superior to good sense; he leaves it to the profane. It is to be remarked, moreover, that many of the great German theories, such as those just mentioned, are opposed to classic teach- ings, and have even been established for the very purpose of contradicting them. For instance, the Greeks could never have said that the rational and the real are identical, or that the spirit exists only if realized materially. Consequently, whilst maintaining that the ideas of the present were not those of the great German philosophers, we are forced to recognize that the theories of these very masters contained germs capable of being de- veloped along the line of these ideas. Es lag sehr nahe, according to the familiar expression ; it was but a short step, for instance, from the identity of the rational and the real to the justification of the real as such. Hence, it is both permissible and profitable x PREFACE to see the connection between the Kriegsge branch im Landkriege (The German War Book) and German philosophy. Perhaps, in this philosophy, we shall not find the Kriegsge- brauch preformed, like a statue represented be- forehand in a block of marble, but we shall recognize, in a general and abstract way, the very principles to which appeal is made in the Kriegsgebrauch, and shall see that, in some ways, these principles lent themselves to the use now being made of them. Heine said that Germany was a soul seeking for itself a body. And, indeed, ever since the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire, of German nationality, Germany has been aspir- ing after political unity as the indispensable condition of the establishment of her empire throughout the world. Now, the Germans, by persuading themselves, along with their philo- sophers, that thought is nothing unless it be realized, and that spirit exists only through matter, came first to determine on realization, under the instigation of Prussia, and then for- got that it was spirit which had to be realized. Faust, perceiving that pure idea did not satisfy the deep need he experienced for life, activity, and power, sells his soul in order to realize its aspirations. PREFACE xi The present war has again brought into the foreground the problem of the relations be- tween thought and action. There is no problem that is more difficult, perhaps, though at the same time more important for mankind . MILE BOUTROUX. PARIS, December 24, 1915. CONTENTS PAGE GERMAN SCIENCE - i CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 9 THE EVOLUTION OF GERMAN THOUGHT - 50 WAR AND SOPHISTRY - 90 PATRIOTISM AND WAR - 109 FRANCE: A FORTRESS - 118 THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE - 124 AFTER THE WAR - 130 THE FRENCH CONCEPTION OF NATIONALITY - 161 si: PHILOSOPHY AND WAR GERMAN SCIENCE GERMAN science is or, rather, was until quite recently possessed of the most imposing authority and prestige. Of course it was acknowledged that, outside of Germany, there might exist individuals of the most remark- able learning and intelligence, even men of genius; but science per se, impersonal and superior, wide-reaching and profound, was generally recognized as the appanage of Germany. In vain did certain observers attempt to show that the many qualities of German science were not free from a number of gaps and imperfections; that the Germans excelled rather in the mechanical parts of scientific work than in invention; that their methods of explanation were frequently vague and obscure; that the practical applications of science in Germany were becoming increas- ingly more important than was disinterested 2 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR investigation: the reputation they had ob- tained seemed indestructible. Germany was the born teacher of the universe. Will the world in future regard German science with bolder and more untrammelled vision ? When, in 1877, I was engaged on the French translation of Zeller's History of Greek Philo- sophy, I attempted to show that man was left out of account in that profound and learned study, one of the most original mani- festations of human genius ; that the theories of Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle, were gradually stripped of all they contained which was per- sonal and living, and were reduced to abstract formulae, subordinate to an immanent and necessary dialectic. Ever since that date, my impression of German science has become in- creasingly confirmed. The general character of scientific work in Germany is organization. They start out with the idea that no investigation has any real value unless it combines the two qualities of Vollstdndigkeit and Grundlichkeit i.e., unless it is both complete and well grounded. Now, such investigation, by reason of the variety and number of qualifications it presupposes, is generally beyond the compass of a single in- GERMAN SCIENCE 3 dividual. And so the normal form of scientific as of industrial work is its distribution amongst many and divers workers, each fitted to the special function that falls to him. To deny or to depreciate the services ren- dered by such an organization would be absurd. By this means there is obtained, as far as possible, that complete documentation and critical examination of all the elements of the problem so indispensable to any science that would be far-reaching, firmly established and practical. To consider this organization, however, as containing within itself all the elements of scientific research, as seems to be done ever more and more in Germany, is to run the risk of fettering, rather than favouring, the activity of the intellect, which remains in any case the supreme condition of this research. Science consists of two elements: materials and the ideas which transform these materials into expressions of the laws of nature. The collective efforts of specialists are well fitted to supply materials, but will they be adequate to the production of ideas? The theory implied in the German method is that the idea is born by spontaneous generation from the materials themselves, once these 4 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR latter have been conveniently collected and arranged . This doctrine cannot be verified by the history of science. In reality, the idea is the offspring of the human intellect, in so far as this latter is capable, not only of storing up documents, but of reacting, in original fashion, in response to these documents. For, as Claude Bernard said, the idea is above all else a hypothesis i.e., a view of things which trans- cends the signification of crude data. Now, what is the condition best suited, not for creating, but for advancing intellectual fertility ? This condition consists of such an education of the mind as will develop in it the sense of reality, the faculty of generalizing without de- parting from the real. The scientist attains to this education by meditating, by free and solitary concentration, and even by passing beyond the limits of his speciality to hold con- verse with minds devoted to different speciali- ties, though ready, like himself, to rise superior to their studies and to think as men, whilst working as specialists. This is the point of view taught by Des- cartes, whose Discours de la Methode begins with the words: " Le bon sens." The object GERMAN SCIENCE 5 of this famous introduction to scientific re- search is to prove that the same good sense governs both the practical life of the average man and the loftiest speculations of the mathe- matician, the physicist and the philosopher; that all science runs the risk of wandering astray unless, all along the line, it is con- stantly being controlled by good sense, and that this good sense, the link connecting our thought with reality, is the true source of in- vention and judgment, without which science is no more than an object of instruction and practical application. Descartes adds that good sense should be cultivated, and that the right means of developing it is reflection, fostered alike by the study of science and the experience of life. German science makes a religion of com- petence, than which, in a sense, nothing is more deserving of respect. But what is com- petence ? And can the man who deliberately eliminates from scientific research every living and human, personal and rational element, and retains only materially objective data and reasoning that excludes all intuition, be really competent in anything whatsoever ? The critical point in German science is the transition from the fact to the idea. To the 6 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR disciples of the Greeks, of Galileo, of Descartes, of Newton, and of Claude Bernard, this transi- tion is nothing else than a restrained play of the intellect, which progressively deduces the general from the particular. The activity of the mind is already an element in the scientific determination of the fact ; whilst, on the other hand, it is by constantly dwelling upon facts that the mind rises to the loftiest ideas. An incessant contact of the intellect with the facts, and at the same time the incessant activity of the intellect: such is the classic method. And such a method the Germans consider too simple, too human. They began by seeking ideas in a transcen- dental world, one that had no connection with the world of facts. Thus, from the primordial identity A A, the philosopher Schelling went so far as to deduce the Newtonian law of attraction or the duality of electrical fluids, and actually corrected Nature when she took upon herself to disobey him. As this method had to be given up, German science replaced it by identifying the idea with the totality of the facts included in one and the same category. The guiding idea of history, for instance, is that which results, of itself, from the totality GERMAN SCIENCE 7 of historical facts. Now, we know that this idea is nothing else, according to the German scientists, than the mission assigned to Prussia by the universal Mind itself, of subjugating the world and organizing it after her own fashion. In practice, the German scientist, who con- siders that he alone is in possession of all the facts, is also the only one capable of determin- ing general ideas. And as the whole of the facts in any department of life is something altogether chimerical, the German scientist, alone competent, fills up the gaps as he pleases ; and then, regarding his definition of the whole as axiomatic, reveals to the world the meaning of the particular events in question, according to the needs of his case. Nor must you think of disputing his asser- tions, in case you consider them strange. Appeal to such or such a fact, and the German scientist proves to you that he knows this same fact better than you do yourself, but that he interprets it in terms of the whole; appeal to good sense, and he pities you, for evidently you do not know that the word scientific means free from every subjective element ! Such is the behaviour, such the attitude, we too often find nowadays amongst German scientists. 8 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR Moliere would appear to have pronounced the verdict which humanity will give, sooner or later, on such methods : " Raisonner est 1'emploi de toute ma maison, Et le raisonnement en bannit la raison." CERTITUDE AND TRUTH CERTITUDE and truth : are not the terms equi- valent ? Do we not say almost indifferently : I am certain, this is certain, that is true? Can one really be certain of anything else than truth? And does not truth, once perceived, produce certitude ? What is it but philosophi- cal subtilty, after all, to regard as a problem worthy of consideration the relation between these two terms ? Doubtless there have been times when philosophers have created fictitious problems; they would like to understand as well as to know. This need, really a very difficult one to define, torments them greatly. Often, too, the concepts, apparently very similar, which they bring together in this way, are like statues which express no astonishment at finding themselves neighbours in a museum; whilst the originals, in the world of realities, fight and destroy one another. Think of the words: faith and belief; they appear synonymous, 9 io PHILOSOPHY AND WAR and yet those who, in the world of religion, set faith above beliefs cannot act in concert with those who regard dogmas as more important than faith. Who knows but that it may be the same with the words: certitude and truth, which, judging by the dictionary, would appear to differ only as the convex and the concave side of one and the same curve ? I. It must be acknowledged that the first im- pulse of human beings is not to set themselves this problem. In ordinary life we trust to our certitude, of which we are quite conscious ; and we admit without too closely asking our- selves if we have the right that to any firm conviction there corresponds the possession of some truth. As proof of an affirmation we often hear such an argument as I am inti- mately persuaded, I am firmly convinced, that the thing is so. In Germany more particu- larly we are continually hearing in ordinary conversation the formula: Ich bin jest ilber- zeugt. And yet it happens that equally energetic affirmations may, in fact, be contradictory, and consequently cause disputes. Then we CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 11 have men endeavouring to justify their certi- tude by arguments less personal than their simple conviction: they endeavour to prove that it is based on truth. In practical life, more especially in the moral order of things, it is frequently very difficult to induce our op- ponent to accept our reasons. Beset by argu- ments from which he cannot escape, and reduced to silence, he will often persist in his opinion, not always from obstinacy, but be- cause he believes, in good faith, that the objec- tions brought against him carry no weight. Belief in the distinctive value of conviction seems to have been widespread during the last century, at a time when romanticism exalted the interior life, the faith in intuition, as being more certain and penetrating than demonstra- tion. A man was not afraid, in those days, of being the only one of his opinion. He re- garded it rather as a sign of superiority, and almost as a duty, to think for himself, after his own fashion, and differently from others. He was proud of having convictions of his own, and prided himself on holding to them, what- ever revolutions might take place in society. He also regarded it as quite normal that the utmost diversity should govern the opinions of men, recognizing the right of each to think 12 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR for himself and defend his ideas both with the written and with the spoken word. Humanity, however, cannot be content with a dilettante kind of life. The doctrine of in- dividual conviction which gives rise to bril- liant oratorical jousts in lecture-hall or draw- ing-room is expressed in real life by formidable struggles, by revolutions and upheavals of all kinds. Besides, should we not be forsaking the very idea of truth were we to regard an opinion as legitimate simply because it refuses to give way before contrary opinions ? In the latter half of the nineteenth century a period of individualism was followed by a reaction in favour of unity, of the submission of the human mind and conscience to imper- sonal truth. Then, as the highest expression of this truth, came science, whose progressive and triumphant march, more than any other intellectual phenomenon, had imposed re- spect and submission on the minds of men. In it and it alone appeared to dwell the neces- sary and adequate condition of certitude, of mental coherence, of harmony between mind and heart. There can be no doubt but that the proposition 2+2 = 4 is admitted by all men alike. When humanity comes into possession of like truths in everything, then individual CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 13 certitude will infallibly give place to a common, a universally identical certitude. This argument seemed to defy contradic- tion: all the same, events did not confirm it. In the domain of science, and even in mathe- matics, it has not been proved that feeling is wholly suppressed by what is called objective truth. Chiefly in the practical order of things, however, an appeal to science does not suffice to bring men into a state of harmony. It is not only between the learned and the ignorant, it is between the learned who study the same science, who are brought up in the same schools and practise the same methods, that an understanding seems impossible, when we are dealing with moral, social and religious questions. And, finally, men of science, in their convictions, fall back like other men upon personal certitude, which has its source in other than scientific evidence. It is im- possible to maintain that the present age, so frequently called the age of science, is char- acterized by a perfect and universal harmony of mind and will. Thus we are compelled to recognize that truth and certitude are less closely connected than would at first sight appear. Persistently to seek for certitude is not always a good way i 4 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR of attaining to truth. The need of certitude is impatient ; it tends towards a mental state that is absolute and unshakable, that is felt to be personal and even meritorious. Truth, however, as a rule, is very difficult to lay hold upon. It can be won only by degrees, partially and provisionally. So that if we are determined to acquire certitude at whatever cost, we are frequently compelled to regard as known and proved that which in reality is not so. Conversely, the man who, above all else, seeks after truth, the characteristic of which is that it exists per se and is imperative on all minds alike, is led to repress his indi- vidual desires and impressions and be content with an adhesion somew r hat abstract and im- personal, always imperfect and modifiable, bearing upon objects far removed from those that interest our human life; and such an adhesion has but a slight resemblance to what we call conviction and certitude. Truth and certitude, then, are really two things, not one thing under two aspects. And it is incumbent upon the philosopher to find out if this duality is radical and irreducible, or if these two terms, in spite of their differ- ences, are inseparable from each other and capable of harmonious combination. CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 15 II. One solution of the problem which seems to result from the critical study to which the human mind has devoted itself in modern times is dualism, of which Kant has given a remarkably clear and profound formula. From this point of view, certitude and truth are radically distinct from each other. They depend on two faculties which seem to be in juxtaposition, though really they move in two different worlds: intellect and will. Intellect deals with the world of phenomena, with the objects presented to us in time or space. It determines the constant and uni- versal relations between these objects. Thus it acquires a sum total of propositions w r hich express the permanent groundwork of the things given, and which thereby are impera- tive on the minds of all without any possi- bility of dispute. This sum total of prop- ositions corresponds to what men mean by truth . The world, however, of which this truth is the essence, does not exhaust the real and the possible. If it supplies the human mind with an object proportionate to its power, it does not satisfy the will, whose ambition it is to 1 6 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR realize an order of things of a moral nature i.e., one based on duty and liberty. The world of intellect, which implies wholly me- chanical and geometrically necessary laws, excludes the kind of beings claimed by the will. The latter, then, will turn to another world ; or rather, since it finds that it does not possess the power to see a suprasensible world, it will draw from itself, if not intuitions, at all events certitudes regarding a world which is not, but which ought to be, which deserves to be and which will be if the will itself is sincere and energetic enough to realize it. In this creation there is no given truth, preceding and determining certitude. The latter is primary, like the will, of which it is the perfect form. It is the cause of duty and freedom, of God and the moral order. I will freedom, said Kant, therefore I will duty, the existence of God, immortality. It concerns me but little that the world of sense offers no place for these things ; my will opens or creates for me quite another world which my senses cannot cognize, though they cannot dispute its reality. Thus appears to be justified the juxtaposi- tion, apart from the interaction, of certitude and truth. CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 17 A clear and convenient system, to which, in practice, appeal is made more frequently than one would think, though a close examina- tion shows that it offers serious difficulties. It would undoubtedly be absurd to dispute the highly moral character of Kant's philo- sophy. The author of the Critique of Practi- cal Reason and of the Metaphysics of Ethics strongly advocates respect for the human person and the subordination of instinct to reason. But then, as Edward Caird, Master of Balliol, has shown, Kant did not regard dualism as the final word of philosophy. To his mind, all separation was the prelude of a reunion, which he intended to effect by ex- amining more profoundly the nature of things. Still, investigations of the type of the Critique of the Judgment are abstruse, and we prefer to keep to the initial and dualistic formulae of the system. Now, the notion of duty as a purely formal categorical imperative i.e., void of all content and matter is singularly dangerous of applica- tion. In real life one cannot be satisfied with a purely formal act of willing: something must necessarily be willed, some matter must be fitted into this empty mould. The cate- gorical imperative, however, remains dumb 1 8 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR when questioned as to what it commands. Consequently we are led to seek, not in the world of will, but in the other, the visible world, the only one we are able to cognize, for the matter indispensable to the attainment of a real act. The two worlds, however, the physical and the moral, are by hypothesis wholly heterogeneous and unconcerned with each other. Hence we arrive at the follow- ing conclusion : any act, provided it is per- formed under the idea of duty, may assume a moral character. No morality or immorality could be attributed to an act considered in its visible aspect ; only the form of will in which we clothe it makes it morally praiseworthy or blamable. Take, for instance, some action which ordin- ary morality regards as cruel, such as the massacre, in war, of children, women and old men. If this cruelty is purely animal, it is something indifferent. If it is undisciplined, it is culpable, in so far as it is a violation of discipline. And if it has been ordered by law- ful authority, it is disciplined cruelty, eine zuchtmdssige Grausamkeit, a right and meritori- ous action. The philosopher himself or the sternest of moralists will give this verdict, for in ethics it is certitude alone that constitutes CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 19 truth, and here the sole object of certitude is the form of the action to the exclusion of its matter. Such is the disastrous consequence of a rad- ical separation between certitude and truth. Nor is the notion of truth less gravely affected. As all modes of existence bearing on the will are here eliminated from the world of objec- tive truth, the visible world in which we live, nature, in the ordinary sense of the word, would seem to have nothing whatever to do with ethics. The moral form is no more than a garment de luxe, which, when opportunity offers, is superimposed from without. As the world of the intellect and of the natural laws, in this dualistic doctrine, is self-sufficient and impervious to the world of will, it would be absurd to require that man, in so far as he forms part of the visible world, should practise anything else than obedience to the laws governing this world. Hence we are led to divide human life into two parts. On the one hand, it is a moral life, indifferent to the promp- tings of nature, or rather arbitrarily exalting them into moral acts, without considering their intrinsic character. On the other hand, it is a wholly physical existence, to which no moral qualification could be applied, and which 20 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR is just as legitimate as the first. If, then, a man happens to lack the grace necessary to pierce into the transcendental world of certitude and the categorical imperative, he is no more than a brute, devoid of will, of dignity and of the sense of duty, an inert and irresponsible in- strument of mechanical forces. And as moral effort, indeed, cannot be anything else than intermittent, the man finds himself con- demned, as he passes alternately from the realm of duty into that of nature, to fluctuate between systematic obedience to a wholly formal law and the unbridled violence of his coarsest instincts and appetites. Fanaticism, or the unrestrained violence of nature: such is the alternative. The radical distinction, then, between certi- tude and truth is inadmissible. Each finds itself incapable of being realized in its essence. Dualism, moreover, clashes with the natural tendency of the spirit towards unity. More especially in Germany is the investigation of a point of view from which it is possible to obtain a synthetic conception of the totality of things generally regarded as the mark of the philosophic spirit. This is why numerous attempts have been made in that country to reduce to unity these two principles, which CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 21 cannot be separated without compromising both. The strictest mode of reduction consists in including one of the two terms in the other: certitude in truth, or truth in certitude i.e., will in intellect or intellect in will. The evolution of German philosophy, from Kant to Nietzsche, represents in a remarkable way this dual effort of reduction. Hegel's philosophy is perhaps the culmina- ting point of thought, developed in the former of these two meanings, the intellectualist. Here the concept of truth and rationality is extended ad infinitum, as it were, by means of a transcendent logic, in such a way as to em- brace the whole of the real and the whole of the possible. The individual, the free, the contingent, and even chance are not denied, but are considered as instruments, which dis- appear and fall back into a state of nonentity once they have played their part in the realiza- tion of the absolute. In this system, science is the one prominent form of all that is. Not only does everything depend on science ; this latter is, at bottom, the first being and the principle of things. To enter into possession of science is, so to speak, to occupy the place of God himself in the universe. 22 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR Unless I am mistaken, something of this con- ception of truth and science is met with in the idea represented by the Academy of Sciences of Berlin. It is called Akademie der Wissenschaften and claims to embrace the essence of art and literature as well as of the real sciences ; life and action, as well as specu- lation and theory. Since its motto is," Apart from science there is nothing solid or sub- stantial," such an institution as the French Academy, for instance, whose function it is to work at the preservation and improvement of our language, confining its activities to the tactful discernment of the use of the language by well-bred people, would be valueless in its eyes ; only the opinion of specialists can, and necessarily does, impose respect. The capital distinction we set up between science and literature, between the mathematical and the intuitive mind, is here reduced to a simple specific difference. The genus science, Wissen- schaft, is subdivided into two species : the sciences of nature, or physical and mathemati- cal sciences; and the sciences of culture, or philosophical and historical sciences. What are we to think of such a reduction of will to intellect? Undoubtedly everything, in a sense, may CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 23 be an object of science. The human mind actually taxes its ingenuity in inventing methods which will enable it to subject to scientific investigation the very things which, from their nature, would seem as though they must escape such investigation. A science, however determined to see things as they are and not as it desires to depict them, should be moulded on reality, and not impose on this latter its own rules. In setting itself up as a sole and necessary model of all that is, in decreeing that the formulae of intelligibilit}' are the principles of being, that there is no difference between the scientifically rational and the real, and that the former is the measure of the latter, science declares itself unable faithfully to explain and grasp such parts or aspects of reality as do not come within its scope. Now, the notions which play a part in our life as human beings include those of indi- viduality, free will, real and effectual action. We conceive of human events, undoubtedly, as connected with one another and dependent on the sum total of natural phenomena, but also as susceptible of manifesting personal initiative, thought and effort, and as therefore possessed of a certain value and influence. 24 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR The intellectualist system leaves nothing re- maining of this element of the real. It sees only a crude phenomenon which must be properly explained, and its method of explana- tion consists in proving that this phenomenon is pure illusion. In this system, the science of culture, as well as that of nature, reduces the individual to the universal, the contingent to the necessary. From this standpoint, the individual can be no more than an appearance, devoid of reality. The degree of rationality, perfection and reality of a being is in inverse ratio to the amount of individuality it either contains or seems to contain. True being, thus crippled by science, might well say to this latter what Goethe's Faust said to the Spirit of the Earth : " Du gleichst dem Geist, den du begreifst, Nicht mir !" (Thou art the peer of that spirit thou comprehendest, Not of me !) Science, nevertheless, in its attempt to com- prise the totality of being, has had its powers widened and diversified. This very widening is a source of weakness. In vain does it strive to maintain on equal terms two types of science: the mathematico-physical and the historical. This is a quite natural distinction CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 25 when science does not claim to see things as they are in themselves and forgoes all claim to lord it over them. Science, then, is like a familiar language into which we are trans- lating something written in a foreign one. If difficulties are encountered, we try to make our own language more flexible so as to model the translation after the text; we do not modify the text so as to make it easier to translate. But if science is regarded as an absolute entity whose laws are imperative upon reality, that is quite a different matter. Depending on itself alone, it aims solely at attaining to the most logical and coherent form possible. Now, the fundamental idea of science is the reduction of the heterogeneous to the homogeneous, of the divergent to the identical. But if, from this point of view, we compare together the mathematico-physical type of scientific knowledge and the historical type, we cannot fail to see that the latter is for more imperfect than the former, far less conformable to the scientific ideal. History considers facts which are never reproduced without some modification, a.Tra.% yiyvopeva ; at most it sets up between these facts some particular relations of causality, without being able to claim that it has discovered those 26 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR general relations which are called laws. Hence it follows that, from the standpoint of an absolute science, the historical form of science can only be regarded as provisional, and that the physico-mathematical sciences alone are susceptible of perfection. The his- torical sciences, therefore, cannot claim to re- tain their distinctive character indefinitely; sooner or later they must be included in the physical sciences. What does this mean but that the degree of reality guaranteed to the moral world by the supposed irreducibility of history to physics disappears in a philosophy which develops to the uttermost the doctrine of science as a primary and absolute entity? History, as a radically distinct science, was the affirmation of the reality of spirit, at least as a finality, a possible march towards the ideal. The re- ducibility of history to physics means that finality is declared illusory, that matter with its purely mechanical determinism is an- nounced as the only true reality existing in the universe. Such is the final word of the philosophy whose self-appointed task is to reduce certi- tude to truth, will to intellect, ethics to science, the subjective to the objective. It CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 27 ends in simply doing away with everything connected with such notions as individuality, liberty, personality, spirit, consciousness, soul, beauty, morality; it leaves remaining only a world that is strictly material. In his dialogue Philebus, Plato long ago warned us how impossible it was to accept the principles of physics as a fitting explana- tion of the real world. " To understand our universe," he said, " it is not sufficient to re- gard it as something infinite and something finite i.e., matter and number; there is also needed the recognition of the existence of a cause which is the governing factor in its ordering. And this cause must be intelligent and wise, consequently living and dowered with a soul. Therefore thou mayst con- fidently affirm that, in Jupiter's nature qua cause, there dwells a royal soul." In other terms, truth, if it is to possess that excellence we have every right to attribute to it, must not be conceived of as a thing, a purely objective reality, wherein all life and consciousness would become lost. The sub- jective, also, is a principle. Truth wills to be grasped, comprehended and affirmed by a living spirit which endeavours to regulate its action by that of the first being itself. To 28 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR know is to unite oneself in heart and thought with the creator. It is therefore useless to try to overcome the dualism of intellect and will by reducing will to intellect. But we might succeed better in removing the antimony by attempt- ing to reduce truth to certitude, intellect to will. This path, too, has been pursued by eminent philosophers, mainly Germans, like Fichte, who regards will as the root of the not- self as well as of the self, of perception as well as of effort; Schopenhauer, who sees in the world as idea an illusion and a hindrance, from which the world as will, which is its principle, tends to free itself; Nietzsche, who seeks the ideal form of existence in an omni- potent will, superior to all law. This doctrine may be interpreted broadly, will being placed in the foreground, since it is the most characteristic element of our con- scious life. Speaking generally, then, it is interior activity, die Innerlichkeit, as German philosophers say, that is conceived as alone possessing worth and efficacy of its own. From it alone spring certitude, being, and truth itself. The objective does not exist per se: it is the form with which intellect clothes the CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 29 subjective, so as to construct for itself a mirror wherein its activity may be reflected upon itself in such a way as to exist not only in but for itself. It is reduced to a system of symbols which, to acquire their true significance, must be rethought by a living intellect, and by it retranslated into life, action and will. Ac- cording to this view, certitude is the mother of truth. The latter is but the intellectual for- mula of the will's fixed resolve to affirm itself. A profound doctrine, assuredly, and one calculated to keep in constant tension the spring of the will. In the case of a Fichte, truth is not a fruit hanging from the tree of science and ready to be plucked. We must create it within ourselves, as it were, by per- sonal effort. Only by willing can we think; the very rule of our thoughts is an act of will. Im Anfang war die Tat. What is the value of this doctrine? It does not really profess to despise the fixed and determined ideas by which the mind seeks to understand the objective, uniform and stable side of the universe. Fichte him- self wrote : " Die Formel ist die grosste Wohltat fur den Menschen " (A formula is the greatest of benefits for mankind). All determinate expression of truth, however, in this system, 30 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR is a simple stage which the spirit strives to transcend, in an endeavour to consider truth immediately at its source. Truth is strictly itself only within the untrammelled will in which it creates itself. When Goethe's Meph- istopheles, in his pact with Faust, asks him for a written and signed engagement, Faust replies : " Auch was Geschriebnes f orders! du, Pedant ? Hast du noch keinen Mann, nicht Mannes-Wort gekannt ? . . . Das Wort erstirbt schon in der Feder." (What ! thou also requirest something written, pedant ? Hast thou never had dealings with a man, a man's word ? . . . No sooner does the word pass into the pen than it expires.) This theory of Faust is but the application of the doctrine of interiority. Here the visible, tangible, definite expression of the voluntary act is conceived as of value only in the eyes of pedants and dishonourable people. A man of superior mind despises and tears up the written engagements he himself has signed : he expects his word to be sufficient. A bold claim, assuredly ! Pascal would have regarded it as beyond the power of any human being; it is dangerous for men, he said, to insist on playing the angel : they risk falling CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 31 lower than humanity itself. The written formula is clear, lasting and fixed, capable of being interpreted in the same way by every- body. But however strong and sincere, how- ever clear be the innermost decision of the will in the eyes of the one who has made that de- cision, it could manifest these characteristics to others only if men were capable of direct spiritual communication with one another. As such mystic communication cannot be realized in this world of ours, those men who are recommended not to take written engage- ments seriously are incapable of gauging the meaning and value of the promise given to them. In practice, an engagement made by a man who refuses to bind himself is regarded as a sign that he despises all engagements. True, the supreme value of sincerity will be alleged ; but, then, there are two ways of being sincere. The man who speaks and acts in conformity with his caprice, his passion, or his arbitrary will, believes himself to be sincere though he is not so in reality, because he has neglected to ask himself if this superficial will conforms with the universal law which his in- most conscience makes imperative upon him. There is no effective sincerity apart from an effort to bring oneself into harmony with one's 32 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR best self, with that which bends the knee to truth alone. However subtle be the reasonings employed to advocate the doctrine of interiority as the sole principle of thought and action, it will never succeed in coming within the category of truth. This latter possesses a determinate- ness and a fixity, a complete and finite char- acter and a distinctive existence, which are to be met with neither in the symbols by which intellect attempts to picture to itself the action of will, nor in this will itself. The truth, then, offered us by this doctrine is not the truth which men respect and wor- ship. That deeply hidden and interior will which, from what we are told, seems to be its source, is as obscure as it is profound. It is something essentially mysterious, indefinable, unknowable. There is nothing in common between this will and the formulae by which we attempt to picture it ourselves. Where would be the resemblance in a portrait if the original had neither form nor colour ? In practice, then, the manner in which the interior life of the spirit will be expressed is immaterial. Works are nothing; faith is everything. A maxim is good and true if it is accepted with a sense of conviction, if the CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 33 will recognizes in it its own tendency. All the rules of the true, the good, and the beauti- ful which classic reason has attempted to set up are ineffectual. These rules, in the philo- sophy of interiority, are but the substitution of the letter for the spirit, of inertia for liberty, of death for life. The original creation alone, drawing its principle from the absolute will is beautiful and productive. All works that are original and not imitative, however strange, are true and worthy to be set up for the ad- miration of men ; but every work to the pro- duction of which the observance of some rule has contributed is, for that very reason, shallow and lifeless. Thus deformed and debased is the concept of truth, in the doctrine which reduces intellect to will by making of the former the principle of fixed and objective forms, and of the latter the principle of the interior life. But we may inquire if this doctrine is really a term at which the philosopher's effort at reduction can stop. Will, in this system, is not conceived in any strict fashion. It is contrasted with intellect, conceived as the form of static and motionless order; it vaguely contains within itself, how- ever, a certain tendency or law of develop- 3 34 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR ment which determines its movement and causes it to become objective in a certain way. Fichte regarded will as containing a transcen- dental logic and a rhythmic progress which were to supply it with a body. It is from this ill-defined blend of will and intellect that there results the strange property, inherent in Fichtean liberty, of necessarily realizing and developing oneself in a certain way. The reduction of the intellectual to the voluntary, however, is but incompletely effected if will, which we take as principle, remains in some way intellect. Man's natural taste for clarity and simplicity, the general tendency of doc- trines to reveal, more and more distinctly, their original principle, have led the philo- sophy of interiority to assume a simpler and more distinct form which, in truth, Fichte himself would not have recognized. In the doctrine of interiority, will bears within itself a law of development which, of itself, produces intellect, and which, indeed, is also something intellectual. A genuine will should be free from this foreign element. Strictly speaking, it should will only itself, set itself up as alone absolute and supreme being, and conceive all other beings as instru- ments of its own activity. Now, thus emanci- CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 35 pated and free to become, as fully as possible, what it virtually is, it can offer itself but one object: power. The true voluntarist system is that which reduces both intellect and the so-called moral will to the will turned wholly towards itself i.e., towards force and nothing else. This is the final expression of the system which identifies truth with certitude. Against this doctrine there is no longer any valid argu- ment. A certitude which admits no other standard of value than force is, by its very definition, not amenable to reason. It might well take for its motto La Fontaine's famous line: " La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure." How are we to refute a man who declares : " I believe only in force, and I am the stronger "? But once a man has reached this point of view, it will be useless for him to attempt to attach any kind of a meaning to the word : truth. In vain will he form an idea of force as something that has to produce, of itself, not only a physical, but a moral order of things: peace, organization, civilization. The whole of this development is, from the 36 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR outset, powerless to realize the idea of truth ; because, after all, such development is but the multiplication of force, and between force and truth there is a difference of nature. Truth is true, even though misunderstood, scoffed at and prostituted. Its inherent right remains, even though it be devoid of the force necessary to command respect. Instead of taking force for granted and being able to exist only by its means, the culture whose object is the true and the beautiful rises over against force, and consents to make room for it in its own domain only in so far as force has been made tractable in the service of right. If, then, the doctrine of force defies refuta- tion, it is because it has destroyed every- thing on its path. Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant. What remains of that which the world calls civilization, morality, kindness, humanity, once a man has wholly given him- self up to elementary forces which destroy indifferently withered leaves and human lives, shapeless stones and the most sacred monu- ments of history and art ? Hence, what is the worth of this certitude which considers itself to be irreducible be- cause it has an invincible belief in force alone ? It is really nothing less than fathomless arro- CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 37 gance, a sort of challenge flung at reason and truth. Is it possible that man should re- nounce his own nature to such an extent as to abdicate in favour of force, however great ? III. To sum up, neither the separation of certi- tude from truth, nor the reduction of the one to the other, appears admissible. What do we mean by this ? Is it one of those problems which are more readily solved by ignoring than by answering them ? Perhaps the only thing to do would be to confess ourselves beaten in our effort to understand; and, in answering this question, to appeal to the common-sense of practical life, if we had tried all the ways that lie before us. But have we done so ? Up to this point, in treating the subject, we have mainly examined German philosophy. Now, this philosophy, in its principal repre- sentatives, in Kant as in Hegel, in Fichte as in Nietzsche, possesses one very remarkable trait which differentiates it from most of the rest. It eliminates feeling, or at all events reduces it to a subordinate role. What Kant inserts between understanding and will, under 38 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR the name of judgment (Urteilskraft], is no more than a system of categories, an intel- lectual apparatus. Unquestionably, Fichte regards Rousseau's philosophy as noble and salutary, though only on condition we assign to will the part that Rousseau assigned to feeling. Nietzsche professes to despise sensi- bility, pity, humanity, which, according to him, enervate the will. In the problem with which we are now dealing, what would happen if, following the example of most men and in conformity with classic traditions, we were to give feeling a place by the side of will and intellect in the production of certitude and the appreciation of truth ? There is a doctrine called pragmatism in considerable vogue at the present time, and advocated by eminent thinkers, mainly English and American philosophers. It ap- pears to regard feeling as the common prin- ciple of certitude and truth. According to this philosophy, the ultima ratio which enables us to regard a maxim as true is that this maxim, if put into practice, works satis- factorily, brings to pass events that please us and fulfil our expectation. The satisfaction we feel, say the pragma- tists, is the principle of certitude, since it CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 39 gives us confidence in the maxim we have put to the test. Thus, a man's good services induce us to have faith in him, make us certain that he is our friend. At the same time, this satisfaction is the principle of truth itself; for if we seek the common element in all those various propositions we qualify as true, we find nothing but the property of keeping the promise they involve and of affording content- ment to the mind. Physical truths are truths because by taking them as guides in our rela- tions with the outer world we find ourselves in harmony with that world. Mathematical truths are truths because their demonstration gives us a sense of the harmonious and free expression of intellect. There is considerable merit in this theory, since, from the outset, it deals with the world of realities. It must be confessed that in- tellect, of itself alone, only attains to ab- stractions. And will is but a lawless force, affirming its resolve to impose itself. Feeling is reality, as it appears at first, before under- going any artificial elaboration. Now, the philosophy which tries to discover in feeling the principle of certitude and truth has been called radical empiricism. Since feeling is, in a way, reality itself, it 40 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR must be to our advantage to study certitude and truth from the standpoint of feeling. We shall thus succeed in restoring soul and life to feeling, whereas German intellectualism or voluntarism strive to eliminate them from it. All the same, this system solves the diffi- culty in too summary a fashion. What exactly is that sense of satisfaction which, according to the pragmatists, should be the sole principle of the notions of truth and certitude ? Taken alone, feeling is but a fact, an indis- putable one, assuredly, from the empirical point of view, and more certainly real than any philosophic system, though all the same powerless, in theory, to establish certitude and truth. If I seek to define the precise kind of satis- faction it is advisable to set up as a funda- mental principle, I destroy the system. In- deed, if I say : every proposition which does not deceive our expectation is true, is it not as though I said: every proposition which faithfully states a law of nature, which con- forms to truth as conceived by our under- standing, is true ? And if I say : I declare myself certain when the satisfaction I feel dwells in the loftiest part of my being, do I CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 41 not presuppose the intervention of a will which chooses a certain form of existence and is satisfied when it attains its object ? Lack of precision or a vicious circle: prag- matism finds considerable difficulty in avoid- ing this dual danger. It must be recognized that will and intellect are really principles themselves, that they should be considered as existing per se, and not as simple modifications of feeling. In- tellect seeks truth as something which is, and which is only if it possesses the character of eternity. Will is not something given: it is a power which realizes itself only by creating, and which, if it ceased to act, would also cease to be. Will and intellect, according to this view, are first and irreducible principles, radically distinct from each other. And yet each of these two faculties needs the other for its fitting development. The certitude, to which will tends, will be but obstinacy and fanaticism unless determined by the possession of truth. And truth, the object of intellect, would be devoid of life and in- terest, a crude fact, a blind and gloomy necessity, if it were not action, the life of an excellent will. God, said Aristotle, is eternal life: 42 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR But how will these two heterogeneous principles be able to participate in each other ? In proportion as will allows itself to be deter- mined by intellect, does it not abdicate the very liberty which forms its essence ? And in proportion as intellect, in giving way to will, accepts the idea of a created truth, does it not prove false to itself? At that rate, intellect and will might repeat to each other Ovid's line: " Nee sine te nee tecum vivere possum." Is this antinomy one that cannot be solved ? It seems as though it would disappear if, instead of recognizing no other primordial realities than intellect and will, we equally, and on the same grounds, admit the reality and role of feeling. Alone in presence of each other, in- tellect and will can make no attempt at mingling and interpenetration without mutual diminution and crippling. Undoubtedly, force and science are capable of uniting; but what remains of will in brute force, and how is the life of intellect to be reduced to scientific mechanism ? Now, if we admit that intellect and will are linked to each other by feeling, we can conceive that they may grow and CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 43 become enriched through their mutual rela- tions without being faithless to their respective principles. Feeling transforms abstract ideas into motives and interests, and the latter in- fluence the will without compromising its personal and living character. By giving a body and a communicable essence to the inner determinations of will, feeling also gives to intellect the fixed centres and the ends it needs for the avoidance of dilettantism and sophistry. Thus life, soul and feeling being inter- calated, as an original and first principle, between certitude and truth, these two meet again without clashing with each other. Truth creates certitude in the will, because, instead of being separated from this latter, it receives from it, through the medium of feel- ing, life and direction, without which it would be only a chaos of abstract possibilities. And certitude is something more than fanaticism and the infatuation of an arrogant will, because it does not rest on itself, but finds, in truth translated into feeling, the appropriate matter which it needs to be fully realized. Of themselves alone, will and intellect would be incapable of acting on each other. Each of them, however, acts on feeling and submits 44 PHILOSOPHY AND WAR to its influence; it is through feeling, then, that they have communication. Hence, all effective certitude participates in truth, and all concrete truth participates in certitude. It is interesting to consider the significance of this doctrine in the light both of science and of practical life. We readily picture to ourselves the sciences as being less and less inadequate expressions of a truth apart from ourselves, ready-made and un- changing, a truth which has only to be ex- posed, just as one unearths a hidden treasure. And, seen from without, science appears to answer to this definition. It first accumulates facts i.e., data conceived as purely objec- tive; then it applies itself to reducing these facts to mathematical formulae i.e., to quan- tities exactly transformable into one another. And mathematics in turn seems to resolve itself into logic i.e., into the art of eliciting from a given proposition all the consequences of which it admits. It must be recognized that such is the aspect of the science which regards itself as complete, and is transferred from mind to mind by the method of teaching. But in the men of genius who create it, science brings other principles into play. Strictly scientific facts neither are CERTITUDE AND TRUTH 45 nor can be given, in the exact meaning of the word. The scientist must build them up by ingeniously combining intuitions which can really never be free from all conceptual ad- mixture, with principles of choice and elabora- tion which the spirit should seek within itself. The scientist endeavours to apprehend the creative work of nature; consequently, he seeks in nature for thought, life, creation. Does he ever fully succeed in reducing the data of experience to quantities, the pheno- mena of nature to mathematical elements ? This remains doubtful. Still, even were such reduction possible, there would be good reason to inquire whether mathematics has really for its object an inert thing which need only be analyzed in order to be known. The geo- metrician who truly advances science is in reality dominated by aesthetic feelings as well as by logical considerations. He tries to translate into formulae living harmonies, which spring up from the depths of his soul : appovii) d